Re: Hideaki: A Tale of Manliness
Posted: Sun Nov 04, 2012 3:51 pm
by DanjaDoom
And now I present my obnoxiously late Halloween special! Hope you enjoy it. Leave a comment pretty please.
Parapsychology
Like most scary and traumatic things that happen to me, this occurs whilst I attempt to take a nap. It also involves a certain ever-present house guest that never seems to leave, no matter how many hints are dropped that “I really have to go to the bathroom, and you just standing right outside looking at photos of me in kindergarten isn't helping my flow.”
Guess who.
“HIDECCHAN~!!”
Yep.
The unending ball of positive pink energy bounds recklessly into my room, decked out in some ghastly mishmash of pink, black, and purple lace that looks like it came straight out of some thirteen year old’s fan fiction.
“How do you like my Halloween costume?” Misha asks eagerly.
“You look like a fire broke out at a Lolita fetish club and everyone fused together into some cheap Batman villain,” I grumble.
Yes, I know that was a little harsh. In my defense, Halloween’s not for another two weeks, and there are literally hundreds of more appropriate moments for her to show me this Frankensteinian lusus naturae .
“Aww, that’s very sweet of you, Hidecchan!” she beams, missing the point by a couple hundred meters or so.
Suddenly, she begins to enact some offbeat dance routine, twirling and humming like an alternative art troupe in Seattle. I will give credit where credit’s due, however. Those stockings work damn well on her thighs. My developing teenage boy mind approves.
“I’d like to think of it as an eclectic and strong mix of Marilyn Monroe, Billie Holiday, and Kim Kardashian. Y’know, to represent my pride as an independent woman!”
It’s amazing how people can put so much thought into something and still have it come out completely retarded.
“That’s fascinating,” I yawn. “Why don’t you go tell Jigoro about your dress? Feminist world history is a hobby of his.”
Her eyes spark up like Christmas lights. “Magnificent idea, Hideaki! Talk to you later!”
“I sure as hell hope not,” I mumble in response. Luckily she already has one foot out of my door and can’t hear what I’m saying.
No more witty commentary for me, it’s back to bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I awake an hour later to the overwhelming stench of pumpkin. And I do mean overwhelming. It’s like someone dropped a mustard bomb in some farm patch in Iowa.
I trace the source to one Cocina de Hakamichi downstairs, where none other than our pink-haired house guest is hard at work concocting a superfluity of pumpkin based treats and goodies, all the while humming happily away to the Monster Mash. The cavalry of food serves to remind me that I’m hungry as hell, having skipped out on dinner last night to finish writing up my thesis on why The Great Lakes Avengers are fundamentally better than the regular Avengers.
I’m sure just one little bite will be fine--
THWACK
A wooden apparatus hits me with the force of a bullet ant, sending my mushy pumpkin brownie soaring haphazardly through the stratosphere before landing squarely in the palm of my waiting assailant.
[No touching the food!]
[The fuck man?!]
It’s all I manage to sign through the searing pain.
[We’re making these for the party later this week, not for you to stuff your face full of food like you’re at some Gossip Girl convention!]
[What party?]
She taps the wooden ruler against her upper arm, sighing irritably.
[The neighborhood party? The one the Furukawa’s are hosting? I told dad to tell you!]
I try, and fail, to stifle a snort. [You relied on dad for something?]
She huffs and scrunches up her face, clearly miffed that this particular failure of communication was her fault.
[Forget it. Anyway, what do you think of my costume?]
Her demeanor takes a one-eighty as she flaunts her outfit, a curve-hugging green ensemble that looks aesthetically similar to the uniforms worn by female soldiers during World War 2, complete with a nifty cap. Though, it’s doubtful members of the armed forces strutted around the bases showing that much leg.
[Did you forget your SS gear at the cleaners?]
THWACK.
Worth it.
[Hush! I’ll have you know that this outfit has been tailored for maximum historical accuracy.]
[Is that why you're one walk in front of an AC away from flashing everyone?]
With a tinge of red in her cheeks, she hurriedly tugs the hemming of her skirt downward. Unfortunately for her, that baby’s gone through the motions. It’s not moving an inch.
[Maybe you should go buy some hose later?]
[Maybe you should stop staring at your sister like that you freak!]
[Touche`.]
A loud, clanging ruckus makes it way through the house and towards our immediate area. My father hovers in the doorway of the kitchen, shamelessly clad in the Looney Tunes boxers I got him for Christmas.
“What’s all the hub-bub in here?” he blubbers, no doubt sending some invisible studio audience all aflutter with laughter.
“Just finishing up the treats!” says Misha, bringing out yet another tray of what looks to be pumpkin flavored cake balls. My one weakness.
Jigoro appears to be stuck at a crossroads between being hungry and upset. After awhile he just settles for being mildly confused and possibly a bit stupefied.
“Well... keep at it, I guess. Just stay away from the den! I’m putting the finishing touches on my costume, and I can’t afford any interruptions!”
The idea of my father taking part in any holiday festivities is a bizarre one, but one that nonetheless will be taking place. If anything, it has more to do with the culture of our neighborhood than any festive joy.
We never miss a chance to one-up each other. Ever.
“Hidecchan~,” Misha purrs, bringing the oven fresh cake pops right underneath my nose. Shizune eye me closely, ready to strike out at my hand like a cobra should I even consider reaching for them.
“What’re you going as, Hidecchan?~” she asks with her 1,000 kilowatt smile. Not even my look of bafflement can lower it’s power by more than about a hundred.
“Going as?”
“You mean... you’re not going to dress up?”
“Well, no...”
By the look she’s giving me, I can’t help but feel like I somehow insinuated that I’d like to go party with the guy’s on To Catch a Predator.
“Well that’s just unacceptable! I’ll have to find you a costume ASAP! Hmm, now what to get...”
I hurriedly interrupt her stream of thought. Misha’s sense of fashion already crosses the line every other month of the year, but during October it takes the line out back and makes it a woman. I don’t want any part of that. “N-no, that’s alright, misha, I’ll head out later this week to--”
“Nonsense!” she enthuses in a way that makes it clear she’s not letting me get out of this hell.
I look to my sister for aid, but am only met with a disgustingly meek cat grin. Now I know how Mufasa felt when he fell to his death and birthed an entire generation of daddy issues.
“I’ll be sure to pick out the best outfit possible, dontcha worry about a thing!”
I’m worried.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[You look very... dashing.]
[Go drink bleach.]
She snickers. [Aww, is widdle Hideaki upset?]
[God has abandoned me.]
It’s the truth. Wearing this just has to give you a one way ticket to Satan’s frothy undersack. Stealing an old man’s heart meds and using them in some convoluted sex ritual would probably give me better looks than this piece of crap. And my sister’s really not helping here.
[Don’t worry, little brother, I’m sure you’ll be the scariest pirate out tonight... at Chuck E’ Cheeses.]
I’m about to let off a few choice signs, but the screeching halt of the car leaves me with a mouthful of beige leather. You think I’d learn to just sit still while we’re driving. But, I digress.
Yes, I’m going as a pirate tonight. Not even a somewhat cool Johnny Depp pirate, but something that looks like it was constructed with leftover fabric from a pride parade. Rainbow colored feathers atop a musketeer hat, skin-tight purple pants, and the shirt Peter Pan wore when he came out to his family. It’s been almost a year since I last donned the star stockings. It’s not a period of my life I’m eager to return to .
You don’t put a recovering alcoholic in a bar. You don’t put me in a gay pirate outfit.
My only restitution is to glare daggers at the girl next to me, blissfully unaware that she may very well be responsible for me stealing Shizune’s clothes and crying in the bathroom sometime next week.
After thirty minutes of looking for parking, we finally pull up in front of our neighbors summer home. A giant animatronic skeleton welcomes us along the path, coupled with some teenage greeters who surely would rather be out scoring poon and blow instead of dressing up as Optimus Prime for minimum wage.
One costume in particular stands out; a young girl, a bit too young to be working here, perhaps, is dressed as a spirit of some sort. A long, white formal dress hangs loosely from her snowy shoulders, and her dark hair does the same. She even has a cool blue glow to go along with the ensemble. I’ll have to catch up with her later and ask where she got it from.
One of the slav--err, hired help, intercepts us as we move up to the grand double-doorway.
“Velcome to ze Master’s abode! I’m afraid I must ask you to relinquish your katana, Master Jigoro!”
My father eyes the cape-clad greeter with a quizzical glance. “How are you not dead inside?”
Judging by the zoned out look on his face, he’s not entirely sure either. We make our way inside swiftly, a line already forming on our tail.
As I said before, Halloween’s always been a big business around our neighborhood. After all, what better way to show that you love your kids (and sticking it to the asshole next door) than with obnoxiously expensive, two-story home sized gadgets that you’ll realistically only use for about a week. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, and the Furukawa's have most certainly got it.
Of all the old money types around here, the Furukawa's are king and queen. That’s not to say that they don’t have their eccentricities, of course. Mrs. Furukawa is Japan’s only known Jehovah's Witness (according to Guinness) and it was only through great persuasion and the promise of a Bermuda trip that she was finally convinced to let the party take place.
It’s a good thing too. The house is like something out of a sappy romance flick, a well-worked hodgepodge of Gilded and Victorian era mansions. Fancy Shmancy ball dresses abound, while still many others opt for more traditional (but still expensive) cape and cloak costumes. Speaking of costumes, Misha and Shizune are all dolled up in their earlier ensembles, both attracting their fair share of attention, but for rather different reasons. My dad’s dressed up as well, in his “best” cardigan and lounge pants combo to create of the perfect “The Dude” uniform. It’s not bad, really, but I’m aiming to keep away from him once he starts quoting lines from the movie. All five of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CRACK.
There goes another glass. And a guest. And the clean-up crew.
Rich socialites are shockingly lightweight when it comes to holding down alcohol. This is the third time the clean-up specialist’s emerged from the shadows like non-union shinobi, rapidly cleaning up the shattered wine glass remnants and escorting the inebriated guest off to the side before anyone is further disturbed. Though “clean-up specialists” is a bit of a misnomer. Really, they’re just teenagers, probably the ones we saw from earlier. It’s still pretty funny to watch Wolverine and Freddy Krueger carry away an old drunk man, at least for me.
“Hideaki, come over here for a second!”
I move away from the refreshment table and meet my father, bemused and a bit unsettled by my father’s unfamiliarly upbeat and pleasant tone. Once I reach him, I discover the reason.
Even the great Jigoro Hakamichi has to kiss a little ass once in awhile.
“Hideaki, you know our esteemed host, Mr. Furukawa, don’t you?” he asks, a painfully forced smile on his face.
Mr. Furukawa’s a tall man, at least a few inches more than my father, with a thin and exquisitely trimmed moustache that makes him a dead ringer for Rhett Butler squinting in the sun. Funny enough, that’s not his costume, he just looks like that at all times. We exchange a polite bow.
“Lovely costume, son! Michael Flatley, I presume?”
Fuck you Misha.
“Aheh, no sir, I’m a pirate,” I answer politely. This seems to amuse him a bit.
“Son, piece of advice. Don’t hire your stylist to make your Halloween costume, they tend to lean towards the gratuitous.”
“Don’t I know it...”
He chuckles in a smooth-as-mocha voice, patting me on the head.
“You’re a good kid. Especially considering whose loins you come from!”
Dad laughs along nervously, not sure if he was being serious or not. A wink and a pat on the shoulder alleviates his tension somewhat, but still. My father looking nervous in front of someone? It’s an almost unheard of occurrence, in fact I’m sure I’ve never heard of such a thing. I have a feeling Mr. Furukawa is someone to look out for going into the future.
A flash of white beckons my eyes over, and again I see the girl from earlier. She’s moving through the crowd rather awkwardly, bouncing lightly from body to body with a cautious gait. Surely if she were a staff member she’d be a little more sociable? Maybe she’s a child of one of the attendees?
Remembering my earlier goal, I start slithering through the crowd after her.
“I’m gonna go talk to a girl dad,” I tell him. He looks out into the crowd, then back at me with a raised eyebrow. Odd, but whatever, I’ll chalk it up to dad being dad.
It takes a little while of snooping, but I finally see the already familiar faint glow. How are those costumes batteries still working?
“Hey there!” I wave over to her.
I swear I’ve never seen someone turn their head so fast. I flinch, half expecting her spine to snap. Her eyes are stretched to the size of hubcaps, and her mouth is parted in shock. Despite all that, she really is kind of cute.
“Uhm, just wanted to ask about your costume. It looks really nice, where did you buy it?”
No response. Just the same bewildered look on her face. It’s as if she’s looking straight through me. Rather chilling.
“Did you buy it, then?...”
“Can you see?” she blurts out. Her voice is just as fragile as her appearance.
“Can I see... what?”
“Me,” she continues. “Can you see me?”
Damn, she really sticks to character. I have to admire that in a girl.
“Well, yes, I can see you. Why--”
My wrist is very nearly pulled from my socket as she drags me through the thickening crowd. Tryin to walk normally proves to be a challenging task, and I can’t manage to shake the strange looks I’m getting. Maybe one of them will take responsibility and take control of their weird daughter currently dragging me around the house?
Finally, we reach a largely deserted area of the house, a bedroom hallway dotted with a small number of candelabras. Illuminated only by the glow of the walls, the girl’s faint glow has now become more “afterlife” than “otherworld.” As time goes on, it’s getting harder to wrap my head around how she gets her costume to work.
“Why did you bring me down?”
It’s a stupid question, in hindsight. Am I really worried that this can’t-be-more-than-90 pound girl is going to overpower me and doing unspeakable things to me?
Maybe a little.
“I need to make sure of something.”
Before I can register her words, her hand gropes my cheek, shocking me with it’s coldness. It’s like taking a splash of icy water to the face. I gasp and reel backwards despite my best intentions.
“Did you feel that?” she asks breathlessly. I rub my hand across my cheek, now thoroughly confused.
“Ok, just to let you know, if you’re trying to freak people out with this ghost thing, it’s working really well.”
A look of sorrow overcomes the pale girl’s face. Way to go, Hideaki.
“I mean that as a compliment, honest! I didn’t mean to--”
I’m cut off by her slim finger pressed to my lips. It’s like kissing an ice cube.
She begins to move down the hallway wordlessly, a nod in my direction indicating that she wishes me to follow. I oblige, but with some trepidation. I still don’t know what this girl wants, after all.
After a bit of searching, we happen upon what I would wager is a very old lounge that hasn’t been used in quite some time. An ornate fireplace is the focal point of the room, and a bay window captures the romance and mystery of the night moon. Furniture that looks to be far older than even my father is spread across the room. It’s all very comforting. I can barely even hear the noise from the party.
Oddly, the girl scurries towards the cold and darkened fireplace, huddling near it as if catching the warmth of a fire I can’t see. Deciding to at least humor her, I sit alongside the girl to “warm up.”
Despite there not being a breeze, her silky black hair seems to sway in the moonlight, dancing to a silent melody. It’s almost hypnotic.
Suddenly, she moves to her feet and grabs at an antiquated picture frame above the mantle. It’s so layered with dust I can scarcely make out the two figures in the frame.
“I don’t think the Furukawa’s would appreciate you touching their stuff,” I point out.
This seems to offend her, for some reason. She brushes me off and continues to inspect the frame, gently caressing it’s edges and smiling as she looks over it’s contents. A bit of the dust appears to have blown off and cleared the photo up a bit. It’s still faded rather seriously, but at least now i can make out a man and a woman, along with something small in between them. Maybe a child?
“There were people here long before the Furukawa’s,” she says. Her voice is still quieter than two mice making love in cotton, but now she seems a bit more... upbeat? It’s hard to say.
The pale girl gingerly, as if stowing away a fine jewel, returns the picture to it’s mantle.
“I don’t have many visitors,” she mutters.
Visitors? Judging by the way she reacted when I mentioned the Furukawa's earlier, she doesn’t seem to be related to, or even on speaking terms with them. Is she some random squatter that jumped in while they were renovating the house? I decide not to press her.
“Is that why you were down there?”
She nods somberly. Apparently her quest didn’t turn up any results.
“What went wrong?”
“Everyone ignored me. Brushed me off. I felt like I was so alone... it’s all I’ve felt for the past--”
Her voice trails off into a soft whisper. I don’t catch her final few words. All I see now is a girl who looks defeated. A girl who maybe, just maybe, could use the support from some kid in a pirate costume.
“Well, we just visited, didn’t we?”
A small, but noticeable, lift of her head tells me that she’s responding to my words.
I bolster up my courage from who know’s where, and move alongside her. “Maybe I could be your friend?”
The coldness that once surrounded her morphs into a pleasant, warm radiance, like standing next to a growing fire. She smiles thankfully at me, and I’m not afraid to admit it brings a little bit of warmth to my heart. In this outfit, I’ve pretty much forfeited any rights I had to be manly anyway.
CRACK.
Darkness overcomes me for a split second of a split second, as if someone threw a dirty blanket in my face.My spine shivers, whether from the stagnant cold of the empty room or my own fears I’m not sure. When I open my eyes, she’s vanished from my field of vision.
A frantic search from left to right reveals no sign of her. Not a single speck of dust is misplaced. Not a single sign of anything being ary.
In a span of twenty minutes I’ve gone from mild curiosity to full on Scooby-Doo mystery mode. It’s not as fun a feeling as it sounds.
It’s no use. Even as I look through every nook and cranny, I can’t find a single trace of her. It’s as if she’s vanished from the face of the Earth.
A faint call permeates from the hallway outside.
“Hideaki!”
Shit, I was hoping to sneak back to the party undetected once this whole thing was over with. With any luck, the hosts are the forgiving type.
Luckily, only Misha and Shizune meet me when I make my way outside.
[Where in the world have you been?! Father’s about to pop a blood vessel!] Shizune signs irritably.
[When is he not?] I reply.
[Not the point!]
“Shicchan’s right, Hideaki! You shouldn’t wander off like that without telling anyone, especially in someone else’s house!”
You know a night’s been all kinds of fucked up when Misha becomes the voice of reason.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I defend. “That girl from the party dragged me up here!”
I thought that was a pretty solid argument, but the two of them don’t seem to think so. They instead give each looks of bewilderment.
[What are you talking about? What girl?]
[The girl from the party, in the white robe!]
Their bewildered looks degrade into ones of discomfort.
“Hidecchan, people said they saw you running up here by yourself. There wasn't any girl at the party.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Which room did you say again?...”
“The parlor room, up on the second floor,” I answer. This Q & A session has done nothing to remedy my headache from my apparently supernatural encounter.
Mr. Furukawa rubs his stern chin thoughtfully, smoothing out the rough aspects of my story in his head and forming a conclusion.
“We haven’t used that parlor since we moved in. The wife said something about feeling a presence in their, so she requested we just seal it off and leave it. I’d say son, it looks as though you’ve had a close encounter of the paranormal kind!”
He pats my shoulders giddily, like a child finding presents in the back of his closet.
“Maybe i’ll head up there one of these days! Seems like something that'd be rather fun...”
I doubt that my new friend would be as receptive to the two Furukawa’s as she was to me, but I politely keep my mouth sealed.
Jigoro looks on from the doorway, hand in the pockets of his jacket and antsy feet tapping against the hardwood.
“I think the boy’s had enough female encounters for the month, supernatural or otherwise. Let’s get home now.”
Mr. Furukawa guffaws, sympathetic to the plight of having to survive Jigoro.
“Have a good night, Hideaki. And do try to pick a better costume next time, hmm?”
As we make our way out the door, one of the few guests to stay longer than what was socially expected of us, a faint breeze caresses my shoulderblade. I spot shizune huddling her arms closer to her body and sinking her neck deeper into the recesses of her jacket. It looks as though she felt it as well.
Along the darkened cobblestone path, I see a lone piece of paper, still and undisturbed even as the falling leaves are carried past it with little effort.
“Why isn’t that paper moving?” Misha ponders, a little hint of worry in her voice.
All eyes fall on me. Evidently I’m the new paranormal expert here. Whatevs.
The wind itself seems to settle as I inch closer. Taking the tranquil note in my hand, I read the words etched on it.
Thank you, friend. Come visit again.
Before my eyes, the ink shrinks and fades, leaving no trace that anything was even written down. Sure enough, the paper loses it’s temporary otherworldliness and takes off with the wind once I let it go.
[What did it say?] Shizune signs with frosted fingers.
For some reason or another, my head tilts up towards the second floor window, third from the right. A translucent white shape greets me with a wave, vanishing mere seconds later.
I smile to myself.
“Nothing.”
Maybe it could?
