Public (and private) C&C is welcomed with open arms. I'd
really love to know what you think of the story. If you'd
like to e-mail me, you can at: matthew@kingdomofmel.com
Go to The Cafe Pierrot for the Sunshine Girl archive:
http://www.kingdomofmel.com/cafe-pierrot/
* * * *
"What you need is a plan." Caravan strode beside Kenji as he
walked to Yamada high school, making sure to see as much of
her first morning on Earth as possible.
"A plan for what?" the boy sniffed.
"Huh? Oh, a plan to get Tanako." She grinned. "I figure if
you're going to ever write a masterpiece, it'll be for her."
"How do you figure that?"
"Oh please, I'm not blind, Kenji." She whistled a quick tune
to a fat red-bellied bird on a fence next to her. "You've
got it bad for her. True love, live for her, can't imagine a
world without her bad." She smiled. "I've seen it before."
Kenji Terada had writer's block. When his teacher offered
him a solution, he tried it immediately. Only, his teacher
never told him what really happens after you wake up...
------------------------------------------------------------------
I T ' S A R A I N Y D A Y
S U N S H I N E G I R L
Episode 06
"Waiting: Phase Two"
"It's A Rainy Day Sunshine Girl" (c) 1999-2001 Matthew Johnston.
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters
to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
------------------------------------------------------------------
"Where am I?"
Ichiro felt alone. Not alone as if he were the only person
in a room, or even the only person in a universe made entirely of
the cold pinpricks of stars, but alone as if he were the only
collection of atoms ever created. He felt nothing around him, but
he could feel himself from the inside out to the edge of his skin.
He felt neither cold, nor warm, and when he inhaled to sniff what
was around him, he felt nothing enter him, though his lungs did
not feel a vacuum. Physics, it seemed, was bending the rules
generously.
He didn't realize his eyes were closed until he willed them
to move, and saw blackness replaced by light. Pure white, even
and endless, but not blinding.
It didn't surprise him that he heard nothing. But after a
few moments, the lack of sound began to wear on his psyche. He
couldn't even hear the blood that once rushed through his body.
What may have been only a few moments passed as slowly as days in
his sensually deprived state.
"So, you must be Ichiro."
When Ichiro heard the voice, unfamiliar, feminine, but
blaring in his head like the voice of a god, he felt the subtle
warmth of life drain from him. 'I'm going to die,' was the only
thought that managed to collect itself long enough to be
recognized.
Not as loudly as before: "No, you're not going to die."
'She can hear my thoughts.'
"Yes, I can." The voice took pause, and Ichiro wondered if
that was the end of their conversation.
'H-hello?'
"I'm sorry, Ichiro. I'm a little weak right now."
'Oh.' Ichiro found it progressively easier to think as if he
were speaking. 'Take your time, then. I'm not going anywhere.'
He heard the voice chuckle. "I like your style, kid."
'Thank you.'
"Do you know where you are?"
'Not the foggiest clue, ma'am.'
"You're in the middle of a kiss. This is where you and the
woman you love would mingle souls, if the conditions were right."
'I see...'
"Normally, you'd never see this portion of your life, or
rather, you'd never remember it as anything more than a flash of
brilliance."
Ichiro attempted a nod, and hoped she could see it.
"But I had to slow things down for a bit. I need to talk to
you."
'Okay, then.' He scowled inwardly. 'For someone who's in a
hurry, she sure does talk a lot.'
"I heard that."
'Oops. I forgot I have no inner monologue.'
A long pause, then: "Well?"
'Well what?'
"I'm waiting for an apology."
'Oh brother. Okay, I'm sorry.'
"That's better."
'You must be a muse, huh?'
"Why do you say?" Her voice wavered, as if she had been
caught off guard.
'Because you're touchy.' He felt his mind's voice grow
authoritative and stuffy. 'Muses are kinda touchy.'
"Hush." The tone of her voice held something sinister, and
he felt suddenly compelled to hush.
'Yes, ma'am.'
"Now, I don't have any more time to mince words. If Caravan
were in love with you right now, you two would probably be making
love in here or something equally mushy. But, the plain fact is,
she isn't."
Ichiro felt stung. 'That wasn't nice,' he finally managed.
"Don't worry, she's here. It's not like she completely out
of love with you. Look, in the distance in front of you."
Ichiro squinted, and slowly, breaking the even whiteness, was
a speck of darkness. 'That's her?'
"Yes."
'She's tiny.'
A heavy sigh. "She's just far away, genius."
'Oohhhh... I see now.' Ichiro was beginning to enjoy this.
"ANYway," the voice continued, plainly perturbed. "You have
a chance, Ichiro. You can make her love you more. Enough to have
a mingling of souls here each time you kiss."
'Wow.'
"Indeed. Now, I want you to keep at it. You're doing well.
I need you two to be in here making a mess of the place in three
days' time."
'Three days?! That's not exactly much time.'
"This is serious. It's a matter of life or death."
'What a second.' This was all too fishy for Ichiro's tastes.
"Who are you? Why do you want Caravan and I falling in love so
suddenly?"
"I..." The voice paused, as if ashamed to continue. "I have
a confession, Ichiro."
'Go on.'
"I... I'm *your* muse, Ichiro. But I'm trapped in Caravan's
body because... umm, oh yeah! Because of a freak magnetic storm
that affects only muses. That's the ticket."
'You expect me to believe that?'
"Dammit, Ichiro! Okay, here's the truth. I'm a high-ranking
muse, but I've been injured in a battle, and I need to camp out in
your body so I can heal before the beast that attacked me attacks
Caravan and kills us both!"
'Oh, well I take it back, since that was SO MUCH MORE
believable! This is ridiculous! Next you're going to tell me
there's a war coming and Caravan's the chosen one with special
powers that can defeat the evil beasties from a thousand fathoms!'
"That's about the size of it."
'Huh?'
"You're more observant than I gave you credit for. I'd
almost apologize if you wouldn't be such a smart-ass about it."
'There's a war coming?'
"Yep. And soon, too."
'And Caravan's the chosen one?'
"She wields the chosen weapon, yes."
'Oh, this is classic!' Ichiro grinned hard, relishing the
feel of his cheeks tensing. 'You realize how melodramatic this
sounds, don't you?'
"Shut up, and listen! If you want your little would-be
girlfriend to survive and save the world, you'd better make her
love you in the next three days! Got it, chucklehead?"
'Sure thing, babe. Leave it to me. I'm a master with the
ladies.'
"Oh brother. Fine, act like that if you think it'll help.
But you know as well as I do the key to her heart is more genuine
than that."
Ichiro felt his wit fall to the floor. 'I know. Look, I'll
do my best, okay?'
"That's all I can expect, I suppose. Now, I'm going to do us
both a favor and make you forget most of this. Just keep doing
what you've been doing and we'll be okay."
Ichiro was about to respond with a solemn affirmative when he
felt his consciousness go black.
* * * *
Caravan could feel herself warming as their lips met. The first
brush felt like fire. The second, the pressing, was lightning.
Then thunder. Her senses piqued, she could hear their lips part.
She opened her eyes slowly, wondering if her eyes would be
blinded.
She felt her senses return in a rush, as if she'd been
floating and only now was washing against the beach. 'I can't do
it,' she murmured inwardly. 'Even if Enchant is in trouble... I
can't do it.'
"Ichiro, I..." She wanted to qualify the kiss, to lessen the
significance, even if it was only in her mind. This was too much.
She was feeling something more than she'd ever expected from him.
Something genuine, even if it was tragically so.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, away from her thoughts,
and, she hoped, away from Enchant's meddling, she half-expected
Ichiro to lean in for another small kiss and ask her, "My love for
you is endless, but we cannot continue this sultry tryst." But as
her vision cleared, contrast and sharpness finally returning, she
wanted to slap that section of her mind for being so over-
dramatic.
"Ichiro?" She stepped back. He wasn't moving. His eyes
closed, lips slightly pouting, his head cocked just so, he looked
expectant.
"Ichiro," impatience permeated her voice. "Wake up. You
look ridiculous." With two fingers, she pushed Ichiro in the
chest, softly.
Ichiro fell backwards, body stiffened in its position, and
hit the floor with a dull thud.
"Oh jeez," she muttered. A thought hit her: if Ichiro had
never had a muse, like Enchant had implied, then a kiss like that
could...
She kneeled beside him as he lay there, still pouting, head
still cocked, arms still reaching for a waist that was no longer
there.
"I did it," she sighed, mildly disgusted at herself. "I
killed the poor moron." The words caught her; she felt suddenly
refreshed at her ability to mercilessly insult him again.
"Don't kill Ichiro," Kenji remarked, his voice just behind
her left ear.
Caravan nearly screamed in fright, but managed to keep her
fear to a stumbling half-gasp as she tried to stand, turn around,
and act normal. She didn't succeed in any of the three; she did
manage to fall backwards over Ichiro's body and hit her head on
the floor.
"Don't do that!" She sat up and rubbed her aching skull.
She looked up, her eyes ready to skewer Kenji, to slay him with
spite for sneaking up on her like that. But he was smiling,
hiding a laugh. She'd missed that, she realized, so she let him
have his fun.
"Call it revenge for killing my best friend." Kenji reached
out his arm to help Caravan up. She grudgingly accepted, and rose
to her feet on the other side of Ichiro from Kenji. She pretended
to dust herself while she rubbed her sore parts.
"He's not dead." She waved a hand dismissingly. "At least,
I hope not."
"What'd you do to him?" Kenji took a step back, examining
the puckered face of his friend. He looked back at her with an
accusing expression. "You kissed him, didn't you?"
'Oh God.' She turned around quickly, unable to face Kenji's
gaze. 'Think!'
She took a deep breath, then turned around, her expression
nonchalant. "He asked for it, so I gave it to him." She grinned.
"A muse's best weapon is her willingness to accommodate."
Kenji sighed, and kneeled next to his friend. "I know Ichiro
can be a pain," he replied, his ear to Ichiro's chest. "But you
didn't have to be so vindictive."
"I wasn't being vindictive," she pouted. "I was just
teaching him a lesson."
"Which one is that? 'Never let your best friend's crazy muse
with a murderous streak kiss you?'"
"A good lesson to learn, if you ask me." She kneeled down
next to Kenji. "And I'm not crazy."
Kenji paused. "What about having a murderous streak?"
Caravan motioned to Ichiro with a nod. "Not anymore."
"Nice try, but he's still alive."
Caravan sighed with relief, but tried to hide it. She looked
down at him, and cocked her head. "He's kinda cute when he's
unconscious like that."
Kenji nodded. "Let's get him up on the couch." He let out a
strained groan as he lifted Ichiro at the underarms. "Grab his
legs."
"No problem." She grimaced as they trudged towards the
couch. "When's your mom going to be home, anyway?"
"Dunno." He exhaled as they finally put Ichiro down on the
couch. "When she works late, she's usually home by nine-thirty or
so." He checked the clock on the VCR. "Any minute now, I guess."
Caravan motioned to the unconscious body on the couch.
"You're not worried?"
"Of course not," Kenji replied, the smile on his face too
self-satisfied for Caravan's taste.
"Why not?" she asked warily.
"Because I'm not the one who knocked him unconscious, now, am
I?"
Caravan sighed. "I hate you sometimes."
Kenji's smile grew as he flopped to the floor in front of the
couch. Caravan followed suit, sighing loudly to protest Kenji's
new-found happiness.
"Did you finish the letter?" She looked at her legs as they
stretched out from under Kenji's jeans shorts. She smiled gently;
they were pretty nice when she had a chance to see them.
"Yep. I feel a lot better now."
She could feel Kenji turning his eyes on her. She wanted to
look at him, at his eyes, but she couldn't. "Did you sign it?"
Caravan had expected a reaction, exasperation, frustration at
her constant quips. But he just chuckled. "Yes ma'am. Even
dated it."
"Well now," she murmured. "That's impressive."
The moment that passed felt interminable, but Caravan didn't
want to say anything. Something was eating at her. The memories
that welled up when she was upstairs. Kenji's mother. Something
about the blurred images she could barely keep hold of now at once
disturbed her, and piqued her curiosity. She had to know.
"Is something wrong?"
Caravan blinked, her train of thought de-railed. "Huh? Oh,
nothing."
"I was just thinking..." Kenji sounded hesitant, but perhaps
that was just the air changing his voice. "Mom's not home, so you
don't have to climb in my window. You can just go to bed if you
like. I'll meet you up there after Mom gets home."
"Actually, I was wondering if I could ask her something."
"What were you going to ask her?"
Caravan realized then that Kenji was echoing her own
thoughts. 'What would I ask Kenji's mother, anyway?' The
curiosity was terrible, but she didn't have a single coherent
lead. She couldn't ask anything and expect a satisfying answer.
"Nothing. You're probably right." She stood up slowly, her
body still aching a little from her fall. "What are you going to
tell her about Ichiro?"
Kenji smiled. "I'll figure something out."
Caravan stretched, only vaguely self-conscious that Kenji was
probably looking at her behind. Not that she minded at all. Her
job was to give him inspiration. 'If that doesn't inspire a guy,
I don't know what will.'
She took lazy steps to the stairwell before she finally
turned and smiled. "Good night, Kenji."
"Good night." Kenji glared at her, a hand over his nose.
Caravan paused again at the top of the stairs. No flashing
images this time, but the strange pull of curiosity returned. She
shook it off by thinking of Kenji. "He'll be fine after all," she
rationalized, entering Kenji's room. It felt almost like her own
now, but she still missed home. "Once he gives that note to
Tanako, she'll forgive him for being such an idiot, and we can get
on with the real work."
The muse smiled and closed the door behind her. "Thank
goodness Tanako's as level-headed as she is, or we'd be in big
trouble." She undressed slowly, lingering on the feel of the
cloth on her skin. She studied her naked body in the window, the
black-toned reflection looking better than she remembered.
"You're evil," she grinned. "Pure, beautiful, feminine,
evil." She winked at herself as she turned off the lights and
crawled into Kenji's bed.
* * * *
9:45 PM.
Tanako Yamada stood, looking out her window, staring from a
darkened room out into a darkened night. With the light off, she
could see out without her reflection staring back at her with the
distant look of someone looking at the horizon, as she was doing.
"Kenji..."
The name used to soothe her a little, while she was away her
seventh grade year. Like he had become an imaginary friend. Like
she could telepathically contact him if she spoke his name at
night, while she was in bed, but too nervous to sleep.
Tonight, the name brought her no comfort. She'd blown up at
him, and now he hated her. All that time she was gone, he was
hating her for leaving. And then, hating her for coming back.
She'd acted like she'd forgotten. Like she'd matured.
"Why?" She knew why, but she didn't dare think it. Even as
she tried to suppress the memory, it oozed up from the cracks in
her will. She had felt embarrassed. Embarrassed for him, and for
herself. She didn't want to be his only fan. She was going to
move on, forget the past, and let it all slide off her. She was
going to move forward, and supporting Kenji in his efforts looked
like a step backwards. All that worrying about being held back,
and now she couldn't move forward, either.
"I'm an idiot."
Tanako never considered herself a particularly smart girl.
She knew her limitations: math was a pain, English was beyond a
pain, and history was somehow more painful than the other two
combined. But she also knew that, for all her limitations, she
had something else. Something that, when she was barely old
enough to read, drew her to the family piano even after the lesson
had ended. Something that pushed her. She came to realize that
this something was inspiration.
Once she'd written her first song, she became perhaps
addicted to the sounds. They were hers, of her making, but she
never felt as if she were creating the music from her head. For
her, the joy of sitting at the piano, even after a tough day of
lessons before school, a long day of classes, and homework
afterwards, was discovering what notes would be played while she
was there. She confided in Yumiko once that it was like listening
to someone else play music for her, and every time it was new.
"Yumiko..."
Yumiko Akita was Tanako's biggest fan. Not that Tanako had
fans per se, but Yumiko had always said, "When you're famous, I'll
be president of your fan club!"
...Words like those cut Tanako now that she couldn't play.
She hadn't told Yumiko, of course, but she'd felt her
inspiration disappearing for days before it finally disappeared.
She knew it wasn't a block. She'd had a block before; this was
completely different. With a block, she could at least feel the
notes trying to get out. The frustration of a block wasn't that
the notes weren't there, but that they didn't make it from her
heart to her fingers.
No, this was different. The notes had disappeared
altogether. Nothing in her heart, where she knew artists kept
their music. Not even in her head, where artisans kept theirs.
Even playing sheet music of her old songs felt somehow wrong, as
if she were plagiarizing herself, dishonoring the memory of the
ghost or spirit or energy that had given her the notes in the
first place.
Tanako placed her hand on the glass, letting the cold
penetrate her palm. Maybe this was why she felt such a sudden
pang or regret when she thought about Kenji. About helping Yumiko
impress him. She'd only become enamored with him after Tanako had
confessed to Yumiko that she was after Masao because he was an
artist. "An artist like me," she'd said at the time. Even that
was no longer true.
"Masao..."
At first, Masao had impressed her with the ease he'd been
able to accomplish anything he tried. Though she scorned herself
for thinking it, she saw him as an artistic equal. At first, she
thought she'd be the obvious choice among those vying for his
attention. After all, she was an artist, and the other women were
merely fans.
Recreating her memories like this pained her, but the mere
fact it hurt helped to reassure Tanako that she'd once been all
she'd considered herself to be.
She stepped away from the window, and turned to her desk. It
was larger than Kenji's -- she thought it peculiar to make the
comparison -- and more cluttered. She found the poem, folded so
well that it practically fell open when she picked it up. The
words seemed more artistic now that she was merely another fan.
Tanako felt embarrassed that she'd almost shown the poem to Kenji.
She felt embarrassed that she'd wanted him to critique it, to tell
her that it wasn't that great, just to give her the small
satisfaction that she was better at her instrument than Masao was
at his.
Everything looked more artistic now, even the handwriting,
and it only served to stab Tanako. She was so jealous of this
letter, of the person who wrote it. As she read it through, out
loud to herself, she wanted to cry, but felt no tears.
Then it struck her. Something familiar in a set of words.
Something she'd seen before. Something elsewhere, elusive.
Tanako froze, her hand shaking, the phrase she remembered now
caught in her throat. Flashes of memory, blinding, painfully
detailed, struck her like machine gun fire, each flash triggered
by an image in the poem.
The first sniffling sob was barely enough warning for Tanako.
She staggered to her bed, her legs shaking, the poem crumbled in
her fist.
"I'm so stupid!"
Tanako collapsed sideways on her bed, her legs dangling over
the edge. "Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid!" She cried into her
blankets until she fell asleep.
* * * *
"Katsu, you MORON!" Masao's eyes didn't turn red; he wasn't a
demon. But to Katsu, the vitriol behind them was enough. "These
pages are blank!"
Masao's living room had no light, save for one lamp in the
corner sputtering out a pathetic 40 watts. It barely lit Masao,
and left Katsu -- and the rest of the expansive living room -- in
the dark, sitting on the Italian leather sofa. With the way Masao
was overacting, Katsu felt suddenly like a hunchback with a funny
accent. "It's not like he gave me time to look through his
garbage and select the cream of the poetic crop." The snap made
him feel better. "What's that?" He pointed to the wrinkled page.
"It looks like..."
"Drool, Katsu. Drool." Masao re-crumpled the page and threw
it at Katsu. It bounced off his head.
"Ow..."
"My God, Katsu, the man drools! DROOLS! And I was going to
ask him for another poem!"
"Looks to me like you were going to steal another poem, but
maybe I'm just not up on the conventions of artistry."
"He's like an idiot savant! Come and see the amazing
Drooling Poet!" He snarled. "I bet he writes with his left foot,
too. Dammit!"
"Why are you hopped up about this, anyway? Tanako's got a
crush on you, not him."
"But the poem moved her, Katsu." Masao began pacing the
length of his living room in front of Katsu. "Subtlely, from the
deepest recesses of her heart, she showed it. The words affected
her, and had they not been conveniently misdirected, they could
have done grave damage to the bond she has made with me."
"Masao."
"Yes, Katsu?"
"You're soliloquizing again."
Masao's face burned. "Shut up."
Katsu grinned. "So, are you going to... ask him again?"
"No, Katsu, that would be too risky." Masao began pacing
again. "If he catches you next time, he might figure out my plan,
and tell Tanako. Or worse yet, tell Ichiro. That man is more
powerful than I first thought. He will be a challenge."
"Oh for crying out loud, Masao. Don't be stupid. Ichiro's a
smart-ass, but he's not powerful." Katsu stood and grabbed Masao
by the shoulders to keep him from pacing any more. "Write your
own poem."
Masao paused for a second, then pushed Katsu's arms away.
"Are you a complete idiot?" He stepped to the couch, and Katsu
heard the leather creak. "I have to maintain consistency. If
Tanako sees a poem in one hand, on one paper, with one style, then
sees another in a different hand on different paper with a
different style, she will know."
Katsu wanted to sit on the couch again; being in the lamp's
dim circle annoyed him, but it also made him nervous. "That's so
strange."
"It's not strange, Katsu. It's logic."
"No, not that." Katsu looked towards where he figured Masao
would be; he was impossible to see in the darkness. "You think
highly of her."
"She's not stupid, Katsu. She's an artist, too. She'll
notice if there is even a small discrepancy."
Katsu took a tentative step forward. "So come clean."
"Tell her I didn't write it?"
Katsu nodded. "Honesty, as much as I loathe it, does improve
one's image." A frown. "Get up. Let me sit on the couch."
"Why should I?"
"I'm starting to talk like you, and it's annoying me more
than you do."
The leather sounded relieved as it creaked again. "You might
be right."
"What, that you annoy me? Trust me on that one."
"Leave me now, Katsu. I shall call you when it suits me."
"As you wish." With a small bow, Katsu walked to his
cousin's lengthy foyer, and put on his shoes. "And, Masao?"
"Yes?"
"Get some sleep. You look horrible."
"Strangely, I've never felt better."
Katsu shook his head. "If you say so. G'night."
"Good night, cousin."
After he heard the door open and then close, Masao returned
to the couch, and finally exhaled. This was getting more
difficult than he thought. The air slowed around him, warmed by
his body heat, until finally it became still, womb-like.
From behind him, he heard soft slap of skin against hardness.
Masao had to smile little. Even her footsteps sounded erotic.
"Renaissance. I trust you heard our conversation?"
"I missed you," she cooed. Masao felt her arms wrap around
him from behind. For a second the thought that she could break
his neck from that position floated in his brain. He dismissed it
with a sigh.
"I have to write Tanako's next poem myself."
Renaissance pulled away slowly. "Whatever for?" He could
hear her slide over the back of the couch, landing cat-like on the
cushion next to him. "Kenji will do your work for you, but only
if you let him."
She pressed her body against his, eliciting a sharp inhale.
She was completely naked. "What if she figures out it was him?
They've known each other since first grade. This cannot continue
forever." The last few words lingered a little longer than the
rest of the thought.
"Can you turn out that light for me, please?" She slid her
body off of Masao's, slowly, and let him stand. "It hurts my
eyes."
With a small click, the living room went completely black.
"You will help me write the poem tonight." He tried to sound
firm, but the slowness of his words only made Masao realize that
he was tired. Very tired.
"Okay, okay." For the first time, Renaissance sounded less
than seductive. It quickly faded as she giggled. "Tonight, we'll
write her a beautiful sonnet. Something that will make her weep
with love for you."
"Thank you, Renaissance."
"Now, my lovely, lovely artist, come here. I want to have a
little fun before we get to work."
Masao smiled wearily, and removed his shirt before taking his
first slow step back to the couch. "Who needs sleep, right?"
"Sleep is for the weak. I will replenish you."
He wondered as their lips touched how he ever lived without
her. As they pressed together, he realized vaguely through the
overwhelming wave of inspiration that he couldn't remember his
life before yesterday.
* * * *
'It was just too much to ask,' Nabiki Terada muttered inwardly.
'Ten o'clock on a Wednesday when I should be helping my son with
his homework.' On the train home, sitting alone among strangers,
Mrs. Terada let herself fume. But at work, she didn't have the
heart or courage to even think like this.
'It's not like I'm the stereotypical Japanese,' she
rationalized. 'But the company's been good to me and good to
Kenji. I can't complain. I *shouldn't* complain.' She counted
off in her head the number of times her manager had allowed her to
bend company policy to keep her family going. Extended maternity
leave, paid sabbatical when her husband died, the unmentioned
raises and promotions, all because she needed them. And without
asking, these favors were given.
Making the list dissipated her anger, as it had countless
times before. 'It's the least I can do to make it up to them.'
Still, something in the back of her mind remained, stirring.
'Kenji can take care of himself,' she pointed out, wondering
if that stirring was worry. 'He's got good friends, and a good
work ethic.' She smiled, but still the disquieted part of her
mind remained. Friends... That seemed to trigger something.
Friends and favors.
'Maybe I owe someone a favor,' she mused. Then it hit her.
'Caravan.' She'd wanted to ask Caravan back to dinner. After
all, she was the first girl Kenji'd brought home since Tanako had
left the neighborhood.
'Delightful girl,' she noted, realizing she meant the
compliment as much for Tanako as Caravan. Tanako, as Nabiki
remembered her, was a lovely girl. 'Inspired by her muse to the
fullest.' The thought hit the restless portion, agitating it
more. She wanted to go through this all out loud; conversing with
her mind left her with too little concrete reality.
"At least if I talk," she whispered to herself, hoping the
old man sleeping two seats down didn't hear her, "I can hear
myself think."
"Tanako was a delightful child," she reviewed. "But Caravan
is nice too." She smiled. "Not that I'd be so old-fashioned as
to arrange a marriage." Nabiki shook her head slowly and
slightly, hoping nobody saw her. The train wasn't very crowded
tonight, but she didn't want to advertise that she was acting a
little insane.
"I wonder if Caravan's still studying with Kenji?" She felt
the stirring begin to focus. "I need to ask her something, don't
I?" She giggled. "'Won't you marry my son? He's got a kind
disposition and a good financial future.'"
The old man next to her shifted in his sleep, mumbling
something unintelligible. Nabiki shrank back into her seat.
'Maybe thinking is better after all.'
What was it about Caravan that made her mind feel so
unsettled tonight? What was so different about her? Not her
name. Though what Kenji said about Caravan's parents being
transfer student hippies didn't quite cover it, Caravan wasn't
exactly a terrible name.
'Heck, when I was a girl, we used to give ourselves crazy
nicknames in English.' The memory brought a smile. Her and
Kasumi and Akane and Rumiko. 'We were such a crazy bunch.' She
tried to drill through the restlessness by recalling those
nicknames.
'We called each other by those silly nicknames all year in
sixth grade.' Nabiki chuckled bittersweetly as she realized she
hadn't thought of sixth grade since Jun had died. Slowly, they
came to her, like mountains slowly reappearing below a dissolving
fog.
"Lemme see, I was Cynic, and Rumiko was... wait, she didn't
have a nickname." She frowned, trying to place the other two
names. "Akane was called... Enchant?" It sounded correct. "Yes,
and Kasumi was Focus." She giggled again. "Those were good
times."
"Yes they were, weren't they?"
Nabiki nearly came out of her skin. Still shaken, she turned
and stared at the owner of the voice. She was tall, almost
stately, sitting across from her with her legs neatly crossed and
her hands on her knee. Dark hair fell long around her shoulders,
wavy but not curly, and her eyes sparkled playfully, even in the
harsh fluorescence of the train.
"I know you," Nabiki began slowly. She blushed suddenly.
"But, I can't remember you." She hung her head. "I'm sorry."
The woman chuckled fondly, and Nabiki lifted her head
suddenly. "That laughter..." It was too much; Nabiki felt tears
welling her eyes, and she stood up, about to cry. "Kasumi?"
The woman nodded and smiled warmly. "They say memories bring
back the remembered." Through tears, Nabiki saw her old friend
stand and felt the embrace of an old friend. "Sit down before we
fall and break something," she chided, leading a softly sobbing
Nabiki to the seat next to her.
"This is such a coincidence," Nabiki managed between quick
inhales. "I can't believe it. It's really you, isn't it?"
Kasumi nodded slowly. "I've missed you too, Nabiki. Or
should I call you Cynic?"
Nabiki laughed reflexively. "You have to join me for some
coffee or something." She wiped her eyes and hoped Kasumi was
nodding.
"I would like nothing better."
The rest of the trip was spent in friendly, but cursory
conversation. Nabiki thought vaguely that she didn't want to talk
too much until they got to her house, where they could have some
coffee and privacy. When they arrived at the house, Kasumi seemed
duly impressed.
"You have certainly made a good life for yourself here." The
comment seemed to have more behind it, a note of regret, or was it
jealousy? Nabiki felt a pang of nervousness; if Kasumi was truly
jealous of her life, she didn't want to disappoint her too much.
The downstairs was empty as they walked in; leaving their
shoes and purses in the foyer, Nabiki walked ahead to the kitchen,
offering her friend a seat at the kitchen table.
"Are you living in Tokyo?" Nabiki turned on the coffee pot
and returned to the table. "I haven't seen you in..." she counted
the years and blushed. "...a long time."
"Twenty five years, and you needn't be so modest. They've
treated you very well."
"If they've treated me well, they haven't touched you at all.
You look just like you did in high school."
Kasumi blushed. "Well, not exactly." She smiled, revealing
small crow's feet. "What's the saying? You're eighteen until
you're fifty, then you're eighty the rest of the way?"
The two shared a small laugh that grew slowly. It faded
naturally, and Nabiki went to fill their mugs in the kitchen.
"Actually, Nabiki, it isn't exactly coincidence that we found
each other tonight." The statement was friendly enough, but a
little jarring. "I need to talk to you."
"Oh?" Nabiki returned with the two mugs and a concerned
look. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Kasumi took a slow, savoring sip of the coffee and smiled.
"You always could make a brilliant cup of coffee." She let a
moment pass before setting the mug down and leaning forward
towards Nabiki. "I need you to remember something you've
forgotten."
Nabiki squinted at Kasumi, trying to discern what her
friend's sudden change in tone. "Okay," she replied hesitantly.
"What do you need me to remember?"
"I'd like you close your eyes, and think about graduation
night in high school." Kasumi leaned closer, standing up to reach
Nabiki. "Keep your eyes closed, and think carefully about the
three of us." With soft hands, she tilted Nabiki's head up.
About you and Akane and I. About Cynic, Enchant, and Focus."
'Forgive me, Nabiki. But there's no time to do this any
other way.'
Kenji was wiping the aborted sleep from his eyes as he crept down
the stairs. Mom had company, which was rare. No, beyond rare.
Kenji couldn't remember a single night when she'd brought company
home. He was about to make a small comment to let Mom know he was
awake, but as his eyes focused on the dining room from halfway
down the stairs, he paused, shocked into silence. As the image
seeped into his brain, Kenji gasped.
'Mom's kissing... another woman?!'
------------------------------------------------------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
The second week of the new fall season is here! I hope you
enjoyed this episode. Things are starting to accelerate, as you
can see, so don't even think about changing the channel.
Back when Episode 01 of Sunshine Girl first came out, I received a
compliment that I'd written Kenji's mother as more than just a
cookie-cutter anime mom. Part of the development of Nabiki Terada
as a character came because of this compliment. I'm sorry I've
forgotten your name, but thank you for the motivation. Nabiki has
a name now because of you.
If you're new, or have forgotten some of the nuances of the story
(even I had to re-read it from Episode 01 when I finally started
writing it again), you can find the Sunshine Girl archive here:
http://www.kingdomofmel.com/cafe-pierrot/
It is a temporary locale until I can get Cafe Pierrot back up and
running at a proper URL.
The obligatory Star Wars reference is here, this time from The
Phantom Menace. Should be pretty easy to find this time around.
Akane, Nabiki, Kasumi, and Rumiko: Maybe it was the late-night
session that let this reference see the light of day, but I got a
kick out of writing it. Hopefully you got a kick out of reading
it. Trust me, though. It won't be anything approaching a big
deal in this story; it's merely flavoring.
This isn't the first anime reference in Sunshine Girl (you'll
remember the veiled OMG! reference made by Caravan in Episode 03).
Some may find it a little cheesy, but it's part of the universe
Sunshine Girl occupies. It's the layer of fiction between our
world and the anime world, one where anime and manga creators
would be characters in the story. The three girls were not nearly
as distilled in "real life" as Rumiko Takahashi wrote them in
Ranma 1/2, but artists will be artists. ^_^
One last thing: if you have something (hopefully) nice to say
about the story, and the series in general, please don't be shy!
Post to the FFML with your Sunshine Girl C&C, because original
fanfic needs all the (hopefully) good press it can get. Original
fanfic has a bad reputation on the FFML for being of substandard
quality, and I want to help change that. But I can only do so
much on my own; reviewers and posters need to take an active role
in helping original fanfic to grow and overcome the bad rap it's
been getting.
Episode 07, "Scenes From A Memory," is in the works as you read
this. Get ready for the real roller coaster ride to begin! ^_-
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