*Soundtrack at the bottom. =)

CHAPTER 7

Tokyo, 2014

We are all coincidences waiting to happen in a world that tumbles and moves faster than how we would ever be able to see, he thought. Jiyong was alone. And what had been before a cherished dream now served as a cage made of crystal and polluted air. There were too many sounds and voices fluttering around but none was the one Jiyong craved the most, nor the ones worthy enough to capture Jiyong’s faint attention. Kiko and he were trying to catch a train to the south side of the city, but that particular afternoon the station was flooded with people and noise. It was too much, and Kiko knew it by the way she glanced apologetically at him at times.

“I still remember the first time I set foot on this station,” Kiko sighed by his side, her lips covered by the fabrics of a tick scarf. Only the rebellious hairs at each side of her face, caressing her blushed cheeks, made evident the cold wind of the Japanese winter. Her eyes wandered around and up to the big metal archways above their heads.

Jiyong remembered too, his first time inside the Tokyo Station. He remembered perfectly the weight of his backpack pulling over his young shoulders, his left hand grabbing with desperation onto her mother’s. But it was the tears what he had the most vivid image of, how he couldn’t help but cry and whine all the way to their assigned train. And though he cried harder and harder as he had ever in his short life, his father never looked back or stopped his steps. His imposing figure guided them with quick steps to their train and Jiyong was shoved inside without gentleness or care.

His family had found a small apartment at the outskirts of the city, where the air constantly smelled bad and the streets were usually flooded with smelly water and abandoned trash. Stray cats and dogs would sniffle around the garbage containers in search for food, or fighting at night, taking away Jiyong’s sleep with their fierce meowls and barks.

He remembered the view from his window. How he had once dreamed of wide spaces, astonishing skyscrapers waving at him day at night, and an ocean of lights flickering like stars up in the sky. But reality, once there, hadn’t been remotely as close. All he had was the view to the next decrepit building. And every time he opened his curtains he only saw the closed windows of his neighbors and corroded layers of paint.

But above everything else he remembered the letters, daily written but never sent.

Kiko pulled him from the arm to walk faster and Jiyong returned back from his trance. They had already gotten off the train and walked around three blocks without Jiyong noticing his own feet moving by their own will. How easy it was to disconnect from the present when there everything that interests you in life is no longer there, Jiyong pondered. They left the cold wind behind and stepped inside the small agency building at the corner of the block, with the shiny spectaculars and unblemished windows. Kiko looked around and immediately spotted a free travel agent sitting at the back of the establishment, and almost ran to where the woman was. Jiyong followed behind her with slower steps and curious eyes roaming the photos hanging from the walls. There was one of the Eiffel tower at Paris, the Brandenbourg Gate, the London Freewheel, the Statue of Liberty at New York. All should or were supposed to be enticing and fascinating, but they were far from it for him. The photos appeared dull and soulless, and a feeling of dread ran through Jiyong’s spine the moment he saw the smile pulling from Kiko’s face.

The women showed her albums of buildings and departments for around two or three hours, meanwhile Jiyong, refusing to take part on the decision, was given a small book of photos taken at the streets of New York. The women had told him he would end up even more fascinated about the city, though Jiyong feared exactly the opposite. He scanned the pictures and his shoulders slumped at the view of the people; all of them seemed lost, with eyes that looked only at the floor and their shoes. Jiyong shivered, everyone looked extremely lonely.

Kiko finished the meeting with the promise of coming back to settle the arrangements for one of their apartments. They walked back in silence to the bus stop, hiding from the cold inside their big coats and jackets. Only once they were sitting at the bus stop, Jiyong dared to say something.

“He said I would love the city,”

Kiko opened her eyes and turned to look at him, her eyebrows pulled up and she opened and closed unable to find words.

“Seungri,” Jiyong clarified as if Kiko didn’t know already who he was talking about, “He said I would love this. But I do not,” Jiyong murmured and lowered his eyes to the floor, “I do not.”

 Kiko didn’t answer back, she moved closer and pressed their hands together in silence. The wind never stopped freezing their faces.

The next day Jiyong didn’t took the bus to the museum but instead boarded the train that went to the eastern part of the city. It was one of the routes he hadn’t took in many years. It took forty minutes more than usual but once there, the auditorium stood as impressive as always. He walked inside pulled by the need to find it, to find the last piece for his puzzle to be complete. Like a ghost, he wandered through the classrooms, listening to the sounds of the many instruments filtering through the slits of the doors. Sometimes the students that went of the classroom turned to look at him with a frown and their eyes squinted, and they would avoid walking close to him. Jiyong smiled, maybe he was turning into a real ghost.

At one of the rehearsal rooms at the end of the building, Jiyong stopped and for a minuscule instant his back straightened as if he had gained suddenly back his life. As if he had been pulled out from death. Inside the room was a young man, maybe around thirteen years old, playing the Erhu. Jiyong stepped inside and took seat at one of the far corners and closed his eyes. The boy said nothing. Maybe he was just that concentrated in his music, maybe he just didn’t mind.

The boy was good. He played the instrument masterfully and with underlying emotion. For a moment Jiyong perceived a faint hint of the flowery smell of Magnolias around him. The walls fell one by one and vanished to give space to a garden in the middle of nowhere. Big Magnolias trees gave the necessary shade for him to lay on the grass and stretch his legs and arms, the sky had an impossible blue, one that no painter, no matter how masterful he was, would ever be able to reproduce. The air was damp and fresh, Jiyong could smell the rivers nearby. The smallest touch of fingers ran through