Re: The United States of Misha 6/7 Update
Posted: Sun Jun 10, 2012 10:04 am
This is where my lack of fashion sense becomes obvious.
Previous Chapter
Chapter Twelve: A Light Music Club, This is Not
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
“You can come in, Carla,” Misha said Friday morning. She and Lynda had finished their showers and gotten dressed, and were presently replying to Hisao’s email. Carla unlocked and opened the door and stepped in.
“You two look happy. Who’s the best roommate ever?” she asked, plopping onto her bed to empty her backpack.
“You are,” Misha and Lynda said, not looking away from Misha’s laptop.
“Oh, Misha, Will wants to talk to you,” Carla said as she headed for the bathroom.
“When?” Misha asked.
“Now would work,” Will said. Misha jumped and her head swung to the front door so fast her neck cricked. Will was standing just outside the dorm room’s front door, in his usual blue jeans and green sweater for the season.
“What is it?” Misha asked.
“Can we talk out here?” Will asked.
“Go ahead,” Lynda said, “I need to leave soon to get some things ready for our date tomorrow night, anyway.”
Misha nodded and stepped out into the hallway after grabbing her keys. Closing the door, she folded her arms under her chest and waited.
“Sorry, but I’ve been wanting to say this for a while,” Will said, rubbing his neck and looking at the ceiling, “actually, my stepmother wanted me to say it- anyway, thank you.”
Misha blinked and raised an eyebrow, “for what?”
“Lynda,” seeing that didn’t explain anything, Will sighed and continued, “you’re a good influence on her. She takes her meds regularly, she drinks less. She’s like this when she’s seeing someone seriously, and… thanks. You two are a good couple.”
“You think so~?” Misha asked.
Will looked down from the ceiling, “you don’t?”
Misha sighed, “I… don’t know…”
Will nodded, “worried about your relationship?”
Misha shook her head, “we seem to be doing alright~.”
Will nodded, “that’s what I thought. You can’t let the past frak up your present... You might have noticed, but Lynda has the same problem. She’s just more experienced at it. You will be, too, in time.”
Misha smiled and hugged Will, “thanks, Wicchan.”
Will sighed and let Misha hug him for a few seconds before separating, “you’re welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find one of my own students; see you tonight. Henry decided for our last movie night of the year to get a holiday movie.”
“Which one?”
“Die Hard.”
==
Misha wasn’t sure what Lynda had planned for their date Saturday. She had told Lynda she’d meet her at the dorm, and that Carla didn’t have to run off for the night this time-Henry and Will were off somewhere. She had also said to dress up a bit, but not to dress formally. So Misha had spent part of the day looking through her clothes, finally settling on a knee length black skirt and matching strapped top that she barely remembered even buying. She had managed to find Christmas tree hair-decs to keep her slowly re-growing hair out of her face, as well.
Walking out of the bathroom, she opened her mouth to ask Carla how she looked, but Carla pre-empted her.
“You look fine,” Carla said, not looking up from her copy of Hero with a Thousand Faces. Misha put her hands on her hips.
“She said to ‘dress up.’ Does this count; the last time I ‘dressed up’ was for my high school graduation.”
Carla sighed, set her book down, stood up, and started circling Misha, absorbing the details of her outfit; the long slit in her otherwise relatively tight skirt, the relatively wide straps, and her carefully brushed hair. Carla fiddled with one of the hair clips and then a strap, occasionally taking it off the shoulder, then back on. Misha moved to speak a few times but Carla shushed her. Finally, Carla went back to her book.
“You are ‘dressed up’ enough,” she said, smiling.
“Thank you,” Misha said, smiling and collapsing into her desk chair, “I wonder if this is how she felt before our date.”
“Probably,” Carla said, “she may not look it, but she gives off a lot of non-verbal cues when she’s nervous.”
Misha raised an eyebrow, “how do you know?”
Carla tapped a nearby text on non-verbal communication, “some light reading to expand my horizons. Also, I haven’t picked my minor yet.”
Before Misha could inquire further someone started knocking on her door. Recognizing the fast paced hard knocking of an unmedicated Lynda, Misha opened the door, her eyes widening at the sight.
Lynda was wearing a navy blue thin-strapped dress, knee length with a slip, and looking about twice as expensive as Misha’s clothes. Her hair was carefully arrayed both behind her and off her shoulders, draping her head in a shroud of black that matched the black-stoned earrings she wore, as well as her black low-heeled velvet shoes. She had a small dark blue purse over her right shoulder.
“Ta-da!” she said, posing like a model on the runway.
Misha was lost for words, so Lynda hugged her and gave her a quick kiss, “how do I look?”
“…Perfect~,” Misha settled on after some thought, “how about me?”
“Perfect,” Lynda said after forcing Misha into a short spin, “you ready?”
Adjusting the position of her purse, Misha nodded, and Lynda dragged her from the dorm room.
“Where are we going?” Misha asked when they stepped outside.
“You’ll see~” Lynda said, whistling loudly for a passing cab.
“Shit, sorry,” Lynda said after seeing Misha flinch; looking after her inner ear problem had made her more sensitive to shrill sounds. Lynda searched through her purse as they entered the cab. Handing the driver a note with an address, she also pulled out two earplugs.
“Here, take these; they’ll help where we’re going.”
Misha watched the city drift by as the night settled in, “what did you plan for our date?” Misha asked, her curiosity getting to her.
Lynda smiled slyly, “well, you showed me a part of your world, so now I’m going to show you a part of mine.”
Misha raised an eyebrow, “we’re going to Canada?”
Lynda shook her head, “wrong world. I want you see my life when I’m not here in the US- well, as close I can, at least.”
The taxi drove through the city for a while before settling in front of a large one story building, a flashy neon sign blazing away in blue and green. After paying the driver, Lynda jumped from the cab to open Misha’s door.
Shivering slightly from the cold, Misha examined the glass and metal building as small groups of people entered, exited, or loitered around it.
“A nightclub?” she asked finally.
Lynda nodded, “best one around that admits people under 21. I can handle the cover and everything, so don’t worry about what you order- I got a ton of overtime at Toronto’s library the last few weeks.”
Misha allowed Lynda to drag her through the front door, where a tall man in an expensive looking suit stood near a stool, taking cover and checking ID. Lynda reached for her purse but the man raised a hand.
“Please Lynda, I know it’s you. Who’s your date?” he asked, his voice a bit raspy.
“This is Misha,” Lynda said, locking arms with her. The bouncer laughed and waved them through. Once inside, the noise of the place almost hurt. Somewhere a band played odd electric music while the large dance floor in the middle of the club was littered with couples. The club was decorated with a very odd art deco theme, with a color scheme of greens and blues. A large bar rested prominently in the far right corner with warning signs about underage patrons entering it. Surrounding the dance floor was scatterings of small and larger tables, both close to the dance floor and near the walls. The greeter smiled when he saw Lynda.
“Lynda, good to see you again,” he said. He was dressed in a white button down shirt and black vest. He quickly waved over a similarly dressed waiter, who led them to a table near the back of the club against a wall. The music there was subdued enough that Misha could hear herself think. The two sat down and the waiter set down their menus and wandered off.
“How’re your ears?” Lynda asked.
“They’re fine.”
Lynda smiled, “good, I was really careful when I reserved a table, so I’m glad you like it.”
“Thanks for the consider-ation~,” Misha smiled back.
Lynda opened her mouth to ask something but the waitress arrived, smiling at Lynda as she walked over.
“Welcome back, Lynda,” the waitress said, “the usual starter and drinks?”
Lynda nodded, “oh, and the same for my date here.”
The waitress glanced at Misha, “you always did have good taste,” she said before nodding and wandering off.
“What did you order?” Misha asked.
“Chicken wings and a coke; I’d drink something but it’s bad for my condition. And they card here, anyway.”
“That never stopped you before~.”
Lynda shrugged, “you weren’t in my life before. I don’t like my partner’s to see what I’m like when I self medicate. Besides, I’m trying to change,” Lynda shrugged again, “like most people with abuse problems, I sometimes stumble with my condition.”
Misha considered Lynda’s statement as she examined her fancy menu. While she did so, Misha noticed Lynda had a hard time sitting still; she seemed to constantly hop or move her limbs to the music, or fiddle with her flatware. Misha understood the reaction; she tended to do the same thing when she was worked up. Lynda being both on a mood upswing and unmedicated probably wasn’t helping, either.
The settled on small talk while they waited. Shortly after they had sat down, the waitress arrived with the two sodas and waters and vanished to retrieve their appetizers. The waitress’s return with a platter of chicken wings several minutes later also heralded the placing of their order’s; Lynda ordered a red snapper, while Misha opted for the New York strip steak.
“So what do you have planned for us after dinner?” Misha asked once the waitress had left.
“Better question: what do I have planned for us now,” Lynda shot up and dragged Misha to the dance floor, pausing just long enough for her to put in the earplugs.
“You know I don’t know how to dance,” Misha said.
Lynda shrugged, “with music like this, you don’t need to.”
Grateful for the earplugs, as the music was much louder on the floor then by the tables, the two swayed and moved around each other, Lynda with the practiced ease of a fast-paced dancer, Misha doing her best to not look like an idiot. The music throbbed and pulsed around and inside them as Misha tried to remember some dance advice Carla had given her. After a few songs Lynda dragged Misha back to their table, where refilled drinks and their dinner awaited them.
The two ate in relative silence, Misha noticing Lynda’s restless state as she fidgeted and worked away at her food, even as she breathed slightly heavier from the earlier dance.
“Why do you like me?” Misha asked suddenly.
“What brought this up?” Lynda asked after a few seconds.
Misha shrugged, “I want to know, and now seemed as good a time as any to ask.”
Lynda fiddled with the straw in her soda for a while, swirling the ice around in circles, “we complement each other,” she said finally.
Misha tilted her head slightly, “what do you mean?”
Lynda paused before answering, “Well, think of it this way: I’m assertive, and pushy, and hyper at times- meds or not. You’re more calm, collected, but you’re not a doormat; you don’t just take my shit. Like with that email, you called me out on that. You don’t mind me taking the lead, but when I cross the line, you tell me. And I don’t mind letting you take the lead, either- that usually doesn’t happen.”
Misha nodded; that made sense.
Lynda narrowed her eyes and smiled slyly, “Your, turn, Micchan; why do you like me?”
Misha thought about her answer carefully, pausing only when the waitress enquired about dessert. Deciding more dancing would allow the room, the two ordered some cheesecake, and she withdrew.
“Well,” Misha said, having finally gathered her thoughts, “at first it was because you reminded me of Shizune, I think. You two are similar, but you’re not the same; you aren’t as assertive, or pushy, but you are like her in that you are a caring person who refuses to be judged by others.”
“Ah, my strength of character,” Lynda sighed, “shame, I was hoping it was my figure.”
Misha giggled, “that was a con-tributing factor~.”
The night wore on as the two ate, danced, and Misha became increasingly aware of two facts: one, Lynda was nervous about something, and two, bipolar people were really exhausting dancers during an upbeat mood.
Eventually, their time at the club came to an end, and as the two settled in for the cab ride home, Misha finally asked Lynda why she was nervous.
Lynda made an odd face, her hands constantly twisting around each other, “I want to tell you something, something I’ve never told anyone else before, because it’s never been the truth before. I’m worried what you’ll say, but I know whatever you say, I’ll be okay with it. Maybe because of what I’m about to say, or maybe being off my meds is making me reckless again, but either way-”
Misha put her finger on Lynda’s lips to shut her up, “Lycchan, what is it?”
Lynda sighed and leaned in towards Misha, close enough to whisper in that way that made her shiver, “I love you.”
Misha tensed. She knew what she should say, but… was she? Did she love Lynda? She thought she did, but what did she know? She was a nineteen year-old girl whose love life consisted of her first girlfriend and a classmate who had rejected her. Misha pulled back to look into Lynda’s eyes. They were expecting, but in a way that Misha felt sure she could say what she wanted, and Lynda wouldn’t be upset, just like she said she wouldn’t be.
Maybe that was when she fell in love with her.
Leaning in to cause her own shivers, Misha whispered her response, “I know.”
Lynda shivered and started stroking Misha’s hair. She gave a contented sigh, a single word escaping with it: “Solo-ed.”
+++
Next Chapter
I have new respect for romance writers- the good ones, at least.
Whoever said writing wasn’t real work needs a punch in the jaw. With a copy of War and Peace.
Previous Chapter
Chapter Twelve: A Light Music Club, This is Not
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
“You can come in, Carla,” Misha said Friday morning. She and Lynda had finished their showers and gotten dressed, and were presently replying to Hisao’s email. Carla unlocked and opened the door and stepped in.
“You two look happy. Who’s the best roommate ever?” she asked, plopping onto her bed to empty her backpack.
“You are,” Misha and Lynda said, not looking away from Misha’s laptop.
“Oh, Misha, Will wants to talk to you,” Carla said as she headed for the bathroom.
“When?” Misha asked.
“Now would work,” Will said. Misha jumped and her head swung to the front door so fast her neck cricked. Will was standing just outside the dorm room’s front door, in his usual blue jeans and green sweater for the season.
“What is it?” Misha asked.
“Can we talk out here?” Will asked.
“Go ahead,” Lynda said, “I need to leave soon to get some things ready for our date tomorrow night, anyway.”
Misha nodded and stepped out into the hallway after grabbing her keys. Closing the door, she folded her arms under her chest and waited.
“Sorry, but I’ve been wanting to say this for a while,” Will said, rubbing his neck and looking at the ceiling, “actually, my stepmother wanted me to say it- anyway, thank you.”
Misha blinked and raised an eyebrow, “for what?”
“Lynda,” seeing that didn’t explain anything, Will sighed and continued, “you’re a good influence on her. She takes her meds regularly, she drinks less. She’s like this when she’s seeing someone seriously, and… thanks. You two are a good couple.”
“You think so~?” Misha asked.
Will looked down from the ceiling, “you don’t?”
Misha sighed, “I… don’t know…”
Will nodded, “worried about your relationship?”
Misha shook her head, “we seem to be doing alright~.”
Will nodded, “that’s what I thought. You can’t let the past frak up your present... You might have noticed, but Lynda has the same problem. She’s just more experienced at it. You will be, too, in time.”
Misha smiled and hugged Will, “thanks, Wicchan.”
Will sighed and let Misha hug him for a few seconds before separating, “you’re welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find one of my own students; see you tonight. Henry decided for our last movie night of the year to get a holiday movie.”
“Which one?”
“Die Hard.”
==
Misha wasn’t sure what Lynda had planned for their date Saturday. She had told Lynda she’d meet her at the dorm, and that Carla didn’t have to run off for the night this time-Henry and Will were off somewhere. She had also said to dress up a bit, but not to dress formally. So Misha had spent part of the day looking through her clothes, finally settling on a knee length black skirt and matching strapped top that she barely remembered even buying. She had managed to find Christmas tree hair-decs to keep her slowly re-growing hair out of her face, as well.
Walking out of the bathroom, she opened her mouth to ask Carla how she looked, but Carla pre-empted her.
“You look fine,” Carla said, not looking up from her copy of Hero with a Thousand Faces. Misha put her hands on her hips.
“She said to ‘dress up.’ Does this count; the last time I ‘dressed up’ was for my high school graduation.”
Carla sighed, set her book down, stood up, and started circling Misha, absorbing the details of her outfit; the long slit in her otherwise relatively tight skirt, the relatively wide straps, and her carefully brushed hair. Carla fiddled with one of the hair clips and then a strap, occasionally taking it off the shoulder, then back on. Misha moved to speak a few times but Carla shushed her. Finally, Carla went back to her book.
“You are ‘dressed up’ enough,” she said, smiling.
“Thank you,” Misha said, smiling and collapsing into her desk chair, “I wonder if this is how she felt before our date.”
“Probably,” Carla said, “she may not look it, but she gives off a lot of non-verbal cues when she’s nervous.”
Misha raised an eyebrow, “how do you know?”
Carla tapped a nearby text on non-verbal communication, “some light reading to expand my horizons. Also, I haven’t picked my minor yet.”
Before Misha could inquire further someone started knocking on her door. Recognizing the fast paced hard knocking of an unmedicated Lynda, Misha opened the door, her eyes widening at the sight.
Lynda was wearing a navy blue thin-strapped dress, knee length with a slip, and looking about twice as expensive as Misha’s clothes. Her hair was carefully arrayed both behind her and off her shoulders, draping her head in a shroud of black that matched the black-stoned earrings she wore, as well as her black low-heeled velvet shoes. She had a small dark blue purse over her right shoulder.
“Ta-da!” she said, posing like a model on the runway.
Misha was lost for words, so Lynda hugged her and gave her a quick kiss, “how do I look?”
“…Perfect~,” Misha settled on after some thought, “how about me?”
“Perfect,” Lynda said after forcing Misha into a short spin, “you ready?”
Adjusting the position of her purse, Misha nodded, and Lynda dragged her from the dorm room.
“Where are we going?” Misha asked when they stepped outside.
“You’ll see~” Lynda said, whistling loudly for a passing cab.
“Shit, sorry,” Lynda said after seeing Misha flinch; looking after her inner ear problem had made her more sensitive to shrill sounds. Lynda searched through her purse as they entered the cab. Handing the driver a note with an address, she also pulled out two earplugs.
“Here, take these; they’ll help where we’re going.”
Misha watched the city drift by as the night settled in, “what did you plan for our date?” Misha asked, her curiosity getting to her.
Lynda smiled slyly, “well, you showed me a part of your world, so now I’m going to show you a part of mine.”
Misha raised an eyebrow, “we’re going to Canada?”
Lynda shook her head, “wrong world. I want you see my life when I’m not here in the US- well, as close I can, at least.”
The taxi drove through the city for a while before settling in front of a large one story building, a flashy neon sign blazing away in blue and green. After paying the driver, Lynda jumped from the cab to open Misha’s door.
Shivering slightly from the cold, Misha examined the glass and metal building as small groups of people entered, exited, or loitered around it.
“A nightclub?” she asked finally.
Lynda nodded, “best one around that admits people under 21. I can handle the cover and everything, so don’t worry about what you order- I got a ton of overtime at Toronto’s library the last few weeks.”
Misha allowed Lynda to drag her through the front door, where a tall man in an expensive looking suit stood near a stool, taking cover and checking ID. Lynda reached for her purse but the man raised a hand.
“Please Lynda, I know it’s you. Who’s your date?” he asked, his voice a bit raspy.
“This is Misha,” Lynda said, locking arms with her. The bouncer laughed and waved them through. Once inside, the noise of the place almost hurt. Somewhere a band played odd electric music while the large dance floor in the middle of the club was littered with couples. The club was decorated with a very odd art deco theme, with a color scheme of greens and blues. A large bar rested prominently in the far right corner with warning signs about underage patrons entering it. Surrounding the dance floor was scatterings of small and larger tables, both close to the dance floor and near the walls. The greeter smiled when he saw Lynda.
“Lynda, good to see you again,” he said. He was dressed in a white button down shirt and black vest. He quickly waved over a similarly dressed waiter, who led them to a table near the back of the club against a wall. The music there was subdued enough that Misha could hear herself think. The two sat down and the waiter set down their menus and wandered off.
“How’re your ears?” Lynda asked.
“They’re fine.”
Lynda smiled, “good, I was really careful when I reserved a table, so I’m glad you like it.”
“Thanks for the consider-ation~,” Misha smiled back.
Lynda opened her mouth to ask something but the waitress arrived, smiling at Lynda as she walked over.
“Welcome back, Lynda,” the waitress said, “the usual starter and drinks?”
Lynda nodded, “oh, and the same for my date here.”
The waitress glanced at Misha, “you always did have good taste,” she said before nodding and wandering off.
“What did you order?” Misha asked.
“Chicken wings and a coke; I’d drink something but it’s bad for my condition. And they card here, anyway.”
“That never stopped you before~.”
Lynda shrugged, “you weren’t in my life before. I don’t like my partner’s to see what I’m like when I self medicate. Besides, I’m trying to change,” Lynda shrugged again, “like most people with abuse problems, I sometimes stumble with my condition.”
Misha considered Lynda’s statement as she examined her fancy menu. While she did so, Misha noticed Lynda had a hard time sitting still; she seemed to constantly hop or move her limbs to the music, or fiddle with her flatware. Misha understood the reaction; she tended to do the same thing when she was worked up. Lynda being both on a mood upswing and unmedicated probably wasn’t helping, either.
The settled on small talk while they waited. Shortly after they had sat down, the waitress arrived with the two sodas and waters and vanished to retrieve their appetizers. The waitress’s return with a platter of chicken wings several minutes later also heralded the placing of their order’s; Lynda ordered a red snapper, while Misha opted for the New York strip steak.
“So what do you have planned for us after dinner?” Misha asked once the waitress had left.
“Better question: what do I have planned for us now,” Lynda shot up and dragged Misha to the dance floor, pausing just long enough for her to put in the earplugs.
“You know I don’t know how to dance,” Misha said.
Lynda shrugged, “with music like this, you don’t need to.”
Grateful for the earplugs, as the music was much louder on the floor then by the tables, the two swayed and moved around each other, Lynda with the practiced ease of a fast-paced dancer, Misha doing her best to not look like an idiot. The music throbbed and pulsed around and inside them as Misha tried to remember some dance advice Carla had given her. After a few songs Lynda dragged Misha back to their table, where refilled drinks and their dinner awaited them.
The two ate in relative silence, Misha noticing Lynda’s restless state as she fidgeted and worked away at her food, even as she breathed slightly heavier from the earlier dance.
“Why do you like me?” Misha asked suddenly.
“What brought this up?” Lynda asked after a few seconds.
Misha shrugged, “I want to know, and now seemed as good a time as any to ask.”
Lynda fiddled with the straw in her soda for a while, swirling the ice around in circles, “we complement each other,” she said finally.
Misha tilted her head slightly, “what do you mean?”
Lynda paused before answering, “Well, think of it this way: I’m assertive, and pushy, and hyper at times- meds or not. You’re more calm, collected, but you’re not a doormat; you don’t just take my shit. Like with that email, you called me out on that. You don’t mind me taking the lead, but when I cross the line, you tell me. And I don’t mind letting you take the lead, either- that usually doesn’t happen.”
Misha nodded; that made sense.
Lynda narrowed her eyes and smiled slyly, “Your, turn, Micchan; why do you like me?”
Misha thought about her answer carefully, pausing only when the waitress enquired about dessert. Deciding more dancing would allow the room, the two ordered some cheesecake, and she withdrew.
“Well,” Misha said, having finally gathered her thoughts, “at first it was because you reminded me of Shizune, I think. You two are similar, but you’re not the same; you aren’t as assertive, or pushy, but you are like her in that you are a caring person who refuses to be judged by others.”
“Ah, my strength of character,” Lynda sighed, “shame, I was hoping it was my figure.”
Misha giggled, “that was a con-tributing factor~.”
The night wore on as the two ate, danced, and Misha became increasingly aware of two facts: one, Lynda was nervous about something, and two, bipolar people were really exhausting dancers during an upbeat mood.
Eventually, their time at the club came to an end, and as the two settled in for the cab ride home, Misha finally asked Lynda why she was nervous.
Lynda made an odd face, her hands constantly twisting around each other, “I want to tell you something, something I’ve never told anyone else before, because it’s never been the truth before. I’m worried what you’ll say, but I know whatever you say, I’ll be okay with it. Maybe because of what I’m about to say, or maybe being off my meds is making me reckless again, but either way-”
Misha put her finger on Lynda’s lips to shut her up, “Lycchan, what is it?”
Lynda sighed and leaned in towards Misha, close enough to whisper in that way that made her shiver, “I love you.”
Misha tensed. She knew what she should say, but… was she? Did she love Lynda? She thought she did, but what did she know? She was a nineteen year-old girl whose love life consisted of her first girlfriend and a classmate who had rejected her. Misha pulled back to look into Lynda’s eyes. They were expecting, but in a way that Misha felt sure she could say what she wanted, and Lynda wouldn’t be upset, just like she said she wouldn’t be.
Maybe that was when she fell in love with her.
Leaning in to cause her own shivers, Misha whispered her response, “I know.”
Lynda shivered and started stroking Misha’s hair. She gave a contented sigh, a single word escaping with it: “Solo-ed.”
+++
Next Chapter
I have new respect for romance writers- the good ones, at least.
Whoever said writing wasn’t real work needs a punch in the jaw. With a copy of War and Peace.
