Wayside - 1920s Japan Dramedy

The air in her aunt and uncle's house was even more stifling than usual, but Yuko didn't dare to complain - not after the circus Missus Morris was so animatedly regaling the household with over tea in the drawing room.

"You should have seen him, the lot of them!" Missus Morris, the stocky, god-fearing woman Yuko had the misfortune of spending the afternoon with fought to keep her cup steady in her shaking hand. "Unbelievable, the nerve. And you-!"

Yuko's eyes were now as wide as her accuser's. From her perch on the sofa, she feigned her innocence as much as her prim mannerisms allowed. "Me?"

"Yes you, missy!" Missus Morris nodded, her chins wiggling with every bob of her head. "Now far be it from me to butt into this family's private affairs-"

Is it that far?

Yuko fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"But Nasuko, from one friend to another, I urge you to reconsider Yuko's...activities during her visit."

Yuko bit her lip.

"It should have been common sense in the purest form, but I suppose today's liberalities can lapse the judgment of even those most sensible. A young lady like your Yuko has no business at all traipsing about without a proper escort."

Proper escort.

"What do you mean?" Yuko at last allowed herself to intervene. Both her aunt and uncle shot her icy stares from their seats.

“Now she is a beauty no matter who you ask, but she already has quite a bit working against her. You of all people would know.” Missus Morris eyed Nasuko from beyond her teacup. She gave a silent prayer of thanks as her dear friend knowingly nodded her head. “I know it’s not fair. If I had the divine power to level the field against these daft blonde-haired blue-eyed ninnies I would. But Nasuko, if you still intend to have any chance of marrying Yuko to one of your acquaintances, a respectable American family, I can only recommend that she either stay inside and out of trouble or only go out with Ryuji. The girl’s eligibility can only withstand so much until the few admirers she has start to lose interest.”

It took all of Yuko’s strength to maintain her anger. The rest of Missus Morris’ visit was a blur. She couldn’t remember at what point in the afternoon she was sent to her room with a bruised cheek and puffy eyes.

I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t. I won’t.

She paced the room, every timid step from one wall to another a reminder of her captivity.

Yes, that’s what is was.

Like a crane trapped in a cage.

A husky laugh escaped her as the first streams of rain ran watery cracks down the window.

How poetic.

Her mind wandered to the people she walked past today and to the children on the street corner. Oh, she hoped they were dry and safe somewhere with someone kind enough to give them relief if only for one night. If she had her own home, Yuko would have those poor darlings tucked into warm little beds with bellies full enough to last a week.

What a wonderful dream.

She rescinded herself to a seat at the desk, its austere, cold chair much more compatible with her melancholy mood than the velveteen lounge at the foot of her bed.

She thought to herself with a hand crooked under her chin. No one noticed her missing earrings - one now languishing about her purse and another in Alfred’s care.

A bolt of lighting bounced off the walls.

Was he still working outside in all of this? All of a sudden Yuko felt queasy, but quickly righted herself and shook her head. Oh, to hell with men! When was the last time a man ever did anything good for her? They were the cause of everything amok and crooked in her life, all of them except-!

She pursed her lips. No, no more fanciful musings of a man who might, only might, gallantly show up at her doorstep one day with an earring in hand, and Yuko convinced herself in her sorrowful state that anything else but such a girlish dream had a far higher chance of happening with her luck.

To the trash with men, the lot of them!

For the first time in a while Yuko felt her cheeks flare red from misgivings of rage rather than pining. She had to vent her frustrations to someone, or she wholly believed she may explode.

One hand nimbly reached for the brass handle on the desk’s lone drawer, and after another flash of lightning the vast wooden expanse was covered in her treasured writing paper, a finely detailed floral set adorned with little birds prancing about the corners.

She almost felt pity for the lovely stationery, soon to be tainted with complaint after complaint void of any joy or talk worthy of such cute flowers and birds. And who on earth would listen?

Certainly none of her girlfriends back home - to speak of anything veering from the tried and true topics of art and clothing would rouse enough gossip to ruin Yuko’s reputation over there ten times over.

A letter to herself? One to look back on with a laugh years from now, when Yuko was at last happily married with children to love and spoil until the end of her days?

Don’t be ridiculous. She rolled her eyes, tapping her pen atop the paper.

The only options remaining were HIro and her father. She cringed with the memory of the former, and her mind ran to a certain blonde-haired-glasses-wearing working man for comfort from any memories of her former lover.

Ugh! There I go again! And so she went.

Further and further astray from her fleeting hatred of the opposite sex and back towards her demure, level-headed, forgiving self, just from the influence of a man she hardly knew.

She looked out the window, and through the rainy haze caught sight of the outline of the moon.

Even if you’re far apart, the sun and the moon you look at are the same! So when you’re mad at your aunt or some ass of a guy, all you have to do is look up at the sky and for a minute you’ll be home.

As Alfred’s cheery voice rang throughout her head, Yuko at last took her pen to paper and wrote her father’s name with a shaky hand. This was all she wrote - to her despair, the rest wouldn’t come.