The Death and Casablanca

What could I say?
What could I do about it?
I think “nothing” is the most obvious answer.

Still, in some strange way, I felt like I was to blame for her pain.
If I hadn’t spent time with her.
If I hadn’t pretended everything was “normal.”
If I hadn’t let her into my life.
If I’d died back then.

Those words, her tears—I was never good at “holding” someone going through a breakdown, and I never cared to be. Now, though, those words were all it took to make me wish I had died.

I just held her tighter, as if that would do anything, but she felt like nothing more than a doll. Motionless, fixed in place.
I wanted—no, I wished—her arms would wrap around me too, so I could feel, even just this once, like I wasn’t completely useless.

Not all wishes come true. That’s something no one says but everyone knows, and it’s fine until it isn’t. Because in that moment, in those exact seconds I clung to her, I knew that, inside, she was feeling someone, somewhere in the world, taking their own life.

Her teasing, her tantrums, her childish attitude… she kept up that personality while carrying all that weight inside her.

[I said I knew you. I’m sorry.]

I lifted her face, trying to seem calm, though I was miles from it.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something. I hate to say it, but I wanted to cry too, though that wouldn’t help—it’d only make things worse.

“Aranara…” I said, trying to get her to meet my eyes. That yellow glow seemed to shine against how red they were. “R-remember the DVDs, right? Which one’s your favorite?”

“…”

“Aranara…” I repeated, taking her by the shoulders.

I’m sure if the bags on the ground had consciousness, they’d be laughing at me.
I hated the silence.
I hated the empty street.
I hated the lack of wind.
I hated that nothing interrupted this moment.

[Lie. It’s myself I’m hating.]

I hated the time with her, the everyday routine.
I hated letting her get close.
I hated getting close too.

[Lie. It’s me I hate.]

“I don’t know, Eiji… what does it matter?” she replied, lifting an arm to wipe her tears. She took one step back. Just one step away from me. A step that made me feel like my presence was repulsive.

“Come on… just tell me… you watched them all. Which one did you like best?” I asked again, trying to sound as upbeat as I could. I probably failed.

“It was an old movie… black and white…” Her voice was low, still shaky, tears she wiped away returning in seconds.

“What was it about?”

“Does it matter now, Eiji?! Enough!” 

Her hand on my chest was heavier than I expected, pushing me back several steps.
Did I have to leave her alone?
Was this something she had to figure out herself?
Probably, though it’s a safe bet it wasn’t something that could be fixed.

“So many millennia, and you can’t remember a movie?” I let some sarcasm slip as I stepped closer again. “Today, I think you’re the dense one.”

“I feel like punching you.”

“Do it.”

“No…”

“Either punch me or tell me about the movie.”

“Why…?”

“Why not?”

She exhaled hard. She wasn’t lying—she wanted to hit me. “I didn’t finish it. I turned off the TV when I heard you coming down the stairs… it was about a guy, the owner of a bar…”

“Don’t think I’ve seen it…” I said, pretending.

“How have you not seen it?”

[That’s it, please, keep talking to me.]

“The… the bar owner reunites with his lover, but time’s passed, and she’s married…” She furrowed her brow, recalling the movie.

[Something’s better than nothing. Don’t stop talking to me…]

“I don’t remember well, but I think part two was missing…”

“Part two?”

“Yeah, at the end, the bar owner lets his lover escape on a plane with her husband… I think they cut a part…”

“Casablanca?” I asked. A laugh slipped out, unbidden.

“I… I think so…” she replied, fixing her hair as best she could and adjusting her parka.

“I can’t believe that’s your favorite movie…”

“I liked it a lot. I just want to see the second part…”

“Aranara… Casablanca doesn’t have a sequel.” I picked up the bags from the ground and placed them in her hands. She didn’t move much, just enough to hold them.

“So the bar owner doesn’t get back with his lover?”

“Nope…”

“Horrible.”

“Honestly, yeah.”

“I’m gonna break that DVD.”

“I’d rather you kept it in one piece.” 

Her breathing steadied little by little. It was clear—we were both trying our best.
But now wasn’t like before. I couldn’t pretend the weight she carried didn’t exist.

“I’m gonna break it anyway. Worst ending in movie history.”

I laughed genuinely. If the director could hear her… “Why?”

“Because… you know, they… even when they didn’t resolve anything…”

“I think I get it.”

[I understand more than you think.]

I didn’t think—because if I had, I probably wouldn’t have done it.
Aranara was pressed against the wall, and I’d gotten too close. Her face felt warm, with a faint salty scent from her tears.
I think it was the first time I touched her cheeks, and honestly, I was surprised at how soft her skin was.

“E-Eiji… what…”

Her lips were even softer.
No, I didn’t kiss her to shut her up. I did it because I wanted to, because—though I’d never said it—it wasn’t the first time I’d thought about it.
It felt like being at the movies—not the film itself, but that moment when you’re in the theater, the movie’s about to start, and all the lights go out.

Our lips parted when I heard the bags hit the ground.
It might sound cliché, but the image of her, eyes still closed, is something I’ll probably remember until my last day.

“It was supposed to…”

“When everything was sorted out?” I asked, barely pulling my face back.

“Mhm…” She nodded.

“If people saved kisses for when everything’s fine… I think no one would ever kiss, you dummy.” I took the house keys from my pocket and placed them in her hand. “Sayo’s probably waiting. I told her I’d make room for her. Can you handle that?”

“Huh?”

“Just a small favor,” I said. I stepped back a few paces and turned around.

“Eiji… where are you going?”

I scratched my neck again, though the tic wasn’t from anxiety this time—it was because I didn’t know how to answer. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

I didn’t hear what she replied.
I probably sounded more idiotic than cool.
I probably broke copyright saying it, but still, I wanted to sound cool.

The streets opened up again. I had an idea—not a certainty—but it felt like the streetlights were flicking on to show me exactly where to go.
My mind bounced between what had happened and what was coming, and in the middle of it all, like an idiot, I kept touching my lips.
I should’ve kissed her ages ago.

I found myself walking straight to the bridge, and there she was, probably waiting.
That gray Montgomery stood out against the dark metal of the bridge.