Within the last twelve hours, I had worn my finest black kimono, got picked up my one of my best friends to go to a funeral home, said my tearful goodbyes, watched my guardian get lowered into the ground, let my friend get piss drunk and watched him run naked down the street crying, watched the chief of police who was also attending the funeral throw him in the back of the cruiser and I had ate so many cakes and tuna sandwiches my favorite pair of jeans didn't fit me any more. That had summed up my Saturday.
Because of the death of Uncle Hizashi, the chief of police, Uchiha Itachi wants to sell the antique shop because I won't be able to run it. Of course, this will mean that I will be passed on to my next guardian. The same man who gave me up. My blood father. Before being sent to my father's though, Itachi agreed to let me go through my uncle's stuff, everything in his room and in the shop, and pick what I liked. Eagerly, I went through everything in the shop. It wasn't ideal but old things fascinated me. They were Uncle Hizashi's precious collectables. I picked an old calligraphy set and a lantern. The rest of it was too outrageous, like the samurai outfit, or rather useless, like the string to hold yen that came from the Edo Era.
Then, I wandered into his room. It was set up like mine, only less feminine. The walls were a pale, woodland green whereas mine was lavender. On his night table was an old book with a worn, leather binding. Carefully, I picked it up and flipped open a few pages. It was about Konoha and Suna and people of importance from that era. A history book. Against my better judgement, I threw it in with the rest of the stuff I was taking.
After that, I went to his closet. All of his clothes were hanging up. From his shirts to his pants to his night clothes. Everything. I wondered faintly if his underwear were hanging up but then I reminded myself that he did possess a dresser. Who knew what was in that thing. It took me a moment to remember Uncle Hizashi was gone and that I could look. Pushing away the guilt I felt, I headed towards the dresser and hesitantly pulled the first one open. Underwear. Of course. Smiling, I went to the next one. Color coded socks. The next. More pants and shirts. Groaning, I went to the last one. Organized within it was a rolex watch, a tie I made him in grade two for father's day, a couple of my school assignments he was particularly fond of, a dagger set, an ancient arrow sealed in a glass box, a fine, silky cerulean and violet kimono pressed into an open toped case, a velvet box and a tea kettle.
Immediately I went for the velvet box, my chest clenching like it was stuck in an iron band. Not fast enough, I flipped the lid open. In side were two bands. One was for a male, the other a female. They were beautifully handcrafted though the male's was simple with nothing more than a tiny opal glittered to the one side, a marking made beside it. I wasn't an expert in ancient kanji so I didn't have the faintest clue on what it read. On the female ring was a singular kanji on the inside of the ring, unlike the male's. Outside of the ring was a large opal, surrounded by tiny glittering diamonds. The band was thin and delicate and I couldn't resist running my fingers over it. Stopping myself, I snapped it shut and pocketed it. Pulling my bag over, I took everything from my Uncle's drawer and threw it in, even the tea kettle.
Scurrying around, I grabbed my favorite shirts, sweaters, socks and anything else that peaked my interest. I felt bad about doing it, like I was a scavenger. Even if I reminded myself that Uncle Hizashi left everything to me for me to pick from, I still felt it in me. It was just further from the surface. I was always doing that. Burying my feelings. Uncle Hizashi said it wasn't healthy and I agreed whole heartedly but it second nature to me now. I couldn't let things go and I kept remembering. Remembering things that brought along unwanted emotions. Then, after wallowing in it, I would push it away and hide it again. And then the process would go on.
Hauling the bag over my shoulder, I fingered the weight in my pocket, reassuring myself that the cherished rings were still there. Stepping out of the house, I pondered on their origins. Were they Uncle Hizashi's? Was he once in love? Yes, perhaps they were the rings of he and Neji's mother. She had passed on and that was all I knew of her. It could be theirs. Or it could be father and mother's rings. I knew that the cold hearted man my father was wouldn't want to keep something that reminded him of my mother and his beloved wife. Hell, he couldn't keep me.
"Miss Hinata." it was a man I didn't know but he was holding open the door of a limo. Inside I could see the silhouette of my father. My throat tightened and as slowly as possible, I walked forwards. I didn't neglect to notice how the driver had called me 'Miss Hinata' and not Miss Hyuga. I wasn't really a Hyuga in my father's eyes. Just like his brother. Uncle Hizashi had been shunned by my father long before I was. Father thought I was worthless and that his brother was worthless so why not put us together and let us be worthless with each other?
Inside the limo, my father snapped his fingers and the sound pierced the air. He was hurrying me up. He wanted to get it over with. I hadn't seen him in two years, for I had made the mistake of going with Uncle Hizashi to my cousin's grade nine graduation where he was present. We had exchanged some tense greetings before parting rather quickly.
Crawling inside the limo, I sat at the very end, furthest away from the man whom helped conceive me. I could barely see him through the darkened cab and for reassurance I grabbed onto the bulge in the pocket of my sweater where the rings sat, my bag strewed across my lap. The man slammed the door shut and strutted over to the driver's seat, revving the engine and crawling out of the parking lot of the antique shop. Away from my home.
Something twitched in my stomach and I clawed at the window, my eyes greedily eating up the sight of my house. Our house. It felt like the last time I would see it. It was an odd knowledge. I had lived in that house for as long as I could remember and the thought of never stepping into the front door, weaving through the antiques, rushing up the creaking old steps after school, throwing myself onto the couch as my uncle hummed in the store below me. I missed all of it and I desperately wished for it back. I would trade my right arm for things to be like they were.
The house disappeared behind others and I fell back into the cushion, my eyes finding the feet of the man across from me. Uncle Hizashi would make me think of encouragements. Because of him, I was a reader. Like Uncle Hizashi, I would read anything. Uncle Hizashi always made me read quotes from famous people for he said if you applied them to life, they wouldn't make it easy, but it would make you wiser. If he was there, beside me, what would he say? Who would he quote?
Getting over a painful experience is like crossing monkey bars, C.S Lewis had said, you have to let go at some point in order to move forward.
Sometimes, Marilyn Monroe advised, good things fall apart so better things can fall together.
The reasonable man adapts himself to the world, George Bernard Shaw cautioned, the unreasonable persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.
You're braver than you believe, A.A Milne encouraged, and stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.
Twenty years from now you will be disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the one's you did, Mark Twain counsels. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails.
Explore.
Dream.
Discover.
Gathering up courage, I moved my gaze away from my father's feet and met his harsh gaze. And I didn't falter.