Nageki
There was a club two blocks from my house where you could buy Jones Soda by the glass, and for an extra dollar, the guy would slip a little alcohol in. I never knew what it was he put in it, but it tasted great. That's why I went to this club. The Jones Soda.
That night, I was drinking it and watching them dance. It was dark, like most clubs then were. I guess clubs are still dark now, but I haven't been in one in so long. Anyway, it was dark, and people were dancing, grinding up against each other, not caring whether they body they were grinding against was male or female. They looked so beautiful under the dim lights, with their arms raised and their mouths open with panting breath.
He was down there, dancing in the dark. The lights were strange and his skin was blue. I wondered at how pale he would be in sunlight. I wanted to dance with him. He was standing off by himself, kind of bouncing on his toes, his arms moving a little. He looked so alone, so tragically beautiful, there in the dark.
"Hey," I said, shouting and leaning close. His eyes blinked at me, large and bright, and he stood there as if awaiting an explanation. "Wanna dance?"
He shook his head. "I don't dance with people," he yelled back, and his eyes moved away. Mine narrowed. I stepped in front of him and started dancing.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"Dancing by myself," I replied.
He frowned a bit, then smiled and stepped a bit closer. "Just once," he yelled at me, then he started to move, to really move. He was beautiful and erotic. Before long, one of my legs was between his, and he was dancing on me. His leather pants were tight and shiny and smooth under my hand. His hands were still in the air, and he threw me glances that screamed for attention.
We danced all night, and when it was over, I took him home.
***
We made love to the same rhythm. My bed groaned in annoyance. I didn't care; it had been a while, and I was already in love with him. I left the lights off, and it was dark outside; I still had no idea how pale he was--or what color his eyes or his hair were. It didn't seem all that important. The important thing was that he was tiny and fit very neatly against me; that he drew his knees up and apart when I asked for permission.
He came with his arms flung over his head.
***
In the morning, he made breakfast. He was wearing just a shirt--one of mine, and way too big for him. He stood in a patch of sunlight and I just stared at him.
He really was beautiful. I took some of the blood-silk hair in my hand and brought it to my nose, inhaling. His eyes flashed with happiness--purple, deep and lovely. He kissed me once with pink lips and I pressed my hand against his cheek. I looked so dark against his pale face.
"You're beautiful in the morning," I told him simply.
He smiled again and pressed his body against mine.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Kenshin," he replied.
"I'm Sano."
He giggled, a cute sound. "Nice to meet you, Sano."
I asked him whether he was eighteen; he was twenty-three, two years older than me. Sure didn't look like it. He sat on my lap and fed me the breakfast he had made; he didn't wear underwear, so getting where I wanted to be was insanely easy.
He arched his back and screamed for me.
***
For my birthday, he moved in with me, and for the first time, we made love in our bedroom. He was so happy. In the afternoon, he went to class and I went to work. When I got home, he had made dinner. Once again, he sat in my lap and fed me and let me touch him however I pleased. After dinner, he stood and disappeared into the bedroom. He made me close my eyes, and when he told me to open them, he was holding a small cake in both of his hands. There were twenty-two candles on it.
One day, I went to class with him. He was going part time, trying to get a degree so he could teach. I told him little boys and girls all over would have crushes on him. He grinned and kissed my cheek. Mornings, he worked in a small restaurant, serving tables. I worried about him sometimes, being so small and so frail and carrying trays that were so heavy. He told me not to worry, that he was stronger than he looked. To prove it, he bent his arm at the elbow and flexed.
I tried not to snicker.
He gave me an evil look and pounced. I ended up tickling him until we were both breathless, then he kissed me, heart and soul in his eyes.
"I think I love you," I told him. His face immediately burst, like the sun, and he beamed a smile right at me. He kissed me again, and again, and he pulled my body down on his.
"Sano . . . oh, god. Sano!"
We'd been living together for seven months.
***
On the second day of June, he left for class. We had made love in the bath, and I watched him cross the street from the window of our apartment. He paused in the crosswalk and turned to wave at me.
***
He never saw the car.
***
I did. It was an SUV, and it was going too fast. I saw it fly through the intersection and I saw it not stop and I saw it hit him--
***
I was running down the stairs in jeans and barefeet. I was slinging the door open and knocking over the people who had frozen on the stairs and were just staring at Kenshin, at Kenshin who was laying on his side. One hand was stretched out on the sidewalk, toward me. The other was twisted beneath his back, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth to pool beside his face. His hair was matted with blood already. One of his open eyes was filled with blood, as if all the little vessels inside had just burst.
A girl came running out of the SUV, a mess of tears and panic. She had dark, sad eyes and a pale, pretty face. A young boy with dark hair jumped out behind her and stepped between her and me, as if he was afraid I'd hit her.
I didn't give a fuck about her.
I collapsed beside Kenshin and pulled him into my arms. Someone yelled, "Don't move him!" but it was too late. It was too late when he left a few minutes ago. It was too late when he turned to wave.
Kenshin.
I realized I don't know how to cry hard enough.
***
It's been two days since then.
At the funeral, I sit in the back, as far from that closed casket as I can. His brothers are up there--Seiji and Yahiko. There's a picture of him on an easel. It was taken during the winter, when we went to visit Seiji and his family. Kenshin was wearing a bright red coat and a ridiculous red hat with snowflake designs on it. He was holding one hand to his face and smiling so big, so bright.
We called him Yukito, because he wanted to play in the snow almost as much as Seiji's kids did.
Seiji and Yahiko loved Kenshin the same way everybody did. He was just a beautiful, sweet person. He went out of his way for people. He smiled at everybody. His nieces and nephews called him Ken-nii. He was the kind of guy you wanted your little sister to date.
None of them ever saw him how I did, though. I washed his hair. I ate grapefruit from his fingers while my own stretched him. I kissed him in the subway. I watched him cry when the stress of work and school got to him. I walked with my hand on his waist to keep him close, to remember how small he was, because it was just nice. I watched him in the bath, his knees pulled up to his chest and a washrag plopped on top of his head as he blew bubbles from his palm.
He was my lover.
***
After, Seiji tried to give me the urn. I collapsed to my knees and wept and wept. Yahiko drove me home. I curled up in our bed and clutched Kenshin's bloody shirt to my chest, and I wished that I had never gone to that club and that I had never danced with him and that I never knew how beautiful he looked in the morning.
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