SMOKE GETS IN YOUR EYES
by Angela
The splash of cold air on my face feels good as we step
outside the overheated lodge. I close
my eyes and breathe deeply, savoring the crisp bite of chill in my lungs. Miwa doesn't talk as we walk toward the
small ski cabin I share with Miki. Our
conversation had tapered off a while ago, and for the past half hour we've
enjoyed each other's silence.
I slide my gaze over his face, which is outlined by stars
in the cloudless sky above us. He looks
peaceful, happy. I feel a smile tugging
at my lips. Quiet and happy is an
unusual combination for him.
He turns suddenly, gracing me with his thousand-watt grin.
I don't know if it's the cold or that smile that makes my
cheeks feel hot and flushed, but I'm suddenly grateful for the moonless
night. I quickly look away--a boy as
handsome as Miwa Satoshi would think I was admiring his looks. I fix my gaze on the snow below us, packed
tightly from heavy traffic. It bothers
me that I'd even noticed his looks.
"Are you okay, Akizuki?" he asks, his voice
teasing.
That tone.
"Fine," I reply, feeling my eyebrows knit stubbornly
together. A small part of me wants to
play along with him tonight, to keep that contented look on his face, but I
know the danger of giving an inch with this one.
"That's good," he answers quietly. He takes my hand and weaves his fingers
around mine. I instinctively try to
pull away.
He holds.
"Your hands are cold," he protests. "You're not wearing your gloves."
"Neither are you." But his hands are warm.
His fingers feel large and comfortable, almost hot against my cold
skin. "Let me go," I argue
softly, tugging my hand back.
He looks at the sky.
"Sometimes I wonder if we don't take two steps back for every step
forward, Akizuki." His voice is
somber, almost wistful. He tucks his
hands into his pockets and looks down at me, his smile gone. "Why won't you let yourself like
me?"
I do like
him. That's the problem. For as long as I can remember, I've fallen
asleep and awakened to just one face, one smile. Lately Miwa's laughing eyes had invaded the space between dreams
and waking, and I'm not ready to let him be the first person I think of each
morning.
But Namura Shinichi isn't mine anymore, I remind myself
reproachfully. Maybe it's time to be
nice to Miwa.
Stepping closer to him, I slide my arm through his, letting
my fingers curl into the cold nylon of his jacket. It's been a long time since I've taken a man's arm--I'd forgotten
how nice it could be to be this close to someone.
He looks at me, startled.
I find that it's not hard to smile.
"I'm sorry," I say honestly. "I haven't made this easy for
you."
He surprises me. He
throws his head back and laughs out loud.
"I don't expect you to," he answers without guile. He stops walking, pulling a pair of gloves
from his coat pockets. I don't protest
as he slides them over my hands.
"If you were easy to catch," he says softly, pulling my jacket
cuffs over the top of the gloves, "I wouldn't bother chasing."
My heart flutters at his words and gentle tone. His breath lingers in a little cloud of fog
before fading into the night. I'm
suddenly confused.
"Besides," he cries out unexpectedly, winding an
arm around my middle and yanking me near, "won't the reward be that much
sweeter when I finally have you?"
"Idiot!"
I tear myself away and resist the urge to smack him. That's the trouble with this guy; I let my
defenses down for a moment and he thinks it's an invitation to maul me! I hurry the few meters left to the cabin,
eager to get inside and close the door so I won’t have to look at Miwa Satoshi
until morning.
Ignoring his protests, I bound up the steps to the porch,
fumbling in my pocket for the key.
Miwa's gloves are no help, so I yank one off, flinging it onto the snowy
porch boards.
"I'm wounded," he pouts, walking casually toward
the porch and scooping up the offending glove.
As I finally retrieve the key from the depths of my coat
pocket, Miwa comes up behind me. I'm
about to unlock the door when he puts his hands on my shoulders. I tense, unprepared for the spark of
excitement that comes from his touch.
"Not yet," he hisses in my ear, motioning toward
the window.
Miki and Yuu are lounging on the carpet in front of the
fireplace, surrounded by fluffy pillows and laughing happily. As we watch, Miki picks up a pillow and
smacks him with it, but rather than retaliate, Yuu holds her still for a kiss.
A lump forms in my throat, watching them. I've never seen such perfect joy in my
life. I can't intrude on that. I look up at Miwa helplessly.
Wordlessly, he guides me off the porch and back into the
snow. "We'll just have to go to my
cabin," he explains as he pushes me toward the steps of another nearby
building. "Since Yuu is with Miki,
no one will bother us."
I jerk my head around to look at him, but his expression
seems innocent. No one will bother us
how? I clench my eyes shut and hope
that somehow I'll survive the night unscathed.
The cabin is dark and chilly, smelling of pine and citrusy
wood polish. Miwa hurries to the
fireplace, expertly stacking logs and kindling to start a fire. While he's occupied, I turn on a lamp,
casting a yellow glow over the still-dim room.
The cabin is just like the one I share with Miki--decorated
simply with a bed on either side and a couch near the fireplace. A thick rug covers the hard wood floor near
the hearth and in a far corner is a tiny kitchenette with a sink and an old
stove. I walk slowly around the room,
letting my fingers trail over the smooth wood moldings and the soft throws
tossed over the sofa.
Miwa picks up one of the plaid throws, wrapping it over my
shoulders as he takes my coat and hat.
"Go ahead and sit down," he urges, motioning to the plushy
sofa. "The fire should take hold
in just a minute."
I find myself happily trusting him as I browse through some
books stacked on the table. He doesn't
have that wicked look in his eyes tonight and I decide that I can be nice to
him, after all.
As I leaf through a translation of Chinese literature, I
wonder which of the occupants could be reading it. Remembering Miwa’s gushing response to my own story, I assume it
must be Matsuura’s. An uncontrollable
cough burns my throat, startling me. I
choke, looking up in alarm. Smoke
billows from the fireplace, rolling away from the chimney and into the room,
filling the cabin in a matter of moments with its thick, woodsy scent.
Miwa hurries to open a window, waving his arms to encourage
the heavy smoke to leave the room. I
almost laugh, looking at the pained expression on his face as he turns back to
me.
"I didn't think about the flue," he apologizes
sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.
"It's okay," I assure him, not hiding my
smile. The air gradually clears,
leaving the smallest bit of a smoky haze over the dim cabin. The fire seemed to catch nicely--already
healthy flames lick the wood, providing a golden glow from the hearth. "Can I make some hot chocolate?" I
ask, glancing at the stove by the sink.
"Ahh," he sighs, sinking into the plushy
sofa. "I'd like that."
I start a kettle and find a couple of mugs and some
powdered cocoa.
"Marshmallows?" I offer, looking at the squishy bag in the
cupboard.
"No thanks," he says, fiddling with a radio on
the table behind the couch. "I
like mine a little bit bitter."
No wonder he pursues me.
I blush as I realize how sentimental it is to compare his taste in
chocolate with his taste in women.
Pouring the hot water into the mugs, I study him, wondering what he's
thinking about.
As though he can feel my eyes on his back, Miwa turns to
look at me. His eyes are wide and dark;
from across the room I can't read his expression, but the intensity of it makes
my stomach twist. The scratchy music of
a distant radio station winds its way around us, and I forget about the
chocolate in my hands.
"Akizuki," he murmurs softly, up in a graceful
bound and taking the mugs from me.
"The one thing I regret," he continues, setting the chocolate
on the counter, "is that we never got a chance to slow dance on
Christmas."
That night had been fun, full of loud music and
laughter. Dancing close together
wouldn't have made sense. But
tonight--the sultry American standard flows from the tinny radio and straight
into me--tonight could be different.
I don't protest as he pulls me into his arms, not even as
he gathers me close against his body. I
don't remember how to protest. Or how
to breathe. The throw around my
shoulders falls, unheeded, to the floor.
"They asked me how I knew my true love was true,"
his voice is low and husky as he sings the foreign lyrics, leaning his head
against mine. "Do you know much
English, Akizuki?" he breathes into my ear.
I nod. I know what
the song means. It's about falling in
love, about getting hurt. It's about
that feeling that surges through my chest and burns into me every time I think
of him, and more recently, every time I think of Miwa Satoshi.
I wonder what it would be like, if just for one night, to
forget about the past and allow myself to react to Miwa. His wool sweater is scratchy and warm beneath
my hands; his breath is hot in my hair.
I can feel his chest, just centimeters away from mine, sending me those
sparks of liquid electricity that I've always ignored.
"Akizuki."
I look up at him, unable to mask everything that I know
must be written on my face.
His eyes are luminous, catching the firelight. My breath catches and I'm dizzy with the
closeness of his face, his delicious mouth.
Licking my lips self-consciously, I remember how sweet his kiss
was. My stomach flip-flops as I realize
how close I am to kissing him again.
He leans close, touching his forehead to mine. "Meiko," he whispers softly, using
my given name for the first time. His
breath smells of mint and coffee and a little like that long-ago kiss. I feel woozy and frothy and vibrantly alive
all at the same time.
I close my eyes; his eyelashes are making me want to cry.
"When your heart's on fire," he breathes along
with the music, "you must realize smoke gets in your eyes."
I barely register my leaning forward, pressing my body
against his as I stand on tiptoe to reach him.
My mind hardly notices that I'm the one who presses our mouths together,
stilling his words as the music continues weakly around us.
His arms tighten around me and my own wind around his
neck. His mouth envelopes mine,
consuming me with fervor I've never felt--not even with Namura. There's urgency in his hands, in his hips
that press lean and hard against mine.
My heart thuds painfully in my chest as it becomes clear that I'm just
as desperate for this. I clutch his
hair in my fingers and press against him almost violently.
I don't know how long we stand like that, kissing and
staring and kissing again. His lips
caress my mouth, my neck, even my closed eyes, learning the contours of my face
while I memorize the firm lines of his back with my hands. Each kiss is more intimate than the last,
until I feel like I'd be spinning out of control if not for his strong, bracing
arms. He pulls his mouth away and looks
down at me, his eyes wondrous and chest heaving. "Akizuki?" he asks, his voice gentle in spite of the
things I know he must be feeling.
I know what he's asking and why and I don't care. I look at this boy who has the power to make
me forget everything, to make me hungry with longing and rage. He's nothing short of incredible. He wants me. He loves me. And I've
made him wait so long while I've wallowed and cried and licked my wounds. Too long.
It's time to let go.
I try to tell him but can find only a choking lump where my
voice had been. Instead, I run my
inexperienced, shaking hands over his chest and up to his shoulders. "Satoshi," I say, the unfamiliar
name tripping over my tongue.
"Satoshi, I want . . ..”
Before I can breathe again I'm swept from my feet, cradled
against his solid chest. In a few short
moments I'm on the bed--Miwa's bed--as he very carefully tucks a pillow beneath
my head. I notice that his hands shake. I take one.
"You're nervous?" I ask him softly, trying to
control the tremor in my voice.
He smiles weakly.
"Terrified," he confesses, smoothing my hair gently.
I nod. "Me
too." For a moment I'm confused at
the relief in his eyes. Surely a guy as
popular as Miwa Satoshi has been in this position before. I remember countless girls bringing him
gifts and writing notes to get his attention.
Sliding into the bed beside me, he kisses me, making me
forget about the other girls. I help
him pull my sweater over my head, fumble with the buttons on my own blouse as
he shucks away his own shirts. The rush
of cold air on my skin makes me shiver; I wrap my arms around my middle in an
attempt to protect my warmth as well as my modesty. Very gently, Miwa moves my arms to my sides. My nervousness makes me queasy as his eyes
take in my nakedness.
"You're beautiful," he breathes before pressing
his hot skin against me. I almost gasp
at the sensation of melting, of tingly merging as my skin adjusts to his heat,
his weight. Our mouths meet and I close
my eyes, letting my hands explore the contours of his shoulders. We taste every exposed inch of each other,
learning not to tremble as we go.
The urgency returns, and soon it's not enough to kiss and
rub and fondle. I want more--more skin
to learn, to ease the ache that's been building since that first kiss. I reach for the button of his pants.
Startled by the contact of my fingers, he jumps. He grabs my wrists and holds them away from
him, something close to panic in his eyes.
"I've never done this before," he explains as his face
reddens. He looks at the wall, suddenly
disturbed. "It's okay,
though," he continues softly.
"It doesn't bother me that you--"
"I haven't."
My insides lurch at the memory, of that night so similar to this when I
threw myself at Namura, practically begging him to make love to me. "Sensei," I stumble over my
explanation, blinking back sudden tears, "said it would complicate
things." He said that his career
was in jeopardy as it was, that a sexual relationship could get us in too much
trouble. He said that he loved me
enough to wait. But he didn't
wait. I clench my eyes shut and try to
picture him with Ryoko-sensei, anything to make me angry enough to stop
thinking of him.
And then Miwa is holding me, crushing me against him with
his powerful arms. "I'm
glad," he whispers into my ear. He
pulls away, cupping my face in both hands.
His eyes are bright and happy, but his face looks serious. "Don't think of him," he urges me
in a low voice. "Please," he
kisses me quickly. "Be with only
me tonight."
I look at the radiant face of this boy who offers me more
than the other ever could. I know his
feelings--they're written on his every look, every action. Miwa can be mine forever, if I just say the
words. He will protect me, make me
laugh, love me.
"Only you," I whisper, letting my fingers touch
his soft lips. This boy will be
true. "I see only you."
We remove the rest of our clothing slowly and I absorb the
masculine, smoky scent of him. I'm
moved by the intimate way naked bodies tangle, and I realize that after
tonight, Miwa Satoshi and I will be indivisible. His body, his face--I let my hands touch and memorize every part
of him, trying to imprint on my mind that we would belong to each other.
The actual lovemaking is awkward, with fumbling and
apologies and strange maneuvering.
Still, as I hold on to him, wondering at the new sensations and
spiraling pleasures, it's his face that makes tears gather in my eyes. No amount of reading or education could have
prepared me for the emotional onslaught that comes with his quirky smile and
constant blush. No one could have told
me about the tiny crease of concentration between his eyebrows or the way his
hair tickles my forehead when we kiss.
Soon I'm losing myself in his penetrating eyes as balmy
sensations wash around me. The initial
pain long gone, I wrap my legs around his body and urge him closer. I want Miwa to become a part of me, to merge
with me so I'll see myself in his eyes.
I want his to be the first name on my lips when I talk with Miki--the
only name. I want him to erase Namura,
so I won't ever wonder what this could be like with him.
"Meiko," Miwa whispers close to my ear. His voice is hoarse and urgent. "I love you, Meiko!"
I open my mouth to respond but my throat goes dry. My heart hurts in my chest and I'm suddenly
very dizzy. I grasp his shoulders more
tightly, willing the room to stop spinning.
He tenses above me, crying out my name as his body dissolves into shudders.
He gathers me up in an affectionate embrace and nuzzles his
head against my shoulder, pulling a heavy blanket over our heated bodies. For a long time neither of us move. My limbs feel clumsy and heavy and my brain
is clouded by sleepy confusion. He
smells so familiar now, from the scent of his body to the smoke in his hair; I
know I'll never forget the smell. I
like the way his warm torso leans against mine, the way his long legs and arms
wrap around me protectively. I feel
safe and unbroken. Just like with--
I banish the intrusion of Namura's memory.
"You're mine now," Miwa murmurs, pressing his
lips into my hair. His warmth envelops
me, making me woozy with his closeness even as his words make my stomach
churn. His mouth finds my ear, his tongue
sending teasing shivers through my skin.
"Akizuki Meiko is my girl," he whispers, not even
attempting to disguise the joy in his tone.
"And I'm going to love her for the rest of my life."
Once again I try to answer, try to form the words that had
been so easy with the other.
"Miwa," I say instead, nuzzling against his chest affectionately. I care so much for this boy in my arms that
it hurts. He makes me ache deep inside
myself where everything hurts, but each day, with each new smile, he makes the
ache less.
Tears spring into my eyes, burning as they send cleansing
rivulets down my cheeks. The song from
before unaccountably comes to mind--a line that had somehow been lost among the
sweet, new kisses. So I smile and say, "When a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your
eyes." I know that something
inside me died that evening, but maybe, if I'm uncommonly lucky, Miwa Satoshi
will bring another part of me to life.