What Kirika Wants
Kirika sat on the bench waiting for her bus, in the nighttime. Today
had been productive. After breakfast, she told Mireille she was going
out for the day and brought her art supplies. Among other things, she
ended up sketching some ornate candles at a beautiful cathedral,
despite her dislike of churches, a man trying to sell seashells to
tourists (did he think they'd be fooled?), and eventually settled in
her spot by the nearby river. She'd have left earlier, but Kirika
saw the most beautiful sunset on the water and painted it on a whim.
She was already late for dinner, but it was worth it.
A city bus stopped and an old woman, with brown hair and fancy
clothes and carrying a walker, got off. At the last step, her walker
missed the curb and she stumbled. Kirika got up to help her, but she
caught herself in time and sat down on the other end of the bench.
As for Kirika, right before the bus left, she saw it was the wrong
number and sat back down.
"Oh buses aren't what they used to be. In my day, the driver helped
a poor lady like me down." The old woman shook her head. "Service
people nowadays." She looked at Kirika, "So what brings you out here
this time of night? There are no clubs around, and you should be
getting your sleep. School's tomorrow."
Kirika ignored the school comment, seeing as she didn't go to
school. "I've been painting. I'm going home now....You?"
The woman looked down at her clothes. "Oh these?" I'm going to a
party. My son is divorcing his wife--thank god--and he's getting
sole custody of the children."
"Oh." A few awkward moments passed.
"My name's Ingrid. What's yours?"
"Kirika."
"Kirika, eh? That doesn't sound French."
"I'm from Japan."
"Japan? What brought you all the way to France?"
"Mireille," Kirika's voice lowered unconsciously, "My roommate."
"Dear, you sound disappointed. Is something wrong?"
"What? Uh...no."
"Doesn't sound alright. I'm an old woman. I have grandchildren. I can
tell."
Kirika looked down. "Well..."
"Yes...?"
"You know all those couples who are affectionate and hold hands and
kiss? I want us to be like that."
Ingrid raised her eyebrows.
"What?"
"It's nothing. Just I grew up in a time where a same-sex couple even
holding hands'd be killed."
"Killed?"
"But that was long time ago. Tell me, is she interested in you?"
"I don't know. We're very close, but we've never talked about it."
"Either of you?"
"I wrote her a letter a few months ago, but I don't know if she read
it."
"Hmm?"
"I hid it. I didn't want her to find it before I left. I thought I
wasn't coming back."
"What made you come back?"
"She loves me."
"But you just said--"
"She just never talks about it. We go about our day like nothing ever
happened. I don't know if she loves me as a lover, a sister, a best
friend, or what."
Ingrid thought for a moment. "I see. You need to take the first
step."
"Me? Why?"
"Because if you don't, nothing will ever change. It could be that
she's waiting for you to say something."
"But...I can't."
"Why not?"
"...I don't deserve her love. I did something horrible to her. I
have no right to ask for more than she's given me. I'm...incredibly
grateful for what I have."
"And yet you want more."
Kirika looked down morosely.
"It's not a sin to want more."
"It is when you've done what I have."
"...You said she's still with you?"
Kirika nodded her head.
"And she loves you?"
Kirika nodded again.
"Then apparently she's forgiven you. If she hadn't she wouldn't be
with you now."
Kirika looked at her, surprised.
"Kirika, dearie, tell her what you want. The worst that can happen
is that she says no. If that happens, you'll move on."
"But I have no one else. She's the only one who can ever understand
me."
"Kirika, let me tell you a story. A long time ago, I met a man named
Benoit. He was a handsome man, like you wouldn't believe. Kind, too.
Anyway, I was 16 and he was 20. We were good friends, but I was in
love with him."
"And?"
"Like I said, I was 16 and he was 20. I wondered what a man like him
could possibly see in a kid like me. Not to mention what my parents
would say if we dated. So I waited for him to ask me out."
"Did he?"
"Lord no. Eventually he moved away and married. Later I found out he
was waiting for me to ask him out because he didn't want to seem like a
dirty old cradle-robber."
"Cradle...?"
"A much older person who dates a much younger one."
"Mireille's older than me. Would that make her a cradle-robber?"
"Maybe, maybe not. But anyway, I was waiting for him, and he was
waiting for me, and in the end he married someone else and I lost my
chance," she said wistfully. "The point is, you need to make the
first move, because if you don't and she doesn't, you'll both be
pining away and waiting until you lose your chance."
"Um...how do I do it?"
"Every person's unique. What works for one might not work for the
other. Oh! You said you wrote her a letter, right?"
"Yes."
"Try asking her about it and see where it leads. Practice in front
of a mirror if you have to. Like I said, you may find she's
been waiting for *you* to bring it up. Oh, here's my bus. Good
luck," Ingrid said as she climbed on.
Kirika got up and started running home. She had no idea what
Mireille would say, but she decided to give it a try. It was time
for her to go after what she wanted.
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