Parallel Raindrops

The story I was looking for, began with your words.

"If you could change one thing in high school, what would it be?"

          I looked up from my book, slightly annoyed. This question came out of nowhere and it irritated me, to say the least. Light brown eyes stared back at me intently, as a tiger encroaches its prey. The warm sunlight caressed his face, giving him an unusual earthly expression. It suited him.

          "Why are you bringing this up?" I asked him. My dubious tone must have amused him. His lips broke into a wry smile and he shook his head slightly. "Well?" I repeated.

          He did not answer.

          I rolled my eyes and picked up my book again. Distractions were the last thing I needed. With the hassles of nursing life and dealing with personal issues, the need to let my id rise from the dead " oh, GOD. Heaven. A break from all the Brunner and Suddarth, Lippincott and Wilkins, Doenges… What happened to Koyczan, Kafka, Moore?

The world of Haruki Murakami was enthralling and I wanted to dive into it again, resurfacing only when I need to breathe. When he asked me out for coffee and a quiet place to read, I jumped in on the idea. It's been ages since I've read quality writing. Besides, who am I fooling? I just really wanted to see him again.

 

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          We agreed to meet in the Kapre Roito. I'm not a fan of their coffee, with the ridiculous prices they placed on a tiny six-ounce cup. But still, he liked the cream lattes they made, and I liked him more than rip-offs, so I conceded. Butterflies turned to rampaging elephants in my stomach. What time was it? Was I too early? Damn it, maybe I should’ve stayed outside, why is it so ridiculously hot, oh, crap, now I got coffee on my shirt, he’ll think I’m a slob, quick, wipe it off, now where the hell is the napkin--?

          “Hey.”

          My heart sank. I looked up, hating myself for the rush of pleasure his face gives. Darn it. The usual ripped jeans and this ludicrous yellow letterman jacket, I hated on sight. On his hand was a book, dog-eared and torn. I was infinitely pleased. Books loved and coffee for my heart are the two things in this world that should always come in twos.

          He and I are another.

          The perfunctory peck on the cheek. "Hello, Hana," he said. The stiltedness in his voice was so palpable I could taste it.

          I stopped and grabbed his sleeve. "Are you all right?"

          His hand on the edge of the seat, he gave a shaky smile. The answer was obvious. The raw edges of his lucidity, torn almost to their limits, snapped. "Will I ever be all right?" He paused, the cloudy haze of memories in his eyes. “Was I even ever all right?”

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          "Kuso."

          The steaming smell of his drink permeated the air. He flicked his cigarette, watching the embers glisten, glow and die. The scent drove me crazy. He had been smoking incessantly ever since we arrived. The look of disapproval I shot him when he took out his first butt and lit was ignored. He was still ignoring me still.

          I raged inside my head. "What is it, you damned idiot."

          He always taught me how to be soft. That the world is beautiful, and that to be alive, is strength itself. Because we hurt and we hurt, the same part is desensitized. Until the nerve endings die. Until it goes numb. Strength means having to hurt a lot before you get to live. He taught me to be proud of that. So why isn't he?

          “How is she?” I blurted out.

          The coldness. “She’s all right. Getting used being with me, I guess. It isn’t easy waiting for the kid to arrive,” he said, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “It’s something to look forward to, somehow.”

          Ah, the world is hard. The things we love will end up killing us. So hard to forgive, even harder to forget.

          He took a long drag and puffed, blowing the smoke directly to my face. I resisted the urge to smack the cigarette out of his hands and punch him. Grumbling disparagingly, I drank the rest of my espresso, the scalding liquid a mere pinprick at his stupidity. 

          My animosity enlivened him. He smirked slightly. "You might have burned your throat."

          "I don't care - my voice is useless when I'm with you anyway," I shot back.

          That startled him. He looked at me, interest renewed. "What do you mean?"

          I said something no Catholic schoolgirl could ever say in church. He broke into peals of laughter, the musicality of his humor ringing raindrops in my head. I fought back a smile. "Idiot," I thought. 

          "I'll get back at you, I swear," I said, laughing. The wind blew high, and my hair flew. I gave a tiny squeak as the strands hit his face. S**t.

          Kuso tilted his head, the amused smile still on his face. He reached over and smoothed my hair, running his fingers through them, combing and petting. They inched over and swept them behind my ear and back.

          I sat still. Seconds ticked by, carrying a part of my soul with them. With a bit of luck, to his heart. He touched my face tenderly, the soft pads of his fingers warm and smooth. They crept down and beckoned my face upward, to meet his eyes. Brown and black.

           Our stories. They started even before when we were born. They will not end when we die.

          We stared at each other like that for a moment, staring and wondering - forever hoping. 

 

Author's Note

Excuse the concept. I was 14 and he was 16. We had no definite idea on where our future was heading.

Reviews

[Imagine Blade]

Awwwwwww.....

How sweet!!!

The story is simple yet breathtaking. Details are beautifully well-defined. There is an incredible emphasis on the most important part of this story - inner thoughts and emotions. It's sweetness is like hot chocolate milk with whipped cream, marshmallows and candy sprinkles on top!

The girl is a little like a tsundere! I just love how joyfully indecisive she is!

More please!!!

[Hanakuso]

Now I'm a tsundere? *laughs* Thank you, Monsieur Blade, for your compliments. Let's just say this won't have a happy ending though. :)

[Imagine Blade]

Oooohhh. Really? I'm expecting it to be a bit depressing in the future. But I guess no love story really has a happy-go-lucky flow. But eventually, we'll find that "person meant for us" in the future.


*hopefully

[Twyla]

I loved this. I could feel his touch . The smoke from his cigarette burned my eyes as I read . Your descriptive quality is excellent. Beautifully written.

[skeletalmartyr]

beautifully crafted. I applaud you.

[Meallea Pomorette]

"We stared at each other like that for a moment, staring and wondering - forever hoping. " ... This line send me over the top... I like it!!!

"my voice is useless when I'm with you anyway" ... eyes can do the talking I guess...

Great job!!!

[c k doley]

This is wonderful. You know the right way to put it. And it is a joy to know that it really happened.