"Give Me Shelter"

The storm should’ve come hours from now, but Nobuhide was angry that day. It started off as a light drizzle, but not the isolated kind; this was merely the opening of the curtains for the big event, and the curtains open fast. A chord of primal fear runs through me, and then the heavens open up.

Shizuko and I escape to the only shelter in sight - ironically enough, the big arms of the statue, high up and wide enough to fit a single person beneath them. Nobuhide gives, and Nobuhide takes. We split up - Shizuko taking one arm, me the other. We can’t see each other any more; being on the other side of the statue makes me feel like she’s on the other side of the sea. We can only look and talk into the pounding downpour and the rising, swirling mist.

I say talk, but we aren't talking. We hadn’t talked this whole day. Summer slips from my fingers; autumn is coming. But then, across the vast expanse of the raging waters, I recall her words from last night.

Anxiety. Hesitation. Patience.

Your thoughts take on the color of the world, but I remind myself that there’s silver linings in everything. I’m conscious of my thoughts; I nudge them in the right direction. They can take on the pace of the world, too, and in this endless stream of rain, everything slows down. Being at the end of the world, far from civilization, far from a city of 40 million, a country of 125 million, a world of 8 billion, is a slow-paced life. Just me, Shizuko, and the regular drumbeat of rain.

I try to think of some positives.

“You know,” I say, my voice almost creaking after not being used in some time. “I can always come visit you in Yoshiaki. I can leave right when my last class ends on Friday. I’ll take the train - or the trains, I guess - and come all the way here. I can see you by midnight. Then we’ll have all day Saturday. I can stay late in the afternoon Sunday.”

The rain swells in the following silence. But then she answers.

“You’d come all that way just to see me?”

I try to think of something clever, but honesty pushes through. “Yeah.”

On the other side of the statue, perhaps patience is working for her as well. “And we can always message each other. Or call.”

That rings a bell. “After all this time, I still haven’t gotten your contact info yet, right? I guess we’ve been so close I haven’t needed it.”

She tells me her email in a clear voice. I add her on [INSERT PUNNY NAME FOR POPULAR MESSAGING SERVICE HERE] and type up a message. This one is particularly clever - a simple, “How’s the weather over there?” I’m too funny sometimes. But the message gets lost in the void.

“No cell service,” I call out to her.

I hear her giggle, but then she grows serious. “Shunsuke, I've been thinking. I've been trying to see the world the same way you do. But that doesn't work. There are things only you can see. And things only I can see. And if I saw everything the same way you do, then I wouldn't be able to see you.”

And then she parts the seas and appears before me. The surge of scarlet on her face contrasts with the wall of water falling around us, falling onto her. “Want to dance in the rain?” Her hand is outstretched in offer. I want to hold her hand.

I set my bag down and slip away from the statue’s protection. Instantly, the rain washes down my face and my clothes get soaked straight through. But it’s a summer thunderstorm - much like the sun in this same season, its intensity hides the gentleness lying underneath. The droplets are warm, as is her hand, as is her face, as is my heart.

We slip onto the grassy patch around the statue. Standing hand-in-hand, I’d like to say we danced a waltz, but formal dances have gone out of style. We take it loose and easy, following the random patterns of the rain, back and forth, legs kicking, arms pumping, heads bobbing. She separates and slides back, pretending to swim in the rain, her dyed hair and the shiny natural black shade in the center bobbing along, water dripping down the loose strands. I shimmy through the grass, my arms moving up and down. We get close again, close enough to feel the sunshine emanating from her, then we back up again. The rain provides all the music we need.

Perhaps we should get barefoot in the summer grass. Maybe we should run back down the road, into the dead village, and liven it up a little. I bet Nobuhide would like that - I swear his visage is smiling now. I know the baby approves. Maybe the crimson sparrow lets out its song in delight. There’s nobody else here but us. We have this entire spot of the entire globe to ourselves. Maybe Nobuhide isn't entirely in charge. Nor are we. Maybe we live in tandem, dancing along, thunderstorms and all.

I juke along, lurching and feinting, blinking the water out of my eyes. She stretches wide, turning sideways, then slips her sneakers through the grass back towards. We get close, really close, and she shakes the sodden hair out of her face, revealing a round face, gray eyes, inviting lips, because she’s here and I’m here and-

The mountain reverberates with a resounding thunderclap that goes on and on, echoing with its power. It’s enough to shake us out of our trance, and enough to scare me into Shizuko’s arms scare Shizuko into my arms. We hold each other close, hearts to hearts, eyes to eyes. I’m taller than her; her head’s slightly tilted to look up at me. Our chests fall and rise in unison; she buries her head into it.

“You’re soaked,” she says.

“It’s a little rainy,” I answer.

And it keeps coming and coming. Having danced the gloominess out of us, we slowly retreat to our separate sides of the statue. I lean my head against Nobuhide’s side. My clothes are dripping onto the concrete platform below Nobuhide’s sandals.

“I got spare clothes in my bag,” I tell her. “I’m gonna change.”

“I left mine at the ryokan. Can I borrow a shirt?”

I ruffle through my bag. I pick out a normal white long-sleeve button up for myself; for her, I pick out a black one I got long ago at Ameyoko, the bazaar in Tokyo. In white English letters, it declares SHELTER? YES. I place it under my shirt for protection, slip around the platform, and hand it over to her mostly dry. She takes it gingerly, then pushes some hair off my forehead.

Back on the other side of the statue, I get changed. And on the other side, she’s getting changed. I close my eyes and lean the back of my head against Nobuhide’s side once more. We stay in that comfortable silence for a long while.

Summer rain comes and goes without warning. The storm relaxes back into a drizzle for the rest of the day. Nobuhide must be satisfied, or maybe I am. When we finally step off the platform, we glance down into the village. Sunlight streams through openings in the cloud cover. Autumn can wait another day.

Shizuko looks down at her shirt. “Can I keep this?” she asks, then looks away, because she probably spoke before thinking.

Once again, I fail to come up with something clever. “Sure.”

The open road awaits us. We get back on the bikes and ride back towards the ryokan, side-by-side.