Taut: The Ford Book
Page 62
“I’m still going to spank you, koneko.”
She blushes and lowers her eyes.
“You can’t get out of that.”
“That’s cute. Kitten. It’s one of those erotic pet names, right?”
“I don’t care for pet names, but the way you curl up in the seat—you’re tiny, Ashleigh. So small.”
“Mmmmm. Yeah, I’ve always been the little one. I’m nothing like anyone else in my family at all. My mom was very tall, so’s my dad actually. He’s half German, so he’s bulky for an Asian-looking man. And my mom had blonde hair and blue eyes. My sister takes after her. Everyone in Asia loved my mom and sister because of how pretty they were, how they both had perfect Chinese accents. But me, I was the little quiet one who sat in the corner and drew. The one who refused to talk to the important people who would come to our house for business parties. They tried to make me speak Chinese and I just didn’t want to.”
I’m captivated by her story. I want to hear so much more so I stay quiet and let her think.
“My dad might not look Chinese—he’s very tall for one. And his eyes are this weird green color. But he’s very serious about the culture. And I was always a little bit wild when it came to discipline. When we moved back to America I found so many ways to rebel. It was too easy. So when I moved to Japan I kinda liked the fact that I had to rein it in a little. Not too much, but just a little. It was good for me to give in to a new culture and think about things differently. Give the old me a rest and try something new. I’ve always felt a little out of place, ya know?” She looks over at me and I nod, because yes. Yes, I do know. I’ve always felt a little out of place as well. “Have you ever heard the story of The Boy Who Drew Cats, Ford? It’s a Japanese folk tale.”
“No, but I’d like to hear it. Tell it.”
She takes a deep breath, like she’s preparing for something. Building up her courage. I’m not sure why a folk tale would require courage, but she must need it for something. So I turn-on the mind-reading skills and pay attention.
“This story is about a boy who refuses to do anything but draw cats. His family is patient, but they insist he try to be productive, so they send him out to learn trades. But the poor boy has an obsession. He only wants to draw cats. So one night, after drawing a massive cat on a long room-sized rice paper screen, he falls asleep in a cozy closet and hears a monster come in the night. There’s a battle outside his door, but he’s too afraid to go out and look. So he waits until morning and finds a giant dead rat and the cat he drew on the rice paper screen is facing the wrong direction. He puts all the clues together and decides that his huge cat drawing came to life and killed the giant rat that’s been terrorizing the village. From that day on, all the villagers celebrated his cat-drawing skills.”
She stops to giggle. “It’s absurd, but that’s Japanese tales for you. I like them though, and this one especially. Japan always felt like home to me, from the moment I stepped off the plane it was home. And this story speaks to me. It says, Be yourself, Ashleigh. You can be appreciated for who you are, even if your only talent is a little bit strange and seems to have no value. Because everyone is valuable. That’s what the moral is. So maybe I am a koneko and I’m part of this story in a way. I’m on a quest to try and be my true self but I have no idea who I am, Ford. My identity has been taken away. Maybe a kitten is my true self? Maybe I am something small and delicate that needs to be taken care of. Not something strong and determined that finds a way to appreciate her own strange place in the world.”
“Maybe you’re both. Maybe you can be independent and delicate at the same time?”
“Single mothers don’t have the luxury of being delicate. Single mothers have to do everything alone. So even if I wanted to be a kitten, I’m not allowed.”
That’s it. I need this girl. She’s so lost. She’s looking for someone to help her and I’d like to be that person. She’s got a hold of my heart and I can’t let her go back to Tony. She’s practically begging someone to take care of her and that f**k left her. “When did you live in Japan, Ashleigh?”
She turns away and looks out the window, still curled up in the seat. “Kate and I just got back, actually. Christmas Eve.” She looks over at me. “I’ve been in Japan since I was eighteen. I ran away and I had no intention of returning to the US ever again.”
“Why did you come back? Because of Tony?” She nods but I can feel her sadness like it’s a thick fog. This conversation is reminding her of him even as I sit here falling in love. “How old are you now?”
“Twenty-three.”
“You look very young.”
“I know,” she tells the window instead of me. “Because I’m small. But I feel so old. Like life has passed me over. He said we’d grow old together but then he left me. And I feel like in the time since then, I got old without him. I feel like my life is over.”
There’s a pull-out up ahead on the side of the road. A spot for travelers to stop and take in the view. It’s an odd view, that’s for sure. Most of Utah is odd with the strange rock formations and the colors. But I’m not stopping for the view, so I just pull the f**k over.
“What’re we doing?” she asks, sitting up and flipping her seat back into its normal upright position.
I put the truck in neutral and pull the e-brake. “Ashleigh—” And suddenly I can’t say it. I want to. I want to tell her so many things. How I feel about her. How much I like Kate. How she makes me laugh. How desperate I am to stop her falling into a sad depression. Because I see it coming. If she’s not clinically depressed right now, she’s on the verge. She’s teetering on the edge.
She blushes and lowers her eyes.
“You can’t get out of that.”
“That’s cute. Kitten. It’s one of those erotic pet names, right?”
“I don’t care for pet names, but the way you curl up in the seat—you’re tiny, Ashleigh. So small.”
“Mmmmm. Yeah, I’ve always been the little one. I’m nothing like anyone else in my family at all. My mom was very tall, so’s my dad actually. He’s half German, so he’s bulky for an Asian-looking man. And my mom had blonde hair and blue eyes. My sister takes after her. Everyone in Asia loved my mom and sister because of how pretty they were, how they both had perfect Chinese accents. But me, I was the little quiet one who sat in the corner and drew. The one who refused to talk to the important people who would come to our house for business parties. They tried to make me speak Chinese and I just didn’t want to.”
I’m captivated by her story. I want to hear so much more so I stay quiet and let her think.
“My dad might not look Chinese—he’s very tall for one. And his eyes are this weird green color. But he’s very serious about the culture. And I was always a little bit wild when it came to discipline. When we moved back to America I found so many ways to rebel. It was too easy. So when I moved to Japan I kinda liked the fact that I had to rein it in a little. Not too much, but just a little. It was good for me to give in to a new culture and think about things differently. Give the old me a rest and try something new. I’ve always felt a little out of place, ya know?” She looks over at me and I nod, because yes. Yes, I do know. I’ve always felt a little out of place as well. “Have you ever heard the story of The Boy Who Drew Cats, Ford? It’s a Japanese folk tale.”
“No, but I’d like to hear it. Tell it.”
She takes a deep breath, like she’s preparing for something. Building up her courage. I’m not sure why a folk tale would require courage, but she must need it for something. So I turn-on the mind-reading skills and pay attention.
“This story is about a boy who refuses to do anything but draw cats. His family is patient, but they insist he try to be productive, so they send him out to learn trades. But the poor boy has an obsession. He only wants to draw cats. So one night, after drawing a massive cat on a long room-sized rice paper screen, he falls asleep in a cozy closet and hears a monster come in the night. There’s a battle outside his door, but he’s too afraid to go out and look. So he waits until morning and finds a giant dead rat and the cat he drew on the rice paper screen is facing the wrong direction. He puts all the clues together and decides that his huge cat drawing came to life and killed the giant rat that’s been terrorizing the village. From that day on, all the villagers celebrated his cat-drawing skills.”
She stops to giggle. “It’s absurd, but that’s Japanese tales for you. I like them though, and this one especially. Japan always felt like home to me, from the moment I stepped off the plane it was home. And this story speaks to me. It says, Be yourself, Ashleigh. You can be appreciated for who you are, even if your only talent is a little bit strange and seems to have no value. Because everyone is valuable. That’s what the moral is. So maybe I am a koneko and I’m part of this story in a way. I’m on a quest to try and be my true self but I have no idea who I am, Ford. My identity has been taken away. Maybe a kitten is my true self? Maybe I am something small and delicate that needs to be taken care of. Not something strong and determined that finds a way to appreciate her own strange place in the world.”
“Maybe you’re both. Maybe you can be independent and delicate at the same time?”
“Single mothers don’t have the luxury of being delicate. Single mothers have to do everything alone. So even if I wanted to be a kitten, I’m not allowed.”
That’s it. I need this girl. She’s so lost. She’s looking for someone to help her and I’d like to be that person. She’s got a hold of my heart and I can’t let her go back to Tony. She’s practically begging someone to take care of her and that f**k left her. “When did you live in Japan, Ashleigh?”
She turns away and looks out the window, still curled up in the seat. “Kate and I just got back, actually. Christmas Eve.” She looks over at me. “I’ve been in Japan since I was eighteen. I ran away and I had no intention of returning to the US ever again.”
“Why did you come back? Because of Tony?” She nods but I can feel her sadness like it’s a thick fog. This conversation is reminding her of him even as I sit here falling in love. “How old are you now?”
“Twenty-three.”
“You look very young.”
“I know,” she tells the window instead of me. “Because I’m small. But I feel so old. Like life has passed me over. He said we’d grow old together but then he left me. And I feel like in the time since then, I got old without him. I feel like my life is over.”
There’s a pull-out up ahead on the side of the road. A spot for travelers to stop and take in the view. It’s an odd view, that’s for sure. Most of Utah is odd with the strange rock formations and the colors. But I’m not stopping for the view, so I just pull the f**k over.
“What’re we doing?” she asks, sitting up and flipping her seat back into its normal upright position.
I put the truck in neutral and pull the e-brake. “Ashleigh—” And suddenly I can’t say it. I want to. I want to tell her so many things. How I feel about her. How much I like Kate. How she makes me laugh. How desperate I am to stop her falling into a sad depression. Because I see it coming. If she’s not clinically depressed right now, she’s on the verge. She’s teetering on the edge.
