三角関係

I should probably write about this now. Or at least, I want to.

Exhibit A
Small, dark hair, pale skin. Although her birthplace is far away, I don’t know if she’d look like she’d fit in even there. I could never tell what she was thinking, although she could and did become lost in thought as much as I am. Can you imagine two people sitting around a flat saying nothing, both lost in thought? Even if moodiness could be an issue, it was oddly comforting.

Nadeshiko serves as an adequate pseudonym.

Endless cups of tea. Pots and pans and bowls and stained tea towels, all the result of my hands and my ability and her apathy. “Make me some rice.” “Give me a hug.” “Can we go to the pub?”.

Sex. Treatises on differences between languages. Alcohol. Sex. Interesting sex, detached, raw, intimate like smiling at a stranger on a bus (because at the end of the day, what do you really know about them?).

Sitting in a park late at night. She sits in my arms illuminated by the glow of her cigarette; the gentle scent of warm tobacco defines her shape. “I’ve almost quit smoking because it’s so expensive here”. She said less than that, in reality, but it’s hard to imitate her patois without seeming rude. English was like a coat that didn’t quite fit but still kept her warm.

What did I know about you? What did you know about me? Two people at an arms length shouldn’t be so close, two people shouldn’t be at an arms length just because that’s just the way they both are. Distant. Maybe the comfort of closeness drew the dark thoughts to the surface like poison from a wound. Maybe that was just me.

Sitting in that goddamn cafe before you left. I watched you use the last of your cigarettes, all three, as the dark sky threatened rain. You blew smoke gently from your mouth and sipped your coffee. “Why the hell didn’t I get told earlier?” is what I wanted to say. Instead you just kind of went. I have your email address… somewhere. It would be nice to talk, but what would we say? “Will we ever see each other again?”

Maybe it’s for the best that you left. I think I was falling in love with you.

Exhibit B
Tall, dark hair, tan skin. Her birthplace was also far away, or at least I think it was. The tang in her accent says yes. Smiling and happy, always. I don’t know if anyone’s ever seen a different mood of hers. Or maybe it’s because she’s a saleswoman and it carries over, bolstered by her natural bubbly personality.

We shall call her Marisa; there is no reason for this.

Our parents knew each other years back. Yours, trained in medicine but not destined to practice. Years pass and again my mother and your parents meet. My female parent, ever determined to preside over a veritable horde of grandchildren, attempts to tie us together with the red string of fate. Thus it begins.

You’re starting at my uni. I’m nice and I talk politely and show you things. I see you once a week at least, we stop by your stall. Coffee. “This building is here. That building is there”.

“Oh, this? I’m into anime and stuff. Haha, no, it’s cool, it’s my hobby, I didn’t expect you to be into it.” Behind the scenes I’m not sure what my mother is doing or saying. Maybe nothing. Maybe promising my soul. Most likely something in between. From all this, a seed is planted.

“Doe eyes” describes it well. “I’m a bastard” describes it better.

I think I might just have simply misunderstood some of the time. Her confidence was lacking, and didn’t we have a habit of going for coffee?

Often I was with people who weren’t you, and I’d skip by. Often I was busy. Once I was drunk. I wasn’t quite sure why I ran into you sometimes twice a day, or why I’d be told what you were doing, when you’d be free and how much time you had. A lot of it is in the way you say it.

This is speculation that I draw from what I do know: Once she saw me sitting under that bridge with a small Asian girl. We talk, English mainly, but sometimes words that you think are exotic and confusing but I know are simple, almost childish. “Mendou.” “Hoshii.” “Urusai.” English disappears suddenly.
“ね…あの人はエッドを見てる”
“ええ、そうですか”
“ちょっと、見ていませにょ”
Marisa, Nadeshiko. Nadeshiko, Marisa. Marisa smiles. Nadeshiko eats a mouthful of rice. Marisa says “See you later” and means it, and I realise that I’ve been playing with someone’s left hand as her right holds chopsticks and she called me annoying.

A straw most final: Coffee, lunch, the cafe in the garden, relax before exams, how’d you like that which you bought at our stall, see you later.

University’s aren’t very big, and our two became five. Who are these people? Weren’t we having coffee together? Why do you talk about things I don’t understand and can’t talk about?

I don’t think I even noticed her walk out to be honest.

A new semester. More class. More markets. But now her doe-eyed look just looks hurt. I don’t think she knows what to say to me, and I’m damn sure I have no idea what to say to her.

Exhibit C
A man christened Edward. Somewhat unremarkable, somewhat insecure, afraid of feelings like nobody’s business. Runs a blog that nobody reads. Head in the clouds. Needs a cup of tea.