“Sir,” a friendly woman’s voice echoed.
“Sir…” she repeated, gently nudging Oliver’s shoulder, waking him up from his trance. The pop in his eyes was explosive, along with his gyrating body.
“What?” he panted loudly and focused at the flight attendant, busily piecing together what was going on and why he felt like he was, one seconds ago, in a weightless galaxy, one that was really wet and rainy to be exact.
“I’m sorry sir,” she replied guardedly, taking a step back in response to Oliver’s odd behavior, whom she perceived to be an unstable passenger. “Do you… require… assistance leaving the cabin?”
Oliver rubbed his eyes. The blue screen had stopped playing his movie. Through his misty window, he saw a faint image of the dark cement ground and glimmers of light aligning all the complicated pathways. His sleeping neighbor had already left, along with the rest of the passengers. Indeed, the plane had landed safely. The last hour of his past had passed peacefully, and he had spent all of it by emerging himself in his sleepy recollection of what happened that day at Yuriko’s doorstep.
”Please let this be the final time I dream about that rainy day… and…
“Let me… forget…” he begged to his determination.
As tough as it was for Oliver to conclude, he knew it was time to start his new life, a life without Yuriko, no matter how impossible it seemingly was. His mission of searching for her had failed. He uncovered nothing worthwhile in Osaka except for the ghostly white umbrella.
“From this moment on, I must move on… and… forget about… the girl named… Yuriko Nanikawa…”
“Sir…” the flight attendant repeated worriedly, interrupting his swirling thoughts.
“Sorry, I’m… fine,” he stood up sheepishly. “I guess… I got… too comfortable earlier.”
She grinned awkwardly, “Don’t forget to take all your belongings with you when you leave the plane.”
Oliver nodded and she walked away, leaving him in his silence as he reached for the luggage door atop the passenger seats. Just as he snapped the handle open, the ghostly white umbrella quickly tumbled out from inside, jumping automatically into his arms as if it had a life of its own. What followed immediately afterwards was Yuriko’s tuneful voice humming in his head:
”Rain is good for you, Oliver… According to my astrological assessment, you represent wood. You are like a healthy tree, and the rain will always give you nourishment… and keep you cool…”
He remembered vaguely she once babbled this nonsense to him. Of course he never bothered to understand what she meant. All he knew was that she was always obsessed with analyzing elements related to nature, especially the rain. She once compared raindrops to lingering love, and said rainy days were romantic only when she was with him. At the sight of the enigmatic umbrella, images of the many rainy strolls they shared under one together began to sadly play again:
”I don’t understand you women! It must be too many fluffy movies or something. Always associating special meanings to things like rain! Must we always have to take a stroll every time it pours?” Oliver recalled complaining to a giggling Yuriko as he struggled with the umbrella along the London sidewalk, making sure she was fully shielded.
“But Oliver, this --IS-- romantic!”
She gazed into his brown eyes and muttered endearingly, “You… me… under an umbrella…
”It’s all I ever need…”
In a hasty attempt to silence the humming and the slight heat needling in the corner of his eyes, Oliver tossed it back inside and abruptly retrieved his backpack. He ruthlessly slammed the cabinet door shut and began to march away, determined to leave his memories behind, but the melody of images in his head only became crisper, despite the growing distance between him and the hurtful reminder locked behind the door from that day.
“You… me… under an umbrella…
”It’s all I ever need…”
Oliver stopped. His feet were taking orders from his heart now, and his knees were turning back without effort. The humming was now rippling like a lament, playing at his heartstrings, and he knew he could never leave what they had behind. As unusual as its origin was, the umbrella would somehow become one of those mementos he could not let go of, just like the rain chain and the wind chime she had given him, no matter how hard he tried.
***
From the airport to the connecting train station, Oliver’s steps were slow and without purpose, knowing he had nowhere to go. It was as if he was sleepwalking through the fog, his numb arms no more than just an unnecessary enhancement, his hair disheveled carelessly, venturing on a journey without a map. With nothing but the gentle breeze guiding him along his path, he wondered how he could pass his days and nights without her by his side. Thankfully, his brain was still pulsating marginally. He could still remember the location of his old neighborhood and the building that housed his flat, a place he abandoned so suddenly this past summer.
He stepped out of the familiar train station with his luggage. Under the nightly skies, everything was the same since the last time he was here. Welcoming him were the tacky and blinding neon signs, the freezing voices of strangers, and the twisted stench of remnants of cigarette smoke and beer entangling the air that irritated his eyes to suddenly water. Oddly, despite all the people and voices close to him, he never felt more distant and alone. He could hear the sounds of fireworks as he walked along his way, reminding him it was New Year’s. Checking his watch, it was well past midnight already. Everyone was cheering at the celebrations except him.
It was time to turn the corner, the winds behind his sails whispered quietly to him at the arrival of the fire hydrant as they steered him to the proper direction. A comparatively quiet and dark winding street stood in front of him now, illuminated by a fragile streetlight next to a signpost that indicated it was a one-way street. Beside the post was a blurry shadow, belonging to a person he had met before.
Oliver looked up and recognized her. Just like the last time, he didn’t reach the count of a hundred steps before running into her. The same fragile streetlamp would light up her sleek auburn hair and murky eyes behind glossy makeup that failed to mask the ashes on her face. In his mind, she was a girl with no face, only facial features, thanks to the layers of ashes. She didn’t possess a name either, and according to her, he didn’t have one as well. For her, he simply bore the title of, “Pretty Boy.”
A sense of déjà vu was clocking in Oliver’s head. He was wondering why he would always run into this nameless girl every time he was feeling his worst. The first time they met was the night when Yuriko abandoned him at the train station. At the time, she was like his temporary drug; he momentarily regained his will after their intimate encounter. He remembered he hadn’t thanked her for her efforts, because she was already gone before he woke up the next morning.
Oliver approached her with his luggage. His shadow followed diligently, and strands of it instantly intertwined with hers under the flickering streetlight, as if they had a life of their own, weaving themselves into another familiar but somber song.
She smiled suavely, letting her eyes do all the intimate touching as they painted her pretty boy up and down absorbingly, taking a brief break at the familiar broomstick. She had stopped pondering about its importance. It was not her business to ponder about him and his details. He was not her business. Keeping her downcast head tilted discreetly, she didn’t want him to see her face. She wanted to at least have this as her only source of mystery for him.
“You… remember me?” asked Oliver emptily, inching closer so their similar shadows could finally join as one.
His were the last spoken words they shared. Their only source of light, the streetlamp, flickered away. Just like a curtain at the end of a performance, darkness would engulf them, letting their shadows to plow into each other laconically, so she could take him beyond the limits of space and time again…
Moongate Beckons When The Canvas Sleeps by gossipweaver
Chapter Notes: In this busy metropolis, a walk of no more than a hundred steps is an encounter of no less than a hundred faces that are just like his… faces covered with the ashes of love… lonely shadows that do nothing but provide company for the other lonely shadows…