Status: Complete!
Lacrimo Crystallinus
Vicensimus Lacrimo Crystallinus
Ah, the dreaded family dinner.
“Where did my shorts go?”
“By the vent,” Satoru answers from the shower. Wrapped in a towel, I brush my hair while it’s still wet. I hate doing that, but if I want to look even a little bit ready in time, that’s what has to be done. As I’m dragging the brush through my hair, I search for my khaki shorts. They are nowhere in sight. I sigh and stop looking for a moment to put on some moisturizer. When I turn to continue looking, he has finished his shower and is holding my shorts with a finger, a towel wrapped around his hips. He tries to cover a smile before handing them off to me and begin looking for his clothing.
******************************************************************************
“Tell me a bit about yourself. I understand you are involved in many different things, not only music,” my father says, popping siumai into his mouth. Satoru looks at the food in front of him for a moment almost questioningly, but tries some of the pho. He looks neither pleased nor disgusted.
“I am a musician first, but I also produce and direct movies, model, act, and design clothing.”
“That sounds like quite a bit of responsibility. How do you find time to do all of that?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t do it all at once,” my mother says with a smile.
“When I have finished touring or recording in the studio, I will then consider work in those other avenues. Designing clothing is not difficult on the road, so I sometimes take a sketch pad with me in case I get inspiration.”
“How often do you tour?”
“About once a year.”
“How much time do you spend at home, then? You seem to keep yourself busy.”
“Many of my tours are exclusive to Japan, so I am home quite frequently compared to most musicians. I would say more than 6 months out of the year if it is a Japanese tour.”
Saying nothing more, my father finishes another bite of his pho. When he is done, he takes a third siumai.
“Satoru, what are your short-term plans?” my mother asks, offering him some rice. He smiles graciously and declines. “You have stayed here for quite some time to be with our Bao and watch her graduation ceremony, but we know that you cannot stay here forever . . .”
“I have been wondering the same thing . . . I suppose that depends on more than just me,” he responds thoughtfully, his gaze gently resting on me. Mother smiles knowingly to my father, but he just pretends not to notice, slurping his pho particularly loudly.
“What will you do now that you’ve graduated, Bao?” she asks almost unwillingly, looking slightly guilty at having taken Satoru’s attention away from my face. “I assume you have a college in mind?”
“Several, actually,” I say, taking a bite of siumai. “I’ve been accepted at a university in Saitama, so I think that’s where I’ll go.”
“So you’re going to Japan,” my mother says softly, sadly. My father sets his bowl down forcefully.
“Absolutely not,” he says, glaring at Satoru. “The only reason you want to go there is for him. I will not allow it.”
“Now, Wei, hold on just a minute . . .” Mother says.
“Would you have this man take from us our only daughter, Hui Zhong?” he demands, turning his eyes on her. She shrinks back slowly, even as he turns to me. “And would you leave us for this Japanese?” His voice is full of poison.
“Don’t be cruel, Father,” I say, hurt by his words.
“Well? Would you just leave us to rot while you fool around with this dishonorable Japanese?”
“This ’dishonorable Japanese’ has done more for me than you ever have, father!”
Even as I say it, I feel my stomach drop. My heart seizes in my chest as his eyes flash with genuine pain. I wish with all my strength that I could take those words back. Mortified, I look at my unfinished bowl of pho. A long silence hangs over us all, pressing down on me harder and harder until I feel ready to implode. As if to deal me one final blow, a merciful killing blow, my father pushes away from the table and leaves the house.
As soon as the door closes softly behind him, I’m on the verge of tears. Satoru grasps my hand under the table, squeezing it gently, but I am too hurt to respond. My mother sits frozen at the table, like me, about to cry.
“I… I didn’t…. I didn’t mean…” I stutter, choking on my words. My mother sniffs.
“I know, honey.”
Looking at her through tears, I ask brokenly, “Why couldn’t he just be happy for me, for once?” I sob, covering my face with my hands.
*********************************************************
Why did it hurt so much to not have his approval? I have never had his approval before, or even his attention. My father has always been a silhouette at the edge of my life, floating there, remaining but never interfering. Although I knew what he was, knew that he loved me, he never got involved. He didn’t get to know me or what I believed in, what I represented, or what I wanted out of life. He didn’t care that I was hurt by what he said or his absence in so much of my life. So why did I care what he thought of me or my choices?
Satoru’s arms wrap around me sweetly, holding me gently to him. I lay my cheek against his warm bare shoulder, looking at the remnants of light filtering through the blinds. He sings to me softly now and then, his hand stroking my back. I don’t want to talk about my father, and I doubt it is a comfortable topic for him, either. We lay that way for some time, but sleep just won’t come.
In the distance, fireworks are being set off. Their sparkling trails flash along the walls, illuminating like fireflies, dancing on the blankets before sputtering away into silence. Satoru’s eyes are only on me, however. We share another kiss before he pulls me onto him. As my lips make way for his, so does my heart, opening completely and responding to his fingertips grazing my skin. I smile under his kiss, and forget about my father.
**************************************************************
As my heartbeat dies down, I turn to look at his face. Lips curled up into a perfect smile, his eyes shine with happiness. His fingers stroke my cheeks which are still flushed with heat. The clock beside the bed reads 12:03.
“Happy birthday, Satoru,” I whisper.
“Where did my shorts go?”
“By the vent,” Satoru answers from the shower. Wrapped in a towel, I brush my hair while it’s still wet. I hate doing that, but if I want to look even a little bit ready in time, that’s what has to be done. As I’m dragging the brush through my hair, I search for my khaki shorts. They are nowhere in sight. I sigh and stop looking for a moment to put on some moisturizer. When I turn to continue looking, he has finished his shower and is holding my shorts with a finger, a towel wrapped around his hips. He tries to cover a smile before handing them off to me and begin looking for his clothing.
******************************************************************************
“Tell me a bit about yourself. I understand you are involved in many different things, not only music,” my father says, popping siumai into his mouth. Satoru looks at the food in front of him for a moment almost questioningly, but tries some of the pho. He looks neither pleased nor disgusted.
“I am a musician first, but I also produce and direct movies, model, act, and design clothing.”
“That sounds like quite a bit of responsibility. How do you find time to do all of that?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t do it all at once,” my mother says with a smile.
“When I have finished touring or recording in the studio, I will then consider work in those other avenues. Designing clothing is not difficult on the road, so I sometimes take a sketch pad with me in case I get inspiration.”
“How often do you tour?”
“About once a year.”
“How much time do you spend at home, then? You seem to keep yourself busy.”
“Many of my tours are exclusive to Japan, so I am home quite frequently compared to most musicians. I would say more than 6 months out of the year if it is a Japanese tour.”
Saying nothing more, my father finishes another bite of his pho. When he is done, he takes a third siumai.
“Satoru, what are your short-term plans?” my mother asks, offering him some rice. He smiles graciously and declines. “You have stayed here for quite some time to be with our Bao and watch her graduation ceremony, but we know that you cannot stay here forever . . .”
“I have been wondering the same thing . . . I suppose that depends on more than just me,” he responds thoughtfully, his gaze gently resting on me. Mother smiles knowingly to my father, but he just pretends not to notice, slurping his pho particularly loudly.
“What will you do now that you’ve graduated, Bao?” she asks almost unwillingly, looking slightly guilty at having taken Satoru’s attention away from my face. “I assume you have a college in mind?”
“Several, actually,” I say, taking a bite of siumai. “I’ve been accepted at a university in Saitama, so I think that’s where I’ll go.”
“So you’re going to Japan,” my mother says softly, sadly. My father sets his bowl down forcefully.
“Absolutely not,” he says, glaring at Satoru. “The only reason you want to go there is for him. I will not allow it.”
“Now, Wei, hold on just a minute . . .” Mother says.
“Would you have this man take from us our only daughter, Hui Zhong?” he demands, turning his eyes on her. She shrinks back slowly, even as he turns to me. “And would you leave us for this Japanese?” His voice is full of poison.
“Don’t be cruel, Father,” I say, hurt by his words.
“Well? Would you just leave us to rot while you fool around with this dishonorable Japanese?”
“This ’dishonorable Japanese’ has done more for me than you ever have, father!”
Even as I say it, I feel my stomach drop. My heart seizes in my chest as his eyes flash with genuine pain. I wish with all my strength that I could take those words back. Mortified, I look at my unfinished bowl of pho. A long silence hangs over us all, pressing down on me harder and harder until I feel ready to implode. As if to deal me one final blow, a merciful killing blow, my father pushes away from the table and leaves the house.
As soon as the door closes softly behind him, I’m on the verge of tears. Satoru grasps my hand under the table, squeezing it gently, but I am too hurt to respond. My mother sits frozen at the table, like me, about to cry.
“I… I didn’t…. I didn’t mean…” I stutter, choking on my words. My mother sniffs.
“I know, honey.”
Looking at her through tears, I ask brokenly, “Why couldn’t he just be happy for me, for once?” I sob, covering my face with my hands.
*********************************************************
Why did it hurt so much to not have his approval? I have never had his approval before, or even his attention. My father has always been a silhouette at the edge of my life, floating there, remaining but never interfering. Although I knew what he was, knew that he loved me, he never got involved. He didn’t get to know me or what I believed in, what I represented, or what I wanted out of life. He didn’t care that I was hurt by what he said or his absence in so much of my life. So why did I care what he thought of me or my choices?
Satoru’s arms wrap around me sweetly, holding me gently to him. I lay my cheek against his warm bare shoulder, looking at the remnants of light filtering through the blinds. He sings to me softly now and then, his hand stroking my back. I don’t want to talk about my father, and I doubt it is a comfortable topic for him, either. We lay that way for some time, but sleep just won’t come.
In the distance, fireworks are being set off. Their sparkling trails flash along the walls, illuminating like fireflies, dancing on the blankets before sputtering away into silence. Satoru’s eyes are only on me, however. We share another kiss before he pulls me onto him. As my lips make way for his, so does my heart, opening completely and responding to his fingertips grazing my skin. I smile under his kiss, and forget about my father.
**************************************************************
As my heartbeat dies down, I turn to look at his face. Lips curled up into a perfect smile, his eyes shine with happiness. His fingers stroke my cheeks which are still flushed with heat. The clock beside the bed reads 12:03.
“Happy birthday, Satoru,” I whisper.