Notes: psychosomatic – having physical reactions to intense emotions. Inspiration throughout not just this part but others by this other band I like called Effigy and their songs: Lovers, If something’s gonna end, Rose Thorns etc.
I always said I didn’t mind being lonely; I was so foolishly proud of that. And I didn’t, as long as my mind was whisked away; it used to be some tale she had to tell me, but she has flown away. I’m enmeshed in these lonely feelings – I never know who to turn to, what to do, and what to say. I loved to cling to mother as a child, but who had I to cling to as an adult?
The bed was cold. The empty space next to me stayed empty. I
thought I heard a train rush by, but it was just my imagination; there was no
railway outside my window. Commuter trains in the underground labyrinth and
then above in the light. I looked up at the ceiling; the swish-swish-swish of
the imagined train was rhythmic and musical.
I fingered the hem of the thick blankets I’m swathed in. I
watched the light from outside filter through my blinds. Touch. Touch me. Hold
my hand. Crush me. Allow my finger tips to brush past the delicate brows you
have. Let me hold you. Give me the pleasure of your hand on my shoulder. My
faceless brothers dragging me inside to my room. I didn’t want to be there.
My hands roamed under my pillow and touched the fish gorger. I turned on the light watched the sliver of silver contrast with my skin. It bit into the paper; I felt nothing. Red ink for writing with; break up; the facts written in blood are undeniable.
+
It was morning and I was hiding underneath the sheets. My
back was twisted, and so I lied in bed, facial expressions contorted as I try
not to bend my back to stop the pain. Pain is good, and from pain, I drew
strength and immunity from hurt. My wrists were sore.
‘Would you like me to rub your back?’ She sat so poised on
the side of my bed.
I shook my head. She patted my head and brushed away the
stray hair. I was sick and weak, my skin flaky and brittle to touch. The place
was dark, the curtains heavy and thick to block out the sunlight. The room
smelt of sickness. I don’t know how she stayed.
A train passed by outside and its rhythmic roar drifted in
through the windows. I felt the vibrations in my skin. I liked the sound of
trains. They make this great big whooshing sound that made you feel like a
cyclone came into your life and cleared out everything.
I closed my eyes and pretended to drift away with the train.
‘I don’t know why I stay.’ She frowned. ‘He doesn’t speak to
me very much. He doesn’t care anymore. I love you; I guess that’s why I stay. I
love your brothers too . . . but’
I pretended to be asleep.
She was crying, ‘I’ll be sad when you are gone. But I want
you to go, you know. You and your brothers. I know you’ll all visit me, but you
won’t be here anymore . . .’
She spent the night playing a sad melody on her cello for
me. She’s not very good, but she had feeling. I cared about the feeling.
Feelings are strange things; they come and go without a sound.
‘Nevertheless, I think
to do what we want to do, we have to sacrifice something.’ But that
doesn’t mean I have to like it; I said silently to the interviewee’s face. And
that sacrifice was my mother.
I got up and dressed myself in yesterday’s clothing. My eyes
were sore. I opened the curtains and looked in the fridge. There was nothing; I
don’t eat at home a lot anymore. Even if I had food, I wouldn’t remember where
it was stocked. I riffled through the freezer for food. I settled on ice cream
and sat down with a silver spoon.
‘I live to serve you, you know that?’ she chuckled.
She placed the bowl in front of me and gave me a silver
spoon. She sat by me and my brothers and watched each open and close of our
mouths religiously. Mother loves us, after all. It was her responsibility to
see to our health and happiness. My health was on a downhill according to
Shinya since I smoke and happiness? What the fuck is that?
Father leaning on the railing, ‘Before we can be happy, we
have to find our definition of happiness.’
‘What’s your dream?’ She smiled so warmly, like the sun’s
hot rays could ripple through the soft wrinkle’s around her eyes.
I laughed, ‘I have no dreams. I want to be like my father.’
The smile on her face disappeared, but she tried to smile
anyway through the crystallized drops of salt that dotted the edge of her eyes.
She tried to smile for me, for my health and happiness. I knew health, and now
all I wanted to do was stamp it out. I didn’t know happiness, but it wasn’t
under any of the rocks.
I set the spoon down. The milky sweetness was bitter and
gross in my mouth. I spat it in the sink and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of
my coat. I felt sickened.
There was someone knocking at the door. I swung it open and
slammed it behind me.
“I’m ready.” I lied.
I’m a very good liar; the trick is sincerity, seriousness
and confidence; I believe my lies; that’s why I’m good at telling the truth. I
pulled on my silvery wrist band to cover my red mark.
+
In the car again with Shinya, the mute. He wouldn’t like
that description; I could see him with his sticks, splattered with brain and
blood, since head wounds bleed so much. His touch was gentle when he cleaned me
up, and I honestly liked him; he was a kind person, but he just irritated me.
Everything did.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“You’re not very talkative.”
“Well, you aren’t exactly the most social person in the
world.”
He didn’t reply. I wasn’t mad at him, but I couldn’t help
wanting to just snap at everything.
“I sorry. I’m irritated today.”
“It’s okay, I understand.”
“Stop saying that.”
“What?”
“That it’s okay. It’s not okay. People shouldn’t throw their
bad moods around and make everyone else miserable. I should be happy; maybe I
should have just stayed home.”
“Aren’t you happy?” he asked.
The traffic lights were yellow, but he kept driving. I was
hungry; no dinner and no breakfast.
+
“Hello, Hara residence.” My father’s voice.
‘Where have you been? It’s past midnight already.’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘None of my business! You are my business! Your mother has
been worried sick and your brothers have been looking for you! Don’t you have
anything to say?’
‘No.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Why are you being so difficult? I have a right to know what
you do. You don’t come home, you don’t call and you don’t tell us where you’ve
been or anything.’
‘There isn’t anything to say.’
‘I can understand that you’re becoming an adult now, but at
least tell me why?’
‘What does it matter to you! You’re never home anyway! You
and your job and your friends from work! You don’t give a shit about us! And
don’t you say mother has been worried! Don’t you dare say that! You’re the one
who hasn’t been home for dinner in the last -!’
He hit me. Surprised, I didn’t get up. I stayed like that
for a long time. My mother was crying when she pulled me up into a chair. I
didn’t sleep that night. I talked to my father; he has worked all his life to
make my life better than the one he had.
‘Most people don’t have a purpose in life. They can say that
purpose is to be rich, but in the end, that purpose is an empty one. Except
when you have children, you have a purpose to make the world brighter for them;
it’s every parent’s wish.’
I wasn’t angry with him anymore, and he came home more often
for dinner; the loneliness my mother felt eased. I went to the hospital the
next day to check my head; it wasn’t serious. My father looked guilty and I
laughed. How perfect the Japanese family look on the outside. My mother lived,
breathed and was our domestic home. She loved us and we had eaten her whole.
Doesn’t matter: parents who made mistakes are so much more
endearing than those who don’t, mothers who are tragic are lamented and fathers
who were true are remembered. It took her 10 minutes to find the right shampoo.
She offered me sweets when I came home and rubbed away the dirt on my cheek.
I placed the phone back on its hook and stared at it. I
laughed and started crying. I looked at my wound; it looked more ugly than
before. 8 cm by 1 cm, raw blistering skin of congealed and cracking blood. It
looked beautiful. I didn’t know whether to worship it or turn away. I licked it
instead.
+
When I was five years old, I had a dream that I was running
through hill after hill of golden, yellow wheat. And then courtyards of fancy
bricks and sandstone slabs, of flowers and creeping vines, of wood and of sun.
It smelled of the daylight, that crisp and wonderfully dry smell.
I was happy. I was young and free. The movements of my body
were smooth, not jagged and tangled. Flowing movements as I ran, far away from
my mother and my father and my friends. And the courtyards, through I went,
doorway after doorway. But I tripped.
I fell jerking myself awake.
It happened to me over and over and over again. It repeated-repeated-repeated
in childish rhythm, and I couldn’t rid myself of the images in my head
colliding so often.
“You know, I think I know what it means.” She said, “It’s
like your life, that the running you do is your life, and it’s when you’re
really happy, but then suddenly, you trip and become upset. It’s sorta showing
you how you feel life is for you; you’re happy only to be dragged down again.”
Life; the happy flesh and suddenly, you reach the ugly core;
hiccup. Is there any point in getting what you want only to lose it in the end?
“No.” I said.
+
The days passed in a series of motions. Playing, practicing,
smiling, having fun and entertaining each other. We smoked and prodded at each
other curiously. It was our way of saying we care; the teasing, the playful
banters, and pleasurable mindless conversations. And we probably did care about
each other; I wanted to know if it was enough.
+
He was standing in the smoking area; no one could steal his
cigarette now. It was a terrible day; grey and overcast. It made everyone a
little depressed; the lights too bright and the colours looked out of place
against the sky.
“I want to immerse myself in pleasure and mindless
conversations.” he said.
“You don’t really want to do that.” A voice behind him
replied.
“Sure he does.” A laugh.
Kaoru and Die; two guitarist smoking in the corner, puff,
cough, puff, cough and they both fall down, taking the bassist with them all
the way to the underworld. Raining down sulphur, liquid fire in the lungs and
burning coal everywhere.
“Do I know myself, or do you know me?”
Kaoru smiled, “Neither.”
Die was friendly, slinging an arm around his shoulder and
asking for a light, smiling, genuine and full of warmth. He started to feel
inferior standing there next to Die and his beacon of illumination. He felt so
drab.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you trying to get away from me?
I showered, you know.”
“Yes, well, you’re making me uncomfortable.”
“You act more and more like our drummer everyday.”
“And you’re going to get this cigarette burn in your coat if
you don’t let go.”
“That is not normal behaviour for our drummer. He insults
but he is not a pyromaniac. Um, Toshiya, are you sure Kyo isn’t rubbing off on
you?”
He wrenched myself away and smiled, “Thank you, young man.
No, I was always like this. It’s my Dark Side coming out.”
“My pleasure. And I’d love to meet this streak of yours.”
He pinched Die’s arm and continued smoking, ignoring the
other’s outburst about revenge on evil bassists with sharp nails and such.
Kaoru flicked the ash from a cigarette and he caught the idle movements; he was
developing a quirk for watching people smoke.
“Everyone’s going out tonight, do something together. Would
you like to come?”
“I suppose.”
It remained an unspoken that it was also a way for them to
sit together and talk without being paid too much attention. Kaoru nodded,
flicked his cigarette into the open sky and headed back inside. Die leaned on
the railing and stared down at the street. He concentrated on finishing off.
“You’ve been acting weird lately.”
He laughed drying, “You only just noticed.”
Die shrugged, “Had before, too lazy to bring it up.”
“You only think I’m acting weird because I was so happy
before.”
“So what’s changed? Aren’t you happy?”
He watched as the traffic light below turned yellow. The
blue car went through anyway. A black car accelerating as the opposing green
light beckoned. There was a horrific clashing and melding of metals blue and
black; the resonance of shattering glass slashed the air. Silence, at least
until the police and ambulance arrived.
“I don’t know. It’s a mystery.”
Arna.