Dirty, Dirty Liars [Mature/Editing]

[15] 十五

Ryuzo was too good to me. Whatever he needed to do, he didn't say, but taking me around the city wasn't it.

We walked through the excited morning streets of Gion, passing tourists and nationals alike, all dressed in kimonos, gawking at the picturesque weathered wood buildings the same way I did. It was such a perfect blend of past and present.

He took my hand, guiding me past a small crowd that had gathered near a street crossing. In the center, a geisha stood in her full, exquisite glory. White painted skin, red lips, perfect kimono and hair. As if out of a movie, she stood tall and perfectly still, completely unaffected by the raucous attention. I would have stared at her the way everyone else did if I wasn't obsessing over Ryuzo holding my hand in public. A small joy of being lost in a crowd of worldly strangers, far away from the probing eyes of Tokyo and Fujiwara turf.

"You know this place," he said.

I looked up and saw the downhill cobblestoned street and the tall pagoda framed perfectly at the end. Working as much as I did made me forget how little of Japan I had seen — how much history I may never see before I had to leave.

"That's a temple, right?" I asked. He nodded. "How old is it?"

"Uh . . . I don't know," he said with a sheepish grin, clearly not expecting a pop quiz on architectural history.

"Hundreds of years?"

"Closer to a thousand."

"Are you for real?!" My jaw dropped. "I've never seen something that old before."

He laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah!" When you erase tens of thousands of years of history and replace it with Europe 2.0, everything older than 300 years was riveting. "Everything is so new compared to here, and most of the old things in the South are not fun memories for people like us."

"What would you show me if I was there? What do you miss most?"

A question I hadn't considered. I had been too focused on running to take time to reminisce.

"Driving," I answered. "I know that sounds stupid, but I do miss it. And the food. It's amazing here, don't get me wrong, but what we have isn't authentic and isn't good for you, but it is good."

"I like that you always pick food," he said with a chuckle. "When will you go back?"

"If I have my way, never."

"Never?"

I shook my head. "There's nothing there for me but bad memories."

His hand left mine. I pouted until I felt it slide up my spine and settle on my nape. He had my full attention when he said, "Do you think you might come back to Japan one day?"

I looked up at him, though his gaze was still on our path. "Do you want me to come back?"

Finally, his eyes found mine. They narrowed over a laughing grin, but he never answered. His thumb stroked against my neck before his hand settled on my waist, leading me through the sea of blissfully oblivious strangers.

We walked for a while longer as I enjoyed the beautiful views. I couldn't stop staring at everything we passed, especially the pagoda that towered higher and higher the closer we got. We stopped outside of a brick building. Small kids trailed behind teachers in perfect lines.

"I will be right back," he said.

"Okay."

Ryuzo left my side. Awkwardly, I stood alone, unsure of what to do.