Blood Bank (Feels for Jigoro): Part 1

Blood Bank (aka Feels for Jigoro)

Part one
Beloved Wife



“I think we were supposed to turn there.”
You think too much. We'll get there eventually.
“This is why you should have let me drive. You always get us lost.”
Lost? How can we get lost? That's one of the great things about living in this country. Drive far enough in any one direction and you'll hit the beach eventually.
Besides, I thought you didn't mind getting lost.
“Well. I wouldn't mind if you weren't such a scary driver.”
You're one to talk, woman. There's a reason I don't let you behind the wheel.
I still remember, when those kids on their motorcycle almost clipped us, you were shouting “Drive faster! I want to hit them with my sword!”



I must be crazy to be out here on a night like this. White, white, everywhere, it's all I can see. The winter air sinks its claws through my coat and grips me by my bones. It feels like a place I could die in, like if I just stopped, the world would stop with me, and I could let everything drain away in a sea of snow. Which would be appropriate, considering the rows of graves that surround me on all sides.
“I know I'm a little early this year. Some things have been happening. I had to come by.”
The words are almost drowned out by the silent march of the snow all around, as if there wasn't room for them in the air. I can barely make them out. Me and my partner Kirima exchange glances. The voice was more pleasant to follow than the trail of blood, but both led us in the same direction, away from the overturned car with the smashed out window near the entrance and here, deeper into the more expensive and elaborate side of the cemetery. The width and regularity of the red patches in the snow before us was beginning to make my stomach knot up as we crunched through the growing sea of white. But we're close now. I hope I'm ready for whatever lies in store for us. You see all kind of things in this job, lots of which you wish you hadn't.
“I don't have anything to say that you don't already know.” The voice again. The tone is angry, hesitant, and more than a little slurred. But there's a determination there, too.
“But I had to come by. I had to--”
“I had to see you.”
The two of us crest a hill, and the source of the baleful noise that led us here comes into view. It's quite a sight to behold. A large man kneels before a snow covered grave, clearing away the inscription with a clenched, trembling fist. It wouldn't be too out of place if the arm the fist belonged to wasn't bent at an unnatural angle and dripping dark blood.
He must hear us approach, but his eyes sink to the ground instead of raising to meet us.
“What do you want?” He growls. Next to me, I feel Kirima glance uncertainly in my direction. As the senior officer, the job of answering falls to me.
“Sir, I'm officer Saotome with the Saitama Prefecture Police. You need medical attention.”
“I don't care who you are.” He replies, and turns to look at me. His gaze is searching, trying to evaluate me even though it's clear his brain is clouded with pain and, probably, alcohol.
“I don't care that you don't care. But we're getting you out of here either way.”
The man scoffs and begins to stand up, but one leg gives out from under him and he collapses in front of the tombstone. By the time I reach him, Kirima is on the radio calling for an ambulance.
“Sir, are you alone? Was it just you in the car?” I carefully try to get him sitting up, but the damn snow isn't helping. I almost feel like I'm drowning in it or being smothered, or both at the same time.
“The car?” The man mumbles to me, but his eyes are locked to the grave beside us now.
“Yes, sir. Are you alone?” I'm trying to gauge him for stages of shock or other physical injuries, but it's obvious he's had more than a few drinks tonight.
He seems to think on the question for far too long. I realize it was a stupid one to ask given where we are, but one that had to be asked anyway. Finally, he seems to come to a conclusion, his eyes narrowing further.
“No, no I'm not. I'm not.” He reaches for the tombstone again to continue unearthing it, but his arm is trembling violently, and for the first time I see the dark patch of blood staining his thick, blue-black hair. In fact, there's quite a lot more blood than I noticed at first. I didn't think I could get any colder in this weather, but I somehow manage it.
“Sir, please try not to move.” I turn to shout to my partner, “Where's that ambulance?”
“On the way. Ten minutes.” Kirima replies, then, “Masami.”
I follow his gaze. The man next to me is slumped against the tombstone. His eyes are closed.
“Shit.” This one's going to make us work for it. “Get over her and help me, we might not have ten minutes.”
We manage to keep him breathing until the ambulance arrives. The paramedics look miserable, tromping through the heavy snow with a stretcher between them, and me and my partner help our unnamed friend onto it. He's unsurprisingly heavy given his size, but with some combined effort, we get him strapped in and they're off to load him up and be on the road.
It's out of our hands now. I can't help but feel relieved.
More than ready to get back to the station, Kirima and I begin the long walk back to the cemetery entrance. I've had enough red snow to last me all winter, and probably longer.
I glance back at the grave that had held the man's rapt attention. It's a fairly massive, obviously expensive piece, adorned with a statue of an angel with arms outspread. Despite his best drunken efforts, he had only managed to clear away the epitaph and part of the name, which I can barely make out in the dark.
“Hakamichi”.
The rest is buried beneath waves of white. It's not alone though. Just before I turn to walk away, I notice what appears to be a fancy umbrella, lying in front of the tombstone like an undying bouquet of flowers, barely visible beneath the snow that floats down, uncaring and indifferent.





The “incoming call” tone blares so loudly that it almost makes me jump, and I frantically search for the “accept” option on the screen, if only to make it stop. I still haven't gotten used to these video chats, even though I've been dealing them for a while now.  A computer replacing a phone just never feels right to me, and I never even use my phone that much.
The webcam's feed pops up and I see her there, framed against the backdrop of what could be any typical college dorm room. A grin quickly spreads across her face and I return it, the tiny picture from my own camera in the bottom corner of the screen serving as proof.
Our conversation starts slowly at first. It's been a while since we've seen eachother, I guess things have been pretty busy on both ends and there just hasn't been time for little things like this. A classic symptom of getting older, it would seem. A text chat box sits, ignored, at the bottom of the screen. There's no need when conversing in sign has been such a big part of her life and now mine, our hands fluidly moving back and forth. Although I do notice that some of her gestures and mannerisms have changed a little bit since we first began talking like this. Evolved a little, like developing an accent from being somewhere else for too long. It brings a wistful smile to my lips. Things like that are inevitable, but they're also a reminder of just how much distance there is between us these days.
“[...are you paying attention?]” She motions, a playfully annoyed look on her face. I realize I had drifted off a bit, the difference between signing to someone standing in front of you and on a dull computer screen plain as day.
“[Sorry.]” I reply. “[This is a little harder to do over a webcam.]”
She nods, and starts poking tentatively at things off and around the screen, searching for something.
“[What if I do... here, does this...?]” She signs distractedly as she fiddles with the controls of her camera. It seems to do the trick, as a short burst of static assaults my ears and then a familiar voice rings out.
“Can you hear me now, Hicchan~?”
I sigh. Apparently I'm not the only one who doesn't have the hang of all these high-tech things yet. Life never slows down, does it?
“Loud and clear, Misha.”
“Whew! I thought you were just trying to test me on my sign language, and I get enough of that with my day job!” She winks cheerfully.
“Well what can I say, I learned from the best. I guess I'm not the only one who can say that anymore.” This elicits a warm burst of laughter, but her expression suddenly grows serious.
“Hicchan, behind you~!” I don't even bother turning. Even if I hadn't seen the figure emerging in my own camera feed in the corner, I could sense her presence. A slim, bespectacled face juts past my shoulder as I feel a pair of fingers form bunny ears above my head. I move to slap at the offending hand but it quickly whisks out of my reach in a blur of sign as Shizune greets Misha, smiling from ear-to-ear. I begin to slide my chair to the side so that she can take center stage, but she plops into my lap, scoots us back in front of the screen, and, all in one fluid motion, continues signing. I decide to withhold any complaint, instead peeking around her slender figure to make occasional faces at the camera.
Misha glows as she talks about her time overseas, the students and teachers that she's met, the places she's been and delicious foods she's discovered. Shizune responds with tales of her hostile takeover of her new university, and for a while, it's just like the old times. I'm reminded of those two friends I met on my first day at Yamaku, completely inseparable and unstoppable, taking on the whole world  by themselves. They seemed so fierce and determined to overcome whatever life threw at them, even if that included a new transfer student, fresh out of the hospital, with a spirit as broken as his body.
Things have changed a lot since then, though. Nothing makes that clearer than when a strange voice calls out on Misha's screen, and I see her turn to look at someone. When she glances back at us, there's a look in her eyes that I know too well. It's one that the young woman in my lap wears often when we're together. It's called love, I'm pretty sure.
Misha spins us something about forgetting she had plans that day, and bids us a fond farewell, grinning the whole time. Even though Shizune couldn't have heard the mysterious figure on the other side of the screen, the look on her face says she hasn't missed a thing. A few years apart isn't enough to erase all the time they spent joined at the hip, apparently.
The video chat ends, and then it's just the two of us. With only a moment of reluctance, Shizune rises to her feet and turns off the computer monitor in a swift chopping motion. The banging noise makes me grimace, but she turns, a little too oblivious, and grabs a hold of my tie, pulling me up out of my chair and only inches away from her.
“[So, what about our own plans for the evening?]” I sign with some difficulty, pointedly ignoring the hand still clasping my tie and the look Shizune is giving me.
There's the glint in her eyes again. We'd barely stepped inside my tiny apartment when Misha had called. I'm surprised, but I shouldn't be. I can't say I didn't know it was coming from the moment she arrived. I'm not giving in so quickly, though. I stare back at her blankly, feigning complete ignorance.
She gives my tie a pointed tug. I cock my head to one side in bewilderment. Shizune's eyes narrow, and I feel like an antelope staring down a hungry lion. But, I've come too far to give up now. I bring up one hand to check my watch.
In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have taken my eyes off her.

I make some halfhearted excuses about the weather outside being awful anyway and she agrees vigorously, and then our hands resume our physical debate. I can't really complain, as her legs wrap around me and we sink onto the bed. These days, though, what time we do get to spend together, things like this seem to take up most of it.
Buttons, buttons, buttons. I don't remember there being so many, but suddenly the sheer number of obstacles before me is astounding. When once I would have fumbled, I now work with the precision of bomb disposal unit.
It's just... and, zippers, too... it's just, no pun intended, but we seem to spend most of our time together doing and never just being. Never talking, never... my lips caress her neck for a few moments, and then I find the time to bite, softly only at first. The ensuing gasp that escapes her lips brings a smile to mine. No, I can't complain. I just... Shizune manages to gain the high ground, flipping me on my back. She leans in for a kiss but jerks her head back just before I can deliver, a confident smirk on her face. She reaches over and turns out the lights with one hand, and I fully expect her to wield the darkness like a weapon.
I was anticipating a sledgehammer but got a needle instead. Shizune lays on top of me, the pure feeling of flesh on flesh and her scent overriding my senses. In the darkness, she looks into my eyes with a gaze that says “I missed you”. I return it with one of my own. It's something we've gotten good at after spending so much time together in situations where signing would be... inconvenient.
I love this girl. There isn't any doubt of that in my mind.
But there's something. There's a distance between us that hangs like a fog, and it gets a little thicker every time we part ways for a couple weeks. If she notices it too, she always tries to banish it with things like this. And it's not that her methods aren't effective, as her hands smooth down my sides, over my arms, and then entangle with my own.
It's like she's a photo that gets blurrier every time I see it. Here, like this, it's all simple and clean. Well, okay, simple, as our bodies meet and we sink into eachother. Suddenly, there isn't time for anything else. It's a frozen, miserable night outside, but we manage to keep warm. I think she's won this round.
I just wish it was clearer what rulebook we're using, and whose team we're on.

I wake up the next day to the gleam of sunlight reflecting off the snow that blankets everything beyond my window. Blinking away the remnants of whatever sleep I managed to get, I glance over at Shizune. She's on the far side of the bed opposite me, fast asleep, facing the other way. It bothers me, a little. I think. I mean, she's probably used to sleeping alone these days, although I wish that wasn't the case. I probably do the same thing, and I can't really expect that to change for the occasional night we get to spend together.
It frustrates me even though I know it shouldn't, and that only frustrates me more. Luckily, a distraction appears in the form of a loud, persistent buzzing noise. I look around for the source, and eventually locate the origin as the pocket of Shizune's pants, carelessly discarded as they were on the floor of my bedroom.
Still a little groggy, I manage to fish out my girlfriend's cell phone and flip it open. The background is a group photo of Shizune and some other people who must be her classmates at some fancy dinner event. I can't help but wince. The last time I'd seen it, her wallpaper had been the two of us in front of some monument, that time we'd gone to visit Misha overseas. Shizune always said that stupid things like borders couldn't keep the three of us apart.
Anyway. The buzzing is a text message alert. Receiving actual calls is kind of pointless for her, so Shizune only uses it for messaging. And even then, she still doesn't really like the thing, so for it to be making this much fuss it must be important. Thinking I'll relay the message to her, I click past the new message screen. It's from Hidaeki, and he says...
I almost drop the phone. I want to do just that and go back to sleep, maybe delete the message and forget anything even happened, but I know I can't. So I do the only thing I can, which is wake the sleeping, peaceful, beautiful figure lying next to me and inform her that today is going to be a very long day.