Love, Matsuoka-Style
They sat in their usual booth, the one with the window that faced
the sun directly this time of the day, so it was warm enough to almost
counteract the effects of the restaurant's exaggerated air conditioning.
Still, Chika felt herself crossing her arms to ward off a bit of the
chill, and thought that maybe, if she were the romantic type, she'd have
stood up and scooted over to the other side and allowed herself to be
held. She glanced across the table at Miu and watched as the young woman
continued to shake salt onto the bare table top with a look of utmost
concentration. Chika rolled her eyes.
"Why do you always have to make a damned mess?"
"I don't always do it," Miu said. Then she looked up abruptly,
placing the salt shaker back down on the table and relaxing into her
seat. "I only do it when you're around, to annoy you and make you
re-evaluate why you associate with someone so socially unacceptable, and
then come to the conclusion that you do it because you like all my good
qualities and could never consider living without me. Makes me feel
good." Miu pointed in the general direction of her own heart, her smile
broad and insolent, as usual. "Makes me all fluttery in here to think
about how you could be thinking something like that."
"You make too many assumptions about what I'm thinking, then."
"I don't think so. Since now that I said what I think you're
thinking, you're probably thinking it now because I suggested it, I
think." With that, and with the same concentration as before, Miu picked
up the shaker and continued her previous project.
It occurred to Chika just then that it did bother her a little how
easily and accurately Miu could imagine her train of thought, something
that she found occasionally unpredictable even to herself. Somehow, it
seemed, Miu had picked up on the universal logic that governed the
otherwise seemingly random connections that her brain tended to make
when she was in such a pensive daze. She remembered that evening so any
years ago when she had first, angrily, taken full notice of Miu's
ability.
They were in High School. They had been pulling bedsheets off the
clothesline outside that she had forgotten to take down before dark. The
weather had thankfully been cooling down, so there had not been enough
humidity to re-dampen the sheets, but Miu complained stupidly about the
cold, and about how her lips were going to get chapped. As they folded
one of the sheets together, to drop it into a basket, their hands
brushed and their gazes met briefly.
Then Miu had said, with confidence: "A little while ago, you were
wondering about what it would be like to kiss me, weren't you?"
Chika remembered then that she had thought about it, but she could
not decide if she really had or if, now that Miu had planted it in her
brain, she really hadn't and only thought she did. She remembered she
had looked at Miu's lips, but could not remember why.
They had been together ever since then, though they had never, not
once, verbally acknowledged the fact, even to each other. In spite of
that, over the years, nearly everyone around them had caught on somehow.
Even Matsuri seemed to have noticed, albeit recently, and had asked
Chika last Valentine's Day why she and Miu never seemed to go anywhere
to celebrate it.
Chika reached over the table lazily, drew a smiley face in a layer
of Miu's salt. Miu did not look up, and instead began salting Chika's
hand.
"I wonder what's taking Onee-chan so long," Chika said. "I told her
to meet us here at 12:00."
"She's probably still asleep, the bum."
"Probably." Then Chika felt herself smile. "Or maybe she heard you
were going to be here and didn't want to come."
"Hey, hey," Miu said. "Onee-chan and I get along a lot better than
you seem to think."
"What are you talking about?"
Miu seemed to squint a little in thought, or a piece of salt had
floated into her eye; Chika was not sure which. "We just have one of
those mystical, silent connections, you know? Like we're all
philosophical and stuff," Miu said finally.
"Huh?"
"I never said anything before, but I'm not making it up, really.
It's true. Onee-chan doesn't hate me."
"I didn't say she hated you. Just that she thinks you're annoying
and doesn't want to see you all the time. Something I can relate to
myself."
"That's not true, either. We're actually pretty good friends."
Chika shrugged, watching as the grains of salt, shining in the
sunlight, pelted the back of her hand. "I guess it's inevitable that
you'd come to some kind of understanding over time."
"Wrong again, woman. We came to an understanding all at once--when
we found out we have the same kind of religion, you see."
"What?"
Miu smiled. "One day, we were friends. Just like that."
"Like, a specific day?"
"Yeah."
"Like, a specific day that you actually remember?"
"Yeah, yeah."
Chika pulled her hand away and shook it off, then glanced up at Miu
skeptically. "I don't really get what you're talking about. When did
this happen? "
"You really want to know?" Miu had run out of salt.
"I guess, yeah."
"I don't know. I think you'd try to interrupt me if I told the
story, because you're a spoil-sport like that."
"Huh?"
"You'd probably say you didn't want to hear it once I got to the
first part, even though that's the best part."
At that Chika leaned forward, and studied Miu's face. She knew what
Miu was doing--drawing her in with unnecessary preamble as always--but
she couldn't help but allow herself to fall for it. It was unusual that
Miu ever had the desire to discuss interpersonal matters. "Why would I
try to interrupt you?"
"If I told you why, you'd interrupt me while I was trying to tell
you why. Also, it'd give away the story."
"'Give away'...?"
"Yeah," Miu said, mirroring Chika and leaning forward, elbows on the
table. "So if you want to hear it, you have to promise you won't
interrupt me, no matter what. And if you do, I'll make a run for it when
the waitress comes with the bill so that you end up having to pay the
whole thing." Miu paused for a moment, then added: "And I'll make sure
to order lots and lots of stuff before that."
"But I barely brought enough money to cover--"
"Exactly. So don't interrupt me if you want me to tell the story."
Chika rolled her eyes again. "Fine, fine. Whatever. Just tell the
damn thing already."
"Okay." Miu's smile widened and she leaned even closer, as if she
were about to reveal a deeply-buried secret. "It happened when I was
around thirteen or so. The night before, you had told me that you and
your family were going to go off for a day-trip to the beach or some
crap like that. So, naturally, a little while after I saw your car leave
the driveway, I broke in through your window, as usual."
Chika narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
"Now, before I go on, I'd like to clarify and everything. I was
about thirteen, like I said, so I had never actually seen two people
getting it on before, except in light novels at the used bookstore that
they had forgotten to tie up with hemp so that you couldn't look at the
pictures without buying it. But I had never seen people doing it in
person, I mean."
Chika's eyebrows shot up at that, and she began to open her mouth in
protest, but Miu wagged a finger at her.
"No interruptions!" Miu warned.
"I just don't like where this is heading."
"See, I tried to tell you. But now it's too late to stop, so you're
just going to have to sit there and listen to the whole thing."
"Fine. I just hope this isn't what I think it's going to be; but,
knowing you, it could damn well be anything." Chika leaned back, and the
vinyl of the seat squeaked. "So what happened, already?"
"Alright, alight. So I came in through your window, as usual, and I
just hung around in your room until I heard someone coming through your
front door downstairs, and milling around the house and stuff..."
* * *
Miu opened the door a crack, and pressed her face to it, but could
see little from this point upstairs. Even the sounds emanating from the
rest of the house were vague, did not carry very well the way up to
Chika's room, and Miu strained to hear the what might have been human
voices barely noticeable above the whir of the air conditioning, like a
weak radio signal bathed in static.
She slipped out the room, crept a little ways down the stairs to get
a better look at the intruders, but attempted to keep herself at an
angle that concealed her from the living room, a little too high up the
staircase to be noticed easily. She was not opposed to confrontation,
but she figured she'd rather take whoever it was by surprise. She
waited, listened for the sound of the voices, but was instead met with
nothing but the faint sound of breathing.
She slid the rest of the way down the stairs, until she was sitting
at the bottom step, sweaty hand clinging to the railing, craning her
neck to see around the corner. She could see the living room couch
clearly now and, for the first time in a long time, she felt herself
genuinely on the receiving end of a surprise. She wasn't entirely sure
what she was seeing at first.
It was Onee-chan. Nobue sat on the couch, a soft smile on her face,
her breath a little shallow. She was not alone.
The other girl--the one straddling Nobue's lap--Miu did not
recognize. She was a bit smaller than Nobue, but appeared to be around
the same age. Her hair, a few shades lighter than Onee-chan's, was
somewhat mussed, a little moist-looking, with some strands falling over
her face. Still, her features were not obscured and Miu could see her
expression clearly. The girl was biting the inside of her lip, it
seemed; she looked like she wanted to close her eyes but could not. Miu
followed her gaze, found that it met Nobue's eyes. Then Miu looked at
Nobue.
Her expression was one that Miu could not remember ever seeing
before on Onee-chan's face. It was a quiet one, not tense at all, in
contrast to her companion; her head was tilted back, so that she could
face upwards and look upon the girl intently, eyes clear and undazed, as
if she were memorizing every atom of what she saw, as if she were
looking upon something rare of grave importance. It reminded Miu of that
expression on someone's face when they looked up from the base of a
mountain and stared at its peak, or the few times she had seen devotees
of some creed or another look upon their idols--a quiet, silent
understanding, as if looking upon such a thing revealed to one the
meaning of life. She found it extraordinarily fascinating. She leaned
further to get a better look.
That was when she noticed Nobue's hands. One gripped her companion
at the waist, the other was buried somewhere beneath the girl's skirt.
And then she noticed that the girl was moving against that hand, and
that Nobue also moved up to meet her, and that they had attained a
nearly perfect synchronicity by now. And it was only then that Miu
realized what she was seeing.
They were both fully clothed, but it was an unmistakable rhythm, an
unmistakable thrust of her hips. The girl made a noise, and then
another, and then she seemed to not try to hold back as much anymore.
Nobue, her smile unfaded, pressed her face to the girl's chest, brought
her closer in a half-embrace.
Miu could not remember the last time she had blushed, but she felt
her face heat up. She thought that if she stayed much longer, she would
surely be noticed at some point; they could no doubt see her clearly, if
only they thought to turn in her direction. She felt no desire to
interrupt the encounter--she wished to witness it through to its end--so
she pulled back some, hesitated, but crept as stealthily as she could
around the bend of the stairs and into the kitchen.
They had not noticed her slip by. Of course they hadn't.
She could still hear them; they grew louder, though not obnoxiously
so. She sat at the kitchen table and listened intently, curiously. She
closed her eyes and listened to the shallow breaths, the light groans,
listened to the sound of Nobue's name. It was soft, and relaxing, and
she felt, she thought, the way Nobue had looked: like she had happened
upon some object of great wisdom, like she had seen something
earth-shaking and could only stand by in quiet awe. She wondered if this
is what some people meant when they said they had religious experiences.
She wondered how it would come to an end, what kind of close these sorts
of things had, what a climax sounded like when one was being looked upon
with love.
She smiled mischievously to herself, and thought that she had a
piece of something of Nobue's, something she would have forever.
Eventually, after one last jerk, a final whimper, she heard silence
for awhile. She heard them kiss, and lamented that she could not see it.
She heard their reluctant movements to their feet, the rustle of
adjusting clothes, the shuffle towards the door. The girl apologized for
not being able to be with her longer, and, contradictorily, though
predictably, politely apologized for having intruded. Miu heard the
front door swing open. There was one last kiss, and then the girl said:
"See you tomorrow. After class, okay?" Her voice was shy, sounded as
if it was the first time she had ever addressed Nobue. "Let's go to the
park. It's been nice out."
When Miu chanced a look, craned her neck to see down the hallway,
she saw Nobue's back. Nobue faced the now-closed door, sighed lightly,
and when she began to turn around, the smile on her face was content.
Before she had finished turning, however, it faded, and she had caught
Miu's glance.
Nobue froze at first, a few conflicted expressions dancing across
her face in a matter of seconds. Miu knew what she was thinking. She
knew that Nobue was likely attempting to rationalize some possible
scenario where Miu could be sitting there at that kitchen table, with
that particular timing, and not have heard or seen a thing. She was
probably trying to rationalize a scenario where Miu, having obviously
not used the front door to enter, must have used some other method that
did not require her to come down the stairs, and did not require her
inevitably walking past the living room and inevitably seeing
everything.
But after a few seconds of staring at each other in silence, Nobue
seemed to be unable to stretch her imagination to such a huge degree.
She trudged forward until she stood across from Miu, who still sat
comfortably in her chair. She did not slouch in it; her posture was
impeccable.
Miu smiled at her, but Nobue didn't smile back. Her expression was
dull, and the only tinge of feeling in it appeared to be a touch of
anger, the corners of her mouth dipped just a little. Miu knew, though,
that Nobue would not hit her this time. She felt as she knew Nobue did,
that such an action would seem oddly vulgar just then.
So she looked up at Nobue.
"That was sex, wasn't it?" Miu said, fascinated. She had never felt
more sincere in her entire life. "What you were doing to her--that was
sex, right?"
Nobue opened her mouth, but said nothing at first, appeared
genuinely surprised. The bit of anger had faded from her face.
Then she smiled a little. "Yeah." And then she said nothing more.
It was that moment, Miu knew, looking back, that she and Nobue had
first become friends--as they stood there and faced each other,
acknowledged that they had both seen a piece of the other's self that
usually lay concealed, a tiny piece of the world that they both viewed
with the same eyes.
Nobue reached into her pocket and pulled out her cigarettes, and lit
one up.
It was only after Nobue had finished it that Miu finally found her
own face plastered against the tile of the kitchen floor.
* * *
As it turned out, Miu had not needed to warn Chika again about not
interrupting because she had been rendered speechless throughout most of
Miu's story.
When Miu was finished, when she shrugged and gave an anticlimactic
"And, yeah, that's it," Chika tried to say something.
It took a few attempts, but she opened her mouth. "What--what the
hell was that?"
"The story. That's it. That's how I became friends with Onee-chan."
"By spying on her while she was--she--"
"Yeah, basically." Miu poked absentmindedly at the food in front of
her, which they had finally ordered when Onee-chan's delay had grown too
long.
Chika shook her head. "I can't freaking believe you told me all
that." Her state of bewilderment rendered her voice completely devoid of
inflection.
"I warned you--"
"I don't care how many times you warned me. I didn't need to hear
about that!" Chika groaned in disgust. Then, a little more sheepishly,
she said: "It hadn't even really crossed my mind before that Onee-chan
ever...you know."
"Ah," Miu scoffed dramatically, picking up her sandwich. "I figured
you wouldn't get it. Even if it was all about you."
Chika's eyebrows somehow managed to shoot further up her face. "What
the hell did all that have to do with me?"
At that, Miu let her sandwich slip out of her hands and back onto
her plate with a plop. She reached across the table and took Chika's
hands in her own, squeezed them gently.
Chika looked at her with a bit of surprise. "What is it?"
"It does have to do with you, indirectly, you could say. Remember
how I said me and Nobue are kind of the same, that we have the same kind
of religion?"
Chika nodded, though she still did not quite follow. She wondered
suddenly if Miu was always this cryptic on purpose, as part of her
tendency to dramatize even the the most trivial of conversations, or if
she honestly possessed a way of thinking that was untranslatable to more
average human terms.
"Even though there are all sorts of things we don't take seriously,"
Miu explained, "every once in awhile there's that one thing that's kind
of sacred, right? Those are the things we don't ever really talk about.
Because talking too much about it runs the risk that someone might say
something to make it all cheap and shit."
"Huh?"
"Yeah," Miu said, nodding; and that was her only answer.
Chika stared at her, studied the faint curve of her smile, the way
the sunlight reflected off the wet of her eyes. Their hands still lay on
the middle of the table, clasped together. Chika thought that perhaps
she did understand after all.
"Thank you," she mumbled. She figured that, after all these years,
she had no reason to be surprised when Matsuoka Miu's gestures of
romance happened to be a bit unusual. It occurred to her that perhaps
Miu paid her compliments like this a lot more often than she thought,
but that she simply tended not to notice.
Miu's smile broadened a bit and she let go of Chika's hands. "Nobue
texted you about forty minutes ago when you were in the bathroom."
Chika tilted her head. "What are you talking about?"
"Look in your inbox if you're going to be all skeptical. She says
she has to do her laundry."
Chika looked at Miu, and Miu answered her unspoken question.
"Of course she's not doing her laundry, you idiot." She took a huge
bite of her sandwich, and continued with her mouth full: "But there's no
way in hell she's going to talk about that. You should know. We learned
it in today's lesson."
"But why did you have us sit here and waste our time if she wasn't
even going to come?"
Miu only paused for a second. "Yeah," she said, nodding again. And
that was that.
It also occured to Chika then that she didn't like how Miu always
seemed like she was ten steps ahead of her, and could not only predict
her train of thought, but also plan a sequence of events and predict the
flow of their conversation half an hour in advance, just to make some
kind of vague point. This time, though, she found that she could not
summon up any of her usual indignation, as she looked at Miu's
uncharacteristically affectionate face, her soft mouth--at the end of
which hung the last of her sandwich's crust.
She thought that if it was possible for her to remain annoyed at
Mastouka Miu for any substantial period of time, then they would have
split up the day they had met.
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