Hibiscus

Hibiscus

Sorry if this seems fragmented. It's drawn from a few different notebooks, pieces of a puzzle I'm trying to put together while Akemi is gone- which I realize won't help my understanding of her disappearance. Anyway, it's something to distract me, something to do during time when we would ordinarily be together.

At the beginning, we used to lie in bed for hours, making love, talking. Once Akemi said, "I'm in love with you," and I didn't respond in kind. I felt I couldn't in good faith. I was still seeing Pam then. Akemi didn't remark on my omission; maybe she hadn't noticed- we were both feeling good; conversation flowed on- but eventually she would. You can't wait too long and not make a choice. You lose timing.

Even then I wrote some. I looked out the window that day after we got up- it was mid-afternoon- and took a note about something I saw outside; what it was I now have no idea.  

We'd gone shopping together for groceries and after we brought them back Akemi went to an English class at the college and while she was out I realized I'd left the groceries, which included perishables, next to the radiator, which was on and hot. They had been right up against that heat for two hours. I moved them before Akemi returned, unsure whether or not in time to prevent damage. I felt guilty, as if I'd harmed a living thing.

Akemi was unaware, cheerful as ever, happy to be back and for us to resume our day with each other, a fairly rare thing, as we were both busy, she with her painting and dance classes, I with teaching and of course, Pam. We unloaded the contents of the bag together. Whether or not any were ruined would become apparent later. I felt really stupid about that and other things.

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I'm going to skip here to the next notebook. Forgive me. I advise against searching for reason or rhyme in the sequencing. Even I can't find any. There is a through line, though. After all, it's my life. If sense is absent, where am I?

I recommend looking instead at the disparate parts on their own (rather than as part of a puzzle). Maybe some global picture will emerge. Or else just give up. I wouldn't blame you. After all, you're not living this; obviously it doesn't matter to you as it does to me. Though I wish it would. That's why I'm putting these pages out there, after all. Hankering after empathy, understanding, which seem to be the key to... what? To surviving this period, the hollow echo in this room Akemi didn't return to last night.

Hawaii is closer to Japan than to home and we took a side trip there on the way back.  Want to read about that?

I had some things to do- trying to get Akemi's tablet to work; the wonky web browser had gotten stuck on a page of a travel website where she was updating our itinerary- so I arrived at the hotel after her. She'd already gone ahead to an island, a scheduled day trip, jumped on the bus rather than let it leave without her, figured I'd catch up later.

There were people ahead of me in line for the check-in desk. I wasn't in a hurry, but the clerk showed annoyance, as if I'd been broadcasting impatience. Maybe my face showed something I wasn't aware of.

"They were here first, and there's a problem-" he said, "with (this and that)." I didn't catch the words and they weren't important to me. Some glitch in the system.

When my turn came, I said I was staying with my wife. The clerk said she was at the island. I said I knew and would go join her.  

"It's one of the most beautiful places on the earth," she declared, still looking annoyed but forcing a smile as she delivered the line she'd been trained to. She announced that rain had been forecast. I said I would go anyway. The sense came through that she wished I wouldn't, as that would spare her the trouble of making arrangements.  

She smiled again and said part of the day trip involved a competitive game, as in popular TV survival shows. "You're going to be powerful!" she gushed.  

I murmured, "I don't want to be powerful." The game idea struck me as stupid, unnecessary. Then I added, "Yes, I do," and in mock display of strength raised my arm, flexed my biceps. I did that to avoid seeming humorous. Laughed to get a rise out of the clerk, show I was as capable of fun as the next person.

(But games? We're adults now, aren't we?)

I realized I'd been smiling the whole time at the counter, despite the wait, the rain, the complications, the desk clerk's attitude (understandable, by the way; she was busy). I was happy because I would be with Akemi.  

It was great when we were together. The predicted weather came and actually felt good. Rain fell lightly and made the setting, beautiful as advertised, gush with color. Think mists, distant lush mountains faintly visible through caressing moisture, your way festooned with tropical flowers laden with wet, gracing their petals and pistils, heavy droplets that made them sway; Chinese hibiscus they were (I checked Google or AI), gorgeous red, crimson hue reminiscent of an old-fashioned brothel, stamens beaded with condensation, the blossom flaunting its reproductive organs (pistils and stamens alike) lavish as the tongue in the Rolling Stones logo, delicate stems bobbing. You could imagine the flowers half-laughing, smiling at you on your way- at least you could if you were me, half-crazy with Akemi as I was.

The view near and far alike was compelling, a hushed, humid landscape of ups and downs that seemed to stretch endlessly around you, deep and profound, with the sea in the distance, its white and blue motion stilled and silent, the violent play of surf appearing from where we were as a frieze, half-drenched rocks- crags, really- they must have been massive- lashed moment by moment by waves, action going on for millennia.  

And the view of course, of my wife, her bottom weaving and rolling as she wended her way ahead of me on the uneven path, rough earth, roots, rocks making it an obstacle course, but one delightful to travel, as the view of Akemi on it was. Stepping over rocks, her swaying hips, narrow waist, that deeper-than -sky-blue top she wore that looked shrink-wrapped to her, her bare midriff. The fabric was wrinkled and rose and fell, slid in place. Your eye zeroed in. Your cock hardened. What can I say? I had the smile of a man assuring his wife he isn't dangerous, smile of someone drunk, besotted, though neither of us had had a sip. The atmosphere did it. We were drenched in it. And then, yes, the company. The unknown around us, impersonal but inviting- and no doubt dangerous- and the personal, she and I, also unknown. That was part of our marriage, always wanting to know more and more, my penis digging for it, Akemi's voice calling out, giving it, reverberant knowledge, which in its very depth remained unknowable, the draw that brought men hankering around her. Yeah, I thought that as we walked the path in the rain so warm you felt it as nothing but good. Skin temperature.

The purple prose comes and comes, orgasm-like. No one ever said passion needed intelligence. If you've read this far, you might be a little stupefied. Go with it. I am. I'm not saying follow my lead on that path. Or maybe that basically is what I'm saying. Look around, near and far, at the colors of nature, at Akemi, the way her flesh knits, dark tan deepened by sun, burnished, bright where the sweat pools, at her neck. Her black hair that flashes, with her slightest motion, sends out bursts of lightning. Her steady forward motion, enjoyment of the game of traversing that challenging landscape, the view to the sea appearing and disappearing through the trees, a distant promise, the white-capped waves, the profound blue, the wave so far off its abstract, white Rorschach on black rocks, jagged, erectile- why not?- her sturdy legs bearing the weight of her hips, seemingly without effort, endless motion, smooth or jolting, churning the air, lighter than air.

The thickly humid atmosphere, inland, where we were, creates a sense of intimacy even in that zone to which we have no connection. It's a world far from the familiar, yet one you know it, you do. As you walk, you feel part of things. The undergrowth presses close on all sides, laying claim to the path. You feel the power of nature to reclaim you, as of course it will one day.

Needless to say, I wasn't thinking any of this then, just feeling it, and writing about it now I search for words to make the feelings concrete.

Akemi makes me both think and feel. So where is she now? Where the hell?

You imagined monkeys far away (were any around?), their voices reaching you through the trees, from the mountains, a low howl. The humid air made sweat break out on contact. Felt really good.   

You walked with reverence. Looking around, I saw it was good to be away from New York, that notoriously grey city you shouldn't stay in so long without a break that you get used to it, forget the colors that exist elsewhere.  

We'd rented for our stop-over an apartment-style home-stay, and when we got back there I had trouble in the kitchen, and Akemi came in and saw my plight and offered to help. I was making chilli, of all things, and the sink wasn't cooperating; the drain was backing up. I had to throw away some vegetables and beans already prepared- what a waste, but a necessity, Akemi confirmed: "Yeah, we shouldn't eat those." 

I felt like embracing her then, hoped she too was horny in those tropical environs, would respond to my touch immediately, wet on contact, ha ha. I wanted to fuck but also longed for a blowjob, which lately she was really really good at. She always was but seemed especially avid now. The change of scenery affected us both. We looked at each other openly through air cleared of the stress of life at home.   

Yeah, we did have fun.   She did go down on me, and yes,  I did feel powerful, and yes, it was stupid.  

And yeah, it's really rough that she's not here now.