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TALES FROM ANAKT GARDEN
Welcome to Tales from Anakt Garden, where every Tuesday and Thursday, we discuss findings from a great civilization of the past (or the future, depending on how you look at it). Get ready for spooky tales about schools of giant jellyfish, masses of empty graves in an empty garden, snow that falls without season, the statue of a mysterious ancient deity made of bone, a popular lullaby about falling asleep for eternity sung to little children, the charred remains of a crater where a giant rocket once crashed, and a few more bonus stories. If you're into true crime or horror podcasts with a little twist, then this might just be the perfect one for you. Subscribe to us to not miss a single episode!
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Inside the cramped bathroom, the warm vapor has begun to settle on the glass door of the shower. Sua, who has just finished tugging her shirt over her head, can’t resist the temptation of pressing her palm against the dampness, her fingers slightly overlapping with a second set of fingerprints that must have been left there not too long ago. When she pulls away, she finds that the outline of her palm neatly aligns with the broken lines of the other palm.
In a book she read not too long ago, she had learned that hands were one of the earliest motifs to appear in art. Even the humans who lived in caves had taken the time to spread their palms over the cave walls or larger slabs of rocks, dragging a second, sharper stone around each finger, until even the crests and troughs of the folds of skin in between them had been immortalized in time. In the end, these important historical artifacts, carefully preserved in museum exhibits, were no different than the chocolate-stained thumbprints left by a toddler on the kitchen counter or a trench in the shape of a small palm left in the sandpit of the local playground.
Perhaps it is a human tendency to leave traces of themselves on every plain surface in their natural habits. Greed, Sua muses, circling the crooked bone of her wrist with the thumb and index finger of her other hand. Or perhaps desperation to go against the running clock. This part of their bodies that they boldly use to have and to hold. It is no wonder that babies are born with the tightest grips.
Let go of that, Sua, her sisters would say, prying the building blocks or doll heads out of her hands. You’ve played with that long enough. It’s our turn now. Only recently has Sua rediscovered the joys of having something solely in her grasp. She worries that it has made her a little too possessive. She finds herself unable to relinquish her hold.
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EPISODE #86: BON BON JELLYFISH PLANET
Have you ever seen a jellyfish up close? Those magnificent, translucent creatures that almost look like moving beams of light, which seem to live as long as light itself does. A sting from one is usually harmless, but it can prove deadly in certain circumstances. And we might be telling you about these very circumstances. The jellyfish we know might seem harmless or even beautiful, but imagine if they were the size of a skyscraper. Imagine if your entire body measured up to merely a fraction of their tentacles. Imagine knowing a single misstep could get your entire skull crushed under their weight. Imagine living in such fear and still calling it love. In today's episode, we talk about a little jellyfish girl who was adopted by giant jellyfish under the sea. She was…
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“Ah,” a voice calls out from behind. “Don’t tell me you started without me already?”
When she turns, she finds Mizi leaning against the frame of the bathroom door, clutching a white towel speckled with pink clematis. Their color is a couple of shades darker than the color of Mizi’s hair. The day Sua first met her, it was long and brown, falling all the way past her shoulders. Now, it curls up at the base of her neck, saturated with a bright pink.
Just last week, Sua had held a pair of scissors in her hand and snipped away a few unruly pieces of growth while Mizi rambled about the latest episode of the true crime and supernatural horror podcast she was currently following. Afterward, she had slipped on a pair of blue rubber gloves, not unlike the events of the incident Mizi had been describing, but she had only used them to apply bleach to the roots of Mizi’s hair. When Mizi had started breathing a little faster between words, Sua had bent down to press kisses along the edges of Mizi’s shower cap until she had felt Mizi quietly exhale.
Often, Sua would roll around in bed in the middle of the night to find Mizi with her phone in her hands, flashes of screen light reflected in her glasses. A bad habit, she said when Sua touched the puffy skin under her eyes. I want to stop, but I can't. I can't, Sua.
As a kid, Mizi had no one monitoring her screen time. Often left to play by herself in her mother’s house in a town with barely thirty thousand people, she did not know what to do with herself. Every corner she turned, she kept catching glimpses of her own face in yet another reflective surface. The glass window long shattered by her own misaimed beach ball, the polished revolving doors of the newly built shopping center, the smeared sheen of her own spectacles, and the sea, oh, the sea that kept coming back to her feet no matter how far either of them went.
It’s like everything I needed was right in my reach, but the rest of the world felt so far away, she had told Sua once, her still-long hair falling over Sua’s shoulder, the burden of it shared between both. No one ever left, you know? They were always there. The auntie who ran the hotteok stall down the street, the workers at the local grocery store and pharmacy, and even the uncle who came to deliver the mail twice a month. Everyone knew me. Mizi-ah, they said, you are still such a happy child. Mizi-ah, you have grown so tall, haven’t you? Mizi-ah, your hair looks just like your mother’s. Once it is a little longer, it’ll be hard to tell you apart. Mizi-ah, you’re buying two of the red bean pastries? I won’t tell Shine if I see her, it’s okay. They all touched me like I was theirs. Their adorable little Mizi. No one else. I loved it, and then I couldn’t stand it anymore.
Here, Mizi had paused, straightening up. Gathering pink strands in a single fist, she had twisted them up with a tie at the back of her head. No matter how I changed, no matter what I grew to like or dislike, no matter whether I laughed or cried, they never saw me as someone else. As grateful as I was for that love, I started feeling like I would be crushed under the weight of it.
Unable to grapple with the claustrophobia of unending mundanity, she had tried to dispel her restlessness by lying on her living room floor. At first, she only pressed the buttons of the remote, watching channels flash by. Then a flash of red caught her eye. Then another. Unbeknownst to her mother, who was usually cooing at her from the other room, she had ended up bearing witness to all kinds of scenes. Giving the fears inside her a real shape was rather relieving, she had admitted. Within the 32-inch frame of the television screen, she was able to get a certain control over them. All it took was the press of a green button, and they would all go poof, just like that.
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EPISODE #136: THE DEATH THAT NEVER WAS
In a peculiar discovery, scientists have spotted over two thousand metal discs seared into the grounds of a desert planet in close proximity to our Solar System. These discs are inscribed with what appears to be the names of individuals, but closer inspection and excavation conducted via Robonaut 143 has revealed that these discs only contain a few ashes. Scientists hypothesize that the particular civilization residing on this planet preferred to cremate the remains of their dead and then bury the ashes as a show of love and respect. Based on inscriptions on the pseudo-graves, the naming system for members of this civilization appears to closely resemble ours. Examples include: Hyu_woo, E_i, J_ehwa, Rosal_e, Ma_ty, Iv_n, and S_a, among others. Strangely, many, like the last one, appear to be empty…
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These days, the habit is getting out of hand. Sua tries to remind Mizi of other ways of being, especially when she has her steeping in cold water, rinsing the dye off her hair. While doing so, she likes to take the opportunity to rub at the stains on Mizi’s face, before bringing her thumb over the upturned corners of her mouth, reminding her that there is no need for unnecessary smiles when Sua’s around. But I am always happy when I am with you, Sua, Mizi typically replies, but her lips slowly sink lower, until they have settled into a subtler curve. When she and Mizi first started dating, even Sua was guilty of being taken by the glow Mizi often exuded, an iridescent jellyfish floating past schools of other ordinary fish. Like yet another lone fish at the bottom of the deep sea, Sua had wanted to soak in that light until it dripped from her own pores as well.
Sua now finds herself to be a culprit of the opposite. She has become rather covetous of the disarray of Mizi’s physical features. Raised eyebrows mismatched with flared nostrils. Pursed lips mismatched with unevenly squinting eyes. Not the kinds of funny faces Mizi makes on purpose, squishing her cheeks and widening her eyes in the bathroom mirror while Sua brushes her teeth. No. What Sua keeps stuffed inside her zip-lock heart is the rip in Mizi’s shirt from where it got caught on the bed frame, or the curse she lets out when she stubs her toe on the lower kitchen cabinets.
It is not that Sua wants to see Mizi lose face. But getting to cradle her sometimes pimpled, sometimes bruised cheeks, being the only one entitled to the nitty-gritty of her sorrow, is a role she has learned to proudly embrace.
But today is Sua’s turn to soak in the little sea contained in the four walls of their bathroom. She feels sweat gather between her breasts, pooling under the elastic band of her sports bra. Mizi will surely see the damp stains when she draws closer. A part of Sua still wants to wrap her arms around herself at the realization, like she would at the dinner table as a child. What a privilege, another part of her considers as Mizi quickly walks through the non-existent space between the sink and toilet. What a privilege it is to be part of each other’s makings and unmakings.
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EPISODE #16: THE SNOWFALL AT THE END OF THE WORLD
Imagine deciding to go for a walk on a sunny day in summer, only to spot white flakes in the air. Do you imagine feeling excited? Well, don't. Take a closer look at what has landed on your fingers. Take a whiff. Maybe two. Do you smell the crisp scent of something that has just been burnt? Does the snow feel particularly brittle, crumbling in a single touch? Does the texture remind you of anything? Ever stayed till the end of a bonfire? Ever touched what is left behind? But what if what was being burned was much worse than expected? What if…
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"Sua,” Mizi whines, already making grabby hands at her. The evidence of her touch on the shower wall is barely fading, but she still wants to conquer another part of this apartment. Well, Sua thinks, stepping into the small circle of Mizi’s arms. She has never been home anywhere else. "Sua, you have betrayed me."
"Hush." Sua averts her eyes at the proximity, even after all this time. Mizi has no such hesitations, readily leaning over her. There is not that much of a difference in their heights, but Sua feels oddly shrunken when the curvature of Mizi's shadow falls over her. She is still learning how to toe the line between security and erasure. Fingers drift toward her shoulder blades, slipping underneath the straps, pulling them upward. The glossy purple polish on her nails has mostly been scraped off, likely the work of Mizi's own hands. "I only took off my shirt. It looks like you are going to take care of the rest."
Mizi grins. She is quick to slide the straps off Sua's shoulders. "Happily. I will do this for Sua all the time if she lets me!"
Not many others have felt the same over the course of Sua's life. She recalls afternoons sitting in the rolling chair, the narrow end of the liner poking along her waterline, making her eye itch. But she couldn't have moved, not when the hot metal plate of the straightener was menacingly approaching her hair from the sides. She knew how much it would sting if it touched her cheek, especially when she had to hold herself back from flinching because that could disturb the hands carefully applying lipstick on her bottom lip. It takes a lot of effort to look adorable, Sua, her mother said from the sidelines, if she shifted in her seat more than a couple of times. You have to work hard to be loved in this world.
Yet it had been the first adjective Mizi had used to describe Sua at the university entrance ceremony, pointing at the pig tails on either side of her head. Whoa, you really look like a snow-flower doll. So adorable! Sua might have been ruined of the ability to find any good in that word, but she had managed to find it in Mizi's smile that day. She keeps finding it every day, still.
Sua's sisters had admittedly been a little better than her mother, but they had been far more impatient. Sua can still feel the force with which the dress had been yanked over her head, the infinite beads sewn along the infinite ruffles scraping against. Come on, they had hissed, twisting her foot in the wrong direction to fit it inside the soft stocking. We will be the ones Mother scolds if you're late. Haven't you caused enough trouble already? Have some mercy on your elder sisters.
In contrast, Mizi extends Sua's arms upward one by one, kissing the short black hairs poking outward from the crevice of her armpits, too wiry to be lovable. Putting her palm over the parts of Sua's face most susceptible to damage—the nose, the lips, and the chin—she starts to tug on the elastic band of the bra, steadily dragging it over Sua's skin. She does not keep track of the seconds, not even when the padding gets stuck on Sua's head and Mizi has to pull it through the hole. Sua has never inconvenienced anyone else this much, only for the consequence to be a kiss pressed on the patch of darker skin underneath her naked breasts. No one has taken so much time with her. Well, perhaps other than her eldest sister.
Of everyone in her family, Sooyeon-unnie had been the kindest. Kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, she had tickled the soles of Sua's feet before slipping them inside those tight black shoes. You can't laugh so loud when you're with them, okay, Sua? she had said, clipping the silver buckles in place. Sua liked looking at the light reflecting off of her glassy eye, making it shine like a pretty pearl. But you mustn't not laugh, either. In that place, you don't have too long to make a good impression. It's not like at home. You might not have tomorrow to try again. Before they discard you, before they decide you're not good enough, you must give it your best shot. For unnie. Do it for unnie, okay?
Mizi is kneeling, too, her knees wobbly against the slippery tiles of the shower. She holds onto the waistband of Sua's skirt, allowing her to take one foot out and then another, now that Sua is able to do it standing up as a grown-up. Unlike Sua's big sister, Mizi doesn't scold her when she crosses her bare legs, wiggling her toes against the cold floor on instinct. Instead, she only hooks her fingers onto the topmost part of Sua's panties, sliding them down her legs. On the way, she blows air onto the hair surrounding the labia, causing Sua to flush and try to squeeze her legs together.
This only has Mizi doing it again, this time, making Sua giggle louder than she was advised against before.
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EPISODE #05: THE GREAT H(E)AVEN PROMISED BY THE GODS OF ANAKT
The religious habits of ancient humankind have always been a point of fascination for us. We wonder about the gods they believed in, whether they were the same as our gods. Without the technology we have today, how did the word of god spread? Or did they perhaps have technology far more advanced than ours? On the same desert planet, scientists have found the prevalence of the same large shape, likely a deity that members of the civilization believed in, which oddly resembled a great jellyfish. As the location of one of the largest statues found was within a short distance from the empty metal graves, it is hypothesized that the dead were believed to attain a kind of heavenhood by being in the good graces of the deity. Given the large number of rocks with music chord inscriptions that scientists have amassed from the same site, it is believed that music might have been the way to appeal to this deity. More at…
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Joy approaches the body with a bend, making it impossible to maintain a straight spine. Sua knows this best when she is under Mizi's hands, letting Mizi's index and middle fingers skim the hollow of her own back, trying her best to follow along with the touch. This requires going against every instinct honed over the years. All the hours her mother made her walk up and down the hallway with a stack of books resting on top of her head. Principles of Mathematical Analysis: Vol IV. The Little Book of Skin Care. Keto Korean Cuisine. All the facets of her that made her valuable. She had to learn how to balance them altogether. Keep your back straight. Don't hunch. Yes, just like that. If you do this for at least three hours every day, your body will know that it has to let go of its bad habits and bad postures.
With Mizi, Sua's back finds its arch again. In bed, when she is rutting over Mizi's strong thighs, fingers trying their very best to clutch either the sheets or Mizi's hair. In the kitchen, when Mizi wraps her arms around her waist from behind, jolting the mug in Sua's hands, spilling warm milk down the front of her shirt. In the bathroom now, when Mizi pushes her down to sit on the floor, tucking one of Sua's legs over the other. It is impossible to keep her spinal cord in line. It longs to slouch under the pressure of Mizi's hold. It longs to slouch under the pull of that tenderness, which commands a shift in the center of gravity of her body.
Like a badly folded paper crane, reversing every lesson on etiquette learned, Sua goes forward and down, her stomach creasing. Against her collarbone, her chin dimples as she leans her neck further to give Mizi access to the back of her head. There is nothing smooth about her body in this instance. The yellowish white LED light of the bathroom reveals just how much her skin is capable of crinkling. Of all the moments Sua has been on display, this one is likely marked the lowest in value and appeal. Surely, this is her mother's worst nightmare. Perhaps she was right in saying that Seoul would ruin her.
Well. Sua supposes it is fortunate that there will only ever be one witness.
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EPISODE #12: A LULLABY FOR THE DAWN OF ETERNAL SLEEP
Lullabies are a genre of music found across diverse cultures. Often created with the aim to soothe infants as well as impart cultural knowledge onto them right from their early years, lullabies have been found to contain essential information regarding ethnic traditions and other aspects of identity. For example, many early lullabies in Europe were found to contain references to Christian imagery. Well, today's lullaby is unlike any other. Imbibed with references to endless darkness and infinity, My Clematis, describing the act of delaying the inevitability of separation between two lovers, appears to have been sung to infants and older children alike, particularly dead ones. Let's take a look at the lyrics…
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Gradually, the sweet scent of lilies fills the room. Sua can hear a pop of plastic as Mizi squeezes the shampoo bottle. Through black fringes, she sees Mizi pour the liquid between her fingers, lathering thoroughly before starting to rub it in between the partitions of Sua's hair.
Sua herself enjoys the smell slowly spreading over her scalp. Lilies are rather unassuming flowers. Large, but delicate. Most suitable to be gifted for planned special occasions, such as birthdays or anniversaries, rather than impromptu lavish displays of love. Sua, who has never quite felt as pompous as a rose, finds that such convenient and purposeful blooms suit her.
Each graze of skin against skin awakens a memory:
Sua knows the nicks on Mizi's fingers from trying to slice peaches for Sua with the Hello Kitty knife earlier this morning. Having grown up dependent on those much larger than her, Mizi has never gotten much of a chance to become acquainted with her own strength. She tends to push the handle of the knife too hard, which pushes the blade in faster than expected, proving quite detrimental for any limbs in contact with the fruit being cut. I don't know what I am doing wrong here. What if I hurt you like this because I don't realize it? But Mizi tries to be a lot gentler when it's Sua's scalp she is massaging, applying light pressure with the pads of her fingers.
Sua knows the pads of those fingers, their rough edges, pruned after the first hour they spend soaking in the dirty clothes in the washer incorrectly, then again after the next hour they spend doing it correctly. I feel like I was never given the chance to get to know even my own mistakes, Sua catches Mizi whispering sometimes, when the laundry cycle stretches into the third hour, even after Sua has shown her all the appropriate settings. But even that is blaming someone else, isn't it? How do I stop? How do I rely only on myself? It makes Sua hope Mizi never goes to anyone else with her questions. Still, Mizi remembers how Sua likes being rubbed behind the ears with her knuckles because her sister used to do it to her as a child.
Sua knows those knuckes, those raised bumps of bone, the faint outline of stars still in between them, drawn with a ballpoint pen. The pollution in the Seoul sky often makes it impossible to spot any lights beyond flickering airplanes. On such nights, Mizi holds out her fists in front of Sua, telling her to blow on each to make a wish. If the stars aren't willing to show their silly faces, I'll bring them into this room for you. Sua, you love them so much, don't you? Now, Mizi leaves their inky leftovers smeared in the crook of Sua's neck, turning her into a part of the same sky.
All of it. All of it is evidence of a kind of naivety Sua has never been able to afford. As a result, with Mizi, she often feels like she is living her childhood all over again. Unlike the first time, it leaves her envious, unpoised. Pouting, stomping her feet. Snuggling deeper, eager to sustain the magic. For as long as possible.
Before this, Sua never considered herself to have an aptitude for wishes or prayers. If she asked the universe for anything, the wish stayed short. Curt. To the point. To fit into the dress for the next pageant. To know all the answers for the upcoming test. To be remembered at the dinner table. But she knew that wishes did not usually do much. Intention and effort did. To be so fortunate could not simply be a matter of chance. At least not in her house.
These days, in their little apartment, Sua finds herself going the extra mile. Blowing on candles or eyelashes. Slipping a fork inside Mizi's bag during exams. Putting coins in both their shoes. To be happy, she asks the universe now. To be happy in this dream just a little longer.
Wouldn't that be so nice?
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EPISODE #207: THE WITCH'S DECISION
Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned. Such gendered notions of revenge have permeated mass media and popular culture for centuries. However, there may be some truth to them, after all. The scorched grounds on which today's story takes place are evidence of one woman's grief, following the loss of her "dearest friend." Standing alone among the masses vilifying her existence, she only harbored one regret: the empty space on the other side of the grass. Other items retrieved from the site include a golden disc containing certain sounds, including what is suspected to be a recording of The Witch's own voice, saying the following words: "Here, it's y_ur turn now. 'E_en if fal_ a_leep for in_in_ty, please d_n't lea_e my _ide.' S_ng it, so we'll be ev_n, okay? Sing _t, and y_u can fi_al_y come ba_k." Analysis suggests...
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With her bottom lip pushed up, Mizi reminds Sua of a child, sometimes, too.
"I said that I was waiting for you," she is muttering, rubbing a finger along Sua's hairline, scraping off the dead skin cells. Sua holds back a wince when she feels a slight sting, a stray hair or two being pulled at its roots, likely getting caught in Mizi's flurried hands. It is the harshest Mizi's touch has gotten all afternoon, and Sua understands why. Emotion can be a dangerous thing. Sua does not say anything. She will not say anything yet. Now is not the time. People do not like to be made to feel conscious of their actions all of a sudden. This, she has realized. Accountability has to be offered secretly, like a pill hidden inside a slice of bread. "But he still wouldn't leave me alone. He's been super helpful so far, you know? I wonder if I gave off the wrong impression somehow…"
Sua remembers the boy. A forgettable, blonde entity with the guts to stand in the shade of the same tree branches as Mizi, just as Sua herself arrived with an umbrella. Looking at his furrowed brows, Sua could tell that he had taken Mizi's rosy cheeks at face value, drawing his own conclusions based on her crinkled eyes. What had he seen reflected in them? Sua wonders. His own face? When Mizi bends to part Sua's bangs, Sua spots the lines of her own flat mouth caught in those golden irises, an unimportant insect chosen to be stored in a bead of amber. Sua does not know if she wants her ire immortalized this way, but she does not want anyone else to take her place, either.
By now, the color has drained from Mizi's cheeks, the steam giving them quite a pale appearance. Her eyes have returned to their ordinary width. I told you so, Sua feels the strange urge to say out loud, as she does when Mizi gets peach splatter all over the kitchen counters or washes the reds with light colors, staining the white dress her mother gifted her entirely crimson. Today, it hangs from their balcony like a premonition. Did you tell him? Did you tell him how nice you have it here with me? In another life, she thinks she might have said something similar.
Once, in elementary school, Sua had been asked to feed the class pet rabbit for a week. Every morning, she would watch the little creature bump its head into the side of its cage, not even realizing that a few leaves of lettuce had been left near the open door. It was as adorable a sight as it was pitiful. The creature neither realized the offered chance of sustenance nor the possibility of freedom. Sua thinks this is how Sooyeon-unnie might have felt, watching Sua slide the strap too far back into her buckles, preparing to be lifted into the car seat that had still been a little too tall for her. Sua thinks this is how Sooyeon-unnie might have felt, knowing she had to step in behind her. To be responsible for another more clueless creature while one is a rather clueless creature themselves is not an easy ordeal.
Especially when between Mizi and Sua, unlike between them and anyone else that has come before, the places could so easily be swapped.
But Sua thinks of Mizi, who had to endure being patted on the head throughout her younger years, considered incapable of any deeper gestures. She thinks of Mizi, who wanted evidence that her hands could be scraped or bleed deeply like others, who wanted to be connect with those like her not just in her joy but also in her grief, so she had stepped over the border of her town and walked all the way into this kitchen, where she left blood stains behind on knife handles and napkins. She thinks of Mizi, who wanted her hurt or fears not frequently dismissed by polka-dotted band aids, so she watched them play out on the screen over and over again, until Sua slipped into her arms, kissed the rings under her eyes, and turned her device off. But is that not its own kind of cruelty? How long before Sua's kisses become another kind of band-aid?
Feeling Mizi's nails dig into a particularly tender part of her head, Sua considers that perhaps all the bad parts have always been real. Perhaps that is what both of them have been wanting to hear. To bear the hurt quietly, to carry its grudge forever. Have they not done this before? Perhaps it is time to peek under the bed. Perhaps if they admit to it, they will be able to see beyond it. Resting on top of Mizi's shoulders, Sua might just be taller than all her sisters and her mother combined. She wonders what reality lies above their tall statures.
"Mizi, it hurts a little. Could you please be a little softer over there?" Sua tries to say, leaning backward into Mizi's legs. Mizi pauses, the corners of her eyes drooping under her misted spectacles. "Yes, right there, thank you. And tell me that last part again, please. I didn't quite catch what you said about that loser…"
When Mizi's touch immediately lightens, Sua marvels at how quick that was. Has it always been so simple, in this world and another? The thought is as relieving as it is terrifying.
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EPISODE #87: My God, My…
On the desert planet, past the ruins of slums and other human communities, lies a deserted shack. Rumored to have been The Witch's final resting place, this is the location of two graves, one filled with ash and the other containing a charred body, evidence suggesting an attempt at self-immolation. Strangely, the gravestones don't bear names, but rather the following inscription: My God, My Universe...
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It's rude not to pick up after yourself, Sua's mother used to say, when Sua was little enough to squeeze into the sink for baths. Come now, gather your mess and dispose of it in the trash can. Sua, still shivering in the cold bathroom air, would put her fingers down the sink drain, picking up the unruly hairs she had shed in the process, the parts of her growth she had soon learned to discard on her own, ashamed.
But Mizi sticks each black strand on the white wall, as if they are rewards to be displayed. Without hesitation, she touches the shower drain with her bare hands, untangling the hair caught in the wire mesh of the cover. After almost thirty minutes of having Mizi's fingers on her naked skin, it is this that makes Sua fluster, poking Mizi's ankles with her wiggling toes.
"Mizi," she says, looking at the dirty water going down the train, taking all her decorum with it. "You don't have to."
Mizi turns at her, picking another black strand from around the shampoo bottle. Sua has no idea how it has gotten there. "I don't mind," she says, arranging it next to all the other proofs of Sua's shedding. Mizi looks at the parts that are no longer Sua's with the same awe with which she looks at the parts that still are. "It's my own doing, too, right?"
Grinning, she starts to make her way to the bathroom door, where the white towel with the pink clematis is draped over the hooks, hanging like a promise left incomplete. Sua shivers, suddenly aware of the rapid loss of her body heat, now that Mizi's hands have abandoned her briefly. For some reason, she suspects that she has been much colder, once before. She stares at her wrinkled hands, then follows the trail of wet footprints, which are taking shape amidst the white expanse of the floor. They remind her of developing negative photographs, the underbelly of time and eternity. Sua pauses when she reaches Mizi's feet, which are returning from the doorway.
The towel is wrapped around her torso, going around once, then twice. Almost a shroud, she muses. Its fluffy corners are tucked underneath her arms. In the hazy glass of the shower wall, Sua thinks it almost looks like she is wearing a dress. She begins to hum a song she is not sure where she has heard before. Leftover vapor settles around them, reminiscent of a snowfall from another world. Sua shivers again.
There is a hitch in breath. Whether it is her or Mizi's, she is no longer sure. Suddenly, arms go around her neck, a pair of spectacles falling into her lap from the force. In the crook of Sua's neck, Mizi is so very still.
"Sorry," she whispers, taking a shuddering breath. "Sorry. For a second, I couldn't see you in all the mist. You seemed like you were going to disappear. I got scared."
The bulb overhead flickers, a shard of light suddenly entering Sua's eyes. She has to blink rapidly to clear her vision. When Mizi pulls back up, she suddenly seems much older, the shifting shadows making flesh around her right eye look oddly discolored, the same way Sua's sister's left eye was. In the mirroring realities, the tiles underneath them seem to fade away. For a second, there is either grass or sand under Sua's feet.
"I think I had a dream like this," Mizi says, tucking Sua's hair behind her ear. Her fingers come to rest on Sua's neck, right where her pulse is. Slowly, they begin to trace shapes. Letters. S. U. A. Familiar. But for once, they continue. I. A. M. S. O. R. R. Y. "In the dream, you weren't there anymore, and I didn't know what to do. I searched for you for a long time. There were so many things I wanted to say. But I couldn't. I couldn't at all. Just now, I felt like I was in the same dream again. I knew that even if I couldn't bring you back, I still wanted to hold you as long as I could."
Mizi brings a hand to Sua's right cheek, carefully prying at the skin, until her fingers lift back up with a long black strand in hand. It might be the longest yet. Sua had not even realized she was carrying the weight of it. "You know, Sua," Mizi says, putting the strand against her own cheek. From a little farther, Sua finds that it resembles a burn scar. It's a mark long overdue. "I always thought of love as something that would keep coming without question. Even when I wanted it to stop. I understand now. It means taking a lot of responsibility, right? So, I don't mind. I'm lacking in many ways, but I will do it. I will clean the kitchen counter and do a fourth cycle of the laundry if that's what it takes. I would like to take responsibility for all of Sua. Even the parts I have hurt. Especially those."
Sua stares, feeling the rush of a thousand words rising in her throat, paper cranes on the verge of fulfilling a wish. You haven't hurt me, she imagines saying, but that is not quite true, either. It's okay. I have hurt you, too, haven't I? she imagines asking, but she does not know if she wants to know the answer yet. I love you, she imagines confessing, but they have said it so often that it feels like they have not said anything else at all.
"Me too," she says, then, the towel coming undone. She tucks her bare form against Mizi's as the ancient humans must have done the first time they hugged each other. She wonders how they figured out where the hands went. With the same reverence, she puts hers around Mizi's back. "I would like to take… No, I would like to share responsibility with Mizi, too. For everything."
Later, they will think back to this moment and laugh, not understanding what came over them. Later, the towel will be lying forgotten on the kitchen floor, meaningless once again. Later, Mizi will gather each strand of Sua's hair. From the bathroom walls, from the vacuum cleaner in the closet, from underneath the tables and the chairs, and even from her own fuzzy shirts, and gasp when she realizes a couple are silver or gray. Together, they will take note of the trajectory of Sua's life, all the years she gets to live this time around. This time around, Sua will muse. As compared to what else? She will not be sure. She will never be sure.
For now, Sua sniffs along Mizi's skin, taking in all the warmth it emanates, which does not come at the cost of burning. Like this, she feels so much smaller than the girl she is loved by. It is not the first time she has felt this way in front of someone she loves. If to be loved is to let someone else have power over you, Sua finds that she minds it much less if it has to be like this. If it has to be Mizi, after all.
With the power she has been given in return, she reaches up to caress Mizi's cheek.