Hello again. After an impromptu vacation (heh), I've come back to continue this story. Now, I know what you'll be thinking:
"Only 2000 words?"
Well, suffice to say I've been distracted. I'm splitting my time between two fics, and the other one has been holding my attention. Still, I did sit down to write this at some point during the week, and I've polished it a lot since then. I know what comes after this point, but I haven't had the ambition to write it - or perhaps that ambition has been pushed elsewhere. In any case, I should warn you there is almost no dialogue in this bit, and -against my previous statements- I found someone else's head to see inside of... It's a scary place to visit, too.
Anyway, onward, as they say.
Act 2 - Scene 8 - The Original Species (part 1)
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Finding the parking lot full wasn't really a surprise. The festival draws quite the crowd alone, so having their class reunion at the same time may not have been the best idea. Hakamichi's fault, likely, but that doesn't bother him. As his beautiful wife searches for a place to park, he begins to reminisce to himself about his time spent isolating himself in the dorms. His wasted youth.
It felt like such a long time ago when, innocently enough, he pursued a young woman whom he thought was compatible intellectually, as well as physically. She was hot, he was young, and they fell in love. Forbidden love. Tragic love. Boy meets girl and they live happily until one of them screws everything up royally. In this case, it was mostly his fault, but no romantic tale has ever been one-sided – especially the tragedies.
She, ever the reader, recommended a novel to him one evening, and, being a dutiful boyfriend, he read it happily. Unfortunately, the book was probably not something someone with his analytical, introspective and, truly fanatical tendencies should have been reading. Through outlandish claims and conjecture, the book laid out a conspiracy of such dire consequence that he couldn't ignore its implications – it was so crazy it had to be true. Something changed in him as he read through it, and he became incensed – and terrified. He burned the book soon after, and his downward spiral began.
Feminism. It all seems so silly to him now.
Holding in his viscous thoughts, he tried to reason with his addled mind – tried to forget the poisonous literature. He became distant, erratic and evasive, and it spurned her to pursue him more fiercely. Their conversations became stilted, awkward and sardonic where they had once been light and intellectual. Time with her left him feeling drained, but she pressed harder until one night -under a full moon, he recalled- they consummated their love. Desiring catharsis, desiring her, he had let it happen, but it was a terrible mistake.
The act that ought to have brought them unity drove them apart. Lying beside her after the act, his thoughts had whirled as passages from the book were recalled, turning the act of love into a betrayal – and his beloved into a succubus. His emotions clashed with his intellect and he couldn't handle the strain; it had nearly broken him. Feeling frightened and conflicted, he left their bed and walked out of her life.
He wasn't proud of the recluse he became, but the emotional damage he had done to his beloved Yuuko was terrible. He abandoned her, thinking she had somehow betrayed him, without an explanation or an argument. That became his greatest regret later. Their love having been secretive, she couldn't even attempt to reconcile for fear of losing her job. Slinking away through the halls by day, avoiding as much social contact as he could, Kenji disappeared into the halls of Yamaku and turned inward.
Each day became a struggle to hide from what he had done, and it forced his mind to generate a fantasy – a feminist conspiracy. The destructive book had torn his love for Yuuko away, and then began ripping his mind to shreds. In the fantasy, he was some kind of secret agent sent to expose a dastardly plot threatening all of mankind; but outwardly, he was just a kook. Stifling a laugh, he thought of his younger self being so naïve and impressionable – the exact opposite of his fantasy.
Those were strange days.
Squinting through his thick glasses, the measure of the place still seems the same; a quiet mountain retreat for the so-called unfortunate sons -and daughters, many daughters- of man. Wreathed in peaceful vistas, Yamaku Academy is a reservation for the children society decides are too broken or disturbing to mingle with the masses. Well, maybe not really, but something like that.
Parents send their injured, twisted or mangled offspring here to suckle from the teat of exile, revel in their awful childhood memories, and seek a less-contemptible future. Like a summer camp and the special Olympics had conceived a child. Whatever the case, he hadn't exactly enjoyed his Academy days, that was certain. Though half his memories were a fantasy, so it may not have been as bad as he recalls. There was a pool, so it couldn't have all been bad.
Looking back over at the woman -his woman- driving, he tries to focus on her soft features, but finds the effort futile. His damnable eyes persistently betray his desire to view the world as others can. His lovely bride -bearer of future generations- mutters nervously as her head bobs and weaves, her eyes likely darting around like a caged animal. Those deep blue eyes shone with calm serenity – though right now that serenity is turning to frustration. The burgundy locks cascading over her cream-colored skin fall across her shoulders in bunches, and he couldn't resist reaching over to brush them away, exposing her delicate collar-bone. She was an angel, if a skittish one.
She let out a giggle as his hand swept over her shoulder, but it's quickly stifled by a yelp as she slams the brakes. He retracts his hand as they fling forward with the inertia, and she quietly curses in her soft, airy voice, “Dammit, Kenji. I need to concentrate!”
He smiles and lets her anger peter out, knowing it will be short-lived. She never holds onto anger for too long, choosing to cast it aside rather than dwell on it – one of her greatest strengths. Catching the roll of her eyes as the car starts moving, he thinks to ask, “couldn't we just park on the lawn somewhere?”
She gives him a sideways glance, but doesn't answer. Her propensity for doing the right thing had always been admirable – if a little frustrating. Yuuko didn't like to make a big deal out of anything, but she was perfectly willing to let small things overwhelm her sometimes; like finding a parking space somewhere near a crowded school-turned-festival-ground. She could forgive anything, almost. Had he known forgiveness was in her heart back then, his last years at Yamaku may have been brighter.
Evading her was a difficult balance, but he managed it well enough – at least outwardly. He installed additional locks on his door to deter potential trespassers, quit the literature club, stayed away from the library, and if he awoke feeling paranoid he stayed in his room. Nobody knew why exactly, but they also didn't ask. Disturbing as it sounds, he might have drank himself to death or begun committing atrocities had it not been for that transfer student.
Hisao Nakai. That dude had balls.
Well, at least that's how the saying goes. He never said why he was cast down to Yamaku, but the sentiment is the same. He became a friend, a confidant, and a voice of reason Kenji had desperately needed – and he was a master of reconnaissance. At least, according to the fantasy. With Kenji's vast knowledge and Hisao's keen infiltration skills, the feminist agenda was headed for certain doom. Likely only parts of that were true, but he was so wrapped up in fanatical practices, conspiracy theories and preparations for the coming cataclysm, he couldn't distinguish reality from fiction. It all seems so surreal now.
Looking back out the window, the globs of color indicating the surroundings move by slowly. His inability to see had plagued him since childhood, but his memory helps fill in the blanks. The large red and white blur is the main building, the colorful blurs are the festival booths, and the moving blurs are people; many of whom seem to be wearing the green and white school uniform he remembers. Looking out there now gives him a contented, nostalgic feeling – like a festival should.
Years before, the festival was a crowded cacophony, and he had been terrified by the whole ordeal. Hisao had tried to convince him of its innocuousness, but he was too frightened to listen. Instead he locked himself in his room until nightfall, then stealthily walked up to the roof to drink himself silly. It wasn't a good memory.
Looking back at Yuuko, he silently wishes things had been different – even though the separation made them stronger. He never asked for specifics on how she spent her time during their dissonant period, but he imagines the festival is a sore spot in her memory – though for different reasons. Not all the memories are bad, so he hopes she isn't feeling consternation about attending. Another reason to lament his poor vision; not being able to see the subtleties of her expression. She seems content enough; though, if they don't find a place to park soon, she might have a nervous breakdown.
That would be the fourth one in a month.
A slip of the tongue as his friend reeled from some relationship woes led Hisao to discovered Kenji's romantic history. In retrospect, he felt good telling somebody. He never thought the guy would go and make it a big deal. Cagey, that one was, and devious. He figured out the whole story and used Kenji's paranoia against him. Leaving a cryptic note under his door, Hisao lured him to a place near the track at dusk. It was a carefully laid trap, executed to perfection.
There, she awaited his arrival behind the bleachers – with Hisao nearby. The guy may actually have been as crafty as his fantasies deemed. Still, he thought he had been betrayed again. Enmity in his heart, he balked at his friend and tried to turn away, but the stifled whimpering from the woman he had loved echoed in his ears, and he fell silent.
The succubus he had imagined was gone, and in its place was just Yuuko – red-faced and sobbing. She looked so tired and fragile, like a leaf caught in a breeze; but she still had strength. Stepping forward, he saw the reflection in her eyes – his reflection. In that lucid moment, he understood who the monster had been.
Entranced, he stood there watching her approach, her face a mix of relief, anguish, frustration and rage. When he saw the rage boiling over and her dainty hand flew, he didn't recoil. He deserved the slap; small penance for his transgressions.
Overwhelmed, he hardly noticed when she fell against him, pounding his chest with her balled fists. Every fantasy he concocted, the carefully crafted delusions he hid behind, melted out of his conscious mind as she drummed, and the only things remaining were the love he'd always kept, and the regret he tried to hide.
Tears streaming down her face, she continued drumming his chest until her rage was spent and her shoulders fell slack. Finally she looked up at him through weary eyes and asked a single question, “Why?”
Stunned into silence, he simply didn't know anymore.
Clarity found him and he saw what he had done – the pain he had caused. Looking into her eyes, it didn't seem to matter why; he had betrayed her and invented a fantasy to hide from the despicable act. There was no way to take that back, no recourse, no hopeful resolution. He couldn't say anything to change what he had done.
Looking down upon his beautiful Yuuko, anguished and distraught, his eyes welled up and tears streaked his face. Reaching up to remove his glasses, her hand lingered on his cheek where she struck him only moments before. Her caring eyes saw through into his soul in that moment, and she smiled.
She loved him, she said, and he nearly collapsed.
All the fear, doubt, pain and sadness fell out of him as they embraced in that dusky field; they've hardly been separated since.
It was a manly cry.
Of course, he didn't completely abandon his conspiracy theories. Yuuko may not have been a succubus, but that didn't mean he could let up on his quest for the truth about - well, everything. That was something Yuuko loved about him, she often said. He still fights against rampant feminism, but he no longer believes in an over-arcing plot against manhood. Besides, there are more prevalent conspiracies to be concerned about; Illuminati, Knights Templar, Aliens -the intergalactic kind- and the Dutch, to name a few.
Oh, the crafty Dutch...
Pulling his glasses off and rubbing his sleepy eyes, Kenji let go of his conspiracy theories for a few moments; instead recalling what brought him here. He feared attending the reunion, and seeing -well, being in a room with- the people he had avoided, berated or repulsed, but he also sought redemption. He had some apologies to levy toward a number of his classmates. Five years late, but Yuuko says -and he believes- it's never too late for forgiveness.
Now they just need to find a parking space.
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Previous|Next (yeah this might come later than sooner, sorry)
Poor Yuuko wandering around trying to find a parking space with Kenji dreamily looking out the window remembering how much of a kook he was... I liked writing this. I figured Kenji became so... odd... because he was in love and didn't know how to deal with the idea. The book -which I did try to come up with a realistic equivalent for, but my research led nowhere- was merely a catalyst for that fantastical world he invented to hide from how he felt. I tried to make Kenji endearing - like he was hapless somehow. Hopelessly naive. Instead of confronting it, he ran away and managed to hide for more than a year before Hisao caught on and shoved them back together.
The one point I wanted to convey was that Yuuko forgave him for being such an idiot. He was young and terrified and she probably knew how he felt. her initial reaction is pure rage, but it peters out when she sees the remorse in his eyes - at least that's how I thought it would work. I may be blowing smoke in all this, but I think it works in context.
Now go have a manly cry.
