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With a string of equal antecedents in time the cyclical realization tasted birth again, and this self-complacent awareness served as a dismissive tool for greed and attachment. Indeed, the power of label comforted the soul while garmenting it with a derisive warm cloth. To any more than that said, the form of expression would lose face and rebirth would revert to unpleasant candied honey.
For once in many days it is sunny and serene and the crisp sense of liability imperils the density which would normally weld time into a jointless flow. This careless swaying to nature’s whims might just be the result of Midori’s own inconsistency, though, as it was pointed out on multiple occasions.
The two of them, walking abreast, had decided to pass time together resting away from the intense heat. They did not hurry, nor did they attempt to word any complaint although their dizzy heads were becoming a burden to carry. The road they followed was for a while shadowed with lace patterns of no effect except making it harder for Midori to repress the urge to lick the shimmering drops of Chiaki’s sweat which now gave the impression of having locked sunshine into them. But he pretended to be interested in the scenery and vaguely looked ahead till the previous crowned way stretched its surroundings to reveal a canola field, everything that had been repressed addressing him as ‘clueless’.
Despite the picturesque opening, all bright skies with romantic cloud-spotting potential and endearingly diminished houses afar, Midori didn’t feel like taking in any of that. Evasive fear made him narrow his vision. He felt more at ease falling a bit behind, lashed within the trials of following Chiaki’s steps precisely, although this woolgathering had almost made him oblivious to the sudden setting of gloom. His chest tightened as he observed his friend’s uniform folding beautifully on his legs with each leisure movement; all the same he too, put one languid foot in front of the other and the trajectory gradually became tangled. Now with his head locked dustwards, he knew for certain that he had fallen into a trap. The graciousness of it all was merely a perfidious smile that grabbed his attention as rifts grew until he could eventually connect neither with the inside nor the outside. He clung to Chiaki’s image while enduring the exposure to the sun. At that moment it was perhaps out of humility and honesty that he wanted to speak, but still he kept his secret tongue-tied. The secrecy augmented by this almost uncontrollable focus leaved him with an onerous loneliness which in turn impelled him all the more to confess so that he could be comforted. The sudden decisiveness brought new trouble, however; after all, when the time comes, what should he tell Chiaki first? That he loved him, or that he intended to become a murderer? In either case all that he expected was to be given a label. He wanted Chiaki to spell the name of his disease so he could set on to find a cure, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to survive in this new era of uncertainty. Truly, what he needed most urgently was to get a firm grasp of himself. But in front of a reality over which substance the veil of a dream is thinly draped, and validation does not stir the horizon any more than the scorching sun does, a timorous fellow like him can only back down and tremble, like a gleeful fawn shortly astray in a lone glade.
Chiaki’s intuitive ends shrivelled under the oppressive gaze of his friend, and turning around he saw a preoccupied boy who belonged rather to a Spanish romanticist painting than the resplendent nature inspiring mindless awe which was their witness. Although there was something poetic about his portrait of sickness, everything else seemed to reject his heaviness.
Who was it that said that one might kill oneself from delight? In this case, delight itself might take form and kill you.
Even though he wanted to cheer him up, maybe even say something cool like 'other people’s ignorance is far scarier than your own “don’t knows”’, as he finally brushed off with his forearm the accumulated perspiration from irritably tingly brows, feeling briefly his warm breath on its way back down, he couldn’t help thinking about how ridiculous it was. And so as a proxy, as a substitute, the one tasked with carrying out the plan and the embodiment of a quiet reverberation of superiority, Chiaki simply said, “Look, we’re close to the shed”, and Midori shifted his gaze gently.
The rays of the budding blue sun, February begotten, blissfully cut the earth’s force lines at an appropriate angle for the beginning of a rather warm summer, so when they reached the shade of the wooden roof they were chilled by utmost relief.
Calling it a shed was just a manner of addressing it, in other words, an error-inducing nickname, a code for ‘it’, because there was in fact an wooden pavilion, cast a few meters from the main road and just big enough to shelter a japanese-style food stall. Beyond this façade, however, deeper still in the now grassy bank, locals knew to find a picnic spot- a couple of benches arranged to be guarded by an old, prominent tree which filtered the air into stillness. The elders who spent their lives in either of the two towns punctuating the distance between close horizons could be at times heard calling this spot a fulcrum, with the particular balance maintained by the pavilion and its extension being concentrated in the heavenly mochi melon ice served here as a limited edition, for which Midori and Chiaki walked several kilometers from the south.
"Ah, I wonder why they only sell it in June, I’d understand if it were a seasonal thing but ten days is just cruel. Last year we missed it because we found out a bit too late", sighed Chiaki. He was surprisingly fond of treats, in a more literal sense than Midori.
"Yeah, it’s too specific for there to be no motive", somewhat eerie even, he thought.
Huh?
Ten days from the 11th... that would be the summer solstice.
Is this a pavane for the Tropic of Cancer?
Chiaki's countenance was unclouded yet serious as he was looking around and moving ahead upon the sight of someone, so they soon went through the formalities of being greeted by the counter lady and Chiaki readily placed the order; take-me-away, over there. As expected, she was eager to talk, but everything she said was vague, like the discourse of a child who, having forgotten his homework at home, had to redo the essay in class and couldn't help straining himself to remember what he had written last night, word for word. All the while, though, her eyes instinctively searched for theirs with an animalic glint, seemingly devoid of self awareness yet infinitely expectant, and during the moments when Midori accidentally met her brown pupils, he became paralyzed, with a tensity full of spite, as if subjected inside out to the unfiltered radiance of a blazar, yet he forced himself to maintain the contact hoping he was offering nothing in return. Because of this, at first he didn't notice, but when the old woman focused on folding the white rice paste over the ice cream scoops in medium sized imperfect spheres, something entering Midori's vision shook him to the core. A wart at the base of her neck, hanging on the valley of her sternum…! A person with such a frail conscience and self esteem, carrying himself the wounds of past rejections carefully mulled over and synthesized, at such a vexing sight could only surge up the heat of fury.
Unable to see, not wanting to see.
Averting his eyes, being drawn back to it.
Everything intense and blurry, with the heat, oh, the heat, of summer and jury. But soon even that will be forgotten.
He spent his entire life like this, so nothing uncommon, just butter-making milk stirring, finding his way back home through the path of scorn every time. Empirically, by differentiating from others, he could be himself. This was the idiosyncrasy of the current race.
But what did he want to do with that self?
What did he not want to do with it?
On the other hand Chiaki was able to do whatever he wanted, even when he was dejected. Was he a genius? A human genius, a genius at humanity, with a bottomless well of energy and a crystal clear mind.
If such a person existed next to him, why should he too? If there was any value to mass and numbers...
Strangely enough, his heightened distress permitted him to enjoy the waft tang of a sudden gentle memory, for there was citrus among the desserts that assaulted his senses. This permeated him until the sensations juxtaposed, ugliness and beauty spontaneously, like the folded handwritten letter of a mistress.
It was the case that a few days ago he had eaten on a whim a cute and tiny tangerine. As he was trying to dig his thumb nails in its orange folds to peel it, the itch of hesitation settled on his beds at the call of uncharacteristic empathy for his cutie, making it moanful torture to press the tips any further. Eventually the naked fruit stood on his palm as if bearing the warped sensibility of pressured organs. At this, they both shivered. More than the sight, the feel of its leak and the acknowledgement of the raptured cells nagged him to push it whole in his mouth to be chewed with boring guilt and frustration…
This time he didn’t reach a conclusion, for the skin either, but these images remained stored as possibilities for variations for his own entertainment and for his longing. After all, it is said that where there is a sense of reality, there is also a sense of possibility. Within the boundaries of the current status quo, though, these scholastic exercises were inevitably nonsensical, a caricature of sorts.
How many angels can dance on the point of a pen?
The answer is zero if you believe in none.
Meanwhile, Chiaki was enjoying the company of the vendor and the preparation process. He also chuckled when he noticed Midori out of the corner of his eyes. If you leave him unattended for too long he turns into a shivering squirrel, heh. What a frustrating fellow, it really pissed him off. With a cynical smile he moved his hand on Midori’s thigh, the one close to him, and up under his ribs tracing all too gently around and on the right spot. A clever infiltration using brute force which ensued an unbelievable next moment: the gloomy face of the high schooler possessed by abstinence grimaced and he yelped, forgetting the meaning of tomorrow. Attaboy! Chiaki was very satisfied with himself.
“Augh!!! Why, what was that sound?! Was that you???”
Somehow, the lady’s reaction went through the roof.
“No, erm.. it’s nothing…”
And sometimes even if they are not your actions they are still your consequences. Sheepish or not, it was all the same.
“What do you mean,’no’? I heard you! You lie for nothing, you just don’t want to say, augh...” she seemed to lose strength, brain already split like a dolphin’s trying to assess and give reason to her sensible perception. One shouldn't give scarejumps to diabetics, especially if they have a tendency to take things at face value.
Many distracted glances were persistently exchanged, treading into fine divisions the moments between then and now. They were considered guilty until their innocence was proved, even so, Midori's convicted body was light and breezy, and his cheeks flushed not with resentment but with fondness.
"Well, here you are." A carton plate with a 3 mochi pillow serving, simply yet effectively decorated with powder sugar and mint leaves, was handed to each of them. The boys payed, tried not to stumble as they left the pine stools, and, once the food was safe on a bench surface in the picnic arrangement, Midori sighed, as Chiaki he-
"Finally! T-that.. That was… Gyahahahaha!!"
He was too overjoyed, even for a prankster.
“...”
"I’m glad to see you having fun playing with people, but mind your surroundings.”
“No, no, you’re mistaken. You haven’t a modicum of delicacy for nuance in you. And don’t act like it has nothing to do with you!” His eyes slightly narrowed. “It’s a matter of knowledge and application! Hehe… You turn into a monk statue too often, so it’s boring.”
“How considerate of you to mind this boring person, then.” The ice cream must be melting...
“That’s right, but it seems that I’ve failed. I was doomed from the start since you’re so stuck up in your own narrative. Don’t make heroes fight losing battles! It’s invalidating! But seriously, are you a narcissist? You must like yourself quite a lot, hmm.”
“...”
Hero invalidation? Please, it’s too hot for this. The mochi were becoming sluggish too. Oh, from an angle, the one with the mint looked like a celery mascot.
“If you don’t eat soon, this year will also be wasted, you know.”
“Pretending you didn’t hear that, huh? A coward’s way..."
"Yes, yes. Alright, I owe you one. Shall I return the favour? With enhanced gratitude, of course. I’ll even be nice and let you choose the place and time."
"It's because you act like this that people misunderstand you and get angry. You're gloomy and nothing else. Or should I say sluggish?"
A full blow, slicing through the wind, made it home. Ouch. Utterly devastating.
But more importantly, was Chiaki a molluscophile? wondered Midori. The first time they met he got called a slug, too...And now there seems to be a pattern...Maybe there’s some resemblance, a somatic metamorphosis in the style of Jekyll and Hyde triggered by his presence? Miki and Chyke. No, he should just check a mirror for once, there might be surprises.
The reflection on his wristwatch was too vague to attempt anything, unfortunately.
Chiaki tilted his head to the side displeased. “Well, that’s on you, but you're right, thanks for the meal!”- and took a bite. Soft, creamy, flavourful and, ah, suddenly cold grains of shaved frozen melon, instantly melting, leaving the tongue tingly. What a pleasure.
Midori also ate silently, soothing his ails.
Serenely, a bird perched on a sunbeam coming through the canopy trilled softly leaving its fluttering vibrations to settle, ebbing and flowing, on the amorph of a hazy negative unit in which Chiaki and Midori related to each other, through their relating to their relation, and in the relation to that relation . At that moment it happened to be unfolding sweetly and gradually dissolving like the edible paper of childhood, colorful with the perplexing texture of a treat. It grew in size, ending strewn explodingly until something foreign fused from the rarefied dome of their inflexion, and it was welcomed in the image of their love.
“Although we’re close to the sea, those white clouds make it seem like we’re surrounded by mountains”, Midori pointed out, his voice unperturbing for the manifold symmetry.
“You really don’t say anything before eating. With a Japanese ancestry, that's no good.” He didn't want Midori to think he'd given up on him, after all he’s delicate like that.
“Sometimes it’s embarrassing, that’s all... Thanks for the meal.”
“Hmm… Well, since we’re now both done, how ‘bout we lay down? You must be tired too.”
They stacked their plates and pinned them with a stone so they wouldn't fly away at the first out of the blue gust of afternoon wind, and then rested their satisfied bodies on the ground. The contact with the soil helped them regain their vitality by means of exchanging the discreteness of their stress for new compounds. A new form of return.
"Moving mountains. Are they coming closer, or drifting away?"
Attracted to his voice, Midori nested closer to Chiaki, so that his head could lay between his right pectoral and deltoid. The new sensation soon found him musing about how lovely muscles were; so much so as to make an exception. Usually, even when he wanted to die he hated the idea of being killed by someone else. Only at the end of the day, under the influence of imaginary lovers vesseled in figures whose warmth he desired, it would be fine if it were a high school boy to his liking - in that case the hands to strike him might lighten his weight on the implacable scales of Divine Justice, replacing his cardiac fibers with matching tender feathers. Then, he might have a chance.
It appeared to be rather early for that, because the clouds still had enough brilliance to form ghastly silhouettes, blue and orange, in the induced darkness. But that only meant that other variables were at play when bringing out the permanent undercurrent. Too sleepy to say anything, he had closed his eyelids, giving free reign to his other senses to roam in the unfamiliar space.
Chiaki didn’t find the landscape particularly interesting, he was looking at Midori’s hair which was a shade lighter than his. How soft was it? He never styled it in any particular way so it must have retained its original fluffiness. He coiled a strand around a finger and stroked it with his thumb. Feels good…He relaxed, resigned to the impending nap that circled them until he could hardly recognize the boundary of the contour that separated shapes, time and being.
…
…
And then -
…
In the recurring silence in which even a touch appeared to be screaming.
The rustle of a living being, brushed his leg, a warm breath on his cheeks and real sound that reached him. No human being could even acquire the value of a dream and any such penetration into the realm of thought could only bring misery. But this was no dream, it was a kiss. Coy lips on his, wetly. It returned on his chest and tied him down with limbs.
Eh?
Slowly, Chiaki tangled his fingers with those of the hand that binded him and he squeezed, giving Midori the confirmation he needed.
In other words, unapologetically and unthought, this has simply been an alien’s ‘I love you’.
The more you think about something,
the more you work hard for something,
the easier your mind runs back and forth on a certain path,
casketed, unnecessary,
forced into existence out of sheer boredom,
by the time you properly look at it again, it has grown into something else.
Drawing forward a luminous force, all the previous possessions become a repulsive surplus,
and he smiles, finally rid of them.