Le Renaissance 4

It's been nearly an year past since I uploaded the earlier part of the story. 

I originally wrote this part in 3rd person narrative, thinking that it might give the character a different perspective, or make it sound like the main character is watching herself in a more detached way. However, when I did it, it seemed to make the narrative voice less powerful.

I also contemplated writing in present tense, but since it's a process of going back to the past in a sense, I decided to use past tense here.

I'm just afraid the tone of the narrative might have changed slightly and I am not quite sure what is the right thing to do, but for the time being I will just keep writing and enjoy how the story unfolds itself and I might change bits and pieces later if necessary. 

Well, let's see...

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When I finally arrived at Hakata station, I was astonished by how different it looked.

‘Bullet trains didn’t stop at Hakata back then, that’s why.’ I thought.

Hakata had always been the most exciting part of Fukuoka and Fukuoka had always been a city, but now it really felt like a proper city, not like how I remembered.

I sat by the window at a café just outside the station and blankly watched the view spreading in front of me.

‘It feels so strange and unreal being here again…and why now?’ I whispered to myself, ‘after all these years wasted for trying to act like someone who I’m not.’

‘…but if I hadn’t been the person who I really am, what exactly is real me? Nana must have changed too, just like I have.’ I let out an inaudible sigh as I sipped a cup of tall black.

The next few hours were spent just hopping on and off several different local train stops and checking out places where I was supposed to know well. The view became more familiar as I traveled farther out of the main city. I traced back my fading memory and managed to find an old tobacco shop, which was something like a milk bar, still ran by the same grandma who obviously suffers from some form of dementia. Her daughter Akane-san came back from mainland over ten years ago after a messy divorce was helping her business. In a few years time, Akane-san said, that they would sell out this shop, and move to somewhere closer to the city, but considering this country's economic state even the idea of selling the shop appeared challenging, Akane-san whinged with a forced smile. The situation was similar in all the villages I visited. Many houses and milk bars were gone, so were all my old school mates who obviously shifted to either city or mainland. 

The heat was murderous in the countryside. Monsoon season this year apparently didn't bring enough rain and the dry merciless sun quickly burnt my neck. I had limitless time on my hand but having to wait 20 minutes in this sun...with nowhere to escape….

‘Oh, this is the beauty of country life. The public transport is useless. I should’ve known better! Why didn’t I check the timetable more carefully? This is the side effect of living in Metropolitan area for so many years.’ I quietly cursed myself.

I wondered how I could possibly have survived through those ten years in the rural part of Fukuoka. I know why. It’s because there was Nana, and we shared many good and bad times, including this heat.

I was struck by sudden rush of nostalgia. There are things would never change. The endless view of rice paddies and wheat fields, and far, far away in distance, I saw mountains covered with soft, wispy clouds. This place had the pristine beauty that was hard to find elsewhere, and despite the brutal sun, the air itself smelt almost sweet. As the faint breeze brushed past me I let the familiar scent tingle my nose.

While waiting for the next train, I kept thinking about Nana. I know I used to call her the best friend, but she was more than a friend, more special than a friend or could’ve even been something completely different. Infatuation. That was what it was, or you could call it my obsession that I couldn’t entirely move on from. I desperately needed some form of conclusion.

After leaving Fukuoka I never took interest in another girl, that was for sure. I enjoyed the casual relationships with guys to a certain point, although it might have been partly due to the invisible pressure coming from my parents and relatives.

During this 20 years filled with regrets and vain efforts to re-create my image of being a straight mature adult, I could't remember how many nights I kissed Nana in my dreams, touched her with my fingers and felt her heat and heartbeat. Then saw that flashback, again, of us on that riverbank, I lied next to Nana and was painfully aware how badly I wanted to kiss her lips.

Only if I could forget, or if I could find a soul mate, I wouldn’t have come back. Or would’ve come back and laugh about it as a silly adolescent fantasy.

‘What do I want?’

The small village where they spent those 10 years together was less than 10 minutes away. Once on the train, the coolness of air-coned inside brought back my usual self.

‘That’s right, what do I want? She is more likely won’t be there anymore. How stupid, how absurd…what a laugh!’ I snorted. I was a 34-year-old woman acting impulsively like a kid. 

It was a village with only one junior high school, with about 300 students including those from few surrounding villages.

‘What the hell am I doing here?’

I took an old photo of us photographed in 1972, so we would’ve been 12 then, out of the side pocket of my bag as I got out of the train stop.

It was like stepping back in the old days. Everyone remembered me and everyone I knew.

The old guy who used to live in the wooden hut behind that water mill passed away two years ago just a few days before his 100-year old birthday. All the grandpas and grandmas stayed in this village but not many families in the village had enough young blood to sustain their wheat farming business. Future was looking bleak.

I couldn’t avoid the inevitable questions like;

“Chisa-chan, Are you coming back to stay?” to which I just answered timidly, “No, I haven't planned anything yet.”

“Where’s your husband, Chisa-chan? How many children do you have?” to which of course I couldn’t say anything.

Those questions were not the kind I wanted to hear, but the words like “husband” and “kids” made me think about something else.

‘What would she be like?’ That was the question that popped in my head. ‘A mum? …No, it's too hard to imagine her with a baby.’ I chuckled. ‘But we are old enough to be a mum of teenage kids’

Teenage kids! It was scary to remind myself that we were teenage kids back then.

My feeling towards Nana, to myself, was spiritual, beautiful and sensual at the same time. But no matter how I would have described it I would’ve been just a dyke to these village people anyway, some creature that all homophobiac crowd would spit on and disdain. 

And these nice people – and I meant it - weren’t even aware that they were those crowd.

I was now carrying on like a “normal” adult who used to be a good girl, but was actually someone who they would’ve labelled as “Wacho”.

The brick wall was tall and tough. Invincible.

I nearly forgot how it was like having to suppress my burning, choking desire, and how many times I cursed my goddess in my mind yelling,

“Damn you, get out my head!”

Now I remembered how close to the edge I was and all the complicating and turbulent emotions that were driving me mad.  And I didn’t even know what Nana was feeling, either.

The chemistry which seemed to me was mutual, could’ve just been my wishful imagination.