Yoru No Uta

 Chapter 6

 

 By: somnambulated

 thefreeair@aol.com

 

 

 If I could read your mind, Love

 what a tale your thoughts could tell

 just like a paperback novel—

 the kind the drugstores sell.

 And you won’t read that book again

 because the ending’s just too hard to take.

 

 

 ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 The thick snow delayed festival preparations, not to mention classes for half of the week that passed. By Monday, things were back to normal; classes were postponed until noon so that everyone could make up for lost time. It was late morning now, and a smooth layer of white hovered in the bare treetops like ice-sculptures. The roads were less attractive, though commutable. 

 

 “I think we should put wings on either side, so the words look like they’re flying.” Sakura beamed at her own idea, holding a drippy blue paintbrush high in her hand. They were knelt on the gymnasium floor. “That’ll look Christmas-y, right? Like angel wings.” 

 

 Tomoyo didn’t think so, but she smiled anyway and said, “yes.” Though they were older now, and Sakura carried just a little more grace than she had as a child, there were still moments like this; when she was so adorable, beaming her closed-mouth smile and almost bouncing at new thoughts of her very unique self-expression. Tomoyo could still see the little wisps of amber hair that used to curl over the girl’s bangs like antennae, though they were gone now and had been replaced with a more combed look. 

 

 Even the bangs were half of what they used to be, leaving more of her face to be displayed. Not to mention adored. A few years ago, she was the energetic and skinny fifth-grader doing backhand sprints at school events; the older boys would watch when she ran the track and say she was strong for her size. But now she was taller, bristling a little past five feet; she had mastered her thin build seamlessly with slight curves. And it was the cheerleading that the boys paid most attention to now. 

 

 Tomoyo resisted the urge to reach across the banner that lay on the floor between them, and pinch her cheek like a crazy aunt at a family picnic. 

 

 They—the boys—would say,’ Li, you’re lucky as hell.’ And he would blush and shrug and try to avert the conversation—and their eyes—to something else. 

 

 Sakura was looking back at the roll of paper again, frowning awkwardly at her best friend’s perfect calligraphy. “But I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said, “I’ll probably ruin your work.” 

 

 “I’m sure whatever you do will look lovely.” Tomoyo assured, believing her answer this time. 

 

 Across the room, Syaoran was almost hidden by the crowd of mixed-age students, curled in the shadows and studying The Scarlet Letter. There was a highlighter in his hand, and Sakura caught the sight with bemused eyes. “He’s the only person in the world who would try to avoid simple work for more work.” 

 

 “Is he still having a hard time with the kanji?” Finding there was little left for her to do, Tomoyo busied herself with her own paintbrush and tried to darken the letters. 

 

 “Yes.” Sakura must have heard Tomoyo’s assurance on the wings, because she began with a slight blue curl on the side of the first letter. It was a thicker line, boldly arguing with the slender letters. “And I mean it isn’t like I haven’t tried to help,” she continued, her eyes on her brush. “This is my native language, and I can’t even get these translations. What does that say about me?” 

 

 Tomoyo had been watching her speak, the rise and fall of her tone, the way her mouth turned to a circle when she emphasized her words. She suppressed a fond smirk. “Here,” she wistfully offered, gently taking the heavy brush from her best friend’s hand and replacing it with the thinner medium. 

 

 Sakura blinked, then unmindfully resumed. Though still lined with her semi-sloppy charm, the change of brush made the lines that much more graceful. 

 

 Rika was on the other side of the gymnasium, laughing barely at something Chiharu said as they taped decorations to the wall. But her eyes—dark brown like coffee—kept wandering away to the teacher who was leaning over the elementary school kids and commenting on their designs. 

 

 “Tomoyo?” 

 

 “Hm?” 

 

 Sakura seemed suddenly so aware of how she was staring at the banner. Her eyes were filled with more intent than she needed, and they both knew it. 

 

 “He isn’t hurting you, right?” 

 

 It was Tomoyo’s turn to blink, though less confused. “Li-kun?” 

 

 “No.” That was all that needed to be said. Sakura was tracing the same line over and over again, back and forth with the brush. The paper was growing thin and damp under her strokes. 

 

 Tomoyo closed her eyes until she exhaled her next breath. “Oh,” she said. “No, quite the opposite of that.” 

 

 “Because,” Sakura interjected, “He’s nice, and I like him a lot.” She raised her eyes, and hid her timid uneasiness in a bright green determination that came out matter-of-fact. “But I love you.” 

 

 The words burned in Tomoyo before they turned warm. Love was not a word Sakura let go of casually. She made this a fact, and the words were the first of many more that were hidden in the underlay. 

 

 This wasn’t a threat, or even an ill-intended promise, Tomoyo knew. Sakura had the power in her to ravage the world, to melt the snow when it got in her way as it had last week, to freeze time and make more of it for herself. She could sweep Etsuya away in a great wind and erase him from sight forever if she wanted to. 

 

 But she never did, and never wanted to. 

 

 She’d already said it was selfish and unfair to use her magic to alter the natural order of things. She hesitated to throw her skills around, even if it was something as simple as using her Bubble card for laundry. 

 

 “Sakura…”

 

 “I’m sorry.” She blushed and raised her shoulders to her cheeks. A nervous smile faded as suddenly as it had appeared. “It’s wrong to accuse him of anything when I’m obviously wrong.” Having almost painted through the paper, she moved on to elongate her line. It only looked a little bit like a wing. “But…” She drew the feathers like half-ovals at the bottom. “You’ve been a little strange lately, and I can’t think of anything else it would be.” 

 

 She didn’t know. She didn’t know about the music room or the scattered pages from the songbook that spilled to the ground. She didn’t know about the moonlight, the hidden smiles that Etsuya didn’t know she was aware of. Or the skin, or the sheets, or that the only times she locked her bedroom door were when he kissed her. 

 

 And still, Sakura trusted her with everything. Though the red in her face was almost painful, she’d twisted her hands a thousand times in her lap last summer and said ‘It was the most incredible feeling…’ 

 

 Suddenly, the ducts behind her eyes swelled and burned, and Tomoyo wanted nothing more than to cry. 

 

 She said, “I promised I’d look at some of the new fabrics in the stage room.” 

 

 Sakura followed with her eyes when Tomoyo stood. “Want me to come? I don’t really have your eye for that stuff,” she crinkled her nose, “but…”

 

 Tomoyo offered her kindest smile. It made Etsuya melt every time, she knew. But more importantly, it made Sakura believe her. “You should finish those before the paint dries.” She gestured to the lumpy blue lines, which just slightly resembled wobbly wings. 

 

 “You really think they look okay?” 

 

 “They’re pretty.” 

 

 She sighed. “I ruined the whole thing.” 

 

 “You didn’t. I’ll be right back.” 

 

 Her steps were quick, and she blindly navigated her way through the crowded room of paint and paper decorum. Her heart was thick with guilt and the hallway was blurry when she pushed across the empty floor, free from the noise at last. 

 

 Sakura was the last person in the world she’d ever intended to lie to. 

 

 ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 “What’re those supposed to be?” She felt his familiar shadow darken the paper over her, and when she raised her head she saw Syaoran standing directly behind her. The frustration that earlier marked his face was gone, leaving dark residues of irritation in his irises; the book and highlighter were in his hand. 

 

 Sakura slumped; her voice was dry. “Wings.” 

 

 “Are you sure you aren’t ruining—”

 

 “Shut up.” It was less than a playful tone she used. Another parallel to her brother that she would deny later. He knelt beside her, for the first time able to see the frustration narrowing her eyes. “What is it?” 

 

 She didn’t answer him; but she did close her eyes and stop her brushstroke. 

 

 “Sorry,” she whispered, and resumed what she was doing. “I’m sorry.” 

 

 He put his hand on her shoulder and held it there until she turned her head to him. Her eyes were starry and sharp with worry. “I have the worst feeling,” she murmured, softly. The tears were filling her eyes like rain in a gutter, and she didn’t know why. She bit back her lower lip at the first sob. He helplessly thumbed the tears from her cheeks. 

 

 “Okay, come here…” his voice was a whisper, and Sakura realized he had taken the brush from her hand. She was on her feet, and her fists were salty and damp against her face. She could feel his fingertips against the small of her back, both guiding her out of the room and comforting her at once. She realized how dazedly she was walking when they stopped, and she was suddenly finding herself in the shadowy corner of the hall. They were by the fire exit, where nobody had any reason to pass by. 

 

 “I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know what’s wrong…”

 

 He traced her arms with the palms of his hands, and she fell against him, instantly locked in the warm comfort of his presence. The thick collar of his uniform inched against her cheek, and his neck smelled distantly like the white soap on the metal rack in his shower. He was the essence of those late mornings, when they talked to each other still half-dreaming, when their skin was weightless in the cool crisp sheets, laden with their sweat; and the clouds outside left everything gray as a watercolor painting. 

 

 Entranced with those airy memories, she still couldn’t will the tears away. They shook her chest until it was sore, and her lungs were dry and ragged from sucking in the fibers of his cotton. But it was she who would not relent, pulling herself nearer to him. His arms locked around her hips, and one of his hands was bunching her hair in mesmerizing waves of comfort. 

 

 There was nothing she loved more than being lost in his arms, and there was nothing he hated more than to listen to her cry. 

 

 A few more moments of this passed. They could have been seconds or hours, for all Sakura’s present comprehension was worth. When she finally drew back, there was a dark saline puddle on his chest, and her hands were shaking. 

 

 He was blurry, pushing the hair from her face and brushing the remaining tears from her cheeks. 

 

 “Feel better now?” 

 

 She closed her eyes; bracing; steadying. “It feels like something’s pulling on me.” Her voice was loose and congested. She sniffled again and then blinked her eyes up at him, dim with eerie confusion. “My dreams have been all tangled up. It’s like I just can’t clear my head.” She cupped her forehead in her hand and dropped her face to the ground. “This is so embarrassing. I’m sorry.” 

 

 But he didn’t seem to have heard the last thing she said, and he was trying to be reassuring by rubbing her back and silently drawing conclusions—of which there were none that he could find. 

 

 She raised her head, suddenly bright again. He could see pale ghost-streaks on her skin, but that may have been because he knew she’d been crying. “I’m okay now,” she grabbed his hand, easy as anything. “Let’s go back.” 

 

 ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 Chiharu squirmed, standing on the scuffed wooden crate. The dress fell across her legs like open green wings, glittering and catching the overhead lights like stars. The wire-woven tiara was too big, and it kept sliding forward on her head. 

 

 Tomoyo was constantly moving circles around her, measuring things, pinning tufts of extra fabric. ‘Don’t worry,’ she’d said, ‘we’ll make it fit.’ And Chiharu believed her, because every year she managed to do exactly as promised. 

 

 She pursed her lips and slid the tiara back into place for the tenth time. “You should have tried out for the lead,” she told Sakura, who was sitting on the floor with an open notebook and a pink pen. She was recording the measurements in hasty scribbles of numbers. “You get it every year.” 

 

 “Put twenty centimeters for sleeve width,” Tomoyo said, muffled over the silver pins between her lips. 

 

 Sakura hid her blush as she wrote. “That’s just the thing,” she said, “I don’t really like being the center of attention.” 

 

 “But you’re so good at it!” Chiharu insisted, squirming when the silky green waistline of her dress was pulled from behind. “And you have the skin for these lights.” 

 

 The blush grew wild, and Sakura opened her mouth to respond with another timid answer, but was interrupted by a loud spark on the other side of the room. It rang like a gunshot, flashing small lightning. The lights over their heads flickered. 

 

 Five of the boys from their class, and a few from Junior High, were standing over a pile of wires that pooled from the stage floor to the oversized stereo system and metal ceiling rafters. Among them, Yamazaki—holding a red plug in his hand—suppressed a nervous laugh. 

 

 “He’s such a clown,” Chiharu narrowed her eyes as she turned forward again. “I’ll be amazed if they don’t burn down the school.” 

 

 The tiara tumbled forward and hit the ground with a cold thunk. 

 

 “Don’t worry,” Tomoyo said. “The night of the play, we can just pin it to your hair.” 

 

 “Does that really work?” 

 

 “Of course it does. You just can’t lean too far to any one side…”

 

 Their voices faded away. Syaoran was one of the boys trying to configure the wiring, and Sakura caught his stare from across the stage. Dark concern blurred in her perception like a lighthouse leading ships at sea, and she stood to go to him. 

 

 “Don’t go too far,” Tomoyo sang, not looking away from her work. “You’re next.” 

 

 “Er…” Sakura stopped mid-step and looked to the neatly folded peasant dress on the ground by where she had been sitting. It was bright yellow and wild, but hauntingly elegant all at once. Wearing it over her plain gray and black uniform felt almost like lying. “I’ll be right back.” 

 

 She skittered across the stage room. It was mostly the high school students who stayed this late, because the only junior high kids involved with the play were working backstage. Syaoran watched her approach, motionless; she smiled brightly, bouncing to a stop just inches from him. “Did you want me for something?” 

 

 His expression softened. He lowered his face to better study her. “Are you okay?” 

 

 Her smile contorted to something of appreciation, and she put her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t worry about this morning,” she said, “please. I don’t know what got into me.” 

 

 “I don’t know either.” He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. It took all of her will not to sink into his arms just then. Simple touches had the greatest affects on her. 

 

 “I love you,” she said it so softly that nobody around them could hear. “And if you don’t believe that I’m okay now, you can stay over tonight.” 

 

 His pupils dilated at the thought of the first night last week that they’d attempted this. This time he would look for her brother’s car—or its absence—in the driveway before he so much as touched the doorknob. 

 

 “Sakura~” Tomoyo’s soft voice was surprisingly clear given the acoustics of the room. Sakura turned in the general direction, to see Chiharu folding her own dress; the crate/pedestal was empty. 

 

 “I have to go back,” she walked her middle and index finger up the buttons of his uniform and then flicked him in the forehead. She was gone before he could react. 

 

 He believed her, but there was something about the day that he didn’t trust. 

 

 Sakura was used to this, and despite her nature she had grown accustomed to standing so still. It was better than being stuck by the pins in her dress, which there weren’t many of, because most of Tomoyo’s guesses were accurate. Even the lacey black gloves were perfect, though they itched. 

 

 “Etsuya-kun isn’t going to do any of the lighting or backstage stuff?” Sakura asked. 

 

 “I think I saw him go into the music room,” Chiharu was picking her black messenger bag up from the ground. The school emblem—bright red embroidery—shined in the lights. 

 

 “Mhm,” Tomoyo took a step back to contemplate the length of the sleeves. They were longer than she’d expected, but they achieved a childish effect that she liked. “He’s working on a new song. I’m going there next to rehearse with him.” She pinned the hem a few centimeters shorter on the left sleeve and stood back again to compare. Reading signals, Sakura flared her arms. Strawberries came tumbling from her underlying uniform like a breeze; Tomoyo drew a breath that was deeper than necessary. 

 

 “The song you’re going to sing, right? Can I hear it?” 

 

 Tomoyo shook her head softly. The sleeves looked better lengthy. “Maybe I should have made cuffs.” 

 

 “I don’t know how you do it, Tomoyo.” Chiharu edged the black strap over her shoulder. She waved her arm to Yamazaki, who was already approaching. “Anyway, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” 

 

 “Bye.” 

 

 “Take care.” 

 

 There were no windows in the stage room, but Sakura could feel that it was dark outside. Hopefully it wasn’t snowing again; she wanted no more perilous drives home. 

 

 “Are you sure you don’t want a ride home with us?” She said. 

 

 “Thanks. But I really need to get this solo down.” Tomoyo smiled sweetly from floor-level, reminding Sakura of how much taller she was when she stood on this thing. It emphasized her uneasiness. 

 

 “Tomoyo?” 

 

 “Hm?” 

 

 “If something was wrong, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” 

 

 “Lift your arms again. I think I’m going to measure for cuffs after all.”