August 2010
Walking down the pedestrian way, the late afternoon breeze tossed her let-down hair into free air, causing her nape to shiver, still, she didn’t mind it. Well, she never did. The cracking sound from the thin pile of falling dead leaves she was stepping on seemed didn’t even catch her attention as well.
She kept on walking, vacant stare to the way ahead, not giving any single glimpse to the right side, to the road where cars were being driven hastily rather than slowly.
The road was quite busy, everyone else in the car is either going home from work or catching up for their late shifts. Nine to five, five to one, one to nine, Monday to Friday, how many dollars per hour?
Bugh.
“I’m sorry,’’ said the man who just bumped into her, spontaneously bowing at her.
“It’s fine,” she quickly replied before continuing to walk.
Her chest slightly ached. That man she just encountered jogged her memory of someone that had been lingering inside her head for the past few years. His lanky figure, tousled short black hair, and gleaming dark-colored eyes, very much alike to that specific someone. Someone she was going to meet. Shinichiro.
July 2003
“Can you pass me that open-end wrench?’’ Shinichiro told her.
“Which one?’’ she asked him confusingly. To be honest, she didn’t know a thing or two about this whole motorcycle stuff yet she always demanded herself watch and help him fix his customers’ broken-down vehicle. She loved watching him work.
“That one with the number twelve on it,’’ he pointed at a box full of key sets.
She stood up and began looking for the wrench he asked for while Shinichiro sat beside the motorbike, waiting patiently. He wasn't in rush to get the vehicle done anyway.
“Here you go,’’ she handed him the wrench and sat back.
“You got it right this time,’’ he chuckled. “Remember when I told you to pass me the tire valve but you brought the spark plugs instead,’’ he mockingly said.
“Hey, stop bringing that up. It was quite embarrassing, you know,’’ she huffed and hit his left shoulder. Shinichiro laughed in slight pain.
“Speaking of spark plugs, can you please pass me one?’’ he told her again.
“Yeah sure,’’ she said as she stood up again and walked towards the display counter. “Is it for a two-stroke or four-stroke motorcycle?’’ she continued.
“The four-stroke one,’’ he answered. “See, you’re getting better at this, perhaps sooner or later you’ll become my assistant,’’ he tittered.
“I already am,’’ she giggled. He choked on his cigarette smoke and laughed.
“Anyway, what is this for? I mean, how does this thing work?’’ asked her as she handed him the spark plug over.
Little did she know, Shinichiro burst into excitement every time she put some kind of interest into his occupation. Even it was just a simple question like ‘how often should we change the oil on our motorcycle?’, or ‘why do we have to keep the chain lubricated?’. He would gladly answer those questions, even if he had to make a long paragraph out of it, he’d love to.
“Ummm, how do I explain this, to simply put, your engine won’t start without this, it’s one of the most important spare parts,’’ he explained, ‘’it’s like something that creates a spark to trigger the engine combustion, so your vehicle could run,’’ he added.
“Ah I see,’’ she uttered.
“And you just need to replace it with the new one once it gets damaged,’’ he reciprocated. She was just nodding, signifying that she understood.
“It’s just like you,’’ he suddenly said as he swiftly turned his eyes towards her. She tilted her head in confusion, furrowing her thick eyebrows.
“But the only difference is that you can’t be replaced,’’ he stated.
When she was just a kid, she used to chase butterflies. But now, she never thought someone would give them for free.
“Hahaha, literally rolling on the floor laughing right now,’’ she laughed sarcastically as Shinichiro burst into laughter.
And there was just silence, a comfortable silence right before the witching hour as he kept focused on the motorbike he was working on while she was just staring at his left side facade full of admiration, it was almost like he’s a precious ancient remain.
That moment was something they both unconsciously loved, just enjoying each other’s presence and company, which was more than enough.
Still walking on the empty sidewalk, she looked up to the sky that looked like a painting. “Pretty,’’ she hummed. She could have stopped and stared at it for hours till it darkened. But she couldn't, the only thing in her mind was that she had to reach her destination, just to get to meet him.
She approached an intersection, stopped there for solid forty-five seconds before crossing the two-lane road. She could smell the worn-out brake from a gremlin car she passed by, burnt, the driver must have needed to depress the brake pedal further than usual. It appeared someone had to change the brake pads, she assumed. How did she know this? Who did she learn this from? It’s no other than the man she had been thinking about since the time she wake up this morning, Shinichiro.
August 2003
“So, what are you gonna do after you graduate?’’ Shinichiro asked, pulling down the throttle handle gradually, making sure the person behind him was not startled by the sudden clutch shift.
“Honestly, I don’t know what I’ll do. I never do,’’ she muttered as she rested her chin on his right broad shoulder in comfort.
“It’s fine, no one really does,” he said, loosening the grip of his right hand from the handle, causing the speed to lower on the bumpy road.
Almost every piece of her life being driven by her family. Ruled. Dictated. Coerced. Why? Is it obligatory? But with Shinichiro, she felt free. Everything felt at ease.
“You’ll figure it out soon, just like you always have,” he added, reassuring.
“I hope so,” she grinned.
The slow vehicle entering her neighborhood. It was quiet and secluded. Her house was right at the end of the wide alley. To the right and left were neatly placed houses having their front facades embedded with yellowish dim light. She marveled at what they were up to at this hour, except for the man next door, who lived alone, recently divorced, he must have been watching the late-night news on tv. Other than that, she didn’t know, she barely knew her neighbors.
“We’re here,’’ Shinichiro chimed, snapping her mind out of wandering around.
She got off the motorcycle, standing right in front of her house gate, ready to say goodbye. Wishful thinking, she didn’t want the night to end. Neither did Shinichiro.
“So, see you in the afternoon?”
“I’ll see you in the afternoon,” she replied, throwing a simple smile at him. He smiled back.
Shinichiro took a small U-turn, his precious motorcycle drifting away from where she was standing as she watched his firm back slowly fading into the night.
Later in the afternoon, she finally got to see him, even though it was too late. Way too late. The death of Shinichiro blared like a lightning strike at sunny midday. He was lying in a casket, sleeping peacefully, forever being twenty-three.
Everyone was there. Family. Friends. Neighbors. Lover. They were all doing the same deed. Eulogizing for the dead, grieving.
She perceived a bitter truth, is that a funeral seemed like a perfect place to cry.
And then there was she, finally reached her destination, standing in front of a tombstone, praying. Once in every year? Every special occasion? She had been doing this persistently for God knows how many times, not caring about the invisible wall separating between the dead and the living.
She had always been wondering, ‘why do our loved ones have to go first?’. They said the prettiest flower gets picked first. Cliché. ‘Does that mean we — who are being left — aren’t pretty enough?’. Unfair. She thought to herself, pondering.
For years she was too busy being caught in the fact that the ones who got left alone are the lost ones. ‘Where should they go?’. ‘Where do they belong?’. Too many questions remained unanswered spinning around her conscious mind. Devastation, desolation, both coexisted within.
All these years had gone by, she profoundly did question herself to whom she belonged. Well, isn't it obvious? She belonged to Shinichiro. Once.
“Have you finished yet?” asked a man with a noticeable scar on his face, standing behind her.
“Yeah,” she muttered, taking a glance at him before bidding one last goodbye to the well-maintained stone.
She turned around, leaving the dead alone, again. Stepping out of the graveyard with the man who was encircling her in a tight embrace, someone she belonged to, now.
