The Rush of Air

I don’t start shaking until the nurse and the doctor have wheeled Mitsuo away. Once he’s out of my sight, I find I have to sit down. I run my fingers through my hair, sweeping the long unruly forelock up and away, and then I sigh softly as it falls back into place, as soon as I pull my hand away. While he was with me, I could hold my fright at bay. I had to, to keep him calm.

Because I was . . . I am really scared. When I close my eyes, all I can see is the red splash of his blood, pooling beneath him on the floor, and his face was so white, and there was glass in the ragged flesh of the gash . . . I shiver and lean forward to rest my arms on my knees, and just stare at the floor for a little while.

I mean, it’s over, right? The doctor will take care of him, sew up the cut, keep him here overnight, maybe . . . there’s no reason for me to be shaking like this, now that it’s over, is there?

And maybe it’s easing a little bit, but I can still taste it in my mouth. I didn’t even know fear had a taste, but it’s metallic and flat, the fear I felt when I saw Mitsuo on the floor of the lab.

There was this strange roaring sound in my ears, too, like the air around me had suddenly decided to run away. I remember running toward Mitsuo even before the things Natsuko had lifted with her ghostly powers finished crashing back down.

Because he can see them, Mitsuo attracts ghosts like a magnet does iron.

Before he was possessed the first time- before Kiyomi stole his body and came up to tell me she had a crush on me- I’d never said two words to Mitsuo. He was just . . . there. Another student. The quiet one, the one who always kind of kept to himself. Mitsuo Shiozu.

I never realized until then that it’d be so easy to . . . like him.

I know- now!- that it was all Kiyomi, that Mitsuo doesn’t have any interest in me beyond friendship. He’s been so lonely for so long that he really wants a friend. And I really want to be his friend. Really.

Friends worry about friends . . . right?

I feel my lips twist at the thought, and I laugh at myself very softly.

Because friends don’t get the urge to throttle someone when their friend throws himself at someone else. At another boy . . .

It was Natsuko, not Mitsuo, it’s just another ghost taking control of him, but . . .

It bothers me.

But I manage not to think about why for a long, long time.

“Hasanuma-san?”

I jump, startled out of my thoughts, even though the doctor spoke quietly. Before I can even think, the words come tumbling out of my mouth. “Mitsuo . . . he’s all right? Isn’t he?”

The doctor smiles. “Shiozu-kun is fine. In fact, he’d like to see you.” He steps back and pushes open the door to the ward, then gestures me to follow him.

I keep tight to his heels as he walks down the corridor, resisting the urge to run ahead and wait by every door until we reach the right one. If he senses my impatience, the doctor gives no sign, just ambles on in silence, never varying his deliberate pace.

Finally, we reach the room Mitsuo has been given. Before I can dart in, however, the doctor puts a hand on my arm and restrains me. “Your friend has lost quite a lot of blood,” he says softly. “He’s quite weak, for that reason. We’ve also given him something to help him sleep, which he’s probably feeling by now. You’ll only be able to have a few minutes at the most before he drops off.”

I nod, and he releases me. Quietly, I open the door and slip in.

It looks like he’s asleep, as I creep up to the bed. His wounded arm rests carefully on the bed next to him, bound up with a starkly white bandage. Everything around him is white, the crisp sheets, the pillow beneath his head, his face . . . The only color is the golden tousle of his hair.

Hesitantly, I reach out and touch the back of his uninjured hand. Immediately, his eyes flutter and half-open, and I force a smile.

“Hasunuma . . .” His voice is just barely a whisper. “Glad . . . you’re here . . .”

“Where else would I be?” I ask, grinning a bit. My fingers clasp themselves around his hand.

He doesn’t catch my self-mocking tone, though. His eyes are beginning to drift shut again. “Hasunuma . . . sorry . . .”

I frown slightly, but before I can ask what he’s talking about, he goes on. “Sorry . . . ‘bout your headband . . .”

I blink, confused, then remember that I’d wrapped my headband around his arm in a makeshift bandage. It must be whatever they gave him, I think, and just sigh and shake my head. “Don’t worry about the headband,” I murmur. “It was lost in a noble cause . . .” My thumb brushes lightly over the back of his hand before I know what it’s doing. I’m helpless to stop it, though, because I don’t want to take my hand away. “So it’s all right . . .”

But my last few words have not been heard; his eyes are closed again, and he’s obviously lost his fight against the drugs. His breath settles into the deep rhythm of sleep.

I can hear the air roaring around me again, as I gently lay his hand down on the bed. I stare down at him for a moment. He’s so still that my heart starts to pound loudly in my chest again, just as it did earlier.

He’s all right, isn’t he?

I can only watch as my hand reaches out, of its own accord. It’s almost like it’s someone else’s hand, and I’m just observing what that person is doing. I can see that my fingers are trembling, but I can’t feel them. My vision has narrowed down to the hand and Mitsuo . . .

And then, quite suddenly, I’m back in my body, and I am touching his face, my hand brushing his cheek in the lightest of caresses. His cheek is warm beneath my fingers. The drugs the doctor has administered have taken him so far under so fast that he doesn’t move, to turn away from my touch or to seek it out. But he smiles ever so faintly.

Tension that I didn’t even know I had eases and flows away, and I smile in return. My hand lingers for what seems a long moment before I can pull it away.

As I face the door again, I realize just what the rush of air in my ears was, and my smile grows wider.

I’ve already fallen for him.

***

May 12, 2004

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