Summer Song

In The Name of Allah, The Gracious, The Merciful..

That summer, I met him.

He was my new classmate. To be honest, he had been invisible for me. I didn’t recall that he had been the one who played rhythmic guitar for our school’s band in a music festival one summer. In a word, I had never realized his existence before we were chosen to be in one group for an English assignment.

One day, we promised to meet in library to borrow some books for our assignment. We dealt to meet at 4 p.m.

It was such a tiring day! Three hours in laboratory and attending a really boredom Contract Law lecture really squeezed my energy. That was the reason why I fell asleep the minute I put myself on my favorite sofa.

And my! When I awoke, it was already 5 p.m.!

That was when I pushed the panic button. I jumped out of my sofa, ran to wash up--I dropped my favorite cologne, broke a vase--and the moment I locked the door of my apartment, my room had become a disaster area.

I ran as fast as I could to reach the library. Though it’s just in another block, I felt like I had been running across Sahara the time I pushed its front door.

And there he was, standing so coolly near a message board, reading a list of this century’s 100 best authors. He held some books in his arms.

“Hi,” I said as I came up to him, panting, feeling guilty. He turned around and –guess what!—he smiled.

“I thought you forgot,” he said.

“No… I just… I dozed off,” I said, a bit nervous. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“So…” I hesitated, taking a deep breath, “I assume you’ve found everything that we need?”

He showed me the books he had borrowed. “Professor Boffin’s Umbrella, April Fool’s Day, and Operation Mastermind, all by...”

“L.G. Alexander,” I nodded.

“Yes, and… The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint Exupery.” He handed me a small, white book, “I wonder why we should need this one.”

I took that book in disbelief. “The Little Prince? We don’t need this.” In my heart, I said, ‘I do.’ I had always wanted to read it since I had read an article about it in newspaper, months ago.

“But it’s here on your list,” he said, handing me a small piece of paper. The one I gave him the day before.

We read it together. Standing so close to him, I just realized that he is taller than I had always thought before.

I smiled, and looked up to him. “The Little Prince is one of my reading list this month. Seems like I had added it to our list by mistake, I’m sorry.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Why! It made me felt uneasy, so I added, “Thanks for borrowing that book… For me.”

For me? Did I say ‘For me’? It wasn’t for me, for goodness’s sake!

Good. Now he’ll think that I think I’m special for him.

Hucks!

“I thought you’d say something more romantic like… ‘You’ve made my dream come true’.”

Whatt?

Couldn’t believe what I heard, I looked up and there he was, with a grin. A twinkle of mischief in his dark eyes.

I couldn’t find any word to say, so I just smiled shyly, blushing.

***

“So, what’s your favorite book?” I asked him as we walked along the sidewalk, heading for my apartment.

Actually, I was just trying to find something to say. And I thought that this was the right subject. I mean… who doesn’t love reading? But… his answer totally caught me off guard. “I don’t like reading.”

“Oh,”

That was all I could say. And the moment after, I realized that it was another mistake. By saying, “Oh,” I had expressed my astonishment, and just like thousand other people in this world who think that reading is a very intellectual, very good, very beneficial hobby, I had just expressed my disapproval of his sentence. Of the fact that he doesn’t like reading.

But it was not like that at all! Because the second after, I realized how brave he was, to admit that he doesn’t like reading, in the world that forces everyone to love it. And I admire him for this one reason.

Still, whatever I’d say would not do any good. I assumed it would only lead to another wrong impression, so I kept my admiration inside. If he had been a girl, I would have told him that very moment what I felt, out loud, just like what I always do.

***

Late that evening, I lay on my sofa, reading the first chapters of ‘The Little Prince.’ The sweet smell of my scented candle fulfilled the air. Faintly I hear a song. Something familiar…

She is everything and more, the solemn hypnotic

My dahlia, bathed in possession

She is home to me

I get nervous, preserve, when I see her,

It’s worse

But the stress is astounding

It’s now or never, she’s coming home,

Forever…

I’d entered gate of the desert where The Poor Little Prince asked for a picture of a sheep. I read those sentences, but what ran through my mind was his last sentence.

My mind went to my older days at home. With my aunts and cousins. Suddenly I remember how I had always been the one who bought books and magazine about airplanes and military, but I had never really read them. What always happened was all of us watching evening news, and suddenly one of my cousin would say, “Hey, I’ve read it before. It’s in your magazine, right, Yuki chan?”

I would just look at her with blank mind, saying, “What?”

And my aunt would say, “How come you always buy those books and magazines, but never read them?”

And how could I say to everyone that reading is my hobby?

Because frankly, I never read books that my friends (and even my crush) always read. I’m so, so choosy. I only read books as long as they are fiction, full of fantasy, dreams, and have something to do with things that I like (World War II, wizardry, and cooking—I mean, food.). See, it’s not so easy to find such books, so when my friends and crush have read ten books; I will only have finished reading one.

Still, it’s not easy living in a world I’m living. Sometimes I feel so depressed, distressed that I can’t be like other people. Like my friends… but mostly, like my crush. You know, that urge of having as many similarities as possible with the one you love is sometimes killing.

Oh, girls… Poor girls…

Wait! Do all girls feel the same way that I do?

I don’t know, but that’s what I always feel.

Oh, me… Poor me.

And the belief that ‘if someone doesn’t like reading, he’s definitely not a smart man,’ pushed me even harder. Because if you love reading fictions, yet hate non fictions, you are still in the area of ‘they who don’t like reading.’

I won’t let this build up inside of me…

Ever since that moment, every time I light my candle, I will remember him. And the song he played with his guitar that late summer.

She is everything and more, the solemn hypnotic

My dahlia, bathed in possession

She is home to me

***

It was the last day for us. We had come to the final chapter of our assignment; we even had done the revision and all. Tomorrow we’d hand it in. And we, maybe for a long time, would not work as a team again.

As we strolled along the row of small shops (he walked me home), I remembered the times we had spent together that last three weeks.

I remembered his scruffy hair and sleepy face when he opened the door when I directly ran to his house after knowing that we had chosen the wrong theme. His funny, innocent giggle when he watched a silly anime. The serious expression on his face when he read Professor Boffin’s Umbrella and his sudden laughter when he had come to the amusing part of it. His clear voice, singing his favorite song from time to time.

“She is everything and more, the solemn hypnotic

My dahlia, bathed in possession

She is home to me…”

“Hey, those cakes look good, don’t they?” he said suddenly.

I looked up and saw him pointing at the display window of a cake shop. There, like a dream, were all my favorite cakes: Sacher, Black Forest, Mocha Ole, and Tiramisu. All well decorated.

“Oh,” I exclaimed. In the corner of it, stood still so gracefully my fantasy, my dream, my obsession. A slice of blueberry cheese cake.

“What is it?”

“A blueberry cheese cake,” I answered dreamily. Then I looked up, the urge to explain my sudden enthusiasm struck me, “I’ve always wanted to have a slice of blueberry cheese cake since I read about it on a magazine one day, but I never had a chance to.”

“Well, maybe this is your chance,” smiled Yuichi.

“I…” I hesitated, feeling ashamed to admit that I didn’t bring enough money to buy it.

“Come on in,” he said suddenly, pulling the hem of my sleeve, taking me into the shop. “I myself want to try that Sacher.”

Five minutes later, I found myself and Yuichi sat down across from each other at the table in the corner of the shop, slowly sipping our Cappuccino. It was almost nine thirty, and maybe we were the last customer. The shop was so quiet and cold. I could hear a faint sound of music, a nice old song, played somewhere.

“…red roses too, I see them bloom, for me and you…”

I looked up from my Cappuccino, “What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing,” he answered, “Just this song. What A Wonderful World. You know it, don’t you?”

“Oh, that song,” I smiled,”Been trying to catch the words, but I couldn’t make out what. Yeah, I know that song. My Mom loves it.”

Yuichi smiled, but somehow, I saw a glimpse of sadness came across his dark eyes.

“What is it, Yuichi?” I asked.

“What?”

“You looked a bit sad. Just then.”

He sipped his Cappuccino, and said jokingly, “Maybe because I have to pay all of these things.”

“Oh, you offended me…” I said, pretending to be hurt.

“Hahaha...” he laughed. “I wouldn’t be sad if you promise that next time we come here, it would be your turn to pay the bill.”

“Oh, sure!” I said determinedly, overjoyed by the chance of meeting him again someday. Here, in this small cake shop.

“All right,” he smiled. “There, try your blueberry cheese cake.”

I nodded, and took a small piece of it.

“How is it?” Yuichi asked, smiling.

“Hellihious…” I answered.

“Is it exactly the same?”

“What?”

“Its taste and what you’ve imagined before?”

I laughed. “Yuichi, I’m not sure I can imagine the taste of something!”

He just smiled. “Another silly question of Yuichi Sakuragi.”

“The twenty-first,” I said, taking another sip of my Cappuccino.

“You count them?” Yuichi asked in disbelief.

“One by one, hahaha…”

“Then you still remember my first?”

“No, but I remember that one you asked me after you seemed to be so seriously watching a feature about Nazi in NHK.”

“What was it?”

“You asked, ‘What are they saying?’ with that blank expression on your face.”

“Really? Oh, yeah, that one, I remember,” he laughed. “Yes, I was thinking of something else that time…”

“Hmm.”

With that, silence fell with a thud.

The song still playing. I ate my cheese cake slowly, taking a brief look at Yuichi sometimes. That same sadness hadn’t left his dark, sparkling eyes.

And then he asked, all in sudden, “Do you notice this sweet smell?”

I took a deep, slow breath, and smiled. I knew it like the back of my hands. “It’s vanilla-scented candle.”

“Nice smell,” he said.

“My favorite,” I smiled.

Another silence.

And then he said, “Talking of your favorites, I’m glad that I have at least made two of your dreams come true, hahaha…”

I nodded, smiling, “Yes, you are right…” Then I added jokingly, “But isn’t it a little bit arrogant?”

“Well… Maybe it has been an inseparable part of me, Yuki chan,” he answered with a smile.

Since that night, every time I light my candle, I will remember my first cheese cake, that nice old song, and Yuichi, who had made one of my dreams come true.