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Casual Cruelness, Farewell, my dear
Clubs were exactly as I remembered them. Seas of bodies swimming in a flood of music. Bodies grinding and sweat glistening beneath the multicolored neon lights. Euphoria rolling off the swaying bodies. Even the same stench of stale sweat mingling with the souring of stomach contents remains unchanged. People were huddled in booths as if they were on the single remaining life boat, but steady streams of liquid trickled as liquor bottles tilted and staggered. Fluids spilled and frothed. Tables were glowing with a sheen like a spider web after a drizzle. It was raucous, frivolous and dirty.
Thanking the bartender for the glass, I dodged a few feet away from the swarm and into a dimmer space. Hiding beneath milder light, I scrutinized the wall for stains before leaning back against it. I sighed and swirled my glass. I thought he was joking.
You’ve been locked up in your little tower for weeks. Without some sort of exciting interaction, you’ll grow stagnant. Your friends are out of town and you have little old me, but isn’t it time to meet some new people?
No need to have such a low opinion of yourself.
Let’s go to a club. It’ll give you some inspiration.
A club? I was in the midst of a laugh when his suggestion yanked me back. I was incredulous. It’s been the same thing year after year. I knew that’s where he went when he wasn’t working since he came back in a stink of perfume, vomit and alcohol. Didn’t you say that it wasn’t the place to meet like-minded people? My mind buzzed as I tried to keep a calm demeanor. It was a reference from 9 years ago when I was trying to be interesting and supportive.
Dean pulled back slightly, giving me his usual analytical gaze before responding smoothly. I’m just following your advice. If I don’t put myself out there, then I wouldn’t be making connections with anyone anyway.
‘Like a drop of the hat.’ I smiled quietly to myself, foolishly pleased that he would remember such a small passage in time. ‘It was a dilemma. To find like-minded people, it would generally be in places where we frequent, except the place we frequent was at home behind a screen, hiding our truth.’ Haven’t we aged well enough to know that clubs aren’t the only place to look for kindred spirits?
No reason why we can’t return our roots. He shrugged and shook his head helplessly before grinning.
Here I was. But, where was he?
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Sometimes, I wish I had never met him. He showed me a world full of new and exciting things. He was akin to the spring sun, bright and warm, in the comforts of a glass window. Warm from the rays and protected from the winds. Something nice to watch, but hot to touch.
Yet on other days, he was the overcast, drowning out the light. He brought me into a new world and I guess I just wasn’t ready for it, for him. Twenty-years old, excited to make a difference, brand-new and helpless to the forces before me- naivety lay at the root.
Mavis, protagonist
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「愛してる」とは なんて無力な言葉だろう | What a powerless phrase, “I love you.”
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Lost feelings
I found him by the road side.
It wasn’t a particularly special day. Conditions were wet and humid. The misty rain swallowed dull, city blocks; it smothered the stains of ill-coordinated eaves, greens of trees, and streams of people. It scattered the yellowish glow of tarnished lights into ivory fuzz. The streets were thick with the essence of spring. Like billowing smoke, it blurred out definition and leached out focus, turning everything into mindless shades. It was a regular evening gray. It was an evening glossed over by unfocused and insipid dreams.
Along the alley, a furious spring wind rushed through. His figure, slouched and crumpled, against its walls. I stood across from him, taking in his features. His eyes were shut and a caustic scent permeated from his slumped figure. Vomit? Alcohol? It could very well be the pile of trash he slumped on. I wasn’t certain. His cheek was battered and cut. Beads of rain fell lingering against his skin.
Hiding in the gloom of the alley, I lowered to a crouch. My trench coat fluttered, but I caught it before it touched the ground. My umbrella hung against the bridge of my neck and shoulder.
I recall a time when those features looked at me with curiosity. His lips formed a grimace as if he was in pain, but I remember when it twisted cheekily. Only when he was teasing me. Did he think I’d laugh? At best, I could only give him a guarded simper. We didn’t have the best of relationships, but we understood each other. At least, that’s what it seemed like. On the same wave-length! The childish me of the past smiled quietly to herself. All that, but not quite knowing what to say or what to do. I was infatuated by his mind and wit, but afraid of what it would mean. I could only berate myself for being so inexperienced.
Shoes shuffled and splashed against the pavement. Beams of red and white splattered the lanes with murmurs. They passed him without a second glance. I sighed to myself as I brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I looked at him intently. Flickering lights seemed to illuminate a glowing effect against his skin. His neckline stood out from his black shirt. How long has he been out here? He had baby fat when they last met. His fingers were no longer stout, but trim. His jacket was frayed at the cuffs, worn, sodden and a size too big, like a hand-me-down from an older brother he never had. Dark curls plastered against his damp face. Though we joked about what he’d look like unshaven, this wasn’t the circumstances I thought I’d see him like that. He looked grim.
I bent my head forward, cupping my face in my hands and sighed again. I thought you were dead.
This is the lowest point I have ever been at. He had said with a smile as he reorganized the cafe display case. The moon was lost behind the somber clouds. Most customers had head home to dodge the forecasted snow.
I paused from scrubbing the espresso machine to check his expression. What d- I hesitated and swallowed my concern. Feigning disinterest, I continued scrubbing and as casually as I could, responded, if someone’s already been to rock bottom, then there’s only going up from there.
But if the person’s been at the lowest point, they know that things could get worse. They can go even lower.
Recognizing his point, I couldn’t help face him and cry out a little too hastily. Anything to stop those thoughts. But we have to move forward. To drown below the surface or paddle just above it. We don’t have a choice.
How do we know if we’re moving forward?
We don’t. We can only make the best of the choices we think we have in front of us.
He hummed, but didn’t respond. The door open and slammed from the pressure of the winds. Welcome! What can I get for you this evening?
Shortly after, he moved away. Looking back, he probably wanted to talk about his sudden move to the other side of the country. Instead, I tried to impress with foolish, cheap words. I shook my head.
A quiet rustle broke my thoughts. He stirred, grumbled, and nearly tipped over.
For a moment, I almost burst into action. Yank his sleeves up. Check for puncture wounds. But, I grasped my wrist and pushed them down shakily. I looked up again. His usually expressive eyes were unfocused, but it was clear he could see me. He was frozen.
What to say? I felt like I fell back 5 years into the past again. Tongue-tied and naive. A simple greeting didn’t quite encompass the feelings coursing through my veins. My fingers tingled. A lump crushed my windpipes. I swallowed and breathed out, under my breath. If you.. don’t have a place to go.. come home with me.
His eyes like a mountain meadow with sprinkling snow adjusted to the overcast. My thighs protested when I rose at his nod. With one hand tight around the umbrella handle, I offered my other to help him up.
The rain was cooling, and the wind blew with a hazy fragrance of lingering infatuation.
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What desire, but the desire that is shown? The white of innocence can simply be soaked in desire. If the red cannot be attained, so then, tear it from the roots.
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Were we okay?
“I’m bored.”
His statement rang from the sofa in the common space. The pattering of my keyboard stilted. I called back, “Why don’t you get a job?”
I returned to my screen of documents. Having been cut off mid-sentence, I had to backtrack and re-encompass the feelings in the text. Dean has been living with me for a year now. He still disappears and I’m never sure where he is or if he even has a place to stay. But, when he does return, he makes sure to pamper me in every way he can. Pleasing people and recognizing their needs and meeting them, but still somehow meeting his own. I thought it was tactful. I’ve always envied his skill. To have the talent to adopt a different mask for each person, it was something only the wise maintain. But I also hated it. What is the intention behind his actions? I still don’t know who the ‘real him’ is, but every face is him, so what am I quibbling?
“I have a job.” Dean lay a hand on my shoulder and served a garnished platter of cured salmon and prawns with a pickled salad.
“Oh?” I gave my thanks as I took the fork and knife from his hand. “And, what’s that?”
He kept his grip on the utensils and took my hand, kneeling. “Doing all that your heart commands, of course.” He brushed his lips against my finger tips with a coy smirk.
“Of course.” I turn my palm against his cheek before slipping down his neck. A joke, as usual. I tapped lightly against his pulse and he responded at the tacit command, rising back up. “Here’s your reward.”
Dean’s smile widened and waited. “I’ve been experimenting.”
I forked a bit of the salmon and salad for him.
“Let me know what you think,” he beckoned as I gave him and myself a mouthful. He chewed quietly, scrutinizing the flavor.
I leaned into his abdomen to reach the chair beside him and pulled it out. “It’s good. The prawn’s particularly sweet and springy.” I said as he sat down. I gave him a few more amateurish responses to his dish before finishing the rest of it.
He picked up the dishes and walked out to wash them. As he did, I reviewed my documents again. Like a red rose planted in the midst of whites, it is the one that has dug its roots in your heart. The red acts as a venerable, unattainable, but taunting and coaxing. Harmless is the white rose. One of which could be dyed a color of your desire. Beside me, Dean had returned and was fiddling with one of the pens I had for drafting on paper. With its thorns removed, it remains as the only one of which you could reach. In your heart, there are two- one of red; one of white. Of the one you choose, the red cannot be removed and the white remains untouched. Red symbolizes a unique passion and devotion that cannot be attained. White symbolizes the sensual innocence and restraint that remains inadequate.
A shadow loomed over me before Dean’s chin rested lightly on my shoulder. Before I could respond, he chuckled. “What desire, but the desire that is shown? The white of innocence can simply be soaked in desire. If the red cannot be attained, so then, tear it from the roots.”
I turned to him slightly exasperated. “The premise is that it can’t be.”
“Don’t use a rose then.”
I sighed and raised my shoulder to bump him off. I agreed with him, but I didn’t have the words for it yet. It took a long time for me to recognize the value of writing a draft and using substituted words to keep the flow. I saved the file, closed it, and leaned my chair back to look up at Dean.
He was rubbing his chin sheepishly. I reached for his cheek with my left hand. He responded promptly, leaning down. His lips touched mine softly before slipping his tongue inside.
---
Our relationship remains ambiguous. The mistakes I made years ago in my youth will not be made again. The expectations that I had for him in the past no longer in affect. He is welcome to do as he liked. All I needed was him coming back once in a while, sharing his warmth and enjoying the conversations. The infatuation I had for him was just that, an infatuation. One that could be squashed and pinched away, but lingering and capable of growing again like the red rose.
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