Page 22 of Raiden

He slips a record from the sleeve, lifts the brown plastic lid on the record player, and gets it situated. It’s one of those that drops down before it plays, which adds an extra layer of charm and magic.

I didn’t expect any of this. The classical music is just as jarring and surprising as the inside of the house. I don’t know what it is. Some kind of symphony probably, but who composed it and what letter, if it has a letter, is beyond me. I’ve read pretty much all the classics, but the music? I was never one of those kinds of people that liked to do things just to be seen or let what others were doing dictate my interests.

The stereo is good. The music envelops the room. I can almost see the appeal of a real symphony or orchestra.

Raiden stalks into the kitchen, turning the light on in there too.

Without asking me if I’d like any, he fills two bowls with sugary cereal. Gets a carton of milk out of a near-empty fridge. He pours without sniffing it, which means he must have boughtit recently. The house doesn’t have that shut in, unlived in feel, even if it does look like the previous owners left seventy years ago and will be back soon.

The kitchen has also been suspended in time. It’s also overpoweringly green with dark olive tile backsplash, green countertops that don’t look original, and light wood cabinets that probably are.

The music isn’t as loud in here.

“What are the lamps called? The ones with the weird glass shades?” In my past, admitting my own ignorance was something I would never do. I’d rather read a thousand books trying to find an elusive answer than reveal that I didn’t come from a privileged background. I dressed the part, looked the part, played the fucking game. I was never once ashamed of who I was at heart, but the pretending, the pretense, the utter ridiculousness of the whole academic world still tastes sour in my mouth. At the same time… I miss it.

It was the knowledge I loved.

It’s the honest part of it that I miss, knowledge and learning just for the sake of it, for the sheer pleasure of it.

“Spaghetti lamps, I think.”

I giggle like a kid. It makes sense. The shades do look like layers of spaghetti looped up to make a round ball, painted bright yellow and green after they dried.

Raiden doesn’t look at me strangely over the girlish laughter. He doesn’t look at me at all, not even when he pushes the bowl of cereal my way. I’m not going to insult him by not eating and I’m starving.

The first bite tastes far better than it should. Honey and graham crackers. Raiden takes a few bites, leaning against the counter, then abruptly sets the bowl aside. “Going to shower.”

“Okay.”

What the hell else am I supposed to say?

I could just leave. I could come up with a plan myself and we could stick to it. I could tell him that no one fucking cares if we got lost and we’re fine now. So fucking what if we spent a night in the woods? We could say it took a long time to cover all that land. We planned to stay overnight anyway. It would be the work of a few seconds to voice my thoughts and then I could abandon this cereal, get the hell out of this oddly charming little house with the sweet music that I don’t hate at all. I could thrust myself back into fresh air, get my normal tough front back in place, and flip Raiden and rest of the world a big fuck you.

Maybe I’m too hungry.

Maybe I’m just exhausted.

Whatever it is, I don’t want to fight.

And I don’t truly want to leave.

It’s the story of my life right here. Living in a world I don’t truly belong in, fighting like the devil to be accepted because I just can’t give up and take no for an answer.

“Do you mind if I check out your books?”

“No.”

I can’t tell what kind of no that is.Piss off, don’t you dare touch my books,orof course I wouldn’t mind, I have nothing to hide, they’re just books.

He leaves me with that to decode.

Tired of standing, I hoist myself up on the counter and eat cereal like people do in movies, but never in real life. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe other people sit on their counters all the time.

The house must have good insulation. I don’t hear the shower start.

I finish eating and put my bowl in the sink, rinsing it out of habit. Raiden’s sits on the counter, untouched. I’d put it in the old mustard yellow fridge, but the soggy factor would be gag worthy.

I go check out the bookcase instead.

---