by J. J. McAvoy
Snatching the napkin from him I glared as I wiped my nose. “After eighteen years of separation! That’s still sad, they kept missing one another. All those years they could have been together longer.”
“You would have still cried anyway,” he muttered. “Which ocean did you drink?”
Mr. Yamauchi laughed at him. “How long have you two been together?”
“Together?” Malachi and I asked simultaneously, and before I could say anything he spoke first…again. “We’re not together at all. She’s my agent’s granddaughter.”
Kikuko frowned as she looked between us. “You two aren’t married?”
I gasped as I tried to catch my breath. “Marriage now? How did we jump to there?”
“No. She’s far too young for me.”
I looked at him. “You’re only two years older than my ex-boyfriend. What do you mean far too young?”
He tapped the side of his head. “I meant mentally.”
Grabbing the water bottle, I prepared to hit him when Mr. Yamauchi started to laugh and cough which caused Kikuko to put her hands on his shoulders. He shook his head at her and glanced back up at us.
“You both…are good people…” he coughed again and Kikuko got up to help him into his chair but he waved her off. “I’m fine, Kiku. I just woke up. Let me talk.”
“It’s getting cold. We’ll be back tomorrow,” she said to us, and while I gathered the lunch boxes and silver chopsticks, Malachi dusted off the blanket and carefully folded it before handing it back to Kikuko.
“Malachi.” Mr. Yamauchi waved him over. “Do you want to know the secret to having a long life?”
“I’ve never thought about it, however, I know someone who might like to know.” I knew he was talking about me and I wanted to hear the answer for myself but Kikuko stepped in front of me, and even though she was shorter, her voice distracted me.
“We talked about it and agreed that we’ll publish our story if you’re the writer of it.”
“Wait, what?” I looked at her. “I can’t—”
“Then we won’t do it.”
I frowned. I’d heard their story from Officer Richards, and while Malachi was laying around I’d gone out to find them. I knew people wanted to hear a story like this but I didn’t think I’d have to write it, I was planning on hiring a ghost writer.
“The story is already written,” Mr. Yamauchi said as he steadied the blanket and bento boxes that sat in his lap. “Just make sure to describe how handsome I am.”
“You weren’t that handsome though.” Kikuko laughed as she finished packing up and stood behind his chair.
“Sure…make sure to describe her beaver cheeks too.”
“Bring up my cheeks up one more time I’ll leave you to the beavers!” Kikuko grumbled as she pushed him forward. “Have a good evening. Get home safe, Esther, and send the information to our daughter.”
“She’s a lawyer, did you know?” Mr. Yamauchi asked proudly. “Has she called today?”
“Not yet. She’s waiting for us to let her know when.” She waved to us once more before leaving with him and walking along the cleared path that led back towards their home.
“Every day she walks him to this field. Tells him a story and he magically becomes lucid for a short while,” I whispered, watching them as they made their way to the other side of the forest. “By the time they get back home he forgets again. Every day it’s like this and they’re both happy. It’s beautiful.”
“Li-Mei,” he said randomly.
“What?”
“The woman who I’ve loved nine hundred and ninety-nine times.” He turned to me. “In this life her name is Li-Mei Zhou, and just like in all of our past lives she doesn’t remember either.” He frowned as he tucked his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “I know you wanted to help me see other people’s lives…I’m not upset about it. But it does make me frustrated with my own story too.”
He’d moved on too quickly. I was still on Li-Mei. “Li-Mei Zhou? My Li-Mei?”
“Why is she yours?”
I didn’t answer because she wasn’t my Li-Mei but she was my friend, and now…now I didn’t know how I could not tell her about this.
“Don’t tell her,” he said as if he could read my mind. “I want her to be happy in this life and I’ll try to do the same. That’s what you wanted right?”
I didn’t know.
My head hurt the more I tried to.
MALACHI
“She really made an art room,” I muttered to myself when I flicked on the light.
When I’d finished with a painting I tried to never look at them again. However, Esther, intrusive, the-sun-is-always-shinning-even-when-it’s-pouring-outside Esther, had put them up on easels. I was forced to face them all…all the images of her. And for some reason, though it was eerie in a way seeing all her eyes, in every different shade, staring back at me, I didn’t feel the pain. I couldn’t with Mr. Yamauchi words circling my mind.
“The secret to a long life, Malachi, is loving to live, knowing suffering for the sake of love isn’t suffering, and finding joy in that.”
Reaching over I turned off the lights and locked the door from the inside before closing it.
10. WAKE UP CALLS
MALACHI
SATURDAY
BEEP…
BEEP…
BEEP…
Not again.
“Rise and shine.”
Rolling over I covered my eyes against the assaulting rays of the sun. “Tell me, is this going to be a daily thing?”
“Only until you start getting up before me. Here’s breakfast.”
Looking to my left I saw a full plate of food was waiting for me along with a steaming cup of decaf coffee. This time on the silverware was an origami butterfly.
Sitting up I glared at her. How she could be so upbeat at such an ungodly hour was beyond me.
“Did you write anything last night? Were you inspired?”
Ignoring her I took the butterfly and opened up the wings. “The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second best time is now.—Chinese Proverb.” I looked to her. “What?”
“Translation. You should have written the book yesterday but since you didn’t we can start today. Do you have any ideas?”
“Have you started with the Yamauchi’s story yet?”
The smile on her face dropped and she glared at me. “No one is waiting—”
“They are old. You should try before they die.”
“Eat.” She handed me a piece of toast. “I’m trying, are you?”
“You don’t try to write you just write,” I told her as I bit into the toast.
“Then why aren’t you writing?!” She snapped at me.
I ate more. “Today is a little bit salty don’t you think? And can I get some real coffee?”
“You are an insufferable human being.” She stood up. “I am not your maid, I can leave anytime I want to.”
“Goodbye then.” I nodded to her.
She reached out as if she were going to choke me before stomping out and slamming the door behind her.
“Don’t forget the coffee!” I hollered.
She cursed at me and I smirked as I bit into a piece of bacon.
MONDAY
BEEP…
BEEP…
BEEP….
“Good morning!”
“I’m changing the locks,” I muttered as the sun hit my eyes.
“I’ll break a window.”
What was terrible was that I believed her. She really would break the windows.
Sitting up I turned to examine my breakfast of omelets and oatmeal. Her origami animal of choice for today was a crocodile.
“The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.—Dolly Parton.”
“Translation—” She placed the laptop next to me. “I can do this for a while. Why? Because I want my book. My book is the rainbow and you’re the rain.”
I stared at her for a moment then lifted the paper crocodile. “Why this animal though?”
“My crocodile tears at your disdain for waking up.”
“Okay then.” So this was what it was like to live with a crazy person. Their craziness stopped phasing you at some point.
WEDNESDAY
“Oh my god!” She gasped as I leaned against my wall and stared at the door as she walked through with breakfast.
“Why did I wake up thirty minutes ago?” I asked as I lifted my cell phone and showed it to her. “I know, it’s because someone has been waking me up earlier and earlier, but today she came in at 8 a.m.”
She grinned. “I overslept.”
“Does that mean I can get back to doing that too?”
“Sure. Do I have my book?”
“Have you written—?”
“I’ve gotten the three chapters done already. And since you’re up we can eat downstairs as you read it.”
With that, she left and I got up off the bed again. I only made it a few feet before I heard the pots clamoring as they fell to the ground.
“I’m okay!” She hollered.
“I’m more worried about my pots,” I said as I walked downstairs.
“Your pots?” She looked over to me. “I’m the one who bought them! Mr. All-I-need-is-a- dozen-mugs-a-bowl-one-plate-and-a-frying-pan.”
“You don’t even cook. So why buy pots?”
“You can’t live in a house without pots!”
“You don’t live here.”
“Then write my book so I can go home to my house of pots!” She snatched the one in my hand from me and put it back into the kitchen cupboard.
“Where is this story you wrote?” I asked as I examined the breakfast she left on the kitchen counter. This time her animal of choice was a ram. I lifted it up. “Let me guess, because I’m stubborn?”
She gasped and placed her hand over her heart. “Malachi…you’re awake before eight, you’re eating downstairs, and to top it off you admit your own flaws…be still my beating heart.”
“‘I don't know how you persist in being so stubborn?’ ‘It's a superpower. I was bitten by a radioactive mule.’―Shannon Hale”.
When I looked back up at her she was grinning because she felt ever-so-clever.
“That’s inspirational?” I asked her.
“No need to inspire you too much. Besides, my spider sense was telling me you’d be awake by now so why not make you laugh?”
I clapped. “Nice cover.”
“Let me get my book before your change your mind.” She rushed to the couch behind me and I watched her go in amazement. She really was persistent and that in itself was inspiring.
ESTHER
“You’re a terrible writer,” said Malachi the Merciless as he drank his morning coffee. His thick-framed glasses were perched on his nose as he read from my laptop.
“Wow, thanks,” I muttered as I tried to take it back but he pushed my hand away and continued reading.
“You’re a beautiful thinker. I can see what it is you want to say but you’re just making things complicated.” He frowned as he scrolled back up to the top of the document. “You were an English major, right?”
“So were you.”
“I hated my classes though.” He took off his glasses and turned to look at me directly. “Everyone was pretentious. They always wanted to be the next Shakespeare, Fitzgerald or Salinger, writing in prose they did not understand while throwing symbolism into your face.”
“Tell us how you really feel.” Geez.
“You’re a terrible writer because you’re not the one writing. Your fingers are typing, but the words on the page come from every last professor and English teacher you have ever had. You are not Shakespeare, Fitzgerald or Salinger. Those people wrote in an era when reading was the greatest form of entertainment. Everyone was, in a way, an English major. But now they are not, we are a rare breed so we need to write simpler and do it with much more conviction,” he stated as he handed my laptop back to me.
I stared at him without taking the laptop from his outstretched arm and he waved it in front of my face.
“Careful, I just bought this.” I took it from him quickly.
“You’re the one who was staring at me as if wings had suddenly sprouted from my back,” he muttered as he reached for his coffee. “Not a very attractive look for you if I do say so myself.”
“See? I was admiring you for a moment and then you just had to go and ruin it by reverting back to your old jerk of a self.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I said as I walked towards my tote bag.
“Admiring me for what?”
I turned back to face him thinking he was just teasing me but he looked mildly curious.
“Seriously?”
“What?” He questioned with annoyance growing in his tone.
“Malachi, a couple days ago I didn’t know who you were. I knew your words. I knew your stories and they moved me profoundly. You were Malachi Lord. I kept thinking to myself, If I could just sit in a room with this guy and have a conversation for an hour, I…I’d leap for joy. I would be so happy. You were here…” I lifted my hand and raised it over my head. “And I was here…” I put my hand to my chest. “…fangirling with the rest of the world.”
“And now?” he asked as he took a sip of his coffee. He seemed so unaffected and it annoyed me so much.
I flipped my hands around. “Now you’re just Malachi.”
“Ummm.”
“Ummm?” Why ask if he didn’t care. “I express my disappointment—”
“If I fell from a pedestal you put me on, it’s your fault, not mine.” He pushed back. “All I did was tell my story. The story of my life…my lives. I didn’t say I was wise. I didn’t say I was a conversationalist. I didn’t say I was a good person. Nor was I supposed to be idolized. I didn’t say anything at all.”
I’d never thought of myself as slow but for some reason it was only then that I was able to connect the dots.
“You remember the life and then you write it down. You aren’t writing stories, you’re writing journals,” I whispered that last part to myself.
“Yes.” He nodded as he wiped his hands. “I write my truth and I can’t give you anything less than that.”
How had I missed this? Why was I only just realizing that? The big ones. “I…When you told me about Romeo and Juliet—I mean Romeo and Giulietta, I thought it was only the big romances. The ones we all know. But—”
“I write about the ones history forgot,” he said softly as he stood directly in front of me. His blue eyes were fatigued but it was almost like…like he felt bad for me. Not himself but me. “I write them because the love in that life was just as important as the ones in which we were Kings and Queens. When we were on top of the world, I loved her, and when we fell to the bottom, I still loved her—rich, poor, king, slave, farmer, scholar, black, brown, yellow, and white. I loved her. So all of those lives, those memories, what the world calls stories matter.”
The more I thought about it the more pain I felt. I remembered the pain of those characters…of him…and Li-Mei.
“Li-Mei.” I stared back into his eyes. “She reads you all the time. She so—”
“Stop.” He frowned. “Don’t mention her to me.”
“Malachi, she’s my friend and she—”
“If she is your friend why do you want her to die?” He might as well have slapped me. That’s how harsh the reality of his words were. “She is safe without me as I am safe without her. So don’t dangle her in front of me…it’s inhumane.”
“Then why am I here?” Why was I trying so hard? If he didn’t want to change his story—his life—he shouldn’t have to. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
Reaching down for my backpack I threw it over my shoulder. My brows came together in a frown as I felt ashamed now. “I said I believed you. But I lied. I didn’t really spend any time thinking a
bout it. I just told myself to accept what you believed…but I believe you now. I really do. I don’t think you should be forced to write that way either.”
I offered him a smile even though I could feel myself barely making an effort. Nodding to him I walked towards the door. “Just let me know what you want to publish. I’ll go ahead with it after speaking to my grandfather. Have a good day.”
The wind was so strong that it felt like it was trying to push me back inside. But I just held on tighter to the handle of my tote. I ran down the stairs, around the corner of the house, onto the brick path and into the small wooden guesthouse. I actually liked it. It was cozy. Everything was on one floor and the kitchen overlooked the living room just like with the main house. A large, silver flat screen hung in front of the dull brown couch which I’d livened up with a white, blue and green quilt I’d bought at Fung’s Quilts and Carpets. I’d moved the coffee table towards the side of the fireplace in order to make room for my makeshift bed since it was always so cold in the bedroom. Grabbing the quilt and my pillow which lay on the side of the couch I laid down on the carpet and rolled myself up into a cocoon.
“Umm…” I clutched my chest.
Why did I feel like this?
Why did my heart hurt like this?
Take a deep breath, Esther.
That’s right.
That’s it.
“You are the bringer of your own happiness,” I whispered to myself. I said it over and over again until I could sit up on my own.
Shifting until my back pressed up against the couch I took out my laptop, opened the word document to the four plus pages I’d written, and deleted everything. I sat watching the cursor blink at me as it awaited my command…my voice. The problem was that I didn’t know my voice…but I knew the Yamauchi’s.
MALACHI
FRIDAY
8:47 a.m.
I stared at the clock then back at the door.
“I can do this for a while. Why? Because I want my book. My book is the rainbow, you’re the rain.” I mocked her as I lay back down on my bed. “All I said was the truth.” And she gave up for the second day in a row. Not that I cared, but her lack of tenacity was quite disappointing. Closing my eyes I waited but sleep didn’t come.