It was a day unlike any other. And yet, it started out with the usual monotonous voice of Professor Takada reciting verses out of Soseki's debut novel. A quick glance around confirmed that none of the students in class paid much heed to the lecture taking place. The finals were months away and there was a huge discussion going round in class about the new Mr. Campus and his sordid love affairs. The giggling and gasps of the girls 4 rows below echoed throughout the 300-seater hall. I heaved a sigh of relief as the bell interrupted their incessant chatter to signal the end of the students' mandatory obligations each Friday. As usual, I made sure I was the first to leave the unbearable academic atmosphere.
In the midst of Spring, Tokyo was unusually cold this year. The sudden downpour earlier this afternoon had started to subside as I grabbed hold of the edges of my pink jacket and pulled them closer to my chest. The fine hairs on my naked legs stood erect as the breeze swept past. Tights were never fashionable in this part of town and I chose to blend in with the majority. I continued walking down the familiar streets to the soothing sounds of the bells on my anklet that jingled with each step of my right leg. One can imagine the shock that followed when I felt something cold and clammy grabbing hold of them, instantaneously silencing the melodic trance I was in.
It was a hand. A hand of a man whose grip tightened slowly as I tried to shrug him off. A closer look revealed a man in his late 30s, a slightly hooked nose, with the arms of an athlete despite his shorter than average build. He had aged rather gracefully, and considered by any standards, extremely handsome. His clothes, his shoes, and the brown and blond tinted hair of his were soaked to the bone. He must have been under the rain for hours at least, judging by the state of his shivering body. Why in the world was he lying on the ground? No. I shook my head. This wasn't the time for questions.
Don't ask me why I ever felt the urge to take him in, or how dangerous it was to lead a stranger back home. After all, albeit the incredibly high levels of general public safety, murder rates remained high and rampant. The police might have been the most viable option and yet there was something about him that made me disregard all thoughts and rationale when I held on to his arms indicating a silent consent. And be it fate or coincidence, we were just a 5 minute walk away from home. Yet his lagging steps made it seem like forever.
No sooner had I pushed open the heavy wooden door, that he clambered towards the sofa and slumped on to it with a deep sigh. A customary 'thank you' would have been nice but he chose to remain silent as he gazed at the ceiling deep in thought, with one arm behind his head and the other rested ever so gently on his heaving chest.
I handed him a towel I scavenged from the back of my closet. It was unwashed. But I had no reason to tell him that. I was not plagued with disease, nor have I ever placed high regard for laundry on my list of priorities. He accepted the towel hesitantly and as he reached out his right hand to grab hold of it, I noticed something on his finger.
He took a casual glance at the ring on his pinky finger and proceeded to twist them free. In a flash of a second, he tossed it towards my chest. I was never good at catch, but this time my hands reached out like lightning and grabbed hold of it milliseconds before it bounced back onto the floor.
Angel wings, two centimeters wide. Pure silver. And it fit perfectly on my slightly chubby fingers.
I never hesitated the acceptance of items I was fond of, and it didn't occur to me that the ring he wore might have meant something special to him. In an attempt to break the silence, I cleared my throat and spoke up.
Droplets of fresh rain water fell onto my skin in his furious attempt to dry out the shoulder length hair with the aid of my pink towel.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the towel aside and stretched his body out onto the sofa. And in that exact moment in time, the mesmerising sight of his fingers led me to blurt out the words
The smirk on his paper thin lips answered my question without hesitation. He stood up ever so slowly and glided his fingers across the keys silently before he settled down in front of the Yamaha. I grinned. I was sick and tired of playing for an audience of one. Now's the chance.
He shook his head, with no sign of interest.
And he spent the night serenading the long empty room, tune after tune of my favourite melancholic jazz until I finally fell asleep on the blue carpeted floor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He remained ever so silent on the day he decided to invite me for a walk at the park nearby. I'd never learnt his name, and by custom, I tugged on the sleeve of his shirt to draw attention. His furrowed brows displayed signs of annoyance as he continued to walk while I struggled to keep up with his steadily increasing pace.
I puffed and panted when he finally decided on a spot under a tree to pause and pull out the all-too-familiar box of 12s. With a flick of light, he found his haven as he settled down to stretch his legs. I collapsed onto the grass next to him, desperately gasping for air. It was so quiet. So quiet that the only sound you could hear was that of my heavy breathing. I hated the silence. I hated the fact that he chose to ignore me whenever he felt like it. It was as if I merely existed in his life at certain times when he chose to have me there. I hated it. I tugged on his sleeve again and again. Again and again when finally the intensity caused him to drop the cigarette clasped between his fingers.
He picked up and proceeded to take one last puff from his almost burnt out cigarette, and lifted his face towards the increasingly cloudy sky. The exhaled smoke made perfect circles that vanished into thin air in exactly...5 seconds. He shut his eyes, sighed and turned his head towards me. I could recall every part of that moment with total vividness. I could recall the way he lifted my chin ever so slightly with that coarse, sunburned hand of his, and with an intensity I could hardly ever forget, pressed his lips against mine while the falling leaves of the cherry blossom tree danced around us.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I never figured out why he was out in the rain the day I found him, nor did I know anything of his past and the reasons why he was slumped on my baby grand with the ends of his favourite cigarettes scattered on the floor each morning when I woke up. He had previously declared his intention to impose on my kindness indefinitely when he returned religiously to my studio at the edge of Roppongi Hills each night. Our routine remained military in the coming months. I draped his dark blood red coat over his shoulders, refrigerated his favourite green tea, and left for school. My long day continued each time I inserted the keys and turned the lock to find the ridiculously messy apartment empty, save for his standard note of absence.
I gave the edge of my lip a little bite. It was tough holding back the tears. He did not understand. At least, that was how it seemed to me. The courage I once had, that brave young woman who rescued him from the streets, seemed to vanish from my very soul. The apartment felt a little less lonely when he was around but he was never there when I needed him to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can still distinctly remember the day where I last held on to the sleeve of his bleached white shirt. The lead was crooning to the tunes of Billie Holiday. We were sat on the counter of the Blue Note as we always did on Friday nights. Except this time, he was unusually fixated on the ring he carelessly handed to me not too long ago which I had since placed on my right ring finger. He was no longer distant in his gaze, and there was an unusual warmth emitting from the palm of his hands as he placed them on my cheeks. It wasn't too long before he whispered the dreaded words that I had hoped so hard never to hear from him.
There were no tears in his eyes, though mine fell unconsciously like the pouring rain outside. The very rain that had brought him to me, was here to claim the one thing that might never have been mine.
My heart, it pounded to the rhythm of the beating drum on the background stage. Please say yes.
His eyes glistened as he stood up to stroke my hair, smiled, turned around swiftly, and walked out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am a work of fiction, and you, are the love in my imagination.
Copyright © 2013. All rights reserved. None of the works on this blog may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission by the blog owners.
In the midst of Spring, Tokyo was unusually cold this year. The sudden downpour earlier this afternoon had started to subside as I grabbed hold of the edges of my pink jacket and pulled them closer to my chest. The fine hairs on my naked legs stood erect as the breeze swept past. Tights were never fashionable in this part of town and I chose to blend in with the majority. I continued walking down the familiar streets to the soothing sounds of the bells on my anklet that jingled with each step of my right leg. One can imagine the shock that followed when I felt something cold and clammy grabbing hold of them, instantaneously silencing the melodic trance I was in.
It was a hand. A hand of a man whose grip tightened slowly as I tried to shrug him off. A closer look revealed a man in his late 30s, a slightly hooked nose, with the arms of an athlete despite his shorter than average build. He had aged rather gracefully, and considered by any standards, extremely handsome. His clothes, his shoes, and the brown and blond tinted hair of his were soaked to the bone. He must have been under the rain for hours at least, judging by the state of his shivering body. Why in the world was he lying on the ground? No. I shook my head. This wasn't the time for questions.
"Help me..."
Don't ask me why I ever felt the urge to take him in, or how dangerous it was to lead a stranger back home. After all, albeit the incredibly high levels of general public safety, murder rates remained high and rampant. The police might have been the most viable option and yet there was something about him that made me disregard all thoughts and rationale when I held on to his arms indicating a silent consent. And be it fate or coincidence, we were just a 5 minute walk away from home. Yet his lagging steps made it seem like forever.
No sooner had I pushed open the heavy wooden door, that he clambered towards the sofa and slumped on to it with a deep sigh. A customary 'thank you' would have been nice but he chose to remain silent as he gazed at the ceiling deep in thought, with one arm behind his head and the other rested ever so gently on his heaving chest.
I handed him a towel I scavenged from the back of my closet. It was unwashed. But I had no reason to tell him that. I was not plagued with disease, nor have I ever placed high regard for laundry on my list of priorities. He accepted the towel hesitantly and as he reached out his right hand to grab hold of it, I noticed something on his finger.
"Nice ring you have there."
He took a casual glance at the ring on his pinky finger and proceeded to twist them free. In a flash of a second, he tossed it towards my chest. I was never good at catch, but this time my hands reached out like lightning and grabbed hold of it milliseconds before it bounced back onto the floor.
"Take it."
Angel wings, two centimeters wide. Pure silver. And it fit perfectly on my slightly chubby fingers.
"Thanks."
I never hesitated the acceptance of items I was fond of, and it didn't occur to me that the ring he wore might have meant something special to him. In an attempt to break the silence, I cleared my throat and spoke up.
"I never got your name."
Droplets of fresh rain water fell onto my skin in his furious attempt to dry out the shoulder length hair with the aid of my pink towel.
"My names' of no importance to you."
"That's ridiculous! How then, do you expect me to address you?"
"You'll have your ways kid."
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the towel aside and stretched his body out onto the sofa. And in that exact moment in time, the mesmerising sight of his fingers led me to blurt out the words
"You play the piano then?"
The smirk on his paper thin lips answered my question without hesitation. He stood up ever so slowly and glided his fingers across the keys silently before he settled down in front of the Yamaha. I grinned. I was sick and tired of playing for an audience of one. Now's the chance.
"Do you take requests? Can you play me Crazy by Patsy Cline?"
He shook his head, with no sign of interest.
"Never heard of it."
"Fine. Let's hear your version of Autumn Leaves then."
"That's child's play."
And he spent the night serenading the long empty room, tune after tune of my favourite melancholic jazz until I finally fell asleep on the blue carpeted floor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He remained ever so silent on the day he decided to invite me for a walk at the park nearby. I'd never learnt his name, and by custom, I tugged on the sleeve of his shirt to draw attention. His furrowed brows displayed signs of annoyance as he continued to walk while I struggled to keep up with his steadily increasing pace.
I puffed and panted when he finally decided on a spot under a tree to pause and pull out the all-too-familiar box of 12s. With a flick of light, he found his haven as he settled down to stretch his legs. I collapsed onto the grass next to him, desperately gasping for air. It was so quiet. So quiet that the only sound you could hear was that of my heavy breathing. I hated the silence. I hated the fact that he chose to ignore me whenever he felt like it. It was as if I merely existed in his life at certain times when he chose to have me there. I hated it. I tugged on his sleeve again and again. Again and again when finally the intensity caused him to drop the cigarette clasped between his fingers.
"That's enough, kid."
He picked up and proceeded to take one last puff from his almost burnt out cigarette, and lifted his face towards the increasingly cloudy sky. The exhaled smoke made perfect circles that vanished into thin air in exactly...5 seconds. He shut his eyes, sighed and turned his head towards me. I could recall every part of that moment with total vividness. I could recall the way he lifted my chin ever so slightly with that coarse, sunburned hand of his, and with an intensity I could hardly ever forget, pressed his lips against mine while the falling leaves of the cherry blossom tree danced around us.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I never figured out why he was out in the rain the day I found him, nor did I know anything of his past and the reasons why he was slumped on my baby grand with the ends of his favourite cigarettes scattered on the floor each morning when I woke up. He had previously declared his intention to impose on my kindness indefinitely when he returned religiously to my studio at the edge of Roppongi Hills each night. Our routine remained military in the coming months. I draped his dark blood red coat over his shoulders, refrigerated his favourite green tea, and left for school. My long day continued each time I inserted the keys and turned the lock to find the ridiculously messy apartment empty, save for his standard note of absence.
[Don't wait up for me.]
I gave the edge of my lip a little bite. It was tough holding back the tears. He did not understand. At least, that was how it seemed to me. The courage I once had, that brave young woman who rescued him from the streets, seemed to vanish from my very soul. The apartment felt a little less lonely when he was around but he was never there when I needed him to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can still distinctly remember the day where I last held on to the sleeve of his bleached white shirt. The lead was crooning to the tunes of Billie Holiday. We were sat on the counter of the Blue Note as we always did on Friday nights. Except this time, he was unusually fixated on the ring he carelessly handed to me not too long ago which I had since placed on my right ring finger. He was no longer distant in his gaze, and there was an unusual warmth emitting from the palm of his hands as he placed them on my cheeks. It wasn't too long before he whispered the dreaded words that I had hoped so hard never to hear from him.
"I think its time."
"Will you be back?"
"You're good, kid."
His eyes glistened as he stood up to stroke my hair, smiled, turned around swiftly, and walked out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am a work of fiction, and you, are the love in my imagination.
Copyright © 2013. All rights reserved. None of the works on this blog may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission by the blog owners.
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