Actual stuff.

[thunderedge]

sakurabatou

Too long to be drabbles, too short to be much else.



You take the bowl down from the cabinet, all of your attention focused on it. “What’re you doing in here, anyway? I thought you couldn’t cook.”

“I really can’t. You remember, you tried to teach me once...well, you wouldn’t remember. Never mind.” I thought the grinding of the silverware drawer opening drowned me out, but you place the spoon on the counter, without turning around.

“No, not never mind. What?”

I hold up my hand, counting off the fingers. “Last time, I let the water boil over, burned the rice, broke two bowls, and a glass.”

“It just takes time. I still break things. The first time I tried, I nearly burned the kitchen down.”

I shake my head. “Just how old were you?”

“Seven, or eight....well, anyway, I learned to feed myself. Had to, or I probably would have starved.”

I don’t really have an answer besides a nod. You’re staring out the window, not paying attention to what your hands are doing.

“I miss you.”

My stomach twists with something like shock. “What?”

“I said, I miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

You sigh. “No, I don’t know how to explain it.”

I swallow and lean back against the table, the edges of the wood biting into my palms.

“I’m really trying to remember. I am.” You shake the measuring cup to even out the surface of the sugar. I watch the tiny grains tumble and scatter onto the floor.

“It’s not—ah. Look, take your time. It’s all right.”

The sugar cascades into the flour. “It’s clearly not all right.”

I look down at the perfect tile pattern beneath my feet. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“Did you always give up so easily?”

“Don’t get angry.”

“I’m not angry! You’re angry.” The metal spoon rebounds sharply off the edge of the sink.

“I’m not angry at you,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even.

“Right.”

“It’s all right, though.”

“It’s not all right.”

I watch the eggs crack on the countertop and deposit their contents into the bowl, and wonder if my hands would be that steady.

“We can’t have this fall apart.”

“Are you talking about cake?”

You pause, staring at something in front of you that I can’t see. My fingers are numb from gripping the edge of the table. You swing the lower cabinet open, toss the roll of plastic wrap onto the counter. The click of the latch isn’t audible over the sound of your foot pushing it shut. You tear off a sheet and push it over the edges of the bowl, your fingers wrinkling the sheer plastic. You stand there, gripping the bowl, holding it down on the counter, and I sit on the edge of the table and watch.

“I’ll finish this tomorrow.” You put it in the fridge, tossing a damp dish towel at me as you leave the kitchen. “You want to help, clean up.”

“You just...keep doing this!”

You don’t stop. “I’m going out.”

“Where are you going?”

“You’re asking? You do this all the time, when things don’t go the right way. Wasn’t I always the one who had to go and get you?”

I throw the towel at the sink. It misses, slides pitifully down to the floor. “ ‘Don’t go the right way’. Since when did things ever go the right way? Things aren’t going to change like this! Things aren’t going to go back to the way they were.”

“Back to the way they were? Is that what you want? Tell me what it was like, then.”

“How would you know how much of a difference it makes! You don’t even know what you’ve lost!” I know I shouldn’t have said that with you and your hand on the doorknob, so I turn away.

“.....sorry.”

You slam the door behind you.

_________________________________________





It's hard to breathe.

The reasonable part of me is telling me to let go. Forget about it. Calm down.

Since when have I ever been reasonable?

My back is against the door, the only thing holding me up.

I can't even remember if I cried...then...it happened so fast. I can't remember. I think I've been depending on everyone else to cry for me.

Is it really that frightening?

Yes, and it hurts. More than I ever thought it would.

I can hear her voice, barely.

"Cloud, open the door!"

There's nothing I can say.

"What happened?"

Everything?

There's nothing to hold on to. My fingers resting on the smooth wood of the door, barely grounding me.

"I...." That's not my voice. I don't recognise it. "I shouldn't have...said that."

Silence. I lean my head back, knowing I'm going to fall any minute.

"It wasn't fair...to either of us--"

She cuts me off. "Glad you realized it. Do you feel sorry?"

The words are like physical blows, and the anger rises again, flooding over this unreasonable fear. I slam my fist into the wall as hard as I can. The pain cuts through the dull ache in my chest and brings sweat to my face.

"Of course I--dammit. Dammit!"

"Cloud, don't hurt yourself!"

I turn around and rest my forehead against the door. To my dissapointment, none of my fingers are broken. It might have distracted me.

"Better me than...him."

"Better than neither of you. Now open the door."

I let go, slowly, and take a few steps, turning away. Lightheaded, but breathing again, somehow. "It's not locked."

Another silence. Please just--

"Then why can't you open it yourself?"

The fear again. Anger hadn't banished it completely. I close my eyes.

"If you want to work together, you have to tell others what's on your mind. Do you want to work with us to make this better?"

I want to wake up.

"You two depend on each other. You can't just communicate through body language and silence."

I just want it back--

"So, what are you going to do?"

I have to--

But we came so far.

I stare at my hand; the initial sharp pain has faded, and now it just aches. Like my side. Old wounds. But it will go away someday.

This will hurt for the rest of my life...but is it worth it?

It has to be.

What else is there to hold on to?

Yet before I let the door open, I stand for a moment with that aching hand on the knob. And for that moment I believe that it was all just a bad dream.

I know that waking up hurts more.

And she smiles at me because she knows what it's like to let go. I remember.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

I cried.

I remember now.

Here I had myself fooled into thinking I couldn't.