--some time between red journal entries 18 and 19---
“Yes, yes I’ll get the writeups in by Friday, but You’re gonna have to slot me in with him on Monday to make up for lost time. No I know there’s a big deal coming up but- Yes, yes, I’m on that, I’m on it right now the negotiations are going swiftly. Now, if you’d hang up the- god DAMN it I’ve told you already, haven’t I? 3 times. Three GODDAMN times. The fundraiser is in two weeks. Write it down again before I have to staple it down to your god damn head and- Yes, sorry sir, I have to get through here, I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer I just really have somewhere to be getting, and- no NOT YOU hang up the GODDAMN PHONE before your salary hits negative numbers. Ok? Ok- Yes, sorry sir, a secretary kept me waiting, I really do have to go now- no I can’t take another refreshment before I leave, I really have eaten enough, thank you for the offer though- Oh ma’am! Lovely dress! I’d have loved to talk to you more, really, but something’s just come up and I really must go, my apologies, we can sort out the accounts later, and, yes, I do agree, we should hire a bigger hall next time. I mean, we all do deserve a treat once in a while. Yes, yes loved talking to you, sorry I couldn’t say more, and say hi to the kids for me! Oh! Sir! Yes, wonderful to see you too, I’m just heading out so- no, no I can totally arrange something next week, just talk to my secretary about it, ok? You have her number. Yes, it’s under my name. Okay, sorry, thank you, see you later, I’ll stay longer next year, I swear, trust me, we’ll get the seven course meal if you insist, thank you once again for your patronage, alright, goodnight! BYE!”
Freedom. As much as I’m aware I really should not still be thinking these things, I am. I am, and it’s a solid shame my car’s parked so far away. Yes, technically, it was my choice not to reserve a VIP spot or something, but the fact remains the same. I’ve got a walk until I get to my car. Until I can finally just go home and maybe knock out a few emails. Drink myself to sleep if I’m feeling fancy.
Call it dreary all you want, it’s better than the excuses of parties I’m obliged to host each year, for company morale or some bullshit. Whatever it is, all it really is is money down the drain and hopes of meeting a client worth talking to. Hopes that more often than not get terminated by Kouki vomiting in the flowerpot again. Well… they used to.
Honestly, this year, there really wasn’t anybody worth talking to. I mean, all technicalities considered, there probably were a few useful acquaintances I could have made, but it really wouldn’t be worth the time, or effort. Simple as that. And if any of my subordinates have any problems with that, they can forward it to my secretary. I’m sure he’d love to deal with another set of menial complaints. It’s what I pay him for.
Alright, alright. Enough about the party. Or about parties in general. I’m starving, and leftovers really don’t sound so good today. Going anywhere ‘fancy’ (for lack of a better word) just looks incredibly idiotic when by yourself, and I’m not nearly tuckered out enough for a take in-
Fucking hell, it is. Sobbing at a random bartender. He should really stop doing that, we have appearances to keep up.
Oh. Wait. He’s none of my business anymore. God, what am I doing, staring at this random teenager fuck up his life-
He retreats, familiar words tracing themselves over his lips over and over and over until they dissolve into meaningless mush. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry I-”
Against my better judgement, I step inside. It’s a straight path to the bartender, who looks even more hassled now. Can she go and look so concerned somewhere else? I have a 17 year old to deal with.
“Hm. Hm?” He’s bleary eyed, clearly drunk out of this mind. Is nobody else seeing this?
“I’m sorry. I really am.” He moves to take another sip out of the keg. Hell if I’m letting him.
“I’ve- I’ve been doing good, I promise. I was doing so good-”
“Kouki. You’ve had enough. Who-” That goddamn bartender, just standing there staring like this is some fucking freak show. “Who licensed giving him a drink?”
“I said. Who licensed him to get a drink.”
She shudders. “I did. He- He had a reputable ID and-”
“Does that look like a 20 year old man to you?”
“Well, when he walked in, he was-”
“The answer. Is. No. You sold alcohol to a minor, and in Japan, that is a criminal offense. I’m sure someone of your position would be aware-”
“We get all sorts of clients every day and-” Oh no she didn’t.
“Do NOT give me that bullshit. Your conduct is so woefully inadequate that it’d be sane if I-”
“Kouki, I’m in the middle of something, I-” He goes a bit green. Shit.
“Stop fucking blabbering before I let go of my good will and get you fired. How. Many. Has. He. Drank.”
“Well, he ordered about 8 mugs, that was his sevent-”
“Okay. Got it.” He’s clinging onto my arm now. Great. We should probably get out of here soon before he spews over the floor. “How much will that be.”
“Well, since he ordered the large mugs, it’d be about 7000 yen?” Oh. She cannot be serious.
“1000 yen per glass? Do you take me as some kind of fool?”
“These are bar prices sir, they’re non-negotiable.”
“As is the legal age to buy alcohol, is it not? Now, I am being a very fair man when I offer you 3500 yen despite the horrific service you have provided.”
“I don’t think you heard me clearly. 3500 yen or your job. I’m sure I can trust you to make the right decision.” Kouki’s grip grows tighter, almost like a vice. I can’t stay here for much longer.
“I-” I slam 7 500 yen notes down on the table.
“Thank you for your service. Good night.” I stand up. “Come on, Kouki.”
“Thanks Dad.” Not quite the right name, but he’s drunk out of his mind. He’ll snap out of it by tomorrow. The barkeeper’s expression softens from timid to understanding. Fucking hell.
“I won’t be here to dig you out of this shit again next time, ok? So for the love of god, please don’t go run off again. Alright?” I ruffle his hair a little. ‘Dad’ sounds a hell of a lot less suspicious than boss, and I really don’t need any more eyes on me.
“..ok” ..and he’s practically hanging off of me. Very dignified, Kouki. Very dignified. Despite everything, the barkeeper keeps looking at me with pity, as if her job isn’t the one on the line right now.
“Teen pregnancy?” She asks, as if it’s any of her fucking business. Aren’t you supposed to be terrified?
“I believe I missed the part where it was any of your business.” I’m still trying to haul Kouki up on me in a sustainable manner. This used to be easier, I could swear on it. “But if you must know, yes. I was immature.”
“I- do you need help with tha-”
“No. Do your goddamn job.” I say, as I try not to hobble out of the bar with a drunken 17 year old slung across my back.
“Okay sir!” She says, sounding much too friendly for everything that just went down. It’s not worth wasting my time on. Kouki’s still a ticking time bomb.
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“And- I’m just-” He pauses again, swaying a little, before letting out another torrent of his stomach fluids. Vomiting, in layman’s terms. I’d have liked to say we managed to reach my house, but unless my house was slotted between 2 garbage cans in the back of an alleyway, that would be incorrect.
“Yeah, yeah. Let it out.”
“But I can’t! I’m not supposed to! What am I even supposed to let out if- if-” another pause. He’s getting better now, his sentences are getting longer.
“If I don’t even know what’s inside?” He looks up at me, terrified, enunciating each word like it’s the most horrific realisation he’s had. “I- I was supposed to know by now, I really was. It was supposed to make sense. I was supposed to be human by now I- I don’t even have a-” Pause. Another torrent? No. False alarm. “I don’t even have a favourite colour. Or a favourite food. I don’t have any interests or hobbies that are just my own.” His eyes are dead set on mine. “It’s like I’m not even a real person.”
“Before we get to that, are you feeling better now?”
“I- I don’t know if I ever will.” Physically, that’s a yes.
“Okay. Here, drink this.” I pass him a bottle of water. The convenience store clerk must have thought I was mad when he saw me rush in (three piece suit and trenchcoat included) snatch a water bottle, slam a few yen down on the table (probably more than I should’ve now that I think about it) and rush out.
Well, it was an emergency.
“Ok.” His hands are shaking much less as he reaches for the plastic bottle, squeezing the life out of it as he shakily takes in a few sips.
“You think you can get in the car without vomiting now?”
“I-” He blinks for a moment, processing the statement. “Yeah.”
“..ok” I offer out my arm, allowing him to put his whole body weight on me again. “You’re ok. The world looks a bit spinny right now, but all we have to do is walk down this path, and then we’ll be at my car and you can sit down. Got it?” He nods. “Good.”
Luckily, none of his… emissions managed to get onto either of our clothes, so I don’t have to worry about getting him something to wear for the night. He can change clothes when he's actually able to stand properly. As for any other arrangements of care, I do still have a perfectly decent guest bedroom (though I doubt that it’ll be used), and I guess I could try whip something up to eat for the night. I’d rather he didn’t go to bed hungry, and, knowing him, I doubt he’s eaten anything of substance recently. At least he’ll be tuckered out enough to get some decent sleep.
Kouki shuffles awkwardly into the front seat, before fumbling around pathetically with the seatbelt. Thankfully, I’m here.
“It can be.” I close the door on his side before coming back around to the other side- the driver’s seat, before starting up the car.
The first few minutes go by in total silence, just me, him, and the road. It gets awkward, soon. And the kid looks like he’s squirming around in his own skin.
“Should I… play something? A song?”
“I- sure.” And then, so quietly I almost couldn’t hear it, “What harm would another distraction do? I’ve failed miserably already.”
“Yeah.” He pauses. And suddenly, he’s laughing.
“I’ve done it again!” Tears well up in his eyes, as he starts exclaiming. “God damn it, I’ve done it again! I’m still doing it, aren’t I? Should I post on tumblr again, to top it off? Emphasise how low I am, how much of a fucking- God, I’ve probably done it already, haven’t I? I’ve fucked it all up again already, and I’m still deluding myself into thinking I’ve become better!” He whips out his phone and starts trying to shove it at me. “Here. Here! Take a photo. No, a video! The act is back on! I mean, it never really stopped, did it? What’s another installment, another episode, another-”
“I’m driving, Kouki.” There’s an exit nearby. I could probably park the car for a bit.
“I know, but- you’re going the wrong way.”
“oh.” And as he says it, the car stops.
“Do you want me to leave?” He asks. “I- I probably deserve it, I know, but if you’re gonna punch me, please don’t do it in my right nipple, I know it’s selfish but-”
“No, Kouki. I don’t want you to leave. And before you say anything, I’m not leaving either.”
“I just. Look, you’re… trying. Yeah?”
“I’m not though. I’m the same as I’ve always been-”
“You are. You have changed. I mean, how many times have you brought up Teruhashi today?”
“Why? It’s a perfectly decent achievement to me.”
“It doesn’t… fix anything. It’s not even what I’m trying to fix! It’s just-” Okay, that’s not going to work.
“You know, you still haven’t picked a song.”
“You.. wanted me to pick?”
“Yeah.” And.. he’s silent. I open my phone and pass it to him. He opens youtube and just. Stares.
..after a while, tears begin to well in his eyes. He begins to forcefully type in a song, before backspacing immediately. His breathing quickens.
“Hm. Maybe I should play a few songs first?”
“Oh, trust me, you’re not getting out of it.” I say, before taking the phone out of his shaking hands.
“No, no- give it back! I can do it I swear-”
“You will do it. You’re playing all the songs on the ride home.”
“We’ll both have to sit here while my songs play.” I type in a familiar few letters, and allow the song to fill the car.
‘Fly me to the moon.
and let me dance among the stars
let me see what’s happening on
a- Jupiter and mars’
“Is… is this.. your favourite?” He asks.
“I’m not sure, honestly.” I pause. He stares up at me inquisitively. “I do know why I like it, though. I had a roommate, in college, and he just… loved playing the guitar. He wasn’t particularly good at it, and nobody really expected him to be either. He was a law student, nothing even remotely close to the arts. But he insisted on learning it, no matter what. The problem with him was, he never really knew where the limit was. So, after a week or two of learning the basics of guitar, he went and leapt at a ‘grade 7’ piece.. which just so happened to be this song. And he’d play it. Over and over and over again. Like crazy. At first, it just sounded like a bunch of discordant chords and notes, with no rhythm or melody to drive them forward, to weave them together. But then, over time, maybe after a month or two of driving me crazy… it sounded like something. It sounded… like itself. The crazy bugger managed to pull it off. Funniest part was, it wasn’t even his favourite song. He just.. found the sheet music, lying around somewhere in the back of a music class and forced himself to try learn it. He was always like that.”
“So.. you like it because of him?”
“Maybe. Maybe I just like that it reminds me of him. Doesn’t change the fact that I like it.”
He looks up at me, confused, but he doesn’t say another word. The rest of the song finishes in silence.
As the jazz finishes, I type in another name, and the first, gentler chords of chop suey begin to play. As the guitar finally kicks in, Kouki blinks up at me in surprise.
“My older sister blasted in her room around the time it came out. I was seven and I hated her for it. I hated it even more when I started humming the main tune in the middle of class. Partially because guitar doesn’t sound that great when hummed, but also because I had convinced myself I hated it, as much as I hated my stupid, older, rebellious sister who just couldn’t get her act together. Or whatever I thought of her back then. Point is, I’ve heard other rock songs, even from that band, and I’ll admit- they were decent. Great to scream out after having to deal with…. certain clients, but I don’t think any of them mean as much to me as this one.”
“But it only really meant something to you because of her, didn’t it?” Finally. He’s getting there.
“She’s a large part of the reason why, yes. You could even say that my general liking towards rock as a genre stemmed from her desire to be rebellious. After all, it’s an acquired taste. Most things are.”
“But you liked it. You could tell what you liked.”
“Could I? And besides, even if I could.. there was always a reason. Something beyond the song itself.”
“Yeah. That’s what makes it a defining character trait! The reasons, the fact that you have something that you can reach out to-”
“I mean, not necessarily for songs, not yet at least. But you have things that you can reach out to, experiences to draw from, don’t you?”
“People don’t always like their favourite songs. I mean, most people don’t even really have favourites. Just.. preferences. Sometimes.”
“I don’t even have those. I don’t have anything.” Is he genuinely dense. Why am I still asking this question? I’ve known the kid for years. He’s dense.
“Okay. I have one song left.”
“..do I still have to play something after?”
As the last notes of Chop Suey screech to an end, I play it. Fur Elise.
“Most people do. It’d be strange if you didn’t.”
“..so? Why do you like this one?”
“I don’t. Well, I do, sometimes. It depends.”
Forced piano lessons, meaningless banquets, meetings with people I have to memorise the faces of, family dinners filled with many words and nothing truly said. It’s a refined choice, according to the people who say they matter.
“It’s.. a song. Well, it’s a type of song.”
“That’s the one. It’s got flare, it’s got drama, it’s got.. well, class. It’s revered for a reason. Sometimes, the notes feel beautiful, falling together to create something exciting, dramatic. Other times, they’re just.. nostalgic. In ways I wish they weren’t. Most of the time they’re just notes. Background music.” Something people pretend to have a taste for. “It’s the only song I still have fully memorised on the piano.”
He looks at me, staring at me, as if to figure something out.
“I guess.. that’s what art is supposed to be. It’s supposed to stick, it’s supposed to mean something. But you can’t force it to. It just.. finds it’s own way.”
“You can’t turn yourself into a person, Kouki. You’ve always been one, and things like favourites can’t give you that or take that away. Sure, knowing what you like or dislike might be convenient, but it’ll never be what you’re looking for. So when I hand you this phone, don’t play your ‘favourite’ song. Don’t even play a song you hate, or a song that’s supposed to mean something to you. Just play the first thing that comes to mind. I’m sure it’ll be worth listening to.”
His eyes glint as he looks up at me. He might start sobbing again.
He takes the phone, grasping it as tightly as he can. I get the car moving again as he frantically types in something, without deleting it. He presses play.
Circus music starts playing. Fucking hell.
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He shuffles onto the sofa, allowing himself to sink into the cushions. I set the remote in front of him so he can turn on any channel of his interest, before walking back to the kitchen so I can set some rice and potatoes to boil. Look, it sounds strange, but potatoes mashed with rice really do taste good, and it’s just bland enough for a kid recovering from hangover to eat. I’ll boil some eggs on the side, if he wants any flavour.
It's simple, even if it isn’t quick, and it’s one of the dishes I can count on myself to not fuck up. Besides, I do have to have some rice for tomorrow as well. Now that I think about it, the living room is suspiciously quiet. Usually by now Kouki would be blasting something or the other, or scribbling away halfheartedly at some notebook or another. Even if not that he’d be chattering, being the regular earworm he always has been, or sobbing… again. Sure, I appreciate the silence whenever I can get it, but this is just.. odd.
When I walk into the room.. there’s nothing. Well, he’s still there, in the exact same position as he was before, but you wouldn’t be wrong if you said there was nothing in his eyes. A pure blank.
..nothing. No response, not a single movement. It’s as if he’s concentrated all his energy into a single particle in the air, and nothing else could possibly matter to him. As if his brain’s clocked out and his body’s been left behind, still breathing as it normally would. A husk.
“Kouki.” He’s not turning- he’s not even looking. It’s as if he can’t hear me. As if he’s behind a glass barrier, except the windows are tinted so only I can see him, and he can’t look back. I should shake him, maybe yell at him, get him to do something, anything-
The rice begins to boil over. What the fuck am I doing?
..He’ll manage. Maybe some time without thinking would do him some good.
..The food’s done soon enough, and when I return with two plates, he still hasn’t moved. I hover a plate in front of his head, and he takes it, wordlessly, finally meeting my eyes in what I can only guess to be some kind of thanks.
He spoons some of the potato rice in his mouth, expression neutral. I settle beside him, shoving some food into my own mouth. It’s decent enough, and the chopped chillies I added mixed into my own prevent it from getting too dull. It’s enough to get by.
“Do you… want to watch anything?”
He nods, albeit after a slight pause, before spooning another lumpful of rice into his mouth.
“Ok.” I turn the TV on, and-
SAIKI KUSUO NO SAI- nope! The channel is switched as fast as humanly possible to some random reality gameshow. Kouki looks just as unfazed as before. Thank god.
After a rather short amount of time, the smiles start to get too shiny. It’s just not fun to zone out to, really, let alone watch, so I switch over to something else. A nature documentary, about elephants or something. I.. guess that’s more peaceful.
‘The mama elephant herds her baby along, making sure her child doesn’t fall far back in the group.’
Kouki finishes the plate, placing it down on the table in front of us, before falling back onto the couch, just staring at the documentary, bleary eyed. I wonder if he sees anything.
‘fawn and flail as it might, the baby continues, persevering along the rough, Saharan planes as best as it can.’
Kouki’s head falls onto my shoulder, and suddenly half his body weight is on me.
‘Water is still a long way away, but both mother and child know they’ll reach the end. It’s a journey they’ve been on before, and a journey they may have to go on again. But, with support, survival is guaranteed.’
I eat the final spoonful of my own food, placing my own plate down on the table as well as I can without moving my shoulder. The documentary continues in the background. It seems… interesting enough to finish.
Besides, I doubt I’ll get much sleep today anyways, and Kouki’s eyes are still somehow wide open.
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“The stars are beautiful today.” He says, staring up as if he can actually see anything.
“That’s the ceiling, Kouki.”
“Then why is it sparkling?”
“Because your eyes are short-circuiting. Now go to sleep.”
“But I caaaaaan’t” he whines, like a five year old whose been denied a sweet.
“Sure you can. When was the last time you slept anyways?”
“uh.” He blinks. “good question?”
“Alright. I’ll be going now and if I see you staring up at the ceiling when I come back, I’ll be less than pleased.”
“I can’t make any promises!” ..of course he can’t.
“Well you can try.” And just as I get up-
“You’re not going to sleep either.”
“Well, I have work to do and-”
“Liar. You took a break tomorrow. You should be resting too.”
“Breaks just mean catching up on work that’s overflown. You know this as well as I do.”
“If you’re not sleeping, neither am I.”
“Kouki. I slept yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and even- well actually, I’ve slept this whole month. All nighters aren’t nearly as easy or necessary as they used to be when I was your age- or even a tad bit older. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”
“Don’t leave. Please.” God. This kid. This goddamn kid.
“..Alright. I’ll bring my laptop here, ok?” And then he smiles. That’s enough of an answer.
By the end of the night, the only sound that fills the room is the soft tapping of laptop keys.
((READ THIS RIGHT NOW IT’S INCREDIBLE I HAVE BEEN CONTINUOUSLY GOING INSANE ABOUT IT FOR DAYS ON END))
