Right Here Waiting Ch. 2
By Kumori

Chunli entered the Japanese Art Appreciation room. She carefully took her new text and its companion workbook and sat where she was told, in the center of the room. A quick survey of the other students told her she had laid eyes on none of these kids before. It was not a large class, perhaps twenty; half of them were boys.

* Did they really want to learn more about Japanese Art, or were they just refusing to take other courses such as Study Skills, Current Events or Oceanography? * Chunli thought.

The teacher, a short man with glasses at the end of his nose, his bald head gleamed in the light, of whom she had never even heard let alone met, showed slides. Chunli straightened her back, which was her usual response to slides; she wanted to get a better look.

But as the room went dark, and the kids around her became shadows of themselves, her eye was caught not by the Japanese arts but by the profile of the man in front of her, one row to her left. For a moment, Chunli didn’t know what to do; her heart pounding, she was sure he was the man whom she met in the cafeteria, the one with the dark and intense eyes, the one who gave her the strange feelings.

Chunli sucked in a deep breathe and was glad that the room was dark; nobody would have noticed her face was bright red. Once again her eyes were drawn by the profile of the man: He had the most mobile face she had ever seen. Even in the dusk of the quiet classroom, she could see him shift his jaw, lower and lift his eyes, tighten and relax his lips. Several times he lifted a hand to touch his cheek, and he touched it in a most peculiar fashion – as if he were exploring it. As if it belonged to somebody else, or as if he had not known, until this very second, that he even had a cheek.

The lights went on. Chunli blinked once then twice to adjust the sudden brightness in the room. Chunli looked over to where he seated. The seat was empty, it was as if she had dreamed of his existence, he was never here before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chunli headed for the school bus, which she rarely took. But she did not get on the bus after all. Walking purposefully down the road, knowing his destination, was the dark and silent man from the Japanese Art Appreciation.

The high school had been built a decade ago in a rural area. No people lived within walking distance.

Yet the man walked.

And Chunli, because she was curious, followed him.

The first two blocks of following the man meant nothing; anybody could reasonably walk down the wide cement.

But then the man turned, and strode down a side street: 'DEAD END' said the sign at the top the street. Chunli knew that she had no business of following that man, and that she shouldn’t be doing it right now. But the feelings; the strange feelings deep within her, urged her to go on.

So Chunli crossed the road, and followed the man down the little lane.

She had his attention now. An odd, keep-your-back-turned attention. He didn’t look around at her. At one point he paused, and stood very still. She matched him. He walked on; she walked on. He walked faster for a while; she did too. Then he slowed down. So did Chunli.

She was mesmerized by the task of making her feet land exactly when his did. He had long strides, despite the heavy books she was carrying, she had no problem of following his strides.

The house ended.

The road narrowed.

The trees that had neatly stayed inside hedges and yards now arched over the street. Chunli glanced back over her shoulder. At this time of year, the trees were still full of leaves. They lay like a dark canopy overhead, fencing off the sky. The leaves high above her and the pine needles at her feet acted like insulation, deadening all sound.

At the end of the lane, an immense boulder loamed likes a huge altar from some old world circle of stones. Chunli had the strangest sensation, that she was in one of the dream now; the dream that she had when she was still young so young that she didn’t understand what the dream was trying to tell her. And as she grew older, she wanted to find out more but was confused and refused to accept the fact that she is quite different from the rest of her friends. She had a hidden past… A past that didn’t belong to her but to someone else…

* Is this what the dream was trying to tell me; to follow my heart or to follow the man…* she had no idea.

Very, very slowly the man turned to see whose feet had been matching his what person had trespassed on his road. Dark motionless eyes, quiet features. Not a word. Not a gesture. The man was simply there, unmoving.

There were about twenty paces between them. Neither he nor she attempted to narrow the distance.

“Hi,” she said at last. She struggled for a smile, but fear gave her a twitch instead.

He did not ask her what she was doing, nor where she was going.

“I followed you,” she said finally.

He nodded.

A flush of shame rose upon her face. She cursed herself for her foolish act and struggled to find explanations for her ridiculous behavior.

“I was curious, because no one would be out here, unless he was up to no good. So – you were walking – and I walked, too – and here we are.”

At last he spoke.

“You don’t have to explain.” His voice was like butter: soft and golden She loved his voice.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “I just feel like I own you an explanation.”

He said, “I’ll walk you back to the road.”

“What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“That depends on you perspective,” the man replied. “ You might call it the middle of nowhere, but someone else might think it’s the center of everything.”

Chunli smiled, “Okay, then, what are you doing here?”

Instead of telling her the answer, he said, “Tell me about yourself.”

She did. She told him about her parents, the death of her parents, the dreams that she had. She poured out her feelings as if he was her psychiatric counselor and she was paying by the hour. She only gets to know him today and yet here she was describing the workings of her heart and soul, as if he was a friend, as if he could be trusted.

He simply nodded. His expression never changed. It was neither friendly nor hostile, neither sorry for her nor annoyed with her. But his eyes did shine at the mention of the dreams she had.

She had to know more about him. She wanted to see him with his family. He might even have a wife or a daughter. She wanted to see him in his car and in his garden, playing with his dogs. Chunli laughed at her own imagination.

“Will you able to get home from here?” he asked. They were standing next to the bright yellow ‘DEAD END’ sign.

Chunli nodded. Time seemed to pass much faster when they were together.

She said, “I’m Chunli.”

“Chunli,” he repeated. How softly he sounded each word.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

For a while, she thought he would not tell her, that even giving out his name to a teenage girl was too much personal expression for him. Then he said, “Ryu.”

“Ryu?” She repeated. “What an odd name! Are you a Japanese?”

He actually smiled. She was lifted up on that smile like a swallow on a gust of summer wind. His smile was beautiful; it was wonderful; it was buried treasure, and she, Chunli had uncovered it.

“Yes, I am,” he answer. The smile slowly closed, leaving behind only a sweet friendliness.

He extended his right hand and took hold of her left hand: the one that couldn’t open, the one that clutched in a tight fist.

Effortlessly, he peeled open her fingers one after another. Chunli stared, at her opened palm and the fingers stretched out, amazed. In the middle of her left palm, written in blood red letters was the word ‘Ryu’.