Katawa Shoujo has a funny way of hitting really close to home in weirdly unexpected ways, and it wasn't until my second playthrough that I saw a kinda depressing parallel between two of the characters and a friendship I had a while back that never really ended, but kinda stayed in stasis for like seven years. So this happened, I guess. Catharsis? Transference? Who knows.
Tenses are kinda unwieldy, I'll admit that, but maybe it kinda works as it's something of a recollection? Hah, I dunno. Comments and criticism welcome, and slagging my record collection is always a plus.
***
"No force can make me climb the broken steps to reach what they have left
They scream into my ears but what they say will only make me deaf
There's only one thing left to do but it's not safe
They have no will to stop the chase."
- Leæther Strip, "Turn to Stone"
"You've been hanging around Hanako and that blonde Amazon, though, right? Then don't worry about it. As long as you've got some friends, you don't need to join a club."
I throw him one of my trademark grins that sends the poor guy squirming. Hee hee. He's kinda dense, but fun. Cute, too, I guess. Isn't that normally how it goes, though? Hahah.
"Hanging out with Hanako and that blonde girl," I continue, "... You keep some pretty strange company." I've never had too much face time with Satou to judge, though from what I've seen of her, we'd get along just fine if she tossed her cane and put the enormous stick up her ass to good use. Yeesh. But Hanako? Different story all together. I notice his concerned, no, confused?... expression, and hastily offer an explanation.
"It's just that Hanako's kind of... I don't know..."
"Shy?" He ventures. I frown and shake my head.
"No, it's not really that. It's just... She's got some issues, I think. I can't really put it in a nice way. Not that I don't think she's a nice person. She's perfectly nice. Just... hard to deal with."
Hard to deal with. Understatement of the century. Well, I can't say I didn't try.
I transferred to Yamaku the year before. It was pretty rough, for me and everyone around me. I won't beat around the bush; I lost a lot more than my hand that day. I lost my friends, I lost my family, and most importantly, I lost my temper. Man. I don't like thinking about it too much. And now here I am, second-rate track star at Cripple High. Heh, imagine that, playing second fiddle to some bitch with no legs. Meh, beats jail, I guess. What can you do.
Anyway, so there I am, giving a self-introduction. "Hi, I'm Miki Miura, school sucks, life sucks, I probably hate all of you already and sometimes I can feel my fingers that aren't there try to curl up into themselves and come out of their sockets. Oh yeah, and I like sports, I guess, but fuck if I can do that anymore."
Well, I really didn't say that. It's hard to stay bitter at the world when a room full of people with all kinds of weird deficiencies and hard limiters on life that make your missing hand seem like an inconvenience at best is staring at you. It's even more difficult to be mad at yourself because you know that some of these kids would kill for anything that's not their particular hang-up.
The class applauds me as I take my seat. Rub it in, why don't you, bastards. In mentally flipping off the entire student body, I see her sitting next to me. Cute little thing. Long, dark hair. Nervous, I think. Trying to do her best to somehow meld with her desk and fade out into wait a damned minute the hell is wrong with her I mean she's pretty and looks normal what's her big fuckin' oh dammit there it is.
That hand. Looking at that hand was probably the first time I'd even though that simply losing mine wasn't a big deal. It could have been an awful lot worse. I mean, shit, is that a burn? It looks bad. Bad, and... Old. Like, years old. She must have had to deal with that all throughout school. Man, imagine the teasing she must've gotten from that and oh, man it must go up her arm and oh shit I think I'm staring because she's staring back and OH. Oh. Oh, shit.
Yeah, I've definitely got it made.
What the fuck could do that to a person? HOW the fuck could do that to a person? I mean, look at her. It's like a porcelain doll and something that walked out of a horror movie covered in napalm and battery acid somehow got mashed together into the same body, and dammit, I'm probably making the worst possible face right now, because she's turned away again and looks like she finds her notes entirely too interesting. And now I feel shitty about it. She probably gets that and worse every day of her life. Cripples or no cripples, people are people, and high school is high school.
I wanted to talk to her after class, but she was pretty adamant to be the first one out. Can't say I blamed her. I couldn't say I was too surprised that she didn't show for class the next two days, either. But dammit if I didn't want to make it right. So when she finally returned to class, I did what I thought I should, what I knew I should.
"Hey, there." I nudge her desk with my good hand. Well, my only hand, really, and not a good one at that, but that's beside the point. At her visible flinch, I almost decide to give it up, but what the hell I'm here already, might as well see how badly I can fuck it up this time. "I, uh, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about the other day. I'm still new to this whole thing, you know?"
I look at my bandaged wrist for a minute and grin. "Among other things, I guess. Heh, just this morning, I was kinda stabbing the doorknob with my arm wondering why the damned thing wouldn't just like, you know, turn and open..." I catch her tentative, yet curious glance at my wrist and reflexively cover it with my other hand. Ah, dammit. This is just the thing I'm not supposed to be doing. I think. I hope. I dunno.
"Anyway, like I said, feel terrible about it and I just wanted to get off on the right foot, you know?" My gaze shifts to a classmate a few seats ahead who’s clearly missing a right foot and I nearly slap myself in frustration. No one said this would be easy, but fuckin' hell.
"So to speak." I sigh. I look back at her to confirm she's heard me, and I'm delighted to receive a subtle nod in return.
"I-it's okay, M-Miura..."
I flash her a wide smile, while inwardly grimacing at that stutter. Yikes. Must not be terribly good with people. Can't say I blame her. Shitty as it is to think, I can't say I blame them, either. So let's change that, then.
"That won't do at all. Just call me Miki." Another nod. Good. I'm getting somewhere. "What's your name?"
She freezes, then shrinks back into her desk. Just when I think all hope is lost, she mumbles and almost imperceptible "H-H-Hanako..."
"That's a pretty name. Well, pleased to meet ya." I hastily pull out my books and attempt to look busy as the teacher walks into the classroom and begins to drone on about poly... polynumerals? Something like that. I dunno, something with letters and numbers being in places they shouldn't be. Whatever. Halfway through the lesson, I put pen to paper and attempt to scrawl out a brief message, which takes a lot longer than it should, what with being left-handed and all. Don't know what you've got till it's gone, I guess. I somehow successfully flick it over to Hanako's desk, which interrupts her diligent note-taking with a slight start. Slowly, almost fearfully, she unfolds the note, scans it, glances in my direction, and I'm rewarded with yet another stilted nod. I grin, and resume not understanding what the fuck this guy's on about.
So I took her to lunch, and it was fun, I guess. Couldn't get more than a few words out of her that whole day, nor could I shake the feeling that she'd rather be struck dead than be in the cafeteria for another minute, but it was a start.
A week or so went by. I'd already made a few more friends in my classes, and even tried out for the track team, for which I passed with flying colors, but I always went out of my way to make time for Hanako. I felt pretty good about it, too; she wasn't walking on eggshells around me and the others. Much. Still wasn't terribly outgoing, and wasn't keen on talking to anyone but me unless it was absolutely necessary, but hey, baby steps.
One day after class, while studying for an upcoming test, I notice Hanako kind of fidgeting with her sleeve, which I'd deciphered to be her way of telegraphing "Hey, I've got something kind of weird, but not really too weird, to ask you," so I stop squinting at my horribly illegible musings of the finer points of infinitesimal number-crunching to regard her.
"What's up?"
"I just... I-I know you have a h-hard time writing, so I c-could take your notes for you..."
I'm honestly touched by the thought, but politely decline. "Thanks, but nah. I couldn't make you do two people's work. I gotta practice, anyway. Heh," I add as an afterthought, gesturing with my wrist, "It's not like this is ever coming back anytime soon. Gotta get used to that."
"Oh," is her lone response. Almost... Dejected? Is that the word? Yeah. Bummed out. I shrug it off and try to commit a formula to memory when she continues. "I-I just figured since... Since you're h-hanging out with me th-that I could do something for you."
Hanging out with... ? Wait. Hang on a minute. I don't like where this is going, and make it known.
"Hanako." My forceful tone has its desired effect, rooting her to the spot and locking her eyes with mine. "Do you think I'm hanging out with you because I feel like I'm fuckin' obligated to?" It kills me to actually say it out loud, because it might as well have been true, but things change, I guess. I'd actually come to like her quiet, sometimes skittish presence in my day-to-day life.
"Nah. No way in hell. I hang out with you 'cause I want to. I think you're a pretty cool person. Hell, you seem to put up with me and, well, not a lot of people used to do that. But screw it, I like you, and that's that, dammit. You're my friend." At this, she noticeably stiffens. Oh, man. I might be her first friend at this school. Oh, shit. That can't be. Look at her. She's practically going into shock right now. I might be her first friend ever. Oh, boy.
"We're friends, right?" I reiterate as I offer my hand out clumsily in an attempted handshake. Hanako stares at it, almost dumbfounded, and I immediately realize why.
Sometimes, Miki Miura, you are an absolute dumbass.
Shaking my good hand would require her allowing me to touch her bad one. Well, not bad, I guess. Dammit. The one. The other one. The one with the scars. Man. To someone as self-conscious about her appearance and what it does to people as Hanako is, this is practically a death sentence.
Before I can pull back my hand and possibly shove my head up my ass any farther, she slowly and deliberately takes my hand in hers. Oh, cool. Doesn't feel like leather like I thought it would. Feels like a lizard or something. A snake, maybe. Hahah. I grin in equal parts triumph and admitted scientific discovery.
"Friends..." She whispers, and I can make out a tiny, damned-near invisible smile. Hee hee. Look at that. What the fuck is up, world. I've just done the impossible. I think. We release hands, and have no other recourse than to resume studying.
"You know, Hanako, you should do that more often. Smiling, I mean. You're really pretty when you smile."
"U-uh..."
I'm completely caught off guard as she suddenly leaps up from her seat with a faint hint of a blush and an expression that I could only classify as abject fucking terror."
"I..."
"'I?'"
"I... I..."
"You... ?"
"Igottagodosomething!"
Boom. Off like a rocket. The hell was that about? The hell did I say? ... What the hell DID I say?
I didn't see her for three days after that. I felt awful about it. I mean, who wouldn't? You go out of your way to make somebody else feel like a Goddamn person for a minute and you wind up scaring 'em off not once, but twice. Dammit. All I wanted to do was just break something. Rage. Scream. Bleed. Beat the ever-loving shit outta the next person to so much as look at me. Punch a few holes in a wall, screw up my wrist because I remember that I don't have a fucking hand anymore, cry myself to sleep about it, then wake up screaming because Goddammit my fucking hand is THERE and it hurts so Goddamn bad... but that's what got me in this mess in the first place.
Yeesh.
She came back to class eventually, and everything was okay again. Still the same Hanako, maybe a bit less on edge, maybe more. I dunno. And like the time before, I realized, no one seemed to pay any mind to her delinquency. She never mentioned why she was M.I.A., and I never brought it up. I was just glad to have my friend back. And she seemed to be cool with me, too. All I know was that every so often, whether it be during class, at lunch, or in her room playing one of those board games she's all about that I'm fuckin' terrible at, I'd get one of those cute little smiles. Those blink-and-you'll-miss-it upturns of her lips that made me wanna, I dunno, pinch her cheeks or something terrible like that, but I never did for fear she'd up and bail on me again or hole herself up in her room for days on end.
That happened an awful lot. Bummed me out at first, then started to royally piss me off. It seemed like a perpetual dance with her, two steps forward, and three steps back. Every time I did something new or introduced her to someone I hung out with, it was total fuckin' meltdown all over again. One time, I just said "fuck it" and hugged her, and while I'll give her credit for not taking off like a bat outta hell, she was damned near catatonic for a few minutes. What did I say it was earlier? Walking on eggshells. That's exactly what it was. Frustrating as hell. And it wouldn't be so Godawfully annoying if I knew just what the hell her damage was.
Granted, I'm a bit of a hypocrite in that sense. I don't think I've told anyone on campus about the real reason I'm here at Yamaku, but I don't really need to. They take one look at the hand that's not there, connect the dots and boom, be done with it. With Hanako, it's not that easy. Sure, having like half your body burnt to a crisp is as good a disability as any, but it draws questions, and the way she is, there's gotta be something else there. Something bad. Something that makes her seem to be terrified of friends and foes alike. Why's she such a head case? What the fuck happened to her that made her pretty much afraid of her own Goddamned shadow?
One week she didn't come to class at all. So I came knocking at her door asking how she was. Wouldn't answer her door, but I'm stubborn as all hell, and was rewarded for my efforts with a weak "Go away." So I did a pretty shitty thing.
"Hanako, look. I don't know what's got you in this funk. I don't know if it's something I did... Or if it's something I didn't do. Is that it? Yeesh. I do that kinda stuff an awful lot, I know, and I seem to do it a lot more around you than anyone else."
I pound on her door with my fist, wincing in pain as I remember it's not there. "Hanako, I don't fuckin' know what to make of you sometimes. Some days I can get something like a conversation out of you and it's amazing and sweet and adorable and sometimes you even look like you're happy about it, and other times I..." I struggle with this last bit, because it's pretty screwed up, but it's true.
"Sometimes I feel like you want nothing to do with me or anyone else. Sometimes I really think that being friends with you is, like... Exhausting. Difficult. Scary. Fuckin' scary, Hanako. Like, I never know what you're thinking or what you're on about." Silence. I sigh, and give the door another frustrated thwack with my good hand.
"I don't know a damned thing about you, Hanako. I don't know anything. Your story. Your life. Your folks. How you got here. Where you're going. Your hopes, dreams, goals, thoughts, your favorite color, for fuck's sake. And it's not for lack of trying, either. Goddammit. It feels like you're trying to keep me shut out, even though you're probably not, but come on, Hanako. This isn't what friends do."
At that, I hear a slight rustle of fabric, a few tentative footsteps, and the door being slowly unlocked. The door opens, and I'm face to face with oh dammit Miki what the hell have you fucking done. She's crying. Well, no. Was crying, more like it, and for an awful long time. Is that what she's been doing this whole week? Wallowing in misery? But it wasn't her tears that got me, no. Well, maybe, but what really struck me was the look on her face. Grim. Resolute. Zen, maybe. Unnerving as fuck. Almost like she knew this would happen.
"Th-then go."
Oh, Goddammit. I wanted to punch her. Wallop her right in the eye, then hug her and kiss her and tell her that she's a fool, and I'm a fucking moron, and that none of this makes any damned sense and none of it has to be this way and I just wanna be there for her as gay as that sounds but fuck it it's true...
But I don't. I take a deep breath, flex the few fingers I've got left, and turn the other way. No one's ever seen me cry, and I'm not about to change that now.
"Fine. If you wanna talk about it later, I'm game, but... Just don't expect me to keep up this song and dance anymore. I think I'm tired. Yeah." I walk down the hall and on with my life. "Tired."
It's been almost a year. Something clicks.
"You really like her, don't you?"
He does. Of course he does. Look at him squirm.
Dammit.
Yeah. Me, too.
***
EDIT 7/5/2012: I forgot about attaching the note that Miki writes Hanako! Genius idea on my part that I predictably messed up on. I actually wrote it in Paint with my off-hand for this story. I suck at this game. (Anyone know how to put that sucker in where I want it? Oh, I could prolly Imgur it, huh. DAMMIT.
)EDIT 7/10/2012: This ends really strongly, but I couldn't resist. Direct continuation this way.
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