Don't Let Go Of My Hnad

              

1.

Last night I had a dream.

I dreamed of standing here, on this rooftop under millions of stars, facing Shinjuku Gyoen Park. I dreamt of talking to him — he was just a few breaths away. I saw our outstretched arms, hands still holding on tight as his steps tore them apart. Then he was gone.

Then I dreamed of solitude. I dreamed of loneliness until it didn’t feel like a dream anymore. It felt like a memory.

2.

On the most wonderful April night, I agreed to meet him outside of Shinjuku Gyoen. He stood there waiting, wearing that smile he welcomed me with each time we met.

“What are we doing here?” The words slipped out of my mouth before saying hello.

He grinned. “Didn’t you agree to watch a movie with me?”

“Yes?”

“Brilliant. Where better than the very place featured in the movie?” He pointed at the park.

“The park? We’ll watch a movie at the park?”

His face lit with delight, he extended his hand to request mine.

“It’s been closed since 4 p.m.!” I cried, refusing to give him my hand.

“Yes, but the small door next to the main Sendagaya Gate is often unlocked. Did you know? It’s unlocked tonight too. I double-checked.” He kept smiling widely, looking straight into my eyes. “We can jump over the second door next to the ticket control. It’s not high. Thank God you’re not wearing heels.”

I sighed. “You’re crazy. What’s in your backpack? Picnic equipment? You’re making my life hard.”

A laugh escaped his lips. “You won’t regret it. I promise.” He gave me his hand and I grabbed it without even knowing how to refuse him anything.

We walked from the entrance and all the way through the Japanese Garden section. Just before reaching the English Garden, we found the perfect spot. A short wooden fence on the side had guided our path. Next to it, rays of moonlight painted silver linings on the enchanting dark waters of the lake. A few cherry trees lined the side.

“Here!”

I looked at his excited face and laughed. He was as happy as the children that played in that park on the weekends.

We sat under a cherry tree facing the lake. He drew his knee up to his chest and rested his arm on it. “Will you wait for me again this time?”

How could I answer such a question again? I lay on the grass and tapped the ground to invite him next to me. We faced each other as he threaded his fingers through mine. I stayed silent, looking at him. He didn’t insist on a response. “You know,” I said after a few quiet minutes. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a long time. Can you imagine how dancers feel when they walk on stage?”

“Terrified, I guess.”

“Sure. But you know what else? Alive.” I turned to face the sky. “Alive because no matter how much your knees tremble before the music starts, once it does your soul sings along. You walk up there and you take your position like you’re telling the world, ‘Hey, listen!’ And then the music starts and you dance your way through everything you never dared to say. You dance to show them what the notes shout, and how your heart interprets the melody. You dance to reveal your secrets. You dance to convince them that loneliness can disappear, you only have to find the light. You dance for all the things you wanted to scream but didn’t.”

“And what did you wanna scream last night?”

“If you didn’t hear it maybe I have a reason to dance again. I’ll make sure to be louder.”

He smiled and kissed my fingers. “Will you wait?”

“Every time I say I won’t. But then you call, and text, and say you’ll be back soon and my heart follows your rhythm. In any case, I have no other choice but wait. You said you didn’t hear me so I have to dance again.”

“If that’s the case, I think I won’t hear you next time either.” He grinned.

I laughed and looked at him. He tangled his fingers with mine and pulled me to his chest. His eyes glowed with sparks of happiness and sadness. Maybe he felt my doubts.

3.

Despite Tokyo’s million neon lights, I can still get a glimpse of the stars from this rooftop. It makes me wonder if the night sky is similar to human nature. At night you can’t see all those beautiful colors smoothly painted on the day’s light blue sky. At night it’s all black, all darkness. But then again, if it wasn’t we would never see the stars. Where would all our wishes go?

Maybe it works exactly the same with people. Sometimes life shows beautiful pictures, painted with brilliantly colored dreams. And on the way, we miss the beauty of darkness. We forget that during this time there will always be something, someone, to make it alright. To make it worthwhile. But we can easily miss this something, this someone. So the light never comes and darkness loses its magic.

4.

The first time I met this light that would later shine my own path I was at my favorite bar, drinking with my friends and whining about how life loses its importance when you realize you’re maybe not much more than a walking shadow. While I went on and on about how much music meant to me, my lips tingled with the itch to confess how darkness filled my routine. How much I liked to draw what I couldn’t touch, and how I wrote the words my mouth caged every day, trying to escape what was impossible to get away from.

He stood behind me and listened to most of my drunk talk. I didn’t detect his presence until my friend grimaced and whispered about a weirdo staring at me. I turned to face him. He was actually barely standing.

“You know what you’re talking about, don’t you?” His lips curved upward.

“Of course I know. Do you? You seem like you’ve had a few too many.”

“That doesn’t matter. Come with me, I’m sitting just over here. I wanna hear a little more of what you had to say.” He stretched out his hand to take mine.

Agape, I stared at him startled by his intrusion.

“Please,” he insisted. “I won’t bite, I promise.”

I sighed, nodded at my friends and took his hand. Why on Earth not? Maybe I was even doing my friends a favor. I wasn’t the best company to be around that night. He held me tight, his palm was warm and — unlike him — steady. The slight curve of his lips gave way to a wide, bright smile.

We sat at the bar and ordered more drinks with the confidence of people who did that often. For some reason it didn’t get awkward, we didn’t search what to say, we didn’t even try to feel comfortable. It was all so familiar.

“You’re an artist,” I said.

“I don’t consider myself an artist, but I heard that you are. I could even tell. What are you doing in Japan?”

I explained how Japan represents hope to me. The pianist played smoothly Ryuichi Sakamoto’s Merry Christmas Mr.Lawrence and I smiled at the memories it brought to my mind.

There was something about that night that made me unusually happy. Maybe our words were meaningful enough, or perhaps the pianist hit the perfect notes — I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that his warm hand on mine made the world a little less horrible for a few hours.

“Life sucks y’know. But then there are some moments, maybe even like this one, that are worth going through the same mess over and over just to get to live them,” I said, looking at the remains of ice in my glass.

He grinned. “Does that mean you’re having a good time with me?”

“Maybe.” I tried to stifle a chuckle. “Or perhaps I really like this song.”

He beamed and I sank into an ocean of thoughts, oddly, with him in it.

When my focus returned to his face, he was looking at me. “What were you thinking about?”

I blushed. “That you never mind your own business.”

He laughed and with a quick move he pressed his lips softly against mine.

5.

The day he disappeared for the first time it was like he pulled the rug from under my feet. I landed on a cold floor of dusty memories from a solitude I had long forgotten. It all went dark again.

Later, I realized this was a Hide and Seek game where we could only be both winners or losers. These moments for me were like little deaths. We probably wouldn’t see each other for months. Maybe more; hopefully, less. I hated it. I hated every single day I had to describe to him because of his absence. I hated all the important moments I missed from his life that limited what I had to give to text messages and phone calls. I hated the fear of losing him each day.

6.

I felt a warmth. The weight of his body lying next to me, fingers combing through my hair. I’d always loved the scent of his breath, gently sliding on my skin. I breathed deeper. Was it really him or my sleepish mind playing games with me again? I hesitated to open my eyes. If I did and he was there I’d be the happiest woman on earth. But what if it was a dream? What if I opened them and the dream ceased to exist? I didn’t want to lose that moment.

Stuck between my urge to see him and my fear of losing him again, I slowly raised my hand near my face. If he’s here he’ll notice. My pulse spiked, quickening the more I waited. His fingers drew a vertical line on my hand and he tangled them with mine. It’s him. I opened my eyes. He moved fast toward me, and before I had time to see him, he kissed softly each one of them.

“Finally,” he whispered.

I grabbed his hand tight, eyes wide open in surprise, my breath caught. He really is here. It took me a minute to speak. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“How could I miss this sight?”

He climbed on me, wrapping his body around mine. His right hand held the back of my head, the other traveled over my body forming lines of desire. His touch reacted to my warmth and when his fingers reached my waist he tightened his grip. He pressed our hips together. In a nirvana of his scent and touch, I lost sense of reality. I touched his face and kissed him greedily.

His lips made their way to my neck. He pressed his ear against my chest and I brushed my fingers against his hair. “I missed this sound,” he said kissing that spot on my chest.

“Why are you here?” I asked, praying the word goodbye wouldn’t escape his lips.

“Hey, I love you,” he whispered. “I told you I’d be back. I feel better. Now, wake up and let’s go somewhere.” He took my hand.

7.

When I last saw him we were sitting at a friend’s restaurant. His eyes clouded with a melancholy only I could detect. I knew this melancholy. He asked our friend if he’d allow me to play a couple of songs on the piano, and then whether I could do him that favor. So I did. The waiter left my drink on the side table, I sat in front of the piano and I played and played until my fingers hurt, until silent tears forced me to stop.

After I’d finished, he kissed my hand. We sat at the bar and drank. He asked if I knew what he wanted to say. I replied I did. He said he might be back. I begged him to stay. He bowed his head and said he wouldn’t risk dragging me along. I touched his lips with my fingers, hating the words.

It was never certain he’d come back. But it didn’t matter. Because I always knew if he would.

8.

I sit down with my legs hanging over the eave of this rooftop. I see the city lights creating shadows that fill up the streets. Aren’t we all the same, really? Colorless shadows filling up the streets?

I close my eyes remembering the touch of his hand, the sound of his voice saying “Hey, let’s do this.” I smile. We are indeed all shadows until we find our light. Keeping my eyes shut, I try to feel his hand on mine once more. And I do.

Tears sliding down my cheeks I open my eyes, and he’s next to me.

The same melancholy drawn in his eyes, he extends his hand to take mine, but only a wave of chills passes through my body.

I knew this time he wouldn’t return.

I stand up, my heart beating fast, I glance at the sky once more. I no longer care to hold back the tears. With my eyes shut, I focus to get a sense of his hand.

“Hey, let’s do this.”