A Vibe, Ruined

“We did, but you just… its nothing. I just… can you hand m-my close please…” Masako said ponderously, though Sam was unsure if she was searching for words to describe her feelings or trying to mask them.

“Masako?” Sam pressed, unsure of what to do. He was dumbstruck at the sudden change of heart, though it was not uncommon for the mood to be ruined, but here?

“I SAID HAND ME MY CLOTHES!” She barked, her usually squeaky voice leaping up to a surprising and altogether venomous snarl. Sam did as he was instructed, scooping up her pile of clothes from the foot of the pullout and plopping them in a heap at her side. “Sam, look at what you did you motherfucker. Did you not see you were white knuckling me? I thought I was going to lose circulation in my arms.” Masako winged her arms out to show Sam the rash red imprints of his palms in her upper arms though he swore he hadn’t been pressing down that hard.

“I’m so, so sorry…” Sam said, attempting to sit down next to her but she scooted away from him, putting a whole three or four more feet between them as she redressed herself.

“Its… fine. Just—” Masako muttered, staring intently at her knees, “Let’s just agree to not do this again. I-I’m not too into the whole hit it and quit it thing anyway.” Her eyes betrayed something much deeper boiling inside of her though Sam dare not touch on it now. Considering his next move, Sam stared over at his former classmate. Despite the proximity, they may as well have been on different planets. There was a warmth to her that shined even through the clear discomfort, like a radiant light now being obscured by a layer of ice. Upon inspecting his own hands, marred by weightlifting callouses at the base of his fingers and streaked with the scars of compulsively picked cuticles, Sam felt no such duality could be applied to him. Ever since his return trip home he’d become a creature of pure habit, acting more out of some bizarre, vitiated drive to execute his daily routine simply to have done it rather than any actual vivacity or desire. Meals with his family were quiet, lacking the usual raucous conversations and it was clear the dying shrieks of a once healthy family dynamic weighed on his mother. Sam knew it was because, in her mind, while he’d returned to the world of the living, it was not in his entirety. To her, whatever had happened in Ireland during the Lost Year had rent a part of her son that Sam knew his entire family doubted could be retrieved again. There was something about losing him physically Sam was sure they could soldier through, be it the closure and grief that brings those around a lost loved one together, or their own inhuman emotional durability. But when he had returned, it was clear, at least to Mrs. Doyle, that what the hospital had called his family to collect was not her son anymore. Now as he looked over at Masako, he felt the sting of incompleteness more than ever, for it heralded that even those who knew nothing of his escapades could tell something was wrong.

“I can take you home if you want…” Sam said, hoping that he could fish out some amicable response from her though the daggers she stared at him indicated that his efforts were futile.

“I got an uber.” She muttered in response. The silence that ensued was less of an awkward one and more of a bone-crushing reminder why hometown hookups were not always the most advisable course of action. Despite himself, Sam found that it did remedy at least his more immediate problems. He had not so much as thought about Esme since he’d returned home, as the endless stream of bodies he’d kept rotating in an out of his humble basement abode had done the trick with long, sweaty nights of intentional forgetfulness not always fueled by **** and lust. He’d done well not to even consider contacting her even in his waking hours of painful clarity, shunting aside his grief for another quick text message and a night out. “You aren’t like you used to be.” Masako said, her words slicing through the silence and letting guilt bleed from the cut.

“Oh?” Sam quizzed.

“Excuse me for waxing poetic. It’s probably not my place,” Masako replied, “But before you left for college, you were a different person. Not in a bad way I mean, just… different.”

“How different?” Sam dared to ask, still very consciously avoiding eye contact.

“I-its like a light went out.” Masako began, eyeing him up and down cautiously to make sure the javelin she cast had pierced the emotional armor he had clothed himself in. It stung, that was for sure, but Sam proverbially and literally gritted his teeth and paid no heed.

“Times have changed since we last knew about… I know it sounds like I’m making excuses, but some things happened after I left. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” Sam said. Another uncomfortable silence set in between the two, punctuated only by the noise of the garage door sliding open and a car pulling in. “How much longer ‘til your Uber is here?”

“Like fifteen minutes, why?” Masako replied.

“Parents just got home,” Sam gestured with his chin at the ceiling so that his liaison became aware of the footfalls reverberating above, “So we can just use their car and I can drive you back. You still staying in the same place?” Sam offered.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” Masako squeaked, locking her phone and slipping it into her pocket as she swept up a messenger bag propped up against the nightstand fashioned like the chest from which Dio Brando of _JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure _fame was recovered. It was clear she wanted to end this as soon as possible and Sam suddenly found himself eager to oblige, though the walk upstairs would prove otherwise.

The walk through his kitchen and into his garage was not one of shame in the traditional sense but an exercise in the social dance that one does with family members who were oblivious to the context of a situation. He felt as though he was listening to his fathers’ cordial holiday well wishes to Masako through a faded filter in an EDM song and felt miles away when he watched his mother give a warm hug and peck on the cheek to his old high-school friend. All Sam wanted now was to be alone.

“You should come over more, we miss you!” His mother called from the door to the garage as he and Masako took their respective seats in the Subaru and began to back out. Masako gave as vague a response as possible, using her ear to ear smile as a shield for the ambiguity of her remark. The ride back was nearly silent save for the occasional ‘can you turn the heat up?’ or ‘Oh god, you still listen to this song?’ followed by the closest approximation of a friendly response Sam could give at the moment. As the car pulled up to the front of Masako’s home, she snatched her bag up once more and opened the door without so much as a goodbye before disappearing around back so as to avoid a similar awkward confrontation about her whereabouts with her own parents. Though Sam had found the wherewithal to apply to and, god forbid, even get into a university such as the one he attended, Masako was almost born for academic rigor and the sort of scholarly fame that both of her parents had.

The child of a former flutist in the New York Philharmonic and an Anesthesiologist mother who had met at a gala in New York before moving to Michigan for various personal reasons, Masako was the families hope of redeeming their status again. Primed from a young age to believe she was a big fish in a small pond destined for greater things beyond the suburban complacency that threatened to smother all of those whom you went to high-school with, it was clear every step she took and every stroke of her pen was made with the belief that she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. The two of you had met in sophomore year of high-school through a few mutual friends and for a while you perceived her defiant nature and utter encyclopedic knowledge of music theory as a fledgling superiority complex and as such, treated her accordingly.

Soon though, time presented an opportunity to begin anew when he found himself across from her in your junior year chorus. With that mindset, Sam realized that what he perceived as defiance was, in fact, a drive to succeed that few in his life could even hope to match. And well, the musical talent spoke for itself. Though the two were in two different sections, her capability was undeniable, and it was clear that even if the extent of Sam’s musical dream was to survive a required elective, Masako was going somewhere. At least that’s what he thought at the time. College applications had come around and it was much to your chagrin that you learned just how many forms teenage rebellion came in. Rather than taking a scholarship offered by several conservatories, the names were too esoteric for Sam to remember, she’d applied and committed to a state school. It was a final ‘fuck you’ to her parents and though Sam respected the zeal and had to admit the idea of doing such a thing with his own family made his knees tremble, he was also cognizant that whenever she dared venture home for break it was like entering the lions den. He was surprised her family hadn’t just said fuck it and re-keyed the door like they’d threatened too so many times when they’d grown up together. As he pulled off, he silently wished the best for her and a small part of him hoped that maybe, just maybe, she was doing the same for him.