By: Shanchan

Disclaimer: This story is one I wrote, but it’s the basic plot of Koujo’s trilogy on Yuki: Friends of Love, Beyond the Grave and Past Nightmares. This is from Mizuko’s point of view for I am, Mizuko, child of water. This story, like Koujo’s is mainly fiction. There are true things, but just treat it all as fiction, especially this chapter because it’s about my future love life. Considering this life is not what I’m asking for, I just made up the love life too. ^__^ I wrote this for Koujo, Yuki and all those who have given me love. “Duvet” is a Lain song.

Part 7: Duvet

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Time passed since the time when Weizhen cried in my apartment. We never forgot what happened that night but life continued. We still went out on dates. We still sat in the park and discussed theories of the universe; and we still went to anime movies.

One day, he took me to a coffee shop after work. After we ordered, he sat in his chair and looked at me through his thin glasses. I peered back into his eyes: beautiful, filled with love, but underlined in pain. I didn’t know what was coming. I couldn’t read his thoughts that day. However, the news was not horrible. It merely startled me and made me nervous.

“A-shan,” he began by leaning forward and taking my hand. My heart raced and I felt myself blush. He continued, “I told my mother about you. Your smile, the way you make me feel and how much I love you.” He paused and looked at me. I looked back and smiled contently, taking in the love from his warm brown eyes. Taking a breath, he continued, “And she suggested that you meet her. If she thinks you are acceptable, then I can continue our relationship. If not…” His voice died down, swallowing the unspoken words.

I knew it was, for a lack of better words, a test; and I was scared. Looking down, I began playing with my napkin. I knew I was extremely open. I prided myself in my honesty and boldness. But, for those who didn’t know me, this open joy, so to speak, could be seen as stupidity, or worse, rudeness. However, such characteristics are not loved by traditional Chinese society and I have suffered due that. I looked at Weizhen as our coffee arrived. The table was silent. The waitress gave me a funny look and I realized with chagrin that I had torn up the napkin in my tension. Giving her an apologetic look, I smiled weakly and turned my attention back onto Weizhen.

And you don't seem to understand

A shame, you seemed an honest man

And all those fears you hold so dear

Will turn to whisper in your ear

A week later, I found myself preparing for the “meeting” with my possible future mother-in-law. My mind still could not believe my relationship with Weizhen had gone so far in a few years, yet I was happy. I hummed a tune as I sat in front of the mirror brushing my short hair. I recalled how long my hair used to be. Reaching behind my back, I felt as if it was still there… Yet I knew if I shook my head my braid would never whap me in the face, for it was gone already. Gone like Yuki and gone like the empty dreams of my childhood.

Putting in blue seashell shaped hairclips, I walked over to my closet and stared at my wardrobe. Almost nothing formal. I was startled to realize that the only piece of formal attire I had was the Qipao I wore at Yuki’s funeral. The black dress hung in my closet, reminding me of times past and memories shared. The times would never return and the memories would fade into oblivion. Shaking my head, I reminded myself it was not time to sink into the darkness. I had to be strong; not only for myself but also for my love. I didn’t want to disappoint him by failing miserably against his mother.

Sighing, I grabbed my most suitable outfit: a conservative, low-cut, long sleeved, blue velvet shirt and a black velvet skirt that ended a bit past my knees. As I was dressing, I heard the doorbell ring. Quickly, I finished, grabbed my bag and ran to the door. Lo and behold, Weizhen was standing there; nervous, like me, for my meeting with his mother. Sighing in resignation, I put on some flat-heeled dress shoes and pulled the door shut behind me.

And you know what they say might hurt you

And you know that it means so much

And you don't even feel a thing

My first impression of Weizhen’s mother was that she was a sweet looking lady who aged quite well. Her short hair was specked with gray and her face contained only a few wrinkles. She had sweet brown eyes and a gentle smile as she welcomed me into her home.

Smiling graciously, I took off my shoes and put on slippers. Bowing slightly, I used the suffix “A Yi” as I greeted her. (This is used to denote a female of the older generation.) After all, she was not yet my mother-in-law. She nodded her head and led me to the living room. As I walked obediently behind her, I noticed that she was slightly taller than me and walked with energetic steps.

She sat down in a chair while Weizhen and I took up couch. I dared not sit too close or too far away from him for if I sat too close, she may think my virtues were loose. However, if I sat too far, I would seem too aloof. Thus, I decided to keep about 6 inches between us. I smiled fleetingly at her and looked down at the ground, nervous. My short hair fell to frame my round face and I was fully aware of the burning of my cheeks and the presence of everything in the room.

I am falling

I am fading

I have lost it all

We sat in silence for about a minute, though in my nervous mind it seemed like both a millisecond and a century. My mind swarmed in confusion at the situation. After all, I had expected an ugly, shriveled up, grouchy old lady looking at me through glaring eyes as she “invited” me into her home to test my cooking, sewing and cleaning skills. This silence was not something I was ready for. Suddenly, she said something to me. Startled I look up into her eyes before I realized that she had commanded me, in her stately tone, to look up so she could have a better view of my face.

I flushed slightly red, adding a hint more of color to my cheeks that made me look prettier than I really was. She nodded her head at me and told me my eyes were quite lovely. I lowered my eyes and thanked her. Peeking up through my bangs, I saw her smile and nod slowly to herself. Happily, I looked at Weizhen. He had a startled look in his eyes. I guess it was such a contrast from what he was used to. Trusting his mother did not know Japanese, I asked him, “Zhen-chan, what’s wrong?”

He looked at me, eyes screaming in question, and asked, “Why are you like this? You’re usually more outgoing around the rest of us.”

I smiled and asked, “Did you think I had no ability to act like a normal Chinese girl? Or have you forgotten that I am essentially, Chinese?”

He blushed, “I just assumed you were hyper most of the time. You know, from the way you acted and all. You were always complaining about the way things were and hypocrisy. I didn’t expect you to act like this.” He waved his hand in the air to express what he meant.

And you don't seem the lying kind

A shame that I can read your mind

And all the things that I read there

Candle-lit smile that we both share

From the corner of my eyes, I saw his mother raise an eyebrow at my disrespectful behavior. I quickly apologized, “Sorry, Weizhen and I had to discuss something about… ” I had to think fast. What could I say that she didn’t want to know about and didn’t make me seem shallow? Suddenly, I knew how to finish my sentence, “a Japanese movie we were planning on watching.” It would explain not only the language, but also why I didn’t bother to include her into the conversation. However, it did seem random. Thus, I added, “My nervousness in my current situation made me think of it so I decided to remind him.” I blushed as I told the lie, but considering my situation, the blush could easily be mistaken for shyness.

The rest of the afternoon passed pretty much the same. We discussed my childhood. (Well, it was more like Weizhen’s mother pounded me with a plethora of questions, which I was forced to answer.) These questions were ones I had grown up being accustomed to:

“I heard you lived in the US when you were a child,” she began, looking at me with her piercing eyes.

“Yes, ma’am. I did,” I answered smoothly. I knew what was coming up next.

“Were you born there?” She asked, just as I had expected.

“No, I was born in Chongqing. I moved to the states when I was 2 and ¾,” I replied as I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

“Your Chinese is quite impressive for someone who lived abroad.”

“Thank you.”

“How long have you been studying Chinese?”

“My father had drilled me since I was four,” I replied with ease. This was the easy part. I knew the answers and how to respond. What was next could very well be arbitrary.

“I see. What do you do in your spare time?” She asked. I lowered my gaze to hide my smile. I knew she wasn’t expecting too much from the answer of this one.

“Read, draw, listen to music, and sometimes cook.’”

“I see. And what do you read?”

“I sometimes read bits from Romance of Three Kingdoms,” I told her softly. Though I spent more of my time reading martial art novels, Romance of Three Kingdoms was a far more impressive book. It took the reader on a journey through one of the most chaotic time periods of Chinese history. It was a book of love, courage, genius and endless pain. The characters showed the deepest of human scheming and emotions, making it one of China’s most beloved classics. As I expected, the old lady’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Your chinese must be quite good then,” She said.

“I can get by,” was my response. It was also the expected one. I was not to debase myself, nor should I bask in her praise.

She smiled the way a fox would at its prey and asked, “Weizhen said you read a lot of Martial Art novels. How come you didn’t mention them?”

I was relieved to find the question so simple. I was surprised, though, to realize Weizhen talked about me to his mother. Shooting him a quizzical glance to say “I will have a word with you later, mister.” I responded truthfully and simply to her question, “Martial art novels may be entertaining, but they are insubstantial compared to classics.”

The old lady smiled and conversation diverged to something less boring. The afternoon crawled past. When I though I would burst from it all, Weizhen took me by the hand, stood up and said to his mother, “A-shan and I need to go now. We have plans with our friends in an hour.”

His mother looked at me and asked, “A-shan… is that her real name?”

Weizhen blanked and said, “No, it’s not.”

“Well, what is her real name?” The old lady pressed on, and I nearly hated her. Why was she trying to take away our love?

Weizhen gave me a grateful look and told his mother my name. We were both grateful that I had the good sense to tell him when we were driving to his mother’s home.

And you know I don't mean to hurt you

But you know that it means so much

And you don't even feel a thing

By the time we ate dinner and finally got home, Weizhen and I collapsed onto the couch, kissing each other tenderly and enjoying the moments that passed between us. Suddenly, the phone rang and I sat up to pick it up.

“Wei!” I announced breathlessly into the phone.

“You’re here,” the voice replied. Dad.

I frowned, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m glad you’re hearing this from us now instead of through your answering machine. Your mother and I are thinking about getting a divorce.” His voice was mellow and implied that the divorce was pretty much decided upon.

My heart sank. Even though I felt the embryonic tremors of their relationship problems as a child, I always hoped that it was just the stress getting to them and that it really wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Then, as I grew up, I came to realize they didn’t really love each other, or if they did, their love had long been dissolved by pain sustained though careless words and fiery tempers.

“Should I come home?” I asked, knowing even after all this time and all the waiting, it would still be difficult for both of them.

“Don’t worry about it. We will be moving back to China no matter if we get a divorce or not,” his words were succinct, and I did not want to deal with him for the moment.

“Alright. Is there anything else? I was about to go to sleep,” I lied. My eyes began to water. Why did things always go bad when I thought they would be alright?

He paused, “Would you like to talk to your mother?”

I nodded as I told him, “Sure.” A tear trailed down my cheek and I felt Weizhen reach out a graceful finger to brush it away, his presence calming me as I steadied my voice to talk to Mom.

I am falling

I am fading

I am drowning

Help me to breathe

“I’m sorry,” Mom started as she rambled on and apologized for not making the marriage work. She loved my dad deeply, and even though I knew she had hurt him in the most unforgivable way, I knew she did not mean to. Dad, on the other hand, refused to believe such things and hated her for it often. I remember the old dinner table discussions that degraded into arguments. Often times I was left in tears trying to pacify his anger.

I took it all in and replied, “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it. ” We then said good-bye and I hung up, hand trembling.

I never thought something would affect me as much as it did. Then again, I never imagined that this would happen this late in their lives. I guess I was the glue holding them together. After I left, things just degraded.

I am hurting

I have lost it all

I am losing

Help me to breathe

Weizhen gave me a look as he stood up and wrapped his arms around me, comforting me. Sometimes words are not needed; this was one of those times. I turned around and cried onto his shoulders; crying for the love my parents lost, crying for the inner child that wanted them to be together, and crying for another sign that my life was not as I hoped it would be.

He simply held me and stoked my hair, giving me strength and the comfort I needed to face what was to come.