Looking For A Lost Memory

Control

"Listen. I'm doing this because, when you plant a seed, over time it grows, the leaves catch the sunlight, and grows some more until it is a vivid colour of beauty. I'm sending you to this, to grow."

As I mentioned before, at first maybe I wasn't so angry at my Father, I felt sympathy and determination to get him out, to clear his name for a crime that I was positive didn't commit, and to retrieve what was apparently his confiscated work. The second I was given the opportunity to visit him, I took it immediately, of course, I went! I didn't argue and I felt so happy to see him. But I should've seen the early clues to tell me it would fail rapidly. 

He didn't look confident, his physical appearance had changed drastically. I almost didn't recognise him. His walk was stunned, with each of his steps heavy, and his eyes plagued with fatigue. Nonetheless, he tried his best to look strong for me.

"When will you get out of here?" I demanded.

"Soon, but don't hang on to it."

"What do you mean? You're innocent, so why?"

Looking back I was so naïve, so confused.

It took him a while before he gathered his thoughts to say the right thing: "I've taken a few risks in the past to get where I am today, you must understand that."

"So? That was the past." I interject.

"I have a lot of enemies Hirosha, you have to know that."

"I must, I have, I must, I have... to know what? We don't have to stand with this!" I say angrily.

"I'm choosing to."

I sat there stunned in absolute silence trying to understand, put reasons together to force myself to understand his motives. But I couldn't. He was basically throwing himself in prison without a fight.

"Why are the Americans involved?" I ask.

"They noticed my research and now they think it's a threat."

"How?" He reached over grasping my hands so suddenly clasping them tightly. That's when I truly saw fear in his eyes. He quickly glanced over at the officer, anxious they'd understand what he was saying. So he started speaking in a different language.

"They have suspicions about me, you know how excited those stupid archaeologists can get. Also, they know my documents have 'revolutionary' content. It's way over their heads. As good as I am in here, only we know the truth. We cannot c***k under the pressure. Once you get them back, they can't do anything, they have no control over us. But I'd rather leave it."

"How? What do you mean? No! I'm getting you out." He smiled noticeably when he knew I could reply in a different tongue. He squeezed my hand desperately. I searched his eyes wanting a response, praying he was lying, shout 'I'm kidding!' Tell me you have a backup plan? Please tell me I don't have to leave you here. Don't let go of hope.

I used to believe in hope. Or some kind. 

"I want you to do something for me," He pleads with his eyes, a skill me and him shared and mastered, "There's this training contract abroad. There will be foreigners and people you aren't accustomed to, there will be people that try to get things out of you for personal gain. I'm sending you there so you know how to protect yourself, I can't let anything like this happen again." He says motioning to my heart.

"I'm not going," I say blankly.

"It's for your own good Hirosha, it's an idea I've had for a while now, I guess it took something like this to happen before I acted. My only regret is I should've sent you sooner."

I start to think of excuses desperately: "The money doesn't matter to me! We could be a thousand times richer, it doesn't change anything. I'm not going. I'm staying here, at home, with Akira and Mama, fighting for you. Here in Japan or Austria."

He can see I'm still not convinced so he continues to persuade me:

"Listen. I'm doing this because, when you plant a seed, over time it grows, the leaves catch the sunlight, and grows some more, until it is a vivid colour of beauty. I'm sending you to this, to grow."

He tries to reach for my hands but I pull back and slump in my chair in clear frustration.

"My child, there is no greater pain for a father or a mother, to watch their child suffer."

"Mother says I'll suffer more if I go."

"Your mother doesn't understand these things, she's confusing the protection of you for something else."

"Mother is never wrong," I say. He slumps down in defeat, struck by my naïveté. After a prolonged silence, he finally answers:

"I can't watch you suffer. My son to lay in a hospital bed, because of someone trying to get to me. When a parent watches their child suffer, these great pains of agony come through you, like stab wounds digging into your skin. There's no other way to describe it if feels like your heart is no longer beating. Every pain your Mother went through before and after to have you, returns in that sudden moment. Every moment of raising you from a little boy, watching you fall, grow, rise again, fall, stumble, walk with your mind and feet into the world, comes back. A father's joy, proudness, and carefully found love and devotion floods back in memory, only to find them, lying motionless on the hard soil."

I don't want to listen to his words, I can't take his words anymore. But something inside me lets me empathise with his feelings.

"A father should never outlive a child. Your Mother's afraid. Don't let her go, I can't face her. Be strong."

With that said, he left.

***

ARABIA extracts

__________

12th May 

Sudden fame may sound amazing at first, but it's a gushing flow of this indescribable heart-wrenching feeling. Especially since a few weeks later I lost my father. The very person who brought us hope by working tirelessly for hours by candlelight, taught me and my sister when we were at our lowest, and has taught me everything I know. I was something between emotionally torn and feeling amazing at the same time. It didn't take long before our name became more known. But fear of what people thought of me - "Global phenomenon or shaming insult, misjudged form of justice" - still took hold of me, so I constantly held back my last name. It didn't stop my Father from making connections, although I hated the thought Arabia.

I suddenly feel so empty, unknown, of what I'm doing anymore. All becasue he's not here anymore.

The realization is slowly dawning on me knowing I've been signed on this stupid contract for this training regime all the way in Arabia. I don't understand, why can't I just stay home? I couldn't believe it at first. All my medical notes about my heart have to be transferred, I still have to do multiple tests. I'm sure it would be easier if I stayed right here in Japan.

Things lately have been quiet. I never leave the house that much anymore. My Mother suspects it's hormones and me growing up but I'd never tell her the real reason.

I tried speaking, but she uses the excuse that I'm disconnecting myself, being introverted, how I can't spend the rest of my life being sad about my Father in prison or hoping for a miracle for him to get out. I can't spend the rest of my life studying for things that won't come if immerse myself too much. But this is the same person who wants me to succeed in life.

***

It's early, the sun's peaking on the horizon line, the tropical outline of the landscape starting to make sense against the mountain ranges. Most of the ground is barren and arid which was expected, but I don't mind. It's different. Most things I see are prehistoric and tribal. The clashing of the waves of the shoreline, then the slow hiss of the waves dissolving.

When I first entered, for the first time I felt incredible reluctant as if I was missing the presence of someone, if I could reach out and hold on to someone's hand and hide away like a child afraid. I found those feelings weird and foreign, I've always been taught to be independent and stand on my two feet. To be honest, in the world we live in, you don't need to be told, you'll learn sooner or later. The lucky ones get a warning.

But somehow being in the state I am now in, it's still a wonder to me how I managed on the first day.

You don't get told twice how to speak, but you learn every day without being told or realizing, is what someone told me when I was younger. I related to that to my first experiences here and how they expected us to pick up the ways and methods just as quick. There was no slowing down. You either had it or not.

I was introduced to my Mentor that very same day. He was a tall, stout man with an average figure and had a heavy musk of sweat hanging over him. He looked stern and the type of person whp scolded people constantly. Well, I'm not exactly sure what his expression told, his sunglasses hid his eyes away and for me, your eyes are a big indicator of how you feel. He had a gruff voice that made him sound like he was in a constant bad mood and he didn't say much to me on that day. Just a passive greeting was all he could get out of me. Normally, I don't let my shyness get the best of me but unfortuantly this was one of the days.

"David. Tyler David. It's water to you. You'll find that most of the people here call me that. You'll find out why soon. I always hated my teachers, so I prefer it if you call me by name. " He mumbles something quietly thinking I didn't hear along the lines of "always abusing their power they were".

"So you're the breadwinner of your family brought over here from Japan?" He pauses as if he wants me to interrupt, I didn't dare or try in case he caught me out. I blink acting as if I didn't hear a word he said. Surprisingly he was patient, "Well? Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

He's probably already read my file but to avoid coming across as rude, I hesitantly answer and try to avoid his gaze.

"Hirosha Hamada."

He doesn't say anything more and sits down opposite me. I instinctively sit up and keep focused on him.

"You don't say a lot, do you?" He asks. I exhale deeply and look around hoping he could go away immediately. But the next thing he says makes me freeze.

"I know about your heart. I know about your heart and lung condition. I mean there's no way anyone could avoid reading that on your file. We know the dangers. You know, I found it a bit crazy for someone like you to be to be here, until your Father explained. I can understand his frustration. This place is meant to train you physically, so we're not going to overwork you. Also, don't feel like you have to put pressure of yourself to be the best, or if everyone else seem to be doing better."

"I'm fine. Don't view me as weaker just because of it."

I try to purposely ignore him. He's not my friend. He doesn't want my best interests. As soon as he leaves everything that he's said will be dust to him. He's just warning me. That's all. Who would want a person like me here? I notice that people are starting to notice us and stare.

"I don't want anyone to know about it. That's all I ask."

"That's okay, of course your teachers are going to have to know. Whenever you're ready. You're young, you're going to feel like that. But again, whenever you're ready."

He disappears soon after. I'm secretly proud of the way I handled that conversation, I've has much worse. But I regret making myself look more vulnerable than I really am. Who does he think he is?

I look around frantically seeing if there's any direction of where I need to go. I slump back down in my seat and close my eyes.

The climate of this place is the first adjustment I have to make about this place. Deserts, sand dunes and the blazing sun is something I never experienced back home. My throat feels incredibly dry and I have this constant feeling as if I'm about to faint. I know I should say something but I keep quiet and clench my jaw together. Complaining is the last thing I want to do. I'm already annoyed by being here, I don't want people to think I need help or someone to rely on. My eyes feel irritated and burn from the heat and dust. I try to avoid itching or going near the eye area.

"Are your eyes okay? They're pretty bloodshot." A voice asks.

I look up to see a girl with blonde curly hair, that seem unaffected by the heat, kind blue eyes and a fake looking smile on her face. She continues smiling calmly and approaches me without hesitation, as if she's never seen a stranger in her life. She's holds out a water bottle for me to take. I scoff lightly wanting for her to disappear, to take her annoying happy face to wherever it came from and for me to be left alone. But she doesn't look like someone I can have an argument with and win.

"Yeah. They're fine." I answer flatly.

"So.. Are you going to take this water bottle or let my arm drop off?"

"Oh yeah," I sheepishly take it and reluctantly mumble thank you. I'm really not in the mood to talk or greet anyone today. I'm hoping she can read this from my body language. Instead I say it outloud.

"I'm not really in the mood to talk. Sorry."

"Um, then will you be ready? To be honest, I think that's a lie we all tell ourselves to make us feel better, but in reality it's nothing." She says. I roll my eyes and just wait for an awkward silence to ruin the flow of the conversation. But she interjects again:

"So... I'm Emily in case you're wondering."

"So?" I say shrugging my shoulders acting like I couldn't care less.

"So, didn't you want to know my name?"

"No. Not really."

"Damn, were you born with a sour taste in your mouth?"

"What? No!"

"I was being sarcastic." She sniggers.

"Right."

I stare at her for a while. My eyes are beginning to water from the dust, I squint and keep my eyes to the ground.

"Was there something else?" I ask irritated.

"Your name. Duh, just how normal human communication and greetings work?"

"Oh. Hirosha."

"Nice to meet you, Bitter." I know she was talking about my attitude so I thought I'd just do the same.

"Good to meet you too, Minty." Her breath. Although I'm a reasonable distance from her, I can smell the mint from where I'm sitting.

"You should really introduce yourself to others. They've, well, we've heard all sorts about you."

"There's others?!"

"Yes. What you really thought me and you were the only teenagers here? Now that's a crazy thought."

"Heard what about me?" I'm suddenly on edge and all the vulnerable information that could expose everything about me come into mind.

"Just stuff. Can you really speak that many languages? I didn't think it was possible." She says vaguely. I relax by a small fraction and wait for whatever else I'm going to hear.

Just as she's speaking a group of people walk over to us ecstatically.

"Here he is. Welcome to hell." Someone says.

"Quit trying to scare him. That's Noah. Just ignore him."

"Quit talking to me as if I'm 5." I snap.

Unending questions was then first thing I had to deal with and sudden silences but it was expected. It felt strange seeing people my age around. After we were left unsupervised I was bombarded with questions;

"Where are you from?"

"You don't look Japanese."

"Wow! What's Tokyo like, I bet it's way better than any city in back in America!"

"Say something in Japanese."

"Can you speak French?"

"He can speak English too."

"And Korean!"

"How's Hiroshima?" Max.

I glanced over to see him sitting a couple metres away absorbed into eating.

I instantly sense trouble with him. He's sat on his own away from the company of others, almost as if he enjoys it.

There's always one downer question.

***

"You're going to be able to find your way right?" Noah asks before leaving.

"Yeah... I'll be good."

I'm pretty sure I passed out the second I hit the bed. The strange feeling of emptiness is already taking over though. I purposely lied and told everyone I already ate so I could avoid any further conversations with anyone else and be the first to get to sleep. This gives me the privacy to write. Tomorrow it'll probably change, I'll wait for everyone to sleep and then write.

That's the way it has to be.

__________