2 Dancing with Myself

Meanwhile, across the street, Benjiro relocked the door behind him when he ran inside. He stayed by the door for a moment, just waiting and listening to see if the girl was going to follow him. He leaned against a wall and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The anxious boys heartbeat gradually calmed to a pace where he couldn't feel the blood rushing into his ears.

"Boy, glad that's over", he muttered, "Although now that she knows where I live, I just hope she doesn't start hounding me. And it looks like Dad isn't home quite yet"

He laid his bag on the couch and went to go get some water. He noticed a note pinned to the front of the fridge.

Hey Benjiro,

One of the other technicians called in sick this morning after you left. I'll be back at around midnight, so no wild parties. There are some leftovers in the fridge, but if it's not enough, you can order takeout. Don't stay up too late.

Dad

"Hmph, wild parties. Nice joke, Dad."

After taking some chips and water, he wandered up to his room. The place was spartan in its contents. It contained a bed, desk, dresser, a shelf full of books and an assortment of odds and ends Benjiro had collected over the years. Little mementos of years past. A container with seashells and sand, a plane ticket, a few photos and a few badly made crafts and assignments from elementary and middle school. And his most prized possession, the acoustic guitar he received as a gift.

Benjiro just layed down on his bed, and just stared at the ceiling. He lay there for nearly an hour just staring, and disappearing into the oblivion of his mind. Soon, he became bored of just laying there and decided to peruse the internet for a little while. But just like every other young, dumb kid, it wasn't long before thoughts of :

"Well, I don't need to get to work right away. It's still Friday afternoon. I have the entire weekend to complete it, no rush."

Benjiro went over to his shelf and took out a copy of "The Count of Monte Cristo" and a dictionary. Whenever he found something to focus his mind, he became spellbound by it, and could stay that way for hours without moving. He soon found himself equally confused yet entertained by the adventures of Edmond and the undoing of his life from jealous associates. He felt like he was right there, giving orders on board a trading ship, he could feel the shackles clamped onto his wrists and the cold emptiness of a prison cell.

Before Benjiro realized, the day had become dark, and he realized that his stomach felt like it was gnawing on his insides. He checked his watch and almost hit the roof.

"8:00, geez no wonder my stomach hates me so much right now."

Even though he was the only person in the house, he moved as quietly as he could, inwardly imagining himself as some sort of spy.

"Mr. Bond, the objective, is the substance known as "Food" laying in the refrigerator. It has been known to help you feel energized and improve brain function as well as provide immunity. Secure it by any means necessary."

Benjiro crept through the hallways and slunk down the stairs like a cat. He could hear the hot jazz play as he snuck. After eating he found a nice spot on the couch and went back to being engrossed in his book. Between the day he had, with the announcement of the competition, the accusing girl, his slight boredom and the confusing vocabulary of an 1800's novelist, he was drained. He could feel the drowsiness slowly overcoming his consciousness and his eyes were getting harder to keep open. He passed out on the couch with his book covering his face and slept harder than a log.

A couple hours later the front door opened up and in walked a man wearing an EMT uniform and an exhausted expression. Fumihiro set down his bag and lumbered to the kitchen to get some water. It had been a hell of a day ferrying the sick and injured from whatever accident they had been a part of to hospitals. He noticed the light was on in the living room, went to inspect and cracked a small grin when he saw his son sprawled out on the couch. His son looked so funny with his book just perched on his face.

"Jeez, how can you stand to read something so thick?" he wondered, "That thing is almost five hundred pages long. Guess that's something he must have inherited from Ruka."

The brawny man made a low sigh as he felt a familiar sting in his chest. He shook his head to get rid of the thoughts that were beginning to cloud his mind.

"Should I carry him to bed? No, he's too old for that. Besides, he'd probably wake up if I started lifting him."

Fumihiro took the book off Benjiro's face and dogeared the page before setting it on the ottoman. He scooped his arm and leg off the floor, picked a blanket out of the closet, and draped it over the sleeping figure. The tired man stepped back to take another look at his son. It was a sight that most people would consider ordinary, but to him, it filled him with an immense sense of satisfaction and genuine happiness. Something he felt that he hadn't truly experienced for nearly a decade.

Thinking back, his life had felt fractured and empty when his wife left with his two children. And if you asked him, Fumihiro would most likely say that his life wasn't whole, but it was better than before. He wanted to lean forward to ruffle his son's hair a little but he resisted the impulse and then wandered off to bed. The tired man didn't even bother to take his uniform off before taking a nosedive into the welcoming embrace of his mattress.

When Benjiro woke up the next morning, he was a little confused as to where the blanket came from, but when he looked over at his book, he put the pieces together. His Dad was the only person he knew that used a book's own pages to mark where he left off. He wandered upstairs to check on his sleeping father, who like usual after a long day, was still sleeping. Although Benjiro enjoyed being by himself, seeing his Dad laying there was a comforting sight to him.

"Hey, Dad. Wake up." he said while his father stirred, "do you w-want to start making our w-way to g-get breakf-fast now? I'm r-ready whenev-ver."

"Mmphm. Mornin' Benjiro.", replied the bleary eyed man, "What time is it?"

"Uh, it's about 9 in the m-morning."

"Yeah, I guess I should start moving. You get dressed, and I'll be down as soon as I rouse myself from death."

Benjiro went to his room to get some clothes fit for public appearance. Fumihiro lay in bed for another moment before prying himself from his bed to brush his teeth and wander downstairs. His chest hurt a little from his badge poking him all night long, but he didn't think much of it. Whenever Fumihiro had an occasional weekend free, he liked to have a minor lazy day with his son. It had been long enough that the burly man could remember fondly how the lazy days began when his son almost set the kitchen on fire.

The two left as soon as Fumihiro came downstairs. The light chill of the morning nipped at them as they took a stroll downtown until they came to the Early Bird cafe. They both took a deep inhale as the smell of coffee wafted through air. A waitress smiled as she led them to their seat. She kind of enjoyed seeing the pair come in. The father and son both stared at their menus more out a sense of obligation to the waitress, but both of them already knew what they were going to order.

"We'll both order a stack of three pancakes and some coffee, if you please."

"Alright, I'll be back in just a moment."

When their coffee arrived, Benjiro still couldn't understand how his Dad could stand to take his drink black. Nonetheless, after a few sips the cobwebs began to clear from their heads and the warmth of the cups helped to regain the feeling in their fingers. When their pancakes arrived, Fumihiro glanced at his son and said,

"Are you sure you want to do this? There's no shame in taking it easy."

"I w-will not b-be m-mastered by anything."

The two dug into their breakfast and began their contest to see if either one of them could literally stomach three pancakes. After about the second one Benjiro was already starting to regret the challenge, like he usually did. Seeing that his son was slowing down, he decided that maybe he should slow the pace.

"So, anything exciting happen in school yesterday?"

'Yeah, I literally bumped into a crazy chick who tried to have me arrested.', he thought, 'Yeah, I definitely can't say that. He worries enough.'

"Well, there's g-going to be a contest in language arts."

He explained what was going to happen, including the prize.

"Well, I've seen just how creative you can get once you start writing. This shouldn't be too difficult for you. So long as you do things ahead of time."

The weekend and the week that followed passed in a flash, and before he knew it, it was Thursday afternoon and he hadn't written one line. For someone who had a habit of procrastinating certain tasks, Benjiro knew there was no greater motivation than last minute panic.

The problem wasn't so much coming up with ideas, there was always one or another just bouncing inside his brain. It was just finding the right one and holding onto it long enough that he could pen it down. But just like everything else, Benjiro knew that by straining his mind too much, he'd get nowhere in gaining inspiration. So it was time for the usual method of unearthing his ideas. And that was to just sit back and let his imagination run wild and see where it led him. After twenty or so minutes of nonlinear thought, he decided that was getting him nowhere.

"OK, that's enough screwing around", he thought, "I need to think of something for this damn project. I don't necessarily need the extra points, but it couldn't hurt. Think, what could I use?"

He drummed his fingers on the desk. Maybe, if being torpid wasn't doing it, a little movement would do some good. He opened his notebook, plugged in his ears and picked out something to dance to. The beat started pumping and his feet started tapping. Then he started sashaying around his room and singing obnoxiously just because he knew nobody would see or care about what he was doing in his room.

"So, let's sink another drink. Cause it'll give me time to think."

All of a sudden, something popped into his mind. It was only a single line, but it was a good start to his newest creation. He grabbed his pen and started jotting down the verses. Pausing every few seconds to wonder if the rhyming scheme still worked in that particular stanza. Benjiro cursed himself whenever he made a spelling error.

"Dammit, why is that whenever I start writing", he inwardly berated, "I use a pen? Seriously, every time. Get it together, self. You're playing for points now."

Another hour later, Benjiro was staring down at the finished product. He didn't want to get too far ahead of himself, but he thought he came up with something that could rock the classroom. Personal and heartfelt, but obscure enough that nothing could indicate personal experience. Heavy and thought-provoking, but hopefully nothing that would bring down the mood. With the finished product looking up at him, the relief that only comes when you no longer have to worry about a task washed over him.

After putting the finished product inside his shoulder bag, he decided to unwind and strum on his guitar for a little while. He plucked at the strings, which sounded a little bit off. Benjiro fiddled with the knobs, until he heard a clean tune reverberate throughout his room. He couldn't play the whole thing, but he could at least play a half decent solo from Master of Puppets. He just rocked back and forth with the steady, almost hypnotic rhythm of the tune. For most people, playing a heavy metal song would make them feel down, but for Benjiro, it actually calmed him down.

"OK, the hard part is done", he thought aloud, "now the even harder part is yet to come. But, don't worry, just say your piece and sit back down. Who knows, maybe someone will find it oddly inspiring."

After a quick shower, Benjiro just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with a heavy feeling of apprehension. It took a while, but eventually, a merciful sleep started to overtake him. Maybe tomorrow could be the start of something good.