Saying Goodbye, Part Two (Passports and Promises Book 1)

by Abigail Drake

  Dylan hadn’t died in a traffic accident or something random, like an earthquake or a tornado. He’d been sick, but not with something socially acceptable, like cancer. Although he died as a result of the illness, it wasn’t the illness that killed him, and it made him seem like a coward. He’d killed himself. He took his life.

  He’d died alone.

  I spent a lot of time picturing that bathroom. Making it up in my head. I imagined something sterile and white. Tiled. Cold. With a florescent light and a mirror above the sink.

  I saw Dylan take off his pajama bottoms, his face pale. His eyes hollow and empty. The pajama bottoms were blue. He wore an undershirt on top. He’d lost weight. I could see the bones in his shoulders and the outline of his ribs. He’d once had muscle there. Now he looked skinny and frail.

  I watched as he did things methodically. Locking the door. Knotting the pajamas around the showerhead after he’d created a complicated slipknot to put around his neck. He’d planned this out, his hands working quickly. Efficiently. He knew he didn’t have much time. He wanted this to be over.

  The way I imagined his death was probably a million times worse than it had actually been in real life, and I created several different scenarios. In the worst one, it happened slowly, with his eyes bulging and his face turning purple. At the last moment, he changed his mind, but it was too late. The slipknot he’d created worked too well. I pictured him clawing at it, desperate, until he finally died.

  Death by asphyxiation took close to five minutes. I learned that online. I set the timer on my phone, laid down on my futon, and waited. Trying to imagine every second of those five minutes. I couldn’t do it. It was too much.

  That night I decided to go back to the medical wing, afraid about what dreams would come if I tried to sleep. The nurse welcomed me with quiet understanding, tucking me back into the bed and putting the IV in my arm. Even with the sedatives, though, I woke up screaming. Thomas stayed by my bed the whole night, holding me when I cried out. Walking me home when it was over. Not saying a word.

  A week to the day after Dylan died, he showed up at my door, books in hand. “What are you doing here?”

  He ignored my attitude completely. “Time to hit the books, lassie. We don’t want you to forget everything I’ve taught you.”

  I furrowed my brows. “Everything you’ve taught me?”

  “Yes. Get dressed and let’s go.”

  I grumbled, but did as he asked, whipping off my pajamas right in front of him, stripping down to nothing, and shooting him a dirty look over my shoulder. “I have to shower first.”

  He nodded, trying not to stare at my bare bottom. I’d taken off my clothes in front of him to shock him, as a sort of a punishment, but still enjoyed the way his eyes darkened as they raked over me and the way he swallowed hard, trying to pretend it didn’t affect him, but I knew his reactions better than my own at this point.

  I was mad at Thomas. I blamed him, as illogical as that might seem, for what had happened. After resisting and pushing him away for so long, as soon as I’d let him in, tragedy struck. And it felt easier to point my anger at him. It gave me a target. A big, muscular, Scottish target.

  I came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, and attempted to brush through the tangles in my hair. I hadn’t exactly been practicing proper hair care the last few days. In fact, this may have been the first time my hair had gotten close to a brush all week. I’d gone to classes, wearing yoga pants and a hoodie with my hair pulled up in a bun, but I’d come back straight after class, curled up on my futon, and went to sleep. Hana had been an angel, washing my clothes, forcing me to eat, making sure I stayed on something resembling a schedule without interfering too much. I’d needed her. She kept me afloat.

  The brush got stuck in my hair and I swore loudly, slamming my fist on the counter and ready to cry. Thomas came up behind me, not saying a word, and slowly and painstakingly removed the brush from my hair. I watched him in the mirror, his eyes completely focused on the task, being extra careful not to tug too hard or hurt me. When he got it out, he started brushing through the tangles. My eyes never left his face. His eyes never left my hair.

  “You’ve got a right proper rat’s nest here.”

  Once he got the knots out, he started at the top and brushed in slow, even strokes. My hair fell wet and cold against my bare shoulders. I hugged the towel closer to my body. In spite of the horror of what had just happened, in spite of my anger at Thomas, I felt it again. Contentment. It pissed me off.

  I pulled away from Thomas and tossed my towel on the floor. “I need to get dressed.”

  I grabbed my clothes, yanking a top over my head. Not bothering with a bra, but putting on undies and sweats. I stuck on my Theta hoodie, twisted my hair into a bun, and picked up my backpack.

  “Are you ready or what?” I asked, stomping to the door.

  “Yes, my little ray of sunshine. We’ll go to the library. It’ll be nice and quiet there.”

  My hand paused on the doorknob. “There’s somewhere I’d like to go first.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  I wanted to smack him. “Don’t be so freaking accommodating all the time. Especially when I’m being a total bitch.”

  I started to open the door, but he put a hand on it to stop me. “You’re not being a bitch.” He thought about it a second and then changed his mind. “Well, you are being a bitch, but it’s because you’re in pain. Like a lion with a thorn in its claw. I’m trying to help you get the thorn out, but your natural response is to take a swipe or two, isn’t it?”

  “That’s a nice little analogy, but you’re forgetting one thing.”

  “What?”

  “My claws are sharp, and you’re going to get hurt.”

  We walked to Ryoanji in silence. Well, I was silent. Thomas blathered on and on about his university in Scotland, the weather in St. Andrews, the best pub food he’d ever had, and other completely meaningless and unimportant things, but I felt myself starting to relax as he spoke, the tension easing ever so slightly in my shoulders. By the time we reached the gate, I no longer felt like a ball of fury. More like a little bubble of irritation.

  I loved Thomas. With all my heart. I’d never felt anything close to this for anyone else, and probably never would again. But every time I looked at him, I saw Dylan in my mind’s eye, knotting his pajama pants around his neck. I had a feeling the images would get worse and not better if we slept together again. The idea terrified me.

  Thomas’ face lit up when we reached the gates of Ryoanji. “I haven’t been here yet. I’ve been meaning to come.”

  The guard recognized me, bowing and giving me a little smile. “Ando isn’t here today,” he said in English.

  My shoulders slumped. “Will he be back tomorrow?”

  “I’m not certain. I’ll let him know you were here.”

  Disappointed, my feet dragged as we walked into the complex. I’d really wanted to spend time with Mr. Ando. I needed my friend.

  “So who is Ando? My competition?” He wiggled his eyebrows, teasing me, but I couldn’t smile. Thomas did have competition. A dead guy named Dylan.

  “He’s my friend. He helps me. A lot.”

  Thomas put a friendly arm around my shoulders. “Sorry, Sam. I just wanted to get a smile out of you. I miss seeing you laugh.”

  “I don’t think I can,” I said softly. “I wonder if I’ll ever laugh again. It’s like I’m…”

  I searched for the right word. Thomas supplied it. “Frozen?”

  I nodded. “On the inside and the out. Like the actual muscles of my face can’t move or have forgotten how to smile. Does that sound stupid?”

  “Not at all. After my da died, it was strange. At first, we all felt relieved. He’d been in pain for so long, suffering so much. A horrible way to die. Then we felt guilt for feeling relieved. After that, we got angry because he’d been sick at all. Finally, we accepted it. Sadness is part of the whole journey, but at the end, it’s
more of a dull ache, a tug at your heart, and not the blinding pain you feel at first.”

  Thomas saw the tsukubai and got excited. “Is that what I think it is? Your puzzle?”

  I nodded. “Mr. Ando gave it to me as a homework assignment. He likes to do stuff like that.”

  I told him about how I’d met Mr. Ando and brought him to the viewing area for the rock garden. Being Saturday, it was a little busier today than usual, but we still found a spot and spent some time staring at the strange, quiet beauty of the rocks and sand. Still, and yet somehow in a constant state of motion and change.

  Thomas, for once, didn’t make a sound. The garden seemed to affect him as much as it did me. Just being there made me feel better, and more at peace, than I had in a week.

  The next few days, I visited Ryoanji frequently, but never saw Mr. Ando. I spent hours staring at the rocks. Trying to find some kind of balance and meaning. My life had tilted off its axis and I needed a way to make it right again.

  I spent all my time at class or studying. Sometimes, I studied with Thomas although I kept my distance. Any time he touched me, I tensed up. Every time he made me want to laugh, a cold wave of pain washed over me. A tsunami of guilt. I struggled to maintain my anger, to be faithful to Dylan’s memory in a way I never could in life. Loving Thomas meant letting go of the anger and the guilt, and I just couldn’t do that.

  It was easier to study alone. Like my visits to Ryoanji, working on kanji helped me. Focusing on the complicated shapes and strokes took so much concentration it gave me a brief hiatus from the burning, awful, agonizing thoughts about Dylan.

  Kylie came to visit me with Kenzo, the cute bartender from her hostess bar. She pulled me into a huge hug when she saw me.

  “Thomas told me about what happened. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

  I nodded, my lips quivering. Every time I thought I couldn’t cry another tear, I somehow found a way, like I had a never-ending tear supply hidden somewhere deep inside me. My body ached from trying to be quiet as I sobbed myself to sleep every night. Hana never mentioned it, but I think she knew. I’d often catch her watching me with worried eyes.

  Kylie took my hand. “I’m here if you ever need someone to talk with, you know that, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “I know. Thank you.”

  We switched to Japanese so Kenzo could be part of the conversation. It surprised me to learn Kylie was quite fluent, although it felt strange to speak Japanese to each other.

  “How long have you two known each other?”

  “We met last summer,” said Kylie. “When I came to work at the bar.”

  “She didn’t like me,” said Kenzo, with a grin. “She thought I was annoying.”

  “I still think that,” said Kylie, giving him a wink.

  They made a cute couple. Kylie’s curly red hair and pale skin contrasted nicely with Kenzo’s silky dark hair and deep tan. He was muscular, but in a way very different from Thomas. Kenzo’s body reminded me of a panther, sleek and sinewy. Thomas had bigger bones and the bulkier muscles earned from years of playing rugby.

  “He invited me to go windsurfing with him,” she rolled her eyes. “Total disaster.”

  He laughed. “You were brilliant.”

  “Let’s be honest. I nearly drowned. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Maybe you can try again next summer,” I said.

  Kylie looked a little sad. “My contract will be up in June, and my visa will expire.”

  “Are you thinking about renewing it?”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t do this job for another year. I’m barely able to handle it now.”

  Kenzo took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. I wondered how they managed to be together when Kenzo had to watch other men touch her and fondle her every night at work. I wanted to ask, but didn’t know how to do it. Kenzo seemed to read my thoughts.

  “It’s terrible to work together, but it’s better than not being together at all. At least if I’m there, with her, I get to see her. I can try to protect her. Does that make sense? I can handle it, even the bad parts, as long as we’re together.”

  I stared at them, wishing I could be this open and honest with Thomas. It didn’t seem possible. I reached up and touched the thistle necklace. I wore it every day. I couldn’t stand to take it off. Even though it might send Thomas the wrong message, I felt better with it around my neck.

  They got up to leave, and Kylie pulled me into another hug. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  I nibbled on my lip. “There is something…”

  “What?”

  I told her about our research project. “Do you mind if I wrote about you and Kenzo and your job at the hostess bar? I won’t use your real names.”

  “Sure,” she said, and Kenzo nodded in agreement. “It’s not like Mrs. Miyata will read your paper, but it would be better for both of us if you didn’t give too many details.”

  “I understand.”

  I thanked her and kissed her goodbye. As soon as I closed the door behind them, I realized something strange. I looked forward to working on the research project again. That and studying gave me something to do with my mind instead of thinking about Dylan.

  I’d been stuck in a cycle, feeling guilt over Dylan, anger at Thomas, guilt over Thomas, anger at myself. Then I circled back again to guilt over Dylan. I’d gotten tired of it, running over and over the same emotions like a hamster on a wheel. I couldn’t stand it anymore and just wanted to jump off.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I finally saw Mr. Ando almost two weeks after Dylan died. He looked pale and smaller than I remembered.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just old,” he said with a smile that still had megawatt strength. “You look different, Sami-chan. Are you well?”

  I shook my head, finding it hard to speak. I’d found him in the outer garden, in a quiet spot near a bare tree. The sunshine peeking through the clouds took away the worst of the chill, but I still worried about how much time Mr. Ando spent working outdoors. He’d been pruning the tree and clearing debris when I’d found him. It seemed awfully hard labor for someone his age, and ticked me off.

  “Shouldn’t you be resting? I hate seeing you work like this, out in the cold. It’s too much.”

  He shook his head. “I enjoy it. I’ve known this tree a long time. It’s nearly as old as I am. Tell me, what is wrong? Why are you so sad? I know it can’t be all about me and my terrible working environment.”

  He spread his hands, a twinkle in his eyes, indicating the beautiful serenity of the garden. I took a deep, shaky breath, not sure where to begin.

  “My friend died. He killed himself.”

  Mr. Ando made a sympathetic tsking sound. “I’m sorry, both because you no longer have your friend, and also because he chose to take his life. He must have felt he had no other option.”

  “I guess.”

  Mr. Ando led me to a bench under the bare tree. The branches swayed in the wind, making me feel like we were enclosed in our own little private sanctuary.

  “I understand in your country, suicide is a shameful thing. This is not always the case here in Japan. Do you know about hari-kiri, also known as sepuku?”

  “Yes. I studied about it when I learned about samurai.”

  “There can be honor in death, and different ways of facing it bravely. We can never know another’s private battles. We can never truly walk in another person’s shoes.”

  I thought about how Dylan had described his previous bout of depression, how the darkness had felt ever-present and all-powerful. How he’d been in constant physical and emotional agony. Maybe he just couldn’t see any other conclusion. Maybe he’d just needed to end the torment.

  Mr. Ando looked up at the bare branches of the tree. “This tree dies every winter. I have watched it happen for more than half a century. But every spring it finds a way to come back to life again. Look closely, Sami-chan.”

  I stared at the bare branches. They looked
pretty dead to me, but when I peered closer I saw the start of little green leaves. Buds covered every branch. I hadn’t even noticed them until Mr. Ando pointed it out.

  “Life. It happens even now, during this time of bitter cold and darkness. It finds a way. It keeps going. It is stronger, maybe even stronger than death.”

  When I walked back to my dorm, Thomas waited for me, a tall, good-looking Japanese man by his side. They both had on rugby clothes.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Sam.”

  The man spoke with a strong Australian accent. “I know. We’ve already met.”

  “Shinji? Holy cow. You look a little different.”

  He laughed. “Without the kimono? Yeah, it’s easier to play rugby in these,” he said, indicating his shorts.

  “Shinji got in touch with his friend Michiko, the one who works at the pink salon. She’s off tonight. She said she could meet with us,” said Thomas.

  “Really?”

  “Do you think you’re up for it? If not, I could meet with her on my own.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, a little surprised at the surge of jealousy that coursed through me at the thought of him meeting up with a professional blowjob artist. “No, I’m coming with you.”

  We met Michiko after dinner at a small coffee shop near Kyoto Station. Shinji came with us for the sake of making the introduction, but he had other plans and didn’t stay. I had to wonder if his “other plans” involved dressing up in women’s clothing. It seemed pretty likely.

  Michiko was not at all what I expected. Tiny and delicate, wearing a white frilly blouse that buttoned to her chin and a conservative skirt, I couldn’t imagine her saying the word “blowjob” let alone working in a pink salon.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” I said. “You are very kind.”

  She seemed so fragile. So beautiful. I immediately felt protective of her. I’m sure Thomas did as well. I was very glad I hadn’t sent Thomas here on his own. First of all, Michiko was way too pretty. Secondly, she didn’t speak English. Thomas wouldn’t have learned much from her at all.