As I looked out to the sea with her, it felt crazy to go ahead and say something like I love you, and so for that moment just to be safe, I opened my mouth, pushed the sound waves through my lungs out into the cold air and said “I’m really into you baby, without reservations”. She crouched down still holding my hand and absorbed her fingers into the soggy velvet bedding and placed two small seashells side by side. I watched the whole ceremony in silence, attentive to her every movement. Her smile stretched wide across her face, radiating in the air. She had that look of serenity in her eyes, the warmth and kindness she always carried when we were together.
“You and I,” I said while looking ahead as she moved to stand up. “We’ve laid our eggs just like crabs do.” Not the most romantic thing to say I realised as the last words dripped off my tongue.
“Yeah,” she replied and kissed me. That kiss felt like a drug, my head was sinking into the sand like a scene out of trainspotting. We walked a little farther and she bent down again. This time she skimmed and caressed the surface of the rippling waves like the hand of a goddess reaching out over a glass-laminated desert blessing nature. At that moment I took a picture with my eyes shut. The winter brought with it a slice of cold air that pierces through you like a needle in a cloth, but yet at the same time it is most refreshing and makes one feel reborn. It is always calm with clear skies and shooting stars waltzing at night. “Ah, yeah! That feels great,” she said while standing again and stepping forward. We closed our eyes and let the sharp wind beat around our face.
We passed an old toilet sign with no toilet except for broken shells to our amusement, exited from the beach and climbed the footbridge in slow motion with a slight pretence of being aged in the bones. Our fingers locked together like a Jules Bastien-Lepage jigsaw puzzle, different tones of vivid colour and emotions connected and framed as we turned around to catch a glimpse of the landscape. A panoramic stretched cloud of trees formed the base for our view, the kites were now playing hide and seek from behind the trees. The sea’s colour seeped past the skeleton branches and its frail leaves. The Aten still in descent from the blue sky moved with authority, giving life and light to all things on Earth. The once forgotten Egyptian pharaoh, Akhenaten, knew very well the quality and importance of the sun. I saw it, I warmed to it, and I wanted to be apart of its rays, lighting up dark passages in her life. Farther out, the horizon of Tokyo levitated above the sea with a hazy mountainous backdrop. Often people like to divide things so to speak, the sea is separate from the sky, and this division helps us to form an understanding. But for me, and at that moment, everything was whole.
We were sitting on the shoulders of giants gazing out into a floating garden of Eden. Trees, lakes, mountains, the sun, moon, stars, exotic animals and birds all camouflaged in a dimension of time, space, nothingness and love. So quickly had we evolved together – was this love comparable to that of Menelaus’ love for Helen of Troy? No, not possible, for he wanted power and control as well as a token of love, but I, I only seek harmony. As we stood looking back at the view from the bridge I thought about our seashells resting side by side, whispering to each other in sweet echoes. I began to imagine the waves carrying them out into the sea towards a new destination.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“Yeah, perfect,” she replied.
We left the house and arrived at the station with enough time for her to buy a bottle of water from the vending machine and make enough drinking sound effects to turn a few heads and create a wry smile from the old lady in front of us. As we stand waiting for the train, high school students laugh and joke as cold white clouds drift into the winter air from behind their teeth. The morning dew has long evolved into ice crystals, resting on metal frames. She once told me she liked the smell of burning straws and morning paint. I could almost smell it now, lingering at the tip of my nose. The flat moon’s milky surface begins to fade as the sun stretches its almond rays across the empty roofs. While cold air throws its icy daggers against my skin, I fear not for I am protected by the warm thought of her existence.
The train arrives and we climb to stand by the opposite door next to two teenage girls who were chattering away but not deeply enough so as to allow themselves time to give us a descriptive glare. Holding hands we begin to talk about how perfect the evening was. She takes fluff off from my cheek created by my scarf, and I stroke the right side of her face. She looks at my lips, I look out the window towards the passing dried up rice fields. I look back at her, we kiss and smile again. We agree at the possibility of seeing each other after she returns from a brief trip to Korea. The train was now beginning to pull into my station. I remembered how we stood this close together while gazed in awe and fascination at the six-layered lunar coronae a few weeks before. It illuminated the sky beautifully with shaded colours beyond the imagination and shone down upon us like a spotlight searching for earth’s children. Time halted, as people drifted slowly around us like a special camera effect often seen in films. Time being life itself, we embraced the moment.
“Kiss me one last time,” she asked. She dug the words from right out of my mouth. I step forward and our lips meet for what would be the last time. With eyes closed, my lips gently push into hers; our tongues slide past each other and retract. People are no doubt watching this scene light up for it is most definitely not your usual morning episode and presents more graphics and animation than the perverted cartoon advertisements hanging above our heads. I step back and we both smile at each other with our eyes firmly locked together. The train stops, the silver doors open as they do and I reach out my fingers separating her black hair extensions and rest my hand on her warm tender cheek.
“Goodbye,” I whisper. She smiles with watery eyes and whispers back. I disembark the train and merge into the crowd in ant-like motion; I turn to look back at the log of moving metal that she stands within, close my eyes and begin to descend the stairs and smile softly.
“I love you. Sa rang he, sa rang he, sa rang he,” I say at the tip of my breath. No longer do I tip toe around adapting to the system. I can now walk with loud and steady footsteps resurrecting my path and keep to my natural rhythm that had once been lost. I hit the ground and quicken my pace dribbling in and out the crowd coming from all directions, take a quick look at the Japanese symbols above and a glance at the time beside it. I stop suddenly and reach into my pocket pulling out my raspberry coloured i-pod shuffle and press play. The sounds slip past my ears into my body and gliding like a bird every word is dipped in beauty, every rushing turn so elegant. I levitate in a mist of tranquillity. Yes, everything is clear now, my heart and mind has been restored to its full strength. I’m ready to go home.
By B. L. Crisp