Eighteen
Written By: Juuhachi-Gou
It was raining again and the sound of the water pelting against the sidewalk and streets created a lulling sound. Quite a contrast to the plink of the droplets hitting on the large opened canvas umbrella. The weather had been clammy and downcast all week, with very little signs of letting up. The sky was an iron gray, and the rain fell in heavy sheets letting up occasionally, but only long enough to taunt the people of Satan City. Even now it was early afternoon, and the sky showed signed of the darkness of evening.
Juuhachi-Gou sat beneath the umbrella, her head bowed, her hand about a steamy mug of dark coffee. She listened to the rain hitting the umbrella and closed her eyes, as if in pain. She wore a modern dark blue suit with a silken white blouse. Somehow, whether it grew on its own or she’d grown it out, her hair was longer again. It’d been years, maybe even decades, and on a day as dreary as this one. She chose not to remember the years, only the days. She remembered the day her husband died vividly.
She could see everything so clearly in her minds eye. She could remember every single detail, as if she were living it all over again. Each small thing, and she found herself always slipping back into the past when she was living the present. She had nothing in the present now . . . so she lived her life in the memories of the past.
The carpet reeked in the church, and Juuhachi-Gou couldn’t make herself stand anymore. She was sitting in the first pew, with her head bowed, looking terribly sad, even for her. She wore black, with a small hat and a veil covering part of her face. She’d been with Kuririn when he’d passed on, and she’d taken every step of measurement to insure that he’d be cared for properly afterwards. He’d lived a very long time, longer than most everyone expected.
A hundred and six years.
And it’d been no where as long as she’d needed.
Marron stood at the altar now, looking one last time at her fathers serene face. At Marron’s side stood a tall dark haired man and a smaller blonde haired woman. Those were Marron’s children. Marron herself was at least sixty. The two children, full-grown adults really, took one final look at their grandfather, and then walked on. Marron wiped her eyes, and turned back, looking at Juuhachi-Gou.
She looked up from the pew she sat at, and then rose to go to her daughter. The two hugged briefly and then pulled apart as the men and priest came down the isle to console the family, and then close the coffin lid. The priest came and looked at the four and turned to Marron. "Mrs. Kuririn," he stated, "we’re going to begin the transportation of the body to the plot. Are you and your family finished viewing?"
"Yes, we are." Juuhachi-Gou answered. The priest looked from her to Marron. Marron nodded.
"We’ve finished here, thank you . . ." the priest nodded again, and turned to walk towards the coffin, glancing back at Juuhachi-Gou with slight discomfort. She looked at him with pained icy-blue eyes youthful, and he stiffened and turned to attend to the coffin.
They’d attended the reception, and got scorned as she make her final speech to her dearly departed husband, assuming her for a younger woman who married for money. They all disbanded again, after the reception. The children went home, and she didn’t hear from them again for many years. They’d never understood or accepted her before. Marron and she spend a little time together before the daughter of the Cyborg too, left.
The rest of those years blurred into a solitude of loneliness, lit only by Marron’s occasional visits, speaking of great-grandchildren and friends and weddings, and deaths. Grand-children she never meet, and husbands and brides she never knew.
She opened her eyes, and realized the rain had stopped temporarily. The water still trickled down the umbrella in little plops, and the sky was overcast as before, but the rain had lifted for a while, and a cool breeze blew through her hair. She brought the coffee to her lips, and drank a little, her eyes unfocused staring at the table edge. She blinked once, remembering the speech she read. Remembering the horrid nights she’d spent alone in the Kame House with nothing there besides herself.
It had been a pitiful existence. She was still leading a pitiful existence, but she had decided now that she would lead it no longer. She could mourn her husbands dead all she wanted, but no amount of grief would bring him back, and so she would eventually have to move on. She looked at her left hand, where she still wore the small diamond ring he’d give her all those years ago.
It seemed like eternity.
It’d probably been less that a century. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as the wind blew again, and she watched a few drops fall from the umbrella spike. Now she was sitting alone outside of a coffee shop while the world around her aged and grew with the rain. She swirled the coffee with her straw, and took another sip.
he set the mug down again, and closed her eyes, remembering the last time she’d seen Marron. It hadn’t been that long . . . maybe ten, fifteen years. The time was peeling away, each day so slow, but still just merging into one another. She’d lost track of the years. She knew, however, today was the day her daughter died that decade or two ago. She bowed her head, in a silent remembrance.
The phone rang. The sun had already set, and the shrill of the never-used phone startled her. She’d forgotten she’d even had a phone until just now. It’d been one of the things Marron had insisted be installed in the Kame House, so she could call her up at short notice. She was sitting on the sofa, sewing; a past time she took up after Kuririn’s death.
She glanced about, then rose and picked the phone, up. "Moshi moshi?" she asked. There was a long paused and then the voice of a man came over the line.
"Obaasan?"
She stiffened at the name, and replied. "Who is this?"
"You’re grandson." Came the semi-gruff response. It was Marron’s boy, he was probably a father or grandfather himself, by now. She sat back down on a chair, and nodded, even though he couldn’t see
.
"What is it?" she asked, and felt she already knew. None of her grandchildren ever called before. She doubted they even knew she had a phone. Something had happened and that was what the call was about.
"My sister and mom were in a hovercar crash . . . last weekend . . ." He began. That was all she’d needed to know what had happened.
It turned out, while her granddaughter had died that night in the medical ward, Marron had held on to life until tonight, when she finally passed on. Word was just now being passed on to her. She hadn’t even replied to him, and eventually he’d hung up.
She didn’t attend the funeral, though she should have. She really couldn’t think of much at all for a long time. She just sat outside, in the chair, watching the sun rise and set. Marron had been her whole world before, and after Kuririn had died. Marron had come from her, and Marron loved her, and she loved Marron too. They’d shared a very close bond. Since none of Marron’s children or grandchildren were very close to Juuhachi-Gou, she’d been alone entirely once Kuririn had passed on.
Now Marron was gone to. What else could she live for? Nothing. And yet, she would never age, and she would never die. What good could she do to remarry? She’d just suffer the pain of loosing her husband and children again in a few more decades. Was it really worth the pain? To be looked down upon? A woman in the body of an eighteen year old living with her husband of fifty-years who was now on his death-bed? The ridicule was unbearable even for a Cyborg. No one would understand her. No one who’d live long enough to make a difference anyway.
She came back to her senses, and the rain was drizzling again, not in large drops, but just a misty cloud falling. It was so dreary and gloomy this day, it did very little to help her mood. These memories were terrible too. It’d been years but the way she could recall them were as if they’d just happened. She tried not to think about them for that very reason.
Her hands tightened around the coffee mug, her shoulders slumping in the suit she wore. Years still showed on her, even though she were only in the body of and eighteen year old. She’d been through a lot. She’d lost her husband, her daughter, even one of her grandchildren. She’d lost everything she’d built up in her life. She had no family now. Nothing to go to. Her home was barren and vacant, not welcoming.
Her hands tightened even more on the coffee mug, and shook a bit. Her hair hung in her face, covering her eyes, which weren’t wet, but were revealing the same amount of sadness. Her hair was slightly damp, wet now, from the rain and mist in the air. Her shoulders shook a bit as she remembered everything she’d lost, and been through.
She wanted to move on, keep going and living, but for what? Accomplish something in life which she’d lose again all to soon? What was it worth? The grief it’d cause, was almost overwhelming. "I can’t do it anymore. I can’t go on alone . . ."
A hand fell upon her slumped shoulder, and she froze, and stiffened. "You’ve never been alone," the voice said, quietly, very gently. "I’ve always been here for you. I never left you." she swallowed tightly, recognizing the voice. "I’ll never leave you," he added, and placed his other hand on her shoulder. "but you’ve forgotten me."
"No," she whispered, and swallowed. "no, I never forgot you . . ." she slowly turned and stood up, facing him. "Oh, Juunana-Gou, you’re still here . . ." she whispered, and then fell into her brothers arms, holding to him tightly. He held her and then petted her hair, his face against the top of her head.
"No, Juuhachi-Gou, I never left you. I’ve always been here for you, you just had to ask." He whispered, and held her tightly. He’d been alone so long himself. Never having the wife or child she had had. He’d been waiting for her, wanting to rekindle the closeness they’d shared before, but afraid she’d reject him for her husband. Now, he was all she had. He was a constant in her life. He would never leave her, and now she knew.
Even if they were to be eighteen until the end of time, they would always been eighteen together.
The End