...sequel to 'japanese afternoon'
author: bella gothica
rating: pg
category: drama, angst, family
pairing: hide x oc
I clutch a bouquet of white carnations. They are wrapped in crisp navy tissue paper and clear cellophane. It all seems so formal, so mandatory, so surreal for me. Surrounded by the rush and buzz of Japan, I am standing four feet from the grave of a man I never knew, whilst my mother is kneeling on the snow sobbing quietly. Her grief should affect me, and it does to the extent that I am sad because she is. The bond between a mother and daughter is very strong.
But I find I am unable to shed tears for the man whose name is immortalised in the cold marble of the gravestone. He is as foreign to me as the strangers who pass us by in the park, one or two throwing sympathetic looks at us every so often. I wonder if they realise we are more than just fans. Unaccustomed to such situations I begin to feel uncomfortable, the soft lamb's wool of my black sweater is starting to itch against my skin. I shift from foot to foot, my arms feeling as if they are filled with lead. Suddenly I am startled as my mother glances up at me. Her cheeks are splotchy and red and her eyes look like those of a drunkard, unfocused and bloodshot.
"Hideko." When she calls out to me her voice is croaky. "Hideko, come over here." I hesitantly make my way to the grave and take my mother's hand. As I kneel beside her she gives me a smile and brushes a lock of jet black hair off my forehead. "You have grown into such a beautiful young lady...your father would have been proud of you." I nervously nod and look at the name on the grave, trying to feel some sort of connection to this man who was, as my mother has told me, a cultural icon and an idol to many young people. More importantly than that, the other reason why I am here today. Realising I am still holding the flowers I lay them on the ground in front of the stone before reaching down and propping them up against the monument beside the bunch mother placed there when we first arrived.
"So empty..." Mother tilts her head contemplatively and I'm unsure what she's referring to. "Not him...not him at all. Just cold fucking stone!" Her fist connects with an empty thump against the heavy pillar. This emotional outburst rattles my system. In all my life she has never sworn or yelled in such a manner. She is outright crying now, tracing over his name over and over, and I am half embarassed, half concerned.
"Momma...I...I..." I have no words. Not knowing what to say or do my next actions come purely out of instinct. Startling my mother I leap up and run out of the park.
By the time mother finds me sitting on a bench near the gate I am more guilty for my actions than anything. Mother is understanding. She offers me a small smile and says one day *I'll* understand. I nod, that being the only thing capable of at the moment. Back at the hotel mother tells me she doesn't feel like dinner and that she's going to have an early night. She gives me a kiss on the cheek before trudging over to the elevators, looking much older than her thirty-six years. Today has drained her - I haven't ever seen her look for fragile. Over the years she's had her ups and downs, but she usually passes it off with a laugh, telling me she's 'getting old'. She told me we all had to let go of the past and let it remain as history, always moving forwards. But today was different.
For a few moments after the elevator doors closed I stare into space, my mind a complete scramble, until I am prompted by the bell-boy's soft-spoken enquiry whether I wanted some help. Yes, I think to myself, change the past...make it all better again. But I know I cannot say that so I politely tell him in Japanese that I am leaving for the evening to find some place to eat. Pleased that I can speak his native tongue he informs me of a cafe in the city's heart where young people and many gaijin hang out. "Arigatou." I bow my head slightly at him and hurry out the door, clutching my jacket around me in the evening frost.
The place is exactly what I need to sort out my thoughts, an exciting hubbub of lights and noise. After ordering a drink I settle for a corner stool, from which I can observe the surroundings. Attractive youths mill around, some tourists and others locals. I'm not sure where I fit in. A boy about my age or a little older offers for me to dance but I politely decline. Right now I am too caught up in my own thoughts. Despite my refusal he insists on buying me another soda and we end up talking. Conversation turns to parents and family life and after talking about growing up with only mother, I fall silent and my gaze becomes locked on my scuffed black Mary-Janes. He gently places his hand over mine and startled I perform a repeat performance of earlier today. I hastily excuse myself and dash for the sanctuary provided by the ladies bathroom. As I head over to the restrooms a girl of about eighteen comes up to me, fresh tears shining in her eyes. She bows slightly and after I return the polite gesture she hands me a brightly coloured pamphlet. At first I don't understand but upon entering the bathroom I incredulously unfold the paper. Bright orange letters jump out at me, bearing the words;
HIDETO MATSUMOTO; we still remember!
Staring back at me, is the face of my father. Of course, I have realised too late the significance May 2nd. I should have noticed that this would be a day of sorrow and joy for the fan community. No wonder mother, my strong-willed mother whom I have never seen breakdown so badly, was reduced to a mere husk of the person she usually is.
His face glows with youthful exuberance and I realise it is the first time I have seen his image. Mother keeps no photographs nor pictures of him around our house and I have never had the courage to search for him through the internet. He laughs happily at the camera, not a care in the world. His pink hair shines both from its unique colour and from the fluroescent lighting of the bathroom falling on the glossy paper. I suddenly realise where I inherited my nose and eyes from, and that I know that facial structure - it's been staring back at me every time I look in the mirror.
And then what I have spent sixteen years trying to understand, to feel...it hits me all at once. I realise what I have been missing. I realise the emptiness in me. And I realise what Hideto Matsumoto meant to these people, and countless others around Japan and the world. The sudden realisation of the loss sends a ripple of anger, pride and love through me.
"How could you do that to mother and me? How could you!" I whisper, still staring at the paper. But I find I am unable to hate him. This man gave me life, and he loved my mother. "All this time..." I clutch the pamphlet to me and lean against the sink, sucking in deep gulps of air. A piece of my life that has been missing for so long has finally fallen into place and I can't help but feel the myriad of emotions that accompany it.
But slowly, I smile. It's like I can now move on and grow with the knowledge that I *am* somebody's daughter and I have a father I am proud of. I carefully refold the pamphlet and place it in the pocket of my jacket. Giving my reflection a fleeting cheeky grin my dad would have been proud of, I tighten my ponytail and wander back into the club.
Yoshi is waiting with a worried look on his face that touches my heart. It's nice to have someone care about you that way, you know? A blush warms my cheeks and I smile at him. Still not convinced I am all right he takes my hand.
"Are you okay, Hideko?" I nod firmly and surely.
"I am now."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is now a month since my startling revelation. I clutch a bouquet of pink dahlia, and I kneel before the grave of my father. People rush by me but it doesn't bother me that I'm in a country of strangers. I'm home, and this is where I belong. After bowing my head in silence for a few moments I feel a hand gently touch my shoulder. Through tears I look up and smile. Yoshi returns the gesture with a grin and offers a hand. Taking it I stand up and brush the dirt and dew drops off my jeans.
"You a fan of hide-san?" He gestures with a wave of his hand to the fresh flowers I have just layed before the stone, wrapping his other arm around my shoulders.
"You could say that." I smile and Yoshi looks at me quizically, but I brush it off with a little laugh. "Come on, let's go get a drink."