Notes

"George Carter, you are unbelievable," Yori

breathes out, his long fingers tracing over the

old records I have stuffed into crates.

"Yeah?" I ask, brushing some of my hair back. I

watch him, the way his shoulders move beneath his

shirt, the way his hips move to one side as he

stands idly, the flex of his arms as he pulls out

a record. His body is complex in a way that

puzzles me.

"I didn't think people actually lived like this,"

he laughs a little, pulling the record out of its

sleeve. He sets the sleeve down carefully next to

my table of succulents, and I suddenly feel a bit

embarrassed.

"Like what?" I ask shyly.

He sets the record onto the turntable with ease,

nudging the needle over playfully. It lowers down

onto the vinyl, and then the sounds of

Californication by Red Hot Chilli Peppers starts

to float through the air like the notes are

dancing between us.

"Like... surrounded in just... things they love,"

he explains a little awkwardly. He moves from my

vinyl collection over to my bookshelf, fingers

carefully tickling those as well. "It's hard for

me to just... ah, I don't know how to explain

it."

"Can you try?" I carefully request.

Yori comes to sit down in front of me, the two of

us choosing to eat on the floor rather than at

the table or on the couch. He looks at me for a

few moments, before dragging his eyes away.

"I just don't have anything I'm passionate

about," he says. "My apartment is so empty

compared to yours. I've never loved anything

enough to invest time or money into it."

"What about art?" I suggest. "You're going to

school for that, that takes time and money."

He scrunches his face up as he shakes his head.

"No, no. That's... That's what my parents want me

to do. You know, they always know what's best. Go

to college, Yori. Get a degree, make us proud.

Might as well, right? I don't have anything else

to be doing."

"Who says you have to listen to them?" I ask.

"You're the only one who can decide your future."



"You think?" He laughs a little sarcastically.

"Is that what you're doing?"

I bite my tongue, feeling even more embarrassed.

So, I stand up, and I pick up the nearest potted

plant and bring it over to him. I sit back down,

only to hand the plant right over to Yori.

He takes it in his paws, but he looks confused.

"I have forty six house plants," I tell him. I

look around my apartment's interior, the various

potted plants scattered amongst nearly every

surface. "I have forty five now. That one is for

you."

"Is this what you give all the girls?" He teases

me.

I smile a little and shake my head. "No, no. I

have so many because it's... it's a

responsibility. It's small, and very

insignificant, but it's enough. Every morning I

wake up, the first thing I do is water the

plants. If I'm not around to do that, all forty

six- forty five of them will die. It's a

commitment, and it's a responsibility, and it's

enough to make me step off the ledge."

Yori holds the plant much more tenderly now that

I've explained it's significance to him. He looks

up at me, and his cheeks glow. Is that because

of... me? Did I make somebody blush?

While I'm admiring the miracle of making someone

actually flush a shade darker, Yori speaks up.

"Shit. Thanks, man. That's... that's really

special, thank you."

The record plays on, and I just smile at Yori

because I never have much to say. I rest my chin

on top of my knee, my legs pulled tightly up to

my chest. He continues to look around my

apartment in awe, all while holding the plant

close to his chest.

This will come to an end one day, like all

things. But I can't see The Earthquake when I

feel this happy. It's hard to see the bottom when

you're standing at the top.

"Joji?" He suddenly says.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I

immediately feel my body tense up. "What did you

just call me?"

"Joji," he then points up towards a picture frame

hanging to the wall behind me. "Is that your

nickname?"

I turn and look at the photo of Kato and I,

before everything happened. Nothing bad, I don't

mean to sound so dramatic, but life just caught

up to us. We don't talk as much as we used to now

that he's in college and I'm suicidal, even

though Kato tries to call twice a month. But

still, the photo is of us with matching shirts.

His says 'I Love Joji', and mine reads 'I Love

Kato'.

He threw his away when I was helping him move. I

remember watching him toss it in the trash and

feeling just a little piece of me go with it.

Meanwhile, my shirt hangs in the back of my

closet, because like Yori said; I live surrounded

in things that I love.

"Oh, yeah," my voice trembles at the memories.

"It's, um, George in Japanese."

"May I?" Yori asks.

I shrug, because I can't find it in myself to

speak up and explain my discomfort with the

feelings attached to the nickname.

"Joji," he says softly. "Jooo-ji."

I look up at him as he ponders over the name,

actually taking interest in it. It rolls off his

tongue in a comforting way, one that doesn't make

my skin crawl.

"Joji," he says once more. I look at him as he

says it, and he offers a warm smile.

"Yori," I say back.

He laughs a little, and then asks "What kind of

music do you play, Joji?"

I glance at the ukulele sitting on the couch, and

just shrug. "Whatever comes to mind, I guess."

"Can I hear some?" He asks.

It's strange to find someone who actually wants

to hear my music. Kato never listened, just told

me to keep following my dream. He'd always wink

when he said this, though, so I don't think it

was genuine.

Kato was good, though- sorry, is good. Present

tense.

"Oh, um," I frown at my paws. "I, uh, I don't

really... I don't know if you'd like it."

"So what? I like you, and that's what counts,"

Yori tells me.

I rub my face a little and wonder how we have

gotten this close in less than twenty four hours.

This must not be real, right?

I take my ukulele into my paws and feel myself

cringing from the outside in. I never realized

how stupid I look holding this thing until

someone is actually watching.

The chords bite at my fingers painfully. I

haven't played in awhile, and my delicate

fingertips prove it. I can't even begin to play

the intro to a song without feeling like a fuck

up, and I want nothing more than for Yori to

leave so he doesn't see me embarrass myself.

I can't look at him, but I can feel him staring.

My lips part, and my brain is just screaming at

me to stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.

"I cant hear you, maybe you feel it too," I sing

quietly. My voice is raw and untrained, and

hearing it makes me want to open the nearest

window and jump out. This is it. This is when

Yori should get up and walk out. "dont you care?

dont you care? its not fair, not fair"

I put the instrument down quickly like it's

scalded my paws. My shoulders shake rapidly with

each deliberating breath that I take, and the

tightness in my throat only means that I'm

borderline of a minor Earthquake.

Earthquakes are just a nicer term for mental

breakdown.

That's what Kato called them, and I can't stop

fucking thinking about him.

"Jo-" Yori starts out, but I shake my head.

"Um, George," I wheeze out like I'm asthmatic.

"Oh, sorry," Yori moves around on the floor until

he's sitting next to me, our shoulders touching.

He takes the ukulele and moves it far away, out

of my reach, and then places the plant into my

hands. "It's a commitment."

I lift my eyes to Yori's face and see him

smiling. He's not scared off by my nervous,

twitchy actions, doesn't even seem fazed by them.



"Can I... Can I ask something?" My voice is quiet

and weak.

"Of course," he responds.

I lean back until my shoulders hit the couch, and

then I say "What's... What's it like to feel

nothing? To not love anything?"

Yori's smile drops a little, and he tears his

eyes away from me for probably the first time

tonight. I can see the cerebral thunder flashing

in his eyes, because it's one I see so often

within myself.

"It's lonely," he says. His voice is soft, like

he doesn't want anybody else to hear. Yori leans

away until our shoulders are no longer touching,

and the needle bobbing up and down on the

finished record fills the room with an empty

silence.

"It's a very lonely feeling, to not feel at all."



The gap between us makes me realize that it's

hard to be happy. It's scary to feel joy. There's

comfort in loneliness, and he should be grateful

for how he doesn't have to feel any of the trials

and tribulations I suffer through constantly of

having to experience each of these emotions so

very intensely.

"You should go," I say all too quickly, earning

an alarmed look from Yori.

"How come?" Yori asks me, am I'm suddenly just

drenched with misery.

The last time I was happy, I mean, really happy,

was ten months ago. The rain was soaking me but I

didn't care, I was untouchable. The taste of UV

blue vodka was still on my tongue, but I don't

drink.

This is only going to become another bad memory I

look back on. How can I even think that I deserve

someone to care for me in my life? Yori isn't

here for me, he's here because I stress him out,

and stress is better than no feelings at all.

"G-Go," I start to stutter, because the dark and

swirling abyss is coming. I can see it festering

at my feet, threatening to swallow me whole. Oh

no. The Earthquake. I couldn't see it before

because I was standing directly on it.

I look up, and through tears, Yori is gone.