Intermission; Miura Yumiko

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…

Listen.

Men are gonna come along and try to teach you things. Teach you how to act, how to talk, how to walk, and who you can be friends with.

Doesn't make them any smarter. In most ways, they're not, but it makes men feel bigger, because they think they can show you how things are done.

But you just let them blow by. You go on ahead and do just whatever the hell you feel like. Give them hell.

It takes a strong woman to stay true to herself, in a world where people will do anything, just so they can say they're worth something.

Never forget who you are, Yumie.

My Ma kissed me on the cheek before she dropped me off at school, ten years ago.

…

Ma had pretty blue eyes like Frank Sinatra.

My Pa had dark green eyes, and so did his mother. But even so, every time I looked in the mirror I couldn't help but see a bit of my Ma in my own eyes. A bit of that fire, I guess, and maybe a bit of something more.

I was eight years old then. Those were better times in my childhood, when our house was way livelier than it is now. Ma would often be busy around the house, so she'd send me outside to play, on the condition that I always return early for supper. Pops would always leave the house dressed for work, and in the evenings, he'd come home in his same black suit and tie, smelling like cigarettes and cologne.

"Pops! You look like a may-fia boss!" I'd always say. I always ran up to hug him but every time, I'd end up face-first in his belly because I was not a very tall kid then, and that made him laugh.

And I remember other things.

I will always remember the crumpled, dirty note I once picked up behind the house, in the garden.

The inconspicuous piece of paper seems to have been thrown out of the second-floor study room window. From that room where my Ma often spent time alone by herself.

I remember the beautiful, elegant cursive written on the note. It conveyed a strangely melancholic message:

No more games. No more races. No more swimming. No more cars. No more fun. 32. 5 years past 27. 5 years more than what I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No fun—for anybody.

Tell me, learn to love your mistakes. 'Non, je ne regrette rien' as Edith Piaf says. Do I love Yumiko? I'd give her everything…

I don't love anymore. I lost.

Thirty-two. And they call me young! Most people die at eighteen, and are not buried until later at seventy.

No more youth. No more romantic comedies. Breathe. Don't be afraid. Relax—this is just a ride. Get off anytime you want.

That's what the letter said.

I think that's when my fears subconsciously started. I realised, when I became a little older, that the message was not melancholic—it was cynical.

My mother was cynical about life too, just like a friend I know.

And while I often saw my mother smiling with a bright glint in her coquettish Frank Sinatra-blue eyes, posing beside her beloved grey Jaguar E-type roadster in that picture atop the mantelpiece, I never really saw those same eyes get any brighter in front of me.

My eyes shone almost every time whether I was happy, excited, angry or sad. Everyone said so, even Hikio. So why didn't my mother's eyes have the same glint? Didn't I get it from her?

It occurred to me that maybe my Ma stopped having any reason to be all-starry eyed ever since I was born.

And while I don't mean to assume, and maybe I was too young to see how overjoyed she was when I'd been born, who knows? Some people hate kids. It's kinda funny to think about that, but not when you're on the receiving end of it…

I don't know. And not knowing is what's always left an empty hole inside me. That's my biggest fear. Not knowing.

Not knowing how my Ma felt.

Not knowing if I'd made her happy. Not knowing if I'd been the cause of her despair. Not knowing if she simply grew tired of us.

Not knowing why she up and off'd herself.

To be honest, I wasn't sure of anything at all. Later, when I grew older, Pa always said that she was sick, and she was dying of some chronic illness. What was it—depression? I don't know. Then again I was never really privy to the details, and neither was I courageous enough to dig in further and find out the truth. Because if this was just scratching the surface layer of it all, I couldn't fathom how much more nightmarish the truth could be.

I thought, was Ma happy when she married dad? Was she glad that she started a family of her own? While I always thought that was a beautiful raison d'etre, I could never think that far ahead even in my thoughts, and it's a strange thing, because I'm self-aware enough to realise my own short-sightedness. I only always pushed it to the very recesses of my mind because it was something I couldn't deal with until now by myself.

I don't think I'm a thoughtful person. I can't imagine myself growing old, a woman, marrying a man I should love and having pretty little children with him. The notion was there, yet I could not animate it in any conceivable way. It was like there was some kind of graphics card missing from my head, that's impairing that sort of imagination. Ha! One analogy to put it as, anyways.

But it scares me. Because not only was I blind to certainly knowing how other people felt, not being able to think of my future was severe. I wondered if my Ma shared the same short-sightedness as me.

But there are things I wanted for certain. I wanted friends. I wanted a family to belong to. I don't want to be alone.

'Don't you want somebody to love?~ Don't you need somebody to love?~'

Do you know that Jefferson Airplane song?

Somebody to love, eh... Hell, that song never ever left my head. It was something my Ma used to sing to herself, silently humming the tune between closed lips. Sometimes—she'd even sing it to me, very softly. It became a sort of haunting melody that crept in every time I felt lonely, more so than any other thing in mind.

"Boy, just wait 'till you get a load of married life. You'd be chasing love off with a stick!" is what Hikio would say.

'Course, I didn't take him seriously when it came to that. He's never been there. What would he know? Then again…

I wanted to ask Hachiman about this, and what he thought of it, but something was holding me back. Fear, maybe, but not because I was worried he'd shrug me off. I trusted him.

"If I didn't know I could get off anytime I wanted, I'd feel trapped." I laughed quietly.

Hachiman looked at me. "Sounds hella suggestive, but," he said, "that's not what you mean, is it?"

"It's just somethin' my Ma used to say when she was alive. All of this, Hikio?" I smiled, spreading my arms out - pertaining to the world around us - "it's just a ride. Nothing to be afraid of. Some people have been around for a long time, and some of them, they come back to remind us how it all is, and reassure us. It's all just a ride, and we can change it anytime we want. We can get off of it anytime we want. Right?"

"That's a very worrisome thought," Hachiman said slowly. "You're talking about suicide."

"Mm," I shook my head. "On the contrary, I think it's hopeful. Romantic, dare I say even. Something about all of this being one wild dream, a rollercoaster ride. Take the ticket! No sympathy for the devil! Just enjoy the rolls and turns, and if you don't like it, better luck on the next one."

"There is no 'next one'. You get off—that's it, captain."

"Hmm. Don't say that," I laughed a little. "It breaks my heart, you know?"

I slid a little closer to him as we sat on the metal bench, with our backs leaning against the cold wall. I held his hand.

"Well," Hachiman reconsidered sincerely.

"I suppose there could be. I won't be the one to tell you what to believe, Miura-san. I think we're all going to where we believe and pray we're supposed to go," he said.

"What about you?" I asked.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"I pray that everyone who dies goes to hell no matter what."

Can you believe this fuckin' guy?

What a Nazi! I rolled my eyes then stared at him. "Stop joking!"

Hachiman smiled presently.

"I… honestly don't know for now. I would like to be where I'm needed, with my friends, where I belong. It may not be a pretty face, but well, I'm a tough guy. I'm your 'friend', right? I'll live."

(I know this bastard was being sarcastic about the friend part.)

"We should stick together. When we get home to Chiba after this journalism bullshit, date me." I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "I love you so much," I said softly.

I nuzzled against him affectionately. Unbeknownst to me, Hachiman was visibly flustered.

"O-Oi, where'd that come from?" he stuttered. "Seriously, be careful with your words…"

"I've never been more careful in my life."

"Yeah, well you can be more careful next time so I don't end up having to GET YOU OUT OF A FUCKING POLICE STATION BECAUSE YOU'RE A SCARY DRUNK BITCH!" Hachiman exploded at the top of his lungs.

Kawasaki watched us from behind the window of the detainment room, sipping on a can of Strong Zero.

Ah, right! I kinda forgot what I was doing here again. What can I say? Recap: I'm a bit of a gangster. Besides, when the world becomes a bit too nightmarish, sometimes a little bit of intermission and self-reflection in the safety of a police station won't hurt.