Halfway Valentine | Special 8: "Rapids"

“Rapids”

19 Across: 2001 romance film starring John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale

S-E-R-E-N-D-I-P-I-T-Y, I filled inside the horizontal line of white cells.

A fortunate accident, according to Jonathan Trager. What a sweet yet utterly ridiculous movie. I remember watching it with Mum and Aunt G at home and I was left just staring at the Campbell cousins, absolutely weirded-out, whilst the closing credits rolled on the TV screen. Both ladies were bawling their eyes out, wailing, and hugging each other that for the life of me I still could not figure out why. And I couldn’t quite understand how many fucking times the leading man and the leading lady in the film had absurdly almost run into each other. It was frustrating to watch from start to finish—this I could safely say. And my mum and aunt would say how outrageously stupid the girl was for letting the guy slip through her fingers when she knew she had been struck hard by Cupid’s arrow the instant they met.

But I couldn’t blame the girl, you know. Perhaps, she was just a big, fat scaredy cat and a very confused poor soul. And it was normal to be scared and confused—we’re human, after all. That the woman knew she was falling in love so quickly and it terrified her? That she wasn’t really ready yet for that kind of love? That she needed to be more sure if it was real? Or maybe she was just a bored person who simply wanted more excitement in her black-and-white life?

But I had to give the lady a crunchy high five, though. The way she dealt with her fear or confusion or foolishness was way better than how I did with mine. She didn’t just run away nor did anything really bitchy, but simply left the guy half of the pair of black cashmere gloves and a sweet, simple, sappy message: “Well, if we’re meant to meet again, we’ll meet again. It’s just not the right time now.” I wish I could just pull off a stunt like that on Emily. But that was just stupid. Totally, completely, and in all other ways im-fucking-possible. Emily and I were sleeping and taking classes under the same roof. The chances of me bumping into her were just about as high as receiving giveaway facial tissues if you walk along the streets of downtown Kyoto. And, I swear to God, try wandering around the city just for a couple of minutes, and your bag would be miraculously bursting with a lifetime’s worth of packed tissues popped in with various advertisements.

So, nope, it just couldn’t be so. This was reality. Not some movie. I couldn’t just throw such lame, cheesy lines at Emily and expect everything to pan out perfectly. Hence, me being here. Stuck in a stormy place, answering crossword puzzles. How fucking fun and fantastic was my life, yea?

Emily. Again. Why did everything have to have something to do with the redhead? Fuck’s sake. Eye on the ball, Naomi, I scolded myself, and shifted my attention back to the puzzle.

22 Down: Brokeback Mountain director, Ang _______

L-E-E, I wrote inside three white squares.

This puzzle ain’t challenging at all, I mused, nibbling the cap of my pen. I could think of about a million more exciting things to do to entertain myself or distract me from thinking about a certain girl. But answering these crossword puzzles aka Who magazine’s 10-Minute Teasers would do for now, since it wasn’t exactly a perfect day for strolling or a Saturday night-out on the puddle-filled streets of Nagoya. The pounding elements—nippy air and stabbing water—were merciless compared to this warm and inviting guest room. I peered out the windows at the storm, which was still raging. The wind howled through the branches outside; the rain hammered the roof and poured down like tiny waterfalls. I could hear the ferocious ocean in the distance. It was growing decidedly darker, from a stormy grey afternoon to shadowy early evening.

A giant broom of lightning split the sky. I instinctively reeled back from it. The thunder that followed shook the house.

“Naomi-chan?”

I squealed and jumped in my chair, whirling at the sound, my heart slamming.

“Oh, my God, Mrs. Komori, you scared me!” I half gasped, half laughed.

Mrs. Komori, my sweet, baby-faced host mother even in her late forties, giggled lightly. “I’m so sorry, Naomi-chan. I just thought you might like some tea.” She set a tray on the desk.

I stood up from the chair and gave a very Japanese-like bow of gratitude. “Doumo arigatou (Thank you).”

I leant against the desk and watched the gracious woman as she quietly and demurely poured some hot green tea into a cup. “Is Mr. Komori home already?” I asked automatically.

Handing me the cup, the woman shook her head. “Not yet. He’s still working in his gallery downtown. He has a big exhibit this Friday so he’s always working late.”

“I love his paintings, really,” I said reflectively, gazing in the direction of a large oil painting of an old dancing couple. “They’re all so breathtakingly vibrant. Especially the one with the sakuras downstairs in the living room . . .”

Mrs. Komori also turned her gaze to the painting and smiled wistfully. “He paints the world through looking into my eyes, my husband would always tell me.”

That put a tender smile on my face. “That’s like the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, Mrs. Komori.”

“Love,” she said, “can make you do unimaginable things.”

“And foolish things,” I added.

“Naruhodo ne (Indeed),” she agreed, with a brief sad smile. “But you can never do so many mistakes if you would only truly follow your heart.”

I took a long sip of my hot green tea, feeling a sting of remorse. “I suppose you’re right,” I murmured sadly. “Thanks again, Mrs. Komori.”

“Uun (Not at all). If you’re already hungry there are fresh fruits and cheesecake downstairs, Naomi-chan,” she said gently, and I only nodded absently. “If you need something, I’ll just be in the kitchen.” The dishes rattled as my ever-gracious host mother carried out the tea tray.

I let myself sink back down on the chair, as if my legs would no longer hold me. Elbows on the desk, I buried my face in my hands, rubbing at my eyes. I didn’t have a normal sleep in days. After letting out a long, audible sigh, I sat up straight and took my pen again. Idle time meant obsessing-about-a-redhead time so I had to get going.

25 Across: red wine

Four-letter word? Ah, this one is easy, I thought, taking a soothing sip from the cup with my other hand. Emily told me about how her mum loves port—a sweet red wine from Portugal. And . . . red. Really. Really?

I traced my finger across the page to the corresponding white cells of the lattice-like grid. P-O-R-T, I wrote inside. Then I moved to the next clue.

28 Down: British equivalent of an Academy Award

Oh, I know this. During one of our rooftop convos, Emi— I stopped the thought before I could mention the name again. Chrissakes. So far, my mission of Forgetting Emily Fitch had been a fucking whopping failure. Utter, utter failure.

B-A-F-T-A, I filled in thickly. Scratching my nose lightly with the cap of the pen, I moved on to the next one.

32 Across: _______ Blunt, Hollywood actress whose credits include My Summer of Love and The Devil Wears Prada

You’ve got to be fucking joking! Seriously?

E-M-I-L-Y, I wrote each letter heavily.

But a flash of an image of a different Emily popped into my mind. Her sparkling big brown eyes. Her soft lips. Her radiant red hair. And that coy little smile she would give me. Christ, they should make her give some sort of warning before unleashing that smile.

And Emily . . . I replayed the feel of our lips meeting, the perfume on her skin, the way my heart had been beating overtime. Now I felt my face grow warm, despite the growing chill in the air. It had been an agony to see her heart break, knowing that her knight in shining armour had ditched her. I was heartless, all right. But I had to protect myself, too.

“Um. What am I doing thinking about the redhead? I was supposed to forget about her. Fuck’s sake,” I told myself sharply. “I can’t fall in love just yet.”

What the fuck, Naomi? I gave myself a mental slap. In love? Where’d that come from? I gave my head a little shake and just focused on the puzzle I was almost done with.

30 Down: "Modern day Houdini" _______ Blaine

David.

Abruptly I slammed the magazine closed and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and landed on the floor with a loud thud. What the fuck. Was fate fucking with my head?

Seriously!

Emily. David.

I admit it had been simpler with David, my ex-boyfriend, who’d blown into my heart and blown out. I did love him, though. And we were special.

But he wasn’t the one I saw myself sharing my dreams with. Or travelling around the world and setting up orphanages with. Or getting shipwrecked to an uncharted island with. Or spending the nights just cuddled in each other’s arms under the stars. Or cooking the most delightful pancakes for every morning. Or finishing my sentences before I even knew what I was going to say.

If there was ever a person I could think of sharing all these with at the moment, it was Emily Fitch.

But if I was thrilled to be playing Juliet to her Romeo, I wasn’t really acting like it. Okay, maybe I wanted a second chance with Emily. Um. Second chance? There had never been a chance, you twat, I told myself. You were never together. Maybe I had been a complete idiot to run away from her, to run away from that kind of feeling.

I sighed, gazing out the windows at the darkening skies and wind-feathered water of the bow-shaped beach Utsumi. Why did things always have to be so fucking difficult? If I’d thought life was going to be easier, less complicated in the small, peaceful city of Kyoto, I’d been wrong.

I felt a sudden tightness in my chest and throat. I knew I had to make an escape again. I stood up from my chair, brought the top-front section of my hair backward—the puffy hair I would always sport—and stabbed it in place with a couple of bobby pins. I snatched up my grey tux jacket and threw it on.

I moved to the door and put my feet into my boots. I didn’t know where I was going, but I needed to go. To get some air, to take a walk, to run away from the way I was feeling.

The first blast of wind and rain actually felt good in a twisted, pain-is-pleasure sort of way. Stung my face. Burnt my lungs as I breathed in. I steeled my body for the onslaught and started walking. A dark, wet road curved away from the house. At the first fork, I went left. I had to lean into the wind as I walked. The tree branches gesticulated frantically.

But as I focused on my battle with the elements, my head began to clear. I kept walking and walking, past a few houses lit from inside, and many more that were dark. Not a single car passed on the road. I was every bit as soaked. It was my choice not to bring an umbrella. My jeans clung to my legs like plastic wrap.

I’d wandered away, overcome by a terrible loneliness. I wanted. A lot of things I’d never have.

A different father.

No. My father. Who made different choices.

A different set of friends.

No. David and Rachel. Who gave more value to our friendship.

And Emily. I wanted—

That one was tougher. All I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to hurt so much anymore.

I kept moving, leaving Emily behind, leaving behind the unhappiness I’d caused her. A bolt of lightning split the sky. For a shimmering moment, I could see the ocean up ahead and to my left. It gave me something to focus on. A goal. I walked more quickly. Another streak of lightning illuminated the narrower road that led toward the beach. I could hear the huge waves crashing against the shore.

I didn’t stop until I was standing at the summit of a massive white sand dune. It dropped off sharply just in front of me. The tide was so high that the ocean came right up to the base of the dune. A wave rolled like a bulldozer and crashed into the mountain of sand. A mix of cold salt spray and sand stung my face. I could barely see.

But I didn’t budge. Maybe I could walk off the guilt I felt, drive out the memory of Emily’s hurt, erase the consciousness of how much I broke her heart and left her there, drive out the realisation of how much the redhead must despise the cowardly me. And I deserved every bitter drop of her hate.

Wiping off the steam-fogged mirror with a hand, I examined my face. “Stop thinking about her,” I whispered to my own reflection. “Stop.”

Weariness invaded my every blasted pore. I’d been told more than once that I was known for being a cold character, that ice ran through my veins instead of blood, that I could just run away from anything without giving a fuck about the consequences. Maybe I’d had those superpowers once but they were gone forever. They’d been gone the moment Emily Fitch entered my life.

I was right all along. She posed problems in my life. And I didn’t know how I was going to deal with any of them.

My host family’s house pet, Kin—a big, despicable golden retriever—scratched and whined at the bathroom door. Wrapping a fluffy lemon-coloured towel around my damp skin, I yelled, “Go away. I’ll be out in a bit.” The whining and the scratching increased. Unlocking the door, I cracked it just enough for the retriever to get his nose inside. “You’re a pest—you know that?” Kin squeezed his whole head through the door and barked madly. I had always loved dogs. Pet dogs. But this one was an exception. He was more of an attack dog. He turned my thongs and my laptop bag into fucking chew toys and managed to give me quite a few bite marks all over my arms in merely forty-four hours.

I threw open the door, holding out my arm and commanded sharply, “Suwatte (Sit)! Right now. Sit! Don’t you dare jump on me now and fucking wound me. I need more armour on. Sit!”

Kin’s whole body wriggled as he sat down. He tried to scoot across the floor toward me, which made me huff. The dog leapt and I grunted, pushing him away. “For fuck’s sake, fuck off!” I cried, heading out of the bathroom, the dog cowering and whining.

As I closed the door of the guest room behind me, I felt a pang of guilt. The dog didn’t deserve that. But I was having a really shitty Sunday, with my emotions all over the goddamn place. And he wasn’t helping at all.

Padding across the sleek wooden floor to the dresser, I brushed out my unruly blond locks, letting them fall to my shoulders.

I was suffering from all kinds of indignities and defeat when it came to Emily Fitch. Her unconscious beauty knocked me over from the first time I laid eyes on her. How could she have effortlessly torn down my walls by just looking at me with her big brown eyes? Now I felt their power as never before. Her big chocolate doe eyes and delicately winged brows, her red hair, her soft lips and the tiny lines of amusement that deepened around her mouth when she smiled—every aspect of her face entranced me.

I want her back, I thought suddenly, fiercely. I want Emily back.

“No,” I said aloud to the empty room. “No, you don’t.” She’s just a helpless, vulnerable, timid girl whom you felt attached to because of plain pity and your desperate attempt to be some knight in shining armour. She was a school project. A charity case. That’s all.

My gaze slid down and I caught sight of my phone lying next to my cocoa butter skin therapy oil. I took it and flipped it open. Yet, when I didn’t see the redhead’s name on the list of missed calls nor in my unread messages box, I felt like shit. Utter, utter shit. Relief and aggravation warred within me. I told myself I should be ecstatic she had finally come to her senses, got tired of all the chasing and decided to stop. Why then was I ruled by a feeling of discontent?

“This can’t fucking happen to me again,” I said, gripping the sides of the dresser table. “I can’t let her happen to me. I can’t.”

But the little redhead had already physically and emotionally affected me. She had cast some sort of a potent spell on my brain so I couldn’t think of anything but her. My body longed for hers. I knew from the promising kiss under our tree that she could satisfy the burning need inside me.

I ached to know the fulfillment, held as I was in a prison of desire. Would that her hands, her lips, could give me deliverance. But that wasn’t possible. I had fought this craving for a while and I would keep fighting it.

“Fuck’s sake, Emily,” I moaned under my breath. “Get out from under my skin.”

I thought of Emily’s fresh face and lovely brown eyes. Her sensitivity and innocence and vulnerability—qualities I’d always found so entrancing, even when I was miles away from her.

The phone suddenly sounded and vibrated on the table. The music ringtone gave me goosebumps. It was the first song I’d heard from Emily. She only hummed a bit of it in my room, but the song got stuck in my brain and so I made it my ringtone. And now I realised that it was a bad decision. I glanced at the outer LCD screen of the phone and saw that it was David. Only David. Not Emily.

Emily? Jesus Christ. You were silently wishing it was Emily? my brain nagged me.

I flung the phone over to the bed. My eyes filled, swimming with hot tears.

I followed the phone and fell across the bed, hugging the pillow tight against my face as I hissed into it. “Fuck’s sake. She’s doing it to me again.” I expelled my frustration and fury with tears and curses.

As my fury drained, despair crept into the void. I rolled onto my back and stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

In reality, Emily wasn’t doing anything and that was what infuriated me. “I didn’t come here to fucking fall in love,” I said to myself. “I was here to heal and start all over again.” I sat up and reached for a now-lukewarm can of Asahi beer on the bedside table. I badly needed a drink.

Of course it hadn’t been Emily’s fault that I was intrigued by her then, any more than it was her fault now. She was just being perfectly lovable and irresistible, and I took the fucking bait.

Emily.

Gritting my teeth, I felt frustration boil like a live volcano inside me again.

“Fucking hell, Emily,” I said, ripping off the tab on the top of the beer can. Along with it, I ripped off the tip of a light blue-coloured fingernail. “I’ll get you out of my system.”

After downing almost half of the beer in just one gulp, I squeezed my eyes shut. The tears spilled over. I had my own battles to fight. So what the fuck was I doing here in Japan obsessing on a girl? And what was I doing stranded in this room, hiding from everyone and putting my life on hold just because of her?

I brushed the tears from my cheeks. This was not happening. I worked so hard to draw a line between my heart and my mind. And intellect had always overpowered my emotions ever since. It kept me safe from heartache. It kept me strong. But now it’s all a blur. And it didn’t help that deep inside I wasn’t really as tough as I appeared to be. Emily had already colonised a significant part in me even though I had sworn that I’d never let her into my world.

Emily Fitch was going to have to go. She was my only weakness. And that made staying my distance more reasonable.

I spent Monday cloistered in the house. Since it rained all day, I had a good excuse to remain indoors. Mrs. Komori was worried that I’d be missing school but I lied and told her that we were given a week off to honour some sort of school legend. Mum called and asked if there was anything new in my life. I blurted out to her about Emily and the strange things I was feeling for the girl. She told me to just follow my heart and love someone based on how incredibly happy they made me feel and not if they had a dick or what. I knew my mum would be cool about it, but that didn’t really help. The problem was within me.

I debated myself about going back to Kyoto. But my coward thinking prevailed. With eyes red from crying and grim resolution, I sat heavily in front of my laptop at the desk and logged on to Facebook. And guess whose face and status update appeared first before my eyes?

Yes. Emily Fucking Fitch.

I squeezed my eyes shut. It was the only way I could avoid looking at pictures with Emily. But it was a futile attempt. Even as I closed my eyes, images of the hurting and angry redhead poured into my brain.

And the song she sang up there onstage with a voice like an angel’s that practically brought tears to my eyes . .

♫ No one else has ever shown me how

To see the world the way I see it now

I never saw blue like that before ♫

She was so spot on. My life had never been the same since I met Emily. She was like a little light bulb that made my days bright, then brighter still. She was like a melodious tune that made my smiles wide, then wider still. Her husky giggles made me giddy, then giddier still. And Emily’s kisses. Jesus. Her awesome kisses made me dizzy, then dizzier still.

I sneaked a look at Emily’s Facebook page and saw the sickly-sweet messages with oodles of unnecessary hearts this girl Brooke posted on her wall. I gnashed my teeth in an effort to quell the temptation to throw my laptop to the wall or message this Brooke Boothroyd that she should keep her overrouged cheeks and Alt+3 fixation away from Emily.

Thoroughly enraged by the blooming relationship before my eyes and disgusted at myself for caring, I didn’t eat lunch that day. The view out the window absorbed my total attention as I sat fuming at the desk.

To distract myself, I reached for my phone next to the abandoned magazines on the table and rang JJ up. He answered on the second ring.

“Naomi!” he said, very surprised, relieved, and almost giddy. “Holy dooley! Thank God, you called! We were all so worried about you! Yoshida-san was looking for you! Where are you? Did you talk to your professors about your absence? Are you on your way home now? If not, when will you come back?” he bombarded me with questions right away.

“Jesus, JJ,” I mock scolded him. “Just one at a time, okay?”

“Where in the world are you?” he repeated.

“I’m in Nagoya. Staying at my host family’s house.”

“What are you doing there?”

I exhaled shakily. “It’s just—I just need to have some alone time to . . . to think. To think about . . . things.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “How long will this thing-thinking last?”

I sniffed, and answered casually, “I don’t know, Jay.”

“You don’t know?” JJ echoed, rather incredulous. “Have you gone nuts, Naomi? You have a life back here in Kyoto. Come home now.”

“No. I just need some time on my own,” I said stubbornly. “Until I get over this . . . confusion. Just don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

“Okay,” he said feebly.

“Promise me, JJ.”

“I promise,” he said, more firmly. He paused a moment then added, “What’s this, erm, confusion all about, Naomi?”

I refused to even go there, but I settled only with a toneless “Dave wants to get back together.”

“And?”

“And I said, yes, we could get back together—”

“Oh, bobbins.”

“But as friends,” I pointed out, before he freaks out. “Jesus, JJ, let me finish first.” I let out a snort of laughter.

“That wasn’t funny, Naomi.”

I laughed. “I know.”

“So you’re friends now. Again.”

I sighed. “Yes,” I said, trying to get used to the relationship development myself. “It was like a heavy weight was lifted off my chest, you know. David’s an awesome partner-in-crime, anyway.”

It was true. We were great friends. Maybe we were really better off as friends. But I couldn’t forget how it had felt when David’s pure love had erased all the bad stuff that had happened to me before, had made me believe in love, had made me rely solely on trust, had . . .

An ache filled my throat, a deep longing for the time when I’d still believed that David’s love could make everything okay.

But that Naomi was gone. And the new Naomi, whoever I was becoming, was a half-developed photograph. Even I didn’t know how I would turn out.

“Is that all?” JJ said after a long moment. “All this confusion is just about David?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Okay. Are you sure that’s all?” he said carefully.

“Yes, JJ,” I answered dryly.

“Okay.”

“Did Emily look for me?” The words surprised my own ears, and I hastened to add, “I mean, just because, you know, we’re classmates.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her around lately. I’ve been busy with Kendo trainings, you see,” JJ answered. “And the big exams are coming so she must be studying in her room. You know Emily—she’s just always with a book. Why? Didn’t she try to call you?”

I bit my lip and mumbled, “Nah-uh, she didn’t.”

“Why ask?”

“Nothing,” I said a bit too quickly. “Just wondering.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“How long are you going to avoid her, Naomi?” JJ had asked the deadly question, and my lower lip suddenly quivered. I clamped down hard on it with my front teeth.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I forced out my clogged throat.

“Funny, I could swear you were the one who just brought up her name.”

“It’s too . . . Just leave it, okay?”

“I admire you, Naomi, for taking a stand about things you care about passionately. But it is pretty obvious that Emily is one of them. And you’re not exactly doing the same for her,” JJ said with uncharacteristic firmness. “And I think that’s something to seriously consider.”

“I find it highly amusing that a total basket case like you could detect the abnormality of things,” I said smoothly.

JJ’s tone was offended. “I don’t deserve that.”

I sighed. “Ignore me. It’s the infamous Naomi Campbell defence mechanism kicking in.”

“Naomi, feel free to say this is none of my flaming business, but avoiding Emily isn’t the answer to—”

“It’s none of your flaming business, JJ,” I interrupted. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. The complexity of my relationship with Emily is not something that can be explained in some well-written, two-line movie moment. There’s no script for this.”

“There’s no script for any of it, Naomi. It’s all messy and complicated and scary as hell. You’re not the only one.”

“Wait, is this the part where we get all deep and profound and bond like brother and sister?” I asked. “Because I really fucking hate that. This is why I was meant to be an only child.”

“I know how you want to shut other people out, Naomi. But I’m here for you. We’re all here for you. And I know how other people giving you orders or pieces of advice pains you, especially from a mong like me.” His tone was easy. “So how about ‘We miss you already’?”

“I’ll settle for ‘Just come home.’ But I won’t. Not yet.”

“What are you and Emily doing that is so wrong, Naomi? Are you terrified of what people will think and say about you being with another girl? Because people are always looking for something to try and lambast others, but that’s human nature.”

“I don’t give a fuck about other people’s opinions. You know that.”

“Then what is the problem?”

My mouth tightened then. I gazed out the windows at the dark skies over Nagoya and was silent for a moment. “I just want to be alone right now.”

“Right,” he said, managing in that single syllable to convey understanding and sympathy, without admitting he actually knew anything. When it really counted, JJ could be a true friend.

I flipped my phone closed and rubbed my forehead wearily. It had begun to pound. My statement was meant to be ambiguous. I wanted JJ to stop from barraging me with his insights. His incredible perceptiveness rattled me. JJ might be a mental case. A total froot loop. But he wasn’t stupid. And I wanted Emily to fucking stop popping into my mind. I wanted to be on my own to deal with my battles, to nurse my wounds, to sort out my confusion of feelings, to figure out who I really was without someone to lean on, to pick up the pieces of my life.

I would be so much better . . . alone.

Tuesday. I sank back into the deep, soft pillows. My host family’s guest room didn’t change a bit. It was still warm and comfortable, and even the rain now sounded friendly, drumming against the roof like a lulling song. I left the windows open, since it was on the ocean side of the house. I loved the faint scent of salt air that came my way, and fancied that I could even hear the sound of the surf.  

I let out a sigh of contentment. The room was a beacon. It was an oasis. I had chosen the perfect hideaway.

It couldn’t have been cosier in this room. The blond wood walls were hung with my host father’s large, bright paintings—vibrant abstract shapes, charged with movement and colour. The wide-plank floors were bare in the room—stark and elegant—but a few decorative throw rugs warmed the space up virtually. The furniture was limited to a few simple pieces, giving the smallish room a deceptively spacious and airy feel. But the wall-sized bookshelves were crammed with books.

Books.

Emily’s passion. Her little world of books.

All of a sudden, I felt ice-cold again. I shivered.

Emily. Again. Dear, Brain. Can I have one peaceful moment without the redhead’s name coming up? Thank you. Love, Naomi.

For four days I hadn’t gotten a normal sleep at all. My mind was too jumbled with images, my emotions too tangled. I’d spent a lot of time lying awake thinking last night and had reached a conclusion that I would maintain a platonic relationship with Emily. But now just thinking about not being able to get intimate with her, I was having a hard time remembering why a platonic relationship had seemed so important. How could I go back there in Kyoto and not look at the irresistible redhead like a starving woman suddenly confronted with a five-course meal?

I had constructed a new life for myself out of the rubble of my shattered relationships. My plans for the future were carefully laid out and going according to schedule.  Should I let Emily Fitch into my life, she might upset that schedule, if not destroy it altogether.

My mobile phone rang. It was the music ringtone that was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

♫ If it’s coming over you like it’s coming over me

I’m crashing like a tidal wave that drags me out to the sea ♫

“Fuck’s sakes. Shut the fuck up,” I yelled across the room. There were too many distractions—the loud humming of the washing machine from the next room, the growling of Kin from the hallway outside, the persistent thoughts of the redhead, and now this bloody phone and its bloody ringtone.

♫ And I wanna be with you and you wanna be with me

I’m crashing like a tidal wave—♫

After running across the polished wooden floor, I snatched my phone up from the desk.

“Hey,” I answered flatly.

“There you are, beautiful. I’d about given up on you.”

“What is it this time, Dave?” I asked impatiently.

With amusement heavy in his voice, David said, “You sound a little out of sorts.”

“I am. So make it quick. It’s not that kind of day.”

He abruptly broke into laughter, which only irritated me further. I knew I was throwing bitchfits all day but I didn’t much care. I was about to hang up on him when he said. “Rinky Dinky just misses you so much. He wants to talk to you.”

I heard the Rottweiler’s familiar short bark, and smiled. “Hi, Rinky Dinky,” I said sweetly into the phone, “I missed you, too. How big are you now?” The dog let out an excited bark in response.

“He’s added quite a few pounds,” David answered. “Mum just feeds him with anything.”

I bit my lip as a thought hit me. “That reminds me . . . It’s Caroline’s birthday next weekend, right?”

“Yea,” he said, sounding delighted that I had remembered. “Mum and Dad are in Perth right now, staying with Dianne.”

“Could you give me your sister’s number?” I groped blindly among the magazines on the desk for a buried pen. I had been spending my idle time answering lame crossword puzzles again just so it could divert me from thinking about a certain redhead. My coffee sat where I’d left it before going out for a morning vegetable-shopping with my host parents.

“9481-4558.”

“Got it,” I said, as I was done scribbling the number on a piece of paper. “I’ll just give them a call.”

“You’re so sweet, Naomi. That’s what I miss most about you.”

I felt my lips twitch. Some part of me missed David still, and that small part seemed to heat my blood and course through my veins, infecting every inch of my being, making it nearly impossible for me to stoke the hate I’d learnt to rely on instead of my love.

“You okay, babe?” he asked, when I didn’t respond.

“Don’t call me babe,” I said shortly. A shiver slipped down my back at the soft use of that pet name. How long had it been since I’d heard it from him?

“I’m sorry. I still need to get the hang of not calling you ‘babe.’ It still feels right.”

“It feels right for you,” I said with mock sternness. “But it creeps the fuck out of me.”

He laughed, then added seriously, “What’s troubling you, really, Naomesy?”

Eyeing my coffee, I wrinkled my nose, then grabbed the cup anyway and swallowed a huge gulp, closing my mind to the fact that it was cold and bitter and just fucking awful. “You,” I answered, my voice flat.

He laughed again. “You still hate me.”

“Wow,” I scoffed. “I didn’t know you were aware of that when you were pathetically calling me every fucking day?”

He let out a hearty laughter. “Well,” he said, “I believe in the trite saying that the more you hate, the more you love.”

“How about the more you hate, the more you want to do violence. And an incredibly brutal idea just popped in my head now,” I wryly said, making him crack up again. I flipped my laptop open out of idleness.

“Anyway, Mum and Dad wanted me to always tell you that they miss you.”

I opened my Facebook page. “Tell them I miss them too and we will have an epic barbeque when I get back.”

David’s parents had always held a special place in my heart. When Mum was flying all over the planet trying to save humankind one day at a time, they’d been there for me as my second parents. I’d relied on them for love and support just as I’d relied on David, and though David and I had already broken up, I had continued to see myself as an adopted “Greenbury”. They were my family.

David spoke softly after a long silence. “Naomi, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What’s wrong,” he said.

“I’m okay. I’m perfectly okay,” I said, taking another sip of my coffee.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m okay,” I bit out gruffly. “Jesus, David.”

“Naomi, seriously,” he said, genuinely alarmed, “what’s eating you? It’s not that guy JJ, right?”

“Ugh. No. JJ?” I made a face. “The boy is about to get married. Give me a fucking break.”

“Then what is it?” he pressed.

I inhaled and exhaled slowly. “It’s just—” I hesitated, “It’s just that Emily and I, uh—”

“Ah. The Amazing Emily Fitch, right.”

I jerked in my seat, making my coffee spill on my top. “What?” I blurted, a bit too loudly.

“Oh, come on,” David said, and I could hear the amusement in his voice. “You’ve been going on about Emily this, Emily that every time we talk.”

A heartbeat passed. “Was I, really?” I croaked, unaccountably disconcerted and disoriented. “I hadn’t realised . . .”

“It’s good, actually,” he said lightly. “Sometimes when there’s awkward silence between us, this redhead Emily is a good icebreaker. Must be a really amazing friend of yours . . .”

“Yea, she’s amazing,” I said quietly, smiling at the thought. Then I gave myself a start and added, “We had a little . . . spat. And it’s just doing my head in.”

It was weird and horrible and sad to deny David with the facts. He was the person I had always been able to go to, to tell the truth to, to—

No, I told myself firmly. That was then. This is now. I can’t undo what happened or forget what he did. He wasn’t to be trusted anymore.

“Well, you know us, guys, we don’t really stick around for the crazy drama, yea?” David said easily. “But I just hope whatever this is—it gets sorted out right away. You and this girl Emily seems to be so tight. It’d be such a waste of an awesome relationship.”

“Yea. Thanks, David,” I mumbled, grabbing a handful of Kleenex from the tissue holder on the desk. I was busy wiping the coffee stain on my shirt when David spoke again.

“So I have a two weeks off over the holidays and I’m wondering if that Japan tour you offered is still on . . .”

“Sure. You know me, I always stick to my promises.”

“That’s why I love you.”

The air in my lungs had been held captive. Slowly releasing it, I said hurriedly, “Erm, okay, I have to go, Dave. Gotta do laundry.”

I could tell he also felt a little awkward. “Okay. I’ll just call you again tomorrow,” he said. Then he added a bit shakily, “And Naomi?”

“Yea?”

“I’m really sorry,” he said.

I’d never heard a more heartfelt apology. But I had to ask, “For what, exactly?”

“Being a dickhead?” David suggested ruefully.

“Right,” I said quietly, and hung up.

When I’d flew to Kyoto. I’d been so busy trying to bury my shitty past in Australia, trying to figure out who I really was, that I hadn’t been ready to be in any kind of relationship, much less one with a girl—a girl as irresistible and amazing as Emily Fitch.

But I just couldn’t be with her. There were a lot of things holding me back.

And I couldn’t quite forget how it had felt when Emily’s kisses and shy smiles had erased all the shitty stuff that had happened to me back in Oz, had made me feel clean and pure and hopeful again, had . . .

Forget it, I told myself now. You and Emily will never be together now. Because you’re a fucking coward. A big, fat fucking coward. And she has probably moved on to another more ballsy girl. Probably Effy. Or that obnoxious flirt Brooke Boothroyd. I cringed inwardly at the thought.

David.

I am over him. I am.

And yet after talking to him now, with his familiar voice and rich laughter, I couldn’t stop the old feelings from flooding back. How I had felt in his arms. I cared about him, really truly cared.

David.

Back to . . .

Emily.

I am over her. I am.

And yet gazing at her photo now, with her bright red hair and big brown eyes, the intense feelings came crashing back. How I had felt in her arms. How our kisses had turned hot, then hotter still. But the passion had come from something really deep, not just from hormones or loneliness or whatsits. Because I . . .

Oh, God, don’t even think about it, I warned myself. Don’t say it out loud, don’t formulate it in your mind, and fucking wipe that expression of adulation off your face.

. . . loved her, really truly loved her.

The words just came out. I couldn’t hold them back. It was just undeniable.

Emily.

God, the idea of going back there and seeing her yet not being able to touch her hair or feel her lips on mine like I did before made me feel . . .

Things I don’t want to feel right now, I thought, gritting my teeth in frustration. I was doing great. This was good. Distance was the only answer. I was afraid of going into an emotional overload if I let myself to fall more deeply in love.

I tore my eyes away from the laptop screen and finished the last sip of my coffee. I looked down at the two damp coffee stains on the front of my top with dismay. It would have to be dry-cleaned after all, I realised as I burst into tears.

I should be, I thought, on cloud nine. Ecstatic. Overjoyed. Emily Fitch had driven me to the point of madness and then beyond. I’d never had such an amazing time in my life, and that it was the redhead who had made me experience it made it more incredible. I shouldn’t have even thought of running away.

“You’ve repeatedly assaulted my lips and you fucking don’t know?”

Emily’s words came back to me almost tauntingly, as I cycled downtown that Wednesday afternoon.

She was right about a lot of things. I was definitely confused about my feelings. How could I be terrified and yet so attracted at the same time?

This was not what I had envisioned for myself, this radical slipping out of the groove of my life—my plans to stay out of the drama and heartbreak love and relationships could only bring. And certainly not with someone like Emily. Not with the girl who had that unfathomable hold on me.

I wanted to simply have a fucking ball in what Emily and I had found, that incredible fire, but I couldn’t help wondering what would happen next.

I’d been rattled by that fire. It was so powerful and I needed time to deal with it.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I turned my bicycle inland, heading for the port in an instinctive need to put some distance between myself and the girl who had startled me with her song and kisses. The last image I saw of her still burnt in my mind. She looked so beautiful up on that stage. Even in a simple pair of dark skinny jeans, a denim jacket zipped over her printed black tank. So irresistibly pretty and so natural. And I wanted her so badly.

I had a sneaking suspicion my own response was driving me, as well, but there was no way to get some distance back there in Kyoto. Well, there was, and once I might have resorted to it, the numbing relief of vodka or ice cream, but not now.

I pedaled faster into the turn onto the harbourside. And I kept pedaling and pedaling forward, further away.

For a few seconds I goosed it up to a mind-clearing speed, feeling the power of the wind in my face and the tug of my hair as it whipped behind me.

I pulled over at the spot near the pier where you could view straight to the Pacific. The lay of the land was such that you could see only the water, not the sprawl of civilisation beside it, and if you looked from just the perfect spot, you could convince yourself you were the only person for miles. I rushed up the narrow flights of stairs, burst onto the open viewing deck and looked out at the ocean.

I used to love that feeling from six years ago and had come up here often seeking it when I couldn’t deal with the niggling thoughts inside my head. Seeking just a few moments of pretending I was alone, free of all the troubles down below.

It was a perfect fall day. Glittering slate-green ocean in every direction, as far as the eye could see. A dramatic patchwork of silvery grey clouds and brilliant blue sky overhead. The bracing freshness of the salt air. The crisp day but not bitter cold. A few gulls wandered along the walkway below. I leant against the railing and took a deep breath of clean sea air. The place was perfect. Storybook-like.

Or should’ve been in someone else’s movie.

I sighed to myself. Next to me, there was no one. But in my mind’s eye, I saw a flame-haired goddess with an incredible voice.

I directed the scene in my mind. Two women out at sea. A light wind in her soft, red hair, the two lovers with their faces toward the ocean. Queen of the world. With Emily my . . . princess? Okay. My queen. But Emily was more of a princess. The earnest but heretofore misguided heroine looking for love in all the wrong places and finally finding it was right in front of her eyes all along. Strings, harps, cherry blossoms bursting into blooms. Okay, no cherry blossoms. We were out to sea, after all. But that was the least of it.

The major problem was that I, myself, wasn’t following the script.

The heated memories stormed back into the front of my mind from where it had been lurking not far away ever since it had happened.

So much for quiet and reserved; Emily had almost fried me with her kisses.

Distance. Again. That was what I needed, distance from the unexpectedly explosive girl who hid that fire behind a façade of reserve and shyness.

She came rushing into my life like raging rapids and I had fallen all over myself. My world revolved around the seconds, minutes, hours, days I spent with her. Before I go to sleep, all I could think about was her kisses. And that was what’s so scary about it.

That was not all, I realised. A few more factors frightened me.

There was the timing factor. In less than eight months we would part ways. Time to go into what-if mode. What if Emily decides not to pursue our relationship because of the distance issue? Because—let’s get real, people—a long-distance relationship isn’t exactly rainbows and butterflies. It takes a lot of work and an artillery of trust. What if Emily realises Naomi Campbell is not worth all the fucking trouble and ditches me in the end? There had been a few dear people who had done that before. It’s not exactly a shocker for me, if it were to really happen once more.

Emily could indeed always walk away from me, I thought with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. When she was through with me, when she had broken my heart all over again, she could simply retreat. She’d be free and I’d be left to pick up the pieces of my life again.

I didn’t really think Emily could be so callous. But then I hadn’t thought David could be either.

Tears jumped to my eyes. My head swam. I gripped the steel railings, as if I needed them to keep me upright.

“I like you, Naomi. I so fucking like you. I want you and I love being with you. And I know you feel the same way.”

I was overcome by that feeling again—that I absolutely had to run off downstairs or into the temple woods and take a few deep breaths and not have to deal with the pounding in my chest, the rush of heat along my nerves. Like that moment when I realised I was intrigued beyond normal with the redhead. Or that time in the laundry room when things got a little intense.

I took in the serious, sensitive look on Emily’s face that night during our emotion-filled encounter as the school festival went on. Earnest. Beautiful. She was unbelievably beautiful. And my pulse was racing. But I had to be more sure. I had to be certain I was ready, or was completely over David, or was strong enough to face another possible heartbreak. So I took off. Hence, me being here. Stranded.

But I couldn’t turn my back completely on the redhead just yet. I had to know if she had made an attempt to show that she was still holding on.

I plunged down the stairs and hurried to the nearby phone booth just across the street and dialed my host parents’ home phone. When Mrs. Komori answered, I asked her to check my mobile phone for messages and missed calls because I had left it on top of the dresser in the guest room.

“Hai (Yes), Mrs. Komori?” I said, gripping the phone more tightly in anticipation.

“Just four text messages, Naomi-chan,” she told me. “One from Panda. One from Halo. Two from JJ. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” I felt my heart sink.

“There are eleven missed calls, though,” she said.

“From who?” I pressed the telephone receiver closer to my ear. My heart had begun to pound.

“Three from JJ, one from Halo, two from Panda, one from your mother, one from Ayami, two from David, and the last one’s from Effy.”

“Are you sure there was no one else?” I swallowed hard. “No Emily?”

“Umm . . . None, Naomi-chan.”

“The last one—are you sure it’s not Emily?”

“It’s spelled E-F-F-Y. That’s Effy, right?” she said, and my head dropped.

“Yes, that’s right. Thank you, Mrs. Komori.” I realised there was a whiff of disappointment to my tone.

“Is everything all right, Naomi-chan?” the lady asked, with concern.

“Yes, Mrs. Komori. I’ll – uh – I’ll be back in an hour,” I said, and weakly replaced the telephone receiver on the cradle.

I turned on my heel, crossed the street, and climbed up the stairs sluggishly like a fucking zombie. When I reached the deck again, I only stared at the view, feeling utterly dejected.

Irritation spiked through me at the thought that Emily hadn’t contacted me at all. But it was quickly followed by a sheepish realisation. Hadn’t I just been recommending to myself that I put some distance between us? But when she seemed she might be doing the same, all of a sudden I wasn’t happy with the idea.

My mouth twitched at my own rueful self-assessment. For somebody who grew up all too aware that everybody was entitled to their own rights, I was being such a selfish twat wanting for Emily to keep hanging. If I was going to pull back, then she had the same right.

If I didn’t like that, then maybe I needed to think about why.

And if I didn’t want to think about it, maybe I needed to figure out the why of that, too.

“Nice view?” an old man’s voice broke into my confusion.

I quickly wiped my tears on the sleeve of my tux jacket and nodded, making sure to keep my red-rimmed eyes out of his sight. With an effort, I said merely, “Uhm-huh.”

“That all you’re up here for, sweetheart?” the friendly-looking old man asked. Overhead a gull screeched.

I stood up a little straighter but still did not lift my face. “I used to always go here. Six years ago,” I told him, my gaze fixed on the rolling waves. “I was on a secondary school cultural exchange and stayed with a host family for three weeks. I’m just reliving the memories.”

I could feel his eyes on me, as if he was doing some sort of creepy psycho-analysis. My mouth twisted. I knew perfectly well what had sent me screaming up here, and her name was Emily Fitch.

The old bloke leant against the railing next to me. “Right,” he said with a puff of breath. “This place is perfect for a breather or . . . soul-searching.” He then held out a packet of Starburst fruit chews. “Fancy some candies?”

Red-faced, I wiped my aching eyes again and finally turned to him, smiling weakly. “Thanks,” I said, taking a piece. “Usually people offer cigarette sticks, you know, but this is just what I need.”

He smiled back. “I’d rather get tooth decay than lung decay. Plus, I’m already 63. Smoked a lifetime’s worth of cigars some decades ago. Gotta start taking care of myself, yea?”

I chewed the candy. “Yea.”

“Ah, thank God,” he said with relief. “Very nice to meet someone who speaks proper English around here. I’m getting terrible headaches, you know. I swear my head’s ready to explode.”

I let out a laugh, in spite of myself. “Yea. It’s rather refreshing.”

“You must be Australian, eh?” he said, rapping his fingers on the railing. “Judging from your accent . . .”

I nodded. “Yep. From Melbourne,” I mumbled, then added, “And you must be British . . .”

“Brizzle born and bred,” he said with a proud grin.

I chuckled silently to myself. Fate must be having a fucking laugh. “So what brought you here, sir?” I asked lightly, letting the warmth I was feeling creep into my voice.

“Business trip. A very long business trip,” he answered. “I’m going to be here for at least another seven months or so. And I’m going to be all over Japan just checking out factories. Actually tomorrow I’m bound for Yokohama. It’s just—Oh, there’s a bull whale! Right out of the water!” He pointed a finger across the ocean.

I felt myself gasp as a whale surfaced in the distance—massive, sleekly grey-black with a giant steel-white belly. 

“And there’s another one at two o’clock,” someone announced excitedly over a megaphone. “Look at him slapping his flukes against the water. That’s called lobtailing, and no one’s really sure why they do that. Oops—there’s the female again.”

I looked down to the walkway to see the source of the commotion. A bunch of people—obviously American tourists—were peering through their binoculars. Exclamations of delight and amazement rose in the salt air.

“A male and a female,” the Japanese tour guide added. “Now humpback whales are known to mate for life. Once they find each other, that’s it.”

“Yea, that’s what they say,” a dark-skinned lad wisecracked, and some people tittered.

The old man looked at me and laughed.

I managed a laugh, too. But I couldn’t help thinking that those whales had it made. At least they knew exactly what—or who—they wanted.

“It wasn’t easy, was it?” the old man spoke again, eyeing me thoughtfully.

I gave him a sideways look and cocked an eyebrow. Did he just read my mind? Because that was just so fucking freaky. To my continued silence—or more like astonishment, he softly added, “A certain boy?”

I looked across the vast water, smiled sadly, then shook my head. “A certain girl, actually.” I found myself correcting him without hesitation. “An amazing girl.”

He narrowed his eyes at me then smiled gently. “You must care about her so much. I can just see it in your eyes.”

I bit my lip and stared down at the shimmering water without really seeing the ripples. It’s not exactly news that I care about Emily Fitch. For me to deny a deep-rooted concern about her well-being would be hypocritical and futile. And an obvious lie.

When I didn’t answer, he added with a little self-mocking laugh, “Oh, what do I know anyway, eh? I’m just an old man who meddles too much. I’m jumping at shadows.”

I finally looked up at him. “You’re not just an old man. You’re a wise old man,” I corrected. “And you’re absolutely right.”

He didn’t push for details. He simply nodded. There was an easy understanding in his grey eyes.

A long moment passed between us. I could sense the old man had something on his mind, but it appeared he couldn’t bring himself to say it. But I felt this bizarre impulse to confide in him. I just saw my grandfather in him. Grandpa. Who was my brother, best friend, father, and grandfather all in one. I trusted Grandpa with everything, and I think I could trust this man, too.

“I do,” I said at length. It was a whisper, barely audible.

His bushy silver brows shot up and he looked, for a moment, very much like my grandfather: amused, gentle, a bit of dilettante, and shrewd.

I closed my eyes for a moment and finally admitted out loud, “I . . . I love her. And, Christ, was I a proper fool to even deny it.” A stray tear snaked down my cheek.

“Then, for the love of God, what are you doing here letting time slip through the hourglass, missy?” he said, with his brows still raised. “You should be in her arms.”

I bit my lower lip to stop it from trembling. “The big problem with such is that it has to do with the timing.” I sniffled, and wiped my nose with a hand. “Who wants who when. Who needs who when. When will who be ready. When will who think it feels right. Until when will who and who be physically together. Until when will who and who last. Who knows what who’s thinking at a particular moment.”

“You think too much, sweetheart.” The old man shook his head and gave a little chuckle. “You think the bull whale is out there thinking, ‘To go for this girl or not?’ By the time he decides, the girl will be down in the Caribbean with some more decisive he-whale—or she-whale.”

I laughed then. “That’s a very good analogy.”

“I don’t understand it,” he said quietly, now with an serious tone. “When you know you’re in love, why wait for tomorrow, eh?”

I swallowed hard. “I’m terrified of it. This—what I feel for her—I couldn’t even explain how tremendous it is. I wasn’t prepared for it, for the feeling. Didn’t really see it coming. And it was coming hard and fast. Too intense for my own life, you know. And I want it to—I want it to . . . slow down.”

“I understand, sweetheart. I really do,” he said softly. “You’re scared. Confused. You don’t trust your feelings because they’re unfamiliar. Maybe because she’s a girl? Or I don’t know exactly where you’re coming from, but perhaps you’ve been traumatised or something and you’re terrified of trying again. But, love, you will never be truly happy if you’d always submit to your fears.”

I let out a compressed breath. “I’m always just shit at this. I’m a big fucking chicken. It’s just—it’s just really scary, you know.” I grimaced and gnawed my lip. “And I tried—Jesus, I really tried—chucking away what I feel for her. But I failed miserably, I think. It’s just . . .  inevitable.”

He gave me a flicker of a smile, then said soberly, “Okay. Just answer this simple question: Which one is harder to swallow—loving her or losing her?” 

I closed my eyes again, tears stinging my eyelids. The thought filled me with a sort of pain akin to a daily case of migraine without Advil. So it just couldn’t be so. Some things were simply impossible, like having environmental issues valued as much as tabloid gossips, or losing Emily forever. 

“Losing her,” I answered finally. “Most definitely.”

“And so what’s the problem?”

“I—I don’t know,” I said with a shaky sigh. “I just don’t want to fuck things up, you know. I don’t want to . . .” 

“And you’re okay with being just friends?” he asked when I trailed off.

“Yes, that would work,” I said, my voice betraying me.

He fisted his hand and held it under his mouth like a microphone. “Say it again, missy. And this time, sound like you mean it.” He moved his fisted hand in front of my mouth.

I bit my lip. The old man was right. It was a lie. I knew I was helplessly in love with Emily. Like truly, madly, deeply in love. But it was just too terrifying. He drew his hand back when he saw my lips tremble.

“You know when I was younger, stronger,” the old man spoke, “I used to head out on River Tummel, the finest one in Scotland, where I’d go on river-kayaking campouts with some of my mates from university and I . . . fell in love.”

“With some girl?” I asked.

He smiled to himself then shook his head. “No.”

I wrinkled my brow, and he went on, “The power, the rush, the rapids. I’ve seen nothing like it.”

“And you . . . fell in love with the River Tummel?”

There was a certain glow in his eyes. “It . . . I know it sounds like a cliché, but it . . . called to me. There’s just isn’t anything in the world like it. The river is . . . impartial. It doesn’t hate you. If it hurts you, it’s because you made a stupid mistake.”

The old man straightened up and went on, “I went kayaking with my best mate Pete one time. Just the two of us. We paddled forth the Linn of Tummel. The final drop. We ran straight down the middle, where a couple of rocks were waiting. We pinned them. Then there was an S bend and an easy looking small gap between two rocks leading to a larger pool above the main rapid.” A shadow flickered across his expression, but he kept going. “I told Pete the small gap can pin us if we let the water push us across it. But Pete wanted to nail the Grade 5-looking rapid to our right. So we paddled right past safety and pulled a right hand turn facing the gigantic dangerous whitewater and our boat got terribly wiped out and . . .” His lips suddenly twitched. 

“And?” I prompted, trying not to think how tragically the trip might have ended.

“Pete fell really hard and hit some pretty bad rocks. He was hospitalised for thirteen months for fractured hips and broken bones. Was even a lucky bastard to be able to survive. But he . . . he couldn't walk again.” He grimaced. “And I got this . . .” He rolled up one sleeve of his sweater and gestured at a huge scar. Like a really huge scar.

After a cautious glance at his arm, I looked into his deep-set grey eyes. “And what,” I said slowly, “does this have to do with anything?”

The old bloke turned his head to look out at the ocean again, and I followed his gaze. The rough water sparkled with phosphorescence, tiny pinpoints of light stirred up by the wild currents and the pounding elements. The swells rolled with rushing white horses.

“It’s just hopeless to go against the rapids, you see,” he said. “Especially if they’re tremendous . . . if they’re so powerful. Don’t try to fight it. Don’t tackle it. Just let yourself be swept away . . .”

I realised that there were more tears creeping from the back of my eyes. “It’s too late now, anyway,” I said shakily, biting my lip in an effort to fight back the tears. “She probably doesn’t want me anymore.”

“Don’t be daft, young lady,” the old man said, smiling. “I’m sure she’s back there waiting for you.”

I smiled weakly at the thought, and wished he was right. “How do you know that?”

“What do you see out there?” He pointed at something across the water ahead of us.

I squinted in the direction where he was pointing at. “Eh?”

“Eh? Eh? Out there. What d’you see?”

“Water. Boats. Water. Boats. And more water . . . And more boats.” I shrugged and gave him an odd look.

He grinned. “That’s all, eh?”

I looked again. “Yes.”

“Right, right. Don’t you want to find out?” He raised his brows.

“No,” I said with a snort. “There’s just nothing more out there, is there?”

The man laughed and shook his head. “Trust me, sweetheart,” he said, “I know.”

Not sure exactly what he meant, I lifted a brow. “This conversation is confusing me, sir.”

The old man laughed dryly to himself, then added soberly, “It’s so much easier when you were younger, eh?” He had that reflective smile on. “You get on your bicycle, pedal down the street. If you fall, you cry, get a little bruise, but after a short while you’re ready and keen to ride on your bike again. And you get to have the time of your life. But as you get older, you get more . . . cautious,” he said, and in spite of my best efforts, my lower lip trembled and my eyes started to water again. “Too scared to go astray, to make a wrong turn, and get hurt again after a fall. Not knowing that you’ve been missing out on something really, truly spectacular.”

I wrapped my arms around myself, as if his words had struck me, and stared numbly ahead, my vision clouded by the tears spilling silently down my cheeks. The cool breeze whipped cold on my wet face. The sun slid behind a dark cloud cover that stretched as far as the eye could see. 

He held out the pack of candies to me again. “Here, you can have the rest,” he said gently, and I took it wordlessly. “And this umbrella. I have a raincoat in my bag. In about fifty seconds the rain will start to fall. I have to go and make an escape before the weather gets nasty. You should, too.” He winked, then patted my shoulder. “Go get this girl back, all right?”

I lifted my tear-streaked face to him, and smiled through my tears. “Thanks.”

He grinned, then turned for the stairs. “Get on that bike again, kid!” I heard him say.

I stared out again across the riotous waves. A boat moved slowly to the side and I saw a dark figure behind it. I narrowed my eyes, squinted, and saw a faint landform that seemed like a small island. I smiled to myself as understanding dawned. There was something more out there. And Emily Fitch could still be back in the dorm, waiting and holding on to me.

A fat, cold raindrop struck my face like a tear. And then another.

I opened the umbrella and held it over my head as the rain fell heavier and the breeze blew stronger. What a wise old man, I thought, tightening my grip on the umbrella’s curved handle. I need more people like him in my life. I walked down the stairs and saw the old man walking toward an open door of a taxi.

“Hey, mister,” I called to him. “I didn’t get your name!”

Holding the open car door with a hand, he looked up at me and smirked. “Just call me Wise Old Man,” he called back. “Make me proud, young lady.” With a farewell salute, he got inside the taxi and the car sped off.

Rain slapped at my cheeks, mingling with the falling tears, as I made my way to my bicycle. After wiping my eyes with a hand, I laughed to myself, got on my bike, and thought about how wise old people truly were.

“Get out of my way,” I mock growled at Kin as I ran up the stairs to the guest room. The dog jumped, barked, and bounded, nearly knocking me over before I reached the topmost step. I let the aggressive golden retriever follow me inside the room.

I collapsed into a chair and gazed rather grimly through the windows to the dark water of the white sand beach. “What to do now?” I mumbled to myself, biting my lower lip.

Kin snuffled my boots and the hem of my jeans. Straightening up, I fingered the phone in my hand with a thumb. After a few seconds of considering, I flipped it open.

I checked out my missed calls and the last one was from Effy. I couldn’t remember ever being so glad to see her name, to know she cared. In all honesty, I’d never been her biggest fan. She was the greatest contender around when it came to racing for the redhead’s heart. There were a lot of moments when I had to control an impulse to fly at the brunette and scratch her eyes out. But if anyone would give me a straight answer about what was going on, Effy would.

I pressed Call but disconnected right away even before her phone rang. Fuck. Bad idea.

Kin suddenly leapt and knocked the phone from my hand. It fell to the floor. He jumped again, and this time I sighed, patted his silky head, then hugged him for all I was worth until his frenzied licking tongue washed half my face.

“Ugh.” I pushed him away, but he barked in excitement and eagerness and jumped on me again. “I hate you—you know that? But you didn’t sink your filthy teeth into any of my belongings today, so I hate you less. Now get down,” I added, giving his head a little push so that he dropped to his toes, his nails clicking softly as he nosed my phone.

I stared down numbly at my phone. Then it sounded, causing me to jump. I sat frozen, staring at the phone, and listened to the music ringtone that never failed to give me goosebumps.

♫ You know it only breaks my heart

To see you standing in the dark alone,

Waiting there for me to come back

I’m too afraid to show ♫

A heartbreaking scene from five nights ago swam before my eyes.

“I had quite an amazing time, too. Okay?” I told her.

“Okay? I don’t know if it’s okay, Naomi,” Emily said. “Why is it then that you’re making it bloody difficult for us?”

♫ If it’s coming over you like it’s coming over me

I’m crashing like a tidal wave that drags me out to the sea ♫

“I like you, Naomi. I so fucking like you,” Emily had told me. “I want you and I love being with you. And I know you feel the same way.” I remembered the look of utter hurt on Emily’s face, and it brought tiny tears to my eyes. I was such a fucking coward.

♫ And I wanna be with you and you wanna be with me

I’m crashing like a tidal wave and I don’t want to be . . .

stranded ♫

“Don’t lie to yourself, Naomi,” she said. “I know you want me just as much.”

Emily’s words echoed in my head, and I had a feeling I was going to end up chanting them like a mantra. Don’t lie to yourself. Don’t lie to yourself. Don’t lie to yourself.

I also remember later that night when Emily was singing that beautifully stirring song on stage. The lyrics perfectly mirrored my own feelings. And her voice, the way she sang it with emotions—it was all just too much for me. My head and chest were heavy with tumultuous feelings; I couldn’t bear it. Before she ended her song, I had managed to push my way blindly through the crowd. I stumbled as fast as I could toward an empty spot behind a maple tree. After I had caught my breath, I burst into tears. When the piano came to an enchanting finish, I sneaked a glance at the redhead. Seeing the stricken expression on her face was like being hit in the head with a fucking sledgehammer. Her eyes were wide and vacant. She stood ramrod straight, but she was trembling, as though only her skin were holding her together, keeping her from flying into a million fragmented pieces. But being a coward that I was, I turned away and fled.

I had always been so guarded with my emotions, had strove so hard to build sturdy walls around me. I made it a challenge to myself to fight against my feelings, wrestle with the growing affection I was having for Emily, struggled to push the utter bliss of being with her to the back of my mind. But look where it got me. I was just stranded. And miserable. And still aching. I couldn’t deceive myself anymore.

“It’s just hopeless to go against the rapids,” the old man’s voice of experience revisited my mind. “Don’t try to fight it. Don’t tackle it. Just let yourself be swept away . . .”

I shook myself back to the moment, and was surprised that my phone was still ringing. And was even more surprised that my cheeks were damped with flowing tears. The realisation hit me hard, and I made a decision. With erratic motion, I snatched my phone up from the floor.

I flipped it open and answered shakily, “JJ.”

“Naomi, I know you don’t like me calling you and you probably still hate me because I was being such a stickybeak and I know I shouldn’t have stuck my flaming nose in to your personal affairs and said such things to you,” he said quickly, “b-but I just wanted to check up on—”

“JJ, can you tell me what time will the next bullet train from Nagoya to Kyoto be leaving?” I asked urgently, moving swiftly to the closet. “The internet connection here is fucked up by the weather.”

There was a pause for a moment. “Erm, okay. Good thing, I’m just in front of my computer . . . uhm . . .” I heard the quick tapping of keys on the other end of the line and I chewed my lip in impatience. “4:35,” JJ finally said. “Platform number 3.”

“Okay. Got it,” I said, glancing wildly at the wall clock. “Thanks, Jay.” I placed my phone between my ear and shoulder, and moved to hastily pack my clothes. I sniffled. I couldn’t help it; liquid just dribbled out of my nose.

“Naomi, are you all right?” JJ’s tone was deeply worried.

“More than all right,” I said, as I moved to shove my laptop into the bag. I drew the bag’s zipper around.

“Then why are you crying?” he asked.

I stopped mid-motion, and thought for a second. Why am I crying? I snorted a laugh, and JJ only remained silent.

“I’m in love, JJ,” I said finally, chuckling through tears. “I’m in love. And I’m just happy. And I’m so happy that it fucking makes me cry.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “So you’re coming back?”

“I’m going back. I’m running back, yes.”

“Okay. Great,” he said with relief.

“I don’t want to be stranded anymore, Jay,” I said between heavy breaths as I moved around the room like a tornado, gathering my stuff into my bag.

“Okay,” JJ said slowly.

“I want to try. I want to try again with her. With Emily.”

JJ let out a short amused titter. “Okay.”

“I’m getting her back,” I went on fervently. “Tonight.” God, was I babbling.

“I’m just really stoked for you, Naomi. Like really, utterly happy for you,” JJ said. Then he carefully added, “But . . . Emily’s a nice girl and, erm, I don’t like to see her get hurt. So I just want to know if you’re sure about this . . .”

“I’m sure, JJ,” I said, slinging the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “I’m very sure.”

I was lying of course. I had no idea what I was doing. Opening the gates to my heart again might be making the biggest risk of my life.

But in another way, I knew exactly what I was doing, and I’d never been so surer in my life. For better or worse, I was going with my heart . . . even if that meant losing my mind, even if that meant climbing down from my walls.

On the other hand, I thought, what was wrong with being swept away by the power of your feelings, swept away by the rapids?