Currently The Fame By Lady Gaga see related

Muse. Amusing.

Why I like him so much more than the others? HMM!!! *sarcastic tone* Maybe because he looks like a BOY!

He's Toshiya. He replaced Kisaki in La:Sadie's and they became Dir en grey.

Birthdate: March 31, 1977

Height: 176 cm (about 5' 9 1/2")

Weight: 58 kg (about 128 lbs)

BMI: 18.1

Yow. That is hot stuff.

Currently Knot of By Dir En Grey see related

Braggin' Rights

If anyone who reads this is a fan of Jrock (especially visual kei) and just happens to read CURE magazine (or at least buys it to look at the pictures cuz ya can't read Japanese), I have some cool, show-offy news.

As you may know, a spinoff of CURE is set to be published in North America, entitled CURE USA. Well, the premiere issue of this rag just landed in my hands on Monday evening. How did I get my hands on a copy so soon? Easy.

Well, not really all that easy.

I wrote an article for it, and it was printed! If you have the magazine, or if you plan on getting it, please run to page 28 and read my FIRST-EVER FEATURE ARTICLE! It is, of course, on Dir en grey. It's nothing more than a live report from the show they played in Chicago last November, but I'm damn proud that it got printed. Leave comments here to let me know what you think!

The Parting of the Ways

Currently Listening Shion see related

Color of Mind...

Heaving a deep sigh Tsukasa closed the textbook and placed it on the desk before him. He wasn't sure if he quite grasped the concept of neo-pythagorean geometry, but he knew he'd gotten as much out of the pages he'd been assigned to study as his brain could handle. The short, two-tone haired teen cast a glance at the stack of books set carefully on one side of the desk, silently reading the titles on their spines: "English for Fluency", "Advanced Traditional Japanese", "Level 2 Kanji", "Biochemistry II".
"At least I'm done for tonight," he muttered aloud, even though there was no one to hear him. He folded his hands and set them on the textbook, briefly leaning forward and placing his forehead on his hands. So much studying...so much to learn...he could barely think for himself! Rising and leaning back in his chair again, Tsukasa glanced behind him at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed. 11:00 pm.
"Great," he muttered. "I have to be up in seven hours again and I haven't even had dinner."
He rose from his seat, feeling as though he was peeling himself from its varnished surface, and emerged after many hours' study from his bedroom.
It was not surprising that the entire house was completely dark: when he'd arrived home after his cram school classes it had still been light out, thus he'd not bothered to turn on any lights when he'd gone into his room to study. As the sun had set, the light from his computer screen had provided sufficient light to work by but after twilight he'd needed his desk lamp...by then he'd been so emerged in his studies he'd not even thought about illuminating the rest of the house or filling his belly. Even now with his homework behind him, Tsukasa's stomach felt pinched and tight. He didn't really want to eat, but he knew he'd barely eaten all day and that he had been dropped more than just a little weight over the last two months from this routine. He flicked on lights in hallways as he made his way down them, and at the top of the staircase leading down to the ground floor where the kitchen was located.
Tsukasa paused briefly at a phone on the wall, debating calling out for stir-fry. But at eleven at nighton a Wednesday, who would deliver? Probably no one. He sighed again and decided on cold leftovers from the fridge.
He moved through the spacious rooms one after another, their elaborate, immaculate decor kept spic and span by the team of cleaners who moved through the house twice a week, unseen by Tsukasa while he was at school.
His parents weren't home, but this was not unusual. His father was the president of Japan's most successful large-scale chain of retail supermarkets and his mother was his personal assistant and seceretary. The pair often went away for weeks at at time, sometimes even months, leaving Tsukasa home alone. He's had nannies and caretakers to oversee him until he was old enough and responsible enough to look after himself, and when he had turned 14 only the occasional caretaker would look in on him while his parents were away for extended periods.
Now, at age 18 and on the verge of graduating from high school, it had been decided that he was quite capable of looking after himself and had been left hoe alone...completely and utterly.
Tsukasa had no close friends- his studies left him little time to develop relationships with his schoolmates. Sure, there were plenty of kids he knew at school and he was well liked by his classmates, but he never associated with them on the "outside"; he simply didn't have time.
It had all come about at the beginning of his junior year of high school when Tsukasa had brought home a less-than-stellar report card. His mother had been concerned, but when Tsukasa had brushed off her lecture about his falling grades, she had turned to his father. The man had gone into a tirade that Tsukasa had never forgotten.
His parents weren't the most affectionate people on the planet, in fact they were considerably more distant than most. Even when they were home, Tsukasa knew better than to expect more than a few words to acknowledge his presence on a daily basis. Even sitting down to the evening meal as a family was somewhat unnatural; Tsukasa had always had the distinct impression that his parents had their minds on their work and not on being a family at these times. Family outings were almost completely unheard of; if Tsukasa wanted to go to a ball game or to the beach, a chauffeur or a caretaker was appointed to escort him to the place and back. His parents rarely accompanied him, and never both at the same time. Thus, the attention that his father had focused on him when the subject of the below-average report card was brought to light had been quite a shock.
Never before had Tsukasa been lectured by his father, nor by anyone while the lecturer was screaming lividly. All he had been able to do was sit frozen in shock and terror in the large leather armchair across from his father who sat behind his desk gripping the yellow report card and shaking it in his balled fist as he bellowed at Tsukasa to study like he never had before. he threatened to disown the quiet, mild-mannered boy if his grades continued to decline and to send him to a much stricter, private school if his grades did not improve vastly. Tsukasa had been terrified by this tirade, and had begun dutifully completing each homework project and studying hard for tests. His grades had improved, but not enough to please his father. Once again, a barely-above average report card was delivered and while Tsukasa was pleased with the improvement, his father was not. Mistaking his son's smile of pride for one of defiance, he had again secluded himself in his office with the boy...but this time he'd gone well beyond screaming. When Tsukasa began to cry over the shock of his father's outrage instead of the expected nod of satisfaction with the improvement of his grades, the man had become incensed. He had bellowed at Tsukasa to "be a man; only babies cried!" and had struck the boy, knocking him to the floor. The blow had given Tsukasa a bloody nose, and the red stains it created on the cream carpet seemed only to heighten his father's fury. For several minutes he had flailed at the boy, kicking and punching him until he was cowering in a corner near the door, whimpering and trembling. His mother had broken up the one-sided brawl and gone upstairs with her husband to attempt to get him to "cool off" while a maid hat taken Tsukasa to his room and instructed him to clean himself up and get on with his homework.
Since that incident, which of course had never been mentioned by anyone in  the household again, Tsukasa had thrown himself into his studies out of fear of his father's wrath. If he would do that over two report cards containing C's and B's, Tsukasa was terrified to learn what he would do if his grades were less than stellar. The next had been straight A's, and his father had simply nodded his approval and said: "That's better" without even looking up at his son before returning to the paperwork he'd brought home from the office. Tsukasa had only been too glad to leave the office as soon as he was able and made no protests about the lack of praise; he'd gone right back upstairs and dove into his studies.
And now, almost a year later, Tsukasa was still at it. He knew he had to get into the best university possible, and in order to do that he would have to graduate at the top of his class. For him, this was going to be quite a challenge. He had learned something about himself over the course of the last year: he was actually not very bright. There were kids in his class with minds like steel traps- smart, academic, and focused. Tsukasa was not among them, and in order to retain and apply a comparable amount of knowledge, he had to study night and day. He had developed a system that worked for him, but it was beginning to tell on his psyche. The stress of his constant studying and worrying wore away his appetite and caused occasional insomnia, both of which had been increasing lately. His one light at the end of the tunnel at that point was that it was finally his senior year, and if he managed to get into an exceptional university he would be fine. It was just a matter of getting there...
He opened the refrigerator to scavenge through the leftovers for anything that may pique his appetite, eyes glazed as his mind still fumbled through the pages upon pages of studying he'd completed. He settled on a slice of pizza from three days' prior's takeout. Not bothering to heat it in the nearby microwave, he simply peeled back the aluminum foil and ate it, door to the fridge standing upen and casting harsh shadows across the black granite floor. He took a few swigs of the apple juice that was always within easy reach, then replaced the cap and closed the door. He retraced his steps back up to his room, turning off lights as he went. His brief dinner had given him a few extra minutes; time he decided to spend taking a shower. He preferred showering at night, it enabled him to sleep a few minutes more in the morning. Stripping from his black and white striped t-shirt and black jeans, Tsukasa glimpsed himself in the mirror. His lack of sleep was evident in the dark circles under his eyes. He also noted that his two-tone blond and black hair was in need of a trim. "If it gets any longer and I keep losing weight people are gonna think I'm a girl," he mumbled aloud to his reflection. He mused briefly that his life would probably be better if he WAS a girl- then his parents would probably expect him to do no better than average in school as long as he dated decent guys (i.e. rich and high-class, probably the sons of his parents' colleagues) and married well...but then, how much better would that be?
He decided it wouldn't beat his present state by much. Swallowing against his next half-formed wish, Tsukasa turned on the hot water in the shower of his own private black-and-white themed bathroom and stepped into the stall.
Twenty minutes later, scrubbed and polished, he walked completely nude down the short stretch of hallway to his bedroom door. The  light on his desk was still on, beaming down on the stack of textbooks. He packed them into the brown leather schoolbag that had accompanied him to and from class every day his senior year, took a clean and freshly pressed black school uniform along with its complementing white button-down shirt out of his closet and draped them over the desk chair. Snapping off the light, he crawled stark-naked into bed , barely remembering to turn on the alarm before his head hit the pillow. He was asleep before he realized it.
Tsukasa dreamed that night, and in his dream he was following one of his classmates  down a dark street. It was nighttime in the dream, and he was trying to catch up to the boy who was leading him down the street. he was saying something that Tsukasa could not hear, but just before he caught up to him, the earth rumbled and the hillside beside the road gave way . Tsukasa  halted as the landslide separated him from the other boy, who seemed not to notice the falling rocks and rubble and just kept walking, hands nonchalantly in his pockets.
It seemed he'd barely fallen asleep before the alarm woke him from the dream. Tsukasa sat up and groped for the alarm clock, switching it off with practiced fingers. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, the dream still on his mind.
"Why on Earth did I dream about Maru? He's not even... I barely know him," Tsukasa muttered. He then turned climbed unsteadily out of his bed and prepared for the school day ahead.
An hour later he was on the bus heading towards the high school when the bus stopped at a corner where passengers rarely waited (it was not a particularly good neighborhood). Tsukasa was more than a little surprised to see Maru- the boy from his dream- climb onto the bus and drop a token into the fare box.
At first Tsukasa didn't recognize Maru. He wasn't in his school uniform, his hair was a mess, and he looked like he'd had even less sleep than Maru himself. The only available seat on the bus was beside Tsukasa, and Maru took it without even so much as a sidelong glance at the boy.
Tsukasa knew Maru mainly by reputation: he was about a year older than Tsukasa but in the same grade at school because he'd been held back the year before. He was a frequent truant and was known for spacing out completely or even falling asleep in class. His family was anything but wealthy and he had several brothers and sisters. Maru was about as different from Tsukasa as someone could be. Until that moment, Tsukasa had never even spoken to Maru...or at least, not that he could remember. And later, Tsukasa was not even sure why he decided to then.
"You're...Maru, right?" He asked.
Maru had been dozing, but his head snapped up at the sound of his name. He swiveled to face Tsukasa with suspicious eyes.
"Who wants to now?" He asked. His voice grated harshly in his throat.
"Uhm...no one specific. I'm..I'm in your homeroom class. I think you sit three desks back from me. I'm Tsukasa," the smaller boy attempted a weak but friendly smile.
Maru studied him with bloodshot eyes that didn't blink.
"Tsukasa..." he murmured as though trying to remember. "Tsukasa...yeah, I know you. You're the straight-A rich boy. Quiet, not many friends. Yeah, I know who you are. What do you want?"
Offended by his blunt remarks, Tsukasa's face darkened. "Nothing, I...well, I was wondering...won't you get in trouble if you're not in uniform at school?"
Maru looked down at his grubby t-shirt and wrinkled cargo pants. There was a small hole wearing through the right knee.
"Well, sure," he replied, "but I'm not going to school. At least not yet. I have to go home and get some sleep, then get into my uniform. I might show up for a class or two today." The conversation seemed to give Maru an idea, and he reached into one of the pockets of his pants. Withdrawing a pencil and a tattered scrap of yellow lined paper, Maru dropped his voice so only Tsukasa could hear. "Hey listen, since you're here...could you do me a favor? Give this..." he scrawled a few sentences on the paper then handed it to Tsukasa, "to our homeroom teacher. I don't wanna get in trouble again. Tell them you saw my sister at the bus stop and asked how I was since I wasn't in school yesterday. He'll buy that."
Not knowing what else to say, Tsukasa took the paper and muttered "Uh...okay..."
"Thanks man. I owe ya," Maru stood and pulled the stop request cord above Tsukasa's head and strode toward the front of the bus as the driver detoured toward the curb. A few seconds later Maru was off the bus and Tsukasa was watching him walk away down the street, hands in his pockets as casually as though he was out for a Sunday stroll
"Just like in my dream," Tsukasa thought. Then he glanced at the note:

"Dear Sir:
Please excuse Maru from classes before lunch today. He was absent yesterday because he was helping his mother at home, who is sick with pneumonia. He will be in class today after lunch. Thank you..."

The signature was a scrawl that he found completely undecipherable. Tsukasa decided that he would give the note to their teacher, along with Maru's story. Better that than face the wrath of Maru if he found out the note had not been delivered. He knew Maru was not the best guy in the world, and it would not have surprised Tsukasa to learn that he was a bully on top of all the other rumors that circulated through the school about him.
After handing the note off to their homeroom teacher, school began as normally as ever for Tsukasa. He shuffled almost mechanically from one class to the next, going through the routines of handing in homework assignments and participating in and taking notes on the day's lesson for that class. It seemed it would be just another ordinary day until English, which was just before lunch. It was easily his toughest subject, mainly because it dealt with speaking the language and Tsukasa hated speaking in public when all eyes were on him...
And it wasn't about to get any easier, it seemed. Their final project of the semester was announced: each student had to gibe a ten-to-fifteen minute speech in what they wanted to do with their lives after high school. Doubly bad was this for Tsukasa: he was so concerned with what mattered most at that exact moment that he had little time and effort to put into considering "what he wanted to be when he grew up", and the report had to be given in English to the entire class. From memory (no notes or reading allowed). And they were given only two weeks to put it together.
Tsukasa knew this was going to push him to his limit; from here the schoolwork was only going to get even more challenging and difficult. This project alone felt unattainable for him; he knew his other subjects would be turning up the heat soon enough as well. It was no surprise that he felt no appetite when class finally broke for lunch. Rather than sit alone amidst his clasmates while they ate and socialized, Tsukasa decided he needed time alone. He was going to break soon, he could feel it...and there was no way to stop it, no one he could tell who would understand. Certainly not his parents and his friends...well, as Maru had so deftly pointed out that morning, he had none. He ducked out of mealtime with an excuse that he had to use the restroom, choosing the one at the far end of the rear wing of the school. It was little used and poorly maintained. It was often the meeting place of school's tougher miscreants and delinquents, but not often during school hours. It had provided sanctuary for Tsukasa several times the previous year after the event with his father and his second semester report card.
He needed that now; a quiet place where he could be alone, someplace dim and confining that didn't feel like work or home. The boys' room was the perfect hiding place. As he pushed the door open, the hinges creaked slightly. The floor at which Tsukasa had been staring gave way from the glossy gray linoleum in the corridor to the drab, dingy olive ceramic tile of the ancient floor of the boys' room. His eyes thusly on the floor, he did not notice the figure slouched against the wall on  the far side of the room until the door closed behind him and the smell of tobacco smoke reached his nostrils. Tsukasa jumped and froze in his tracks. He looked up, startled, as he realized he was not alone. He swallowed the gasp of surprise that rose in his throat when he saw Maru slouched against the wall, dressed now in his school uniform and hair combed neatly...but still looking like he'd had no sleep in a week. Both boys seemed equally surprised to see one another in such a place, and for a moment neither moved or spoke. Then at length Maru rose and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a pack of cheap menthol cigarettes.
"You smoke? Want one?" Maru offered the pack to Tsukasa who simply shook his head. After a pregnant pause the shorter, younger boy replied.
"No. I mean, no thanks. I mean...no, I don't smoke," he stammered. Maru chortled and withdrew the pack, taking a single cigarette out for himself as he dropped the mostly-smoked butt to the tile. He didn't stub it out, he simply let it burn where it fell.
"I figured not," he smirked at Tsukasa. His eyes traveled the short boy from head to toe slowly, then back up again to meet Tsukasa's gaze. "Well, I'm not going to bite you, or kick you out or anything. Figure you have just as much right to be here as I do. Come sit down. You look like you have something you need to get off your mind." He gestured for Tsukasa to join him as he returned to his slouched squat aganst the wall. A bit flustered, but just as happy that Maru was being cordial towards him, Tsukasa followed suit.
"So what's eatin' ya? Good kids like you don't come all the way down here during lunch unless you've got something goin' on," Maru urged. Tsukasa nodded.
He didn't go into detail, but he did tell Maru about the problems he'd been having with his studies. He brushed on the importance that this held in his father's eyes, and acknowledged that while that may not mean a lot to Maru, Tsukasa's situation was one in which his relationship with his father had to remain good.
"I don't want to upset him or let him down. I did once before, and..." he trailed off, and his right hand automatically went to the spot on his left ribcage where his father had kicked him repeatedly. The place where the bruising had taken the longest to heal. Tsukasa said no more, but just shook his head, eyes wide with the fear of the memory. Maru didn't press him but noticed every gesture and surmised enough about the boy's situation. He nodded back in understanding.
"Well," he began slowly, voice dropping to a tone that indicated the conversation was to be kept between the pair only. "There is a way I can help. I can help you relax your mind- you know, when you're not studying- so you'll feel better when you have free time."
"Really?" Tsukasa's reply was immediate, like a kitten pouncing on a ball of string. "What is it? Tell me...I'll try anything!"
And from the desperation in his voice, Maru knew his words rang true. His eyes danced, but his face retained its stony expression.
"You're not totally naive, are you? I mean...you do know what I'm talking about..." he cast a meaningful look at Tsukasa.
The shorter boy swallowed hard. This was his event horizon. He was being pushed to his limits as it was; any more and...well, he didn't want to think about what might happen to him. But he did know what Maru was talking about, what he was offering. For a moment his mind screamed, told him to stop, to get up and leave that restroom and never talk to Maru again.
But...
If he just tried it once, just one time to take the edge off when the pressure of his life was overwhelming him...
"I know," Tsukasa turned his head to face Maru, holding his gaze. Slowly Maru nodded.
"Then what is it you want? I can get you anything. Need to stay up later so you can get in more studying? I can get you something that'll do the trick. Need something to help you de-stress after school? I have that, too..."
"That's what I need," Tsukasa blurted out. "See, I don't sleep much as it is...because I can't relax once I put the books away. My mind keeps spinning. I think...what I want is something that'll help me relax once I'm done studying. And sleep, too."
Maru snapped his fingers and shoved a hand into his pocket. He withdrew a small plastic zip-lock style bag a moment later, containing four small white pills. "Take one of these when you're done studying. You'll be groggy enough to sleep about half an hour later," he removed one of the pills and held it out to Tsukasa. "That one's on me. If you want another one, leave me a note on yellow paper in my locker. It's number 3012," as he spoke, Tsukasa committed his words to memory as he cupped his hand, allowing Maru to drop the pill into it. Quickly Tsukasa deposited the tablet into a makeshift envelope he'd folded out of a piece of notebook paper, then slipped it into his own pocket. He nodded to Maru as he rose, heart hammering in his chest.
"Thanks for the freebie," he nearly croaked in his nervousness. His footsteps carried him to the door and just as his fingers closed on the cold steel of the handle, he thought to turn and ask:
"What is it, anyway?"
"It's the lowest dose you can get of morphine." His eyes were focused on the grimy green tile as he spoke. He'd taken out and lit another cigarette. Tsukasa nodded again and said nothing more as he retraced his steps back to the classroom, arriving just as lunch was ending.
The rest of his school day was a blur of emotions: at first he was nervous about getting caught with a controlled substance in his posession, but when he'd forced himself to gome to grips with the fact that it was highly unlikely his mind began to race as he thought about "what it would be like". Was he going to feel anything? Would the effects wear off before he had to go back to school the next day? He suddenly had the urge to run back to that restroom and find Maru again to ask him every single question that surfaced in his mind. He'd almost decided on doing just that at the end of the school day but at the last moment changed his mind. The chances that Maru was still there were slim, and besides he probably didn't want Tsukasa pestering him with his stupid, paranoid questions anyway, so Tsukasa decided to just go home and study.
It was two days before he actually took the tiny white tablet.
Tsukasa struggled through his studies nightly, interjecting them now and then with internet research on morphine. He learned of its addictive properties and that was the one thing that kept him from taking it for so long. But on the night of the fourth day, his mind drowning in the sea of studies being heaped on him every day and Maru's words echoing in his mind like a skipping 45- "the lowest dose you can get...the lowest dose you can get..."
What were the chances of him getting hooked on the lowest possible dose of a drug so frequently prescribed, he debated. Finally, just before midnight, he caved and, with a bottle of artisan water in hand, popped the pill into his mouth. He gulped quickly from the bottle, not allowing himself time to "chicken out".
Within twenty minutes he was very drowsy, and he'd all but forgotten the stack of textbooks on his dest. Half an hour after that, he was soundly asleep on his bed still dressed in his school uniform.
He woke to the sound of his alarm clock blaring more loudly than he could ever remember. His head was aching horribly; he shut off the alarm and stumbled to the bathroom for some painkillers. He felt very uncoordinated and unable to focus on anything properly as he staggered and fumbled through his morning routine. Four cups of coffee- which he rarely drank- got him focused enough to get out the door in time for his usual bus. To his surprise, at the same stop where he'd been three days before Maru boarded the same bus. He spotted Tsukasa almost immediately and headed for the open seat beside the smaller boy. The pair greeted each other quietly then continued their ride in silence for several minutes. Maru reached into his pocket after a while and drew out a crumpled piece of paper and the stub of a pencil. he scribbled something on the back and handed the paper to Tsukasa. Tsukasa peered at the sloppily scrawled message:
"How did you like that stuff?"
Opening his kaban bag Tsukasa withdrew a black flare tip pen and wrote his reply in tidy hiragana.
"I slept like a rock and still can't think straight." He handed the note back to Maru. A crooked grin crossed the features of the taller boy as he leaned closer to Tsukasa and muttered,
"When did you take it?"
"Last night," Tsukasa replied just as quietly, hoping no one around them could hear over the bus's engine.
"Want more?"
"Not if it's going to make me feel like that every morning."
"Gotcha. Want something different? Something that'll keep you up and keep you going?"
"That might suit me better," Tsukasa replied again. He hadn't meant to ask Maru for an alternate substance; the words just slipped out as a way of replying. But before he could object he felt Maru discreetly slip something into the pocket of his uniform pants Tsukasa looked at him questioningly.
"Speed," Maru's voice dropped even lower. "Think of it as drinking a whole pot of coffee all at once." And with that Maru rose from his seat and slipped out the bus doors as the vehicle paused at an intersection.
Tsukasa wasted no time taking that one; his homework load was greater than it had ever been that night and he saw no way of getting through all of it without some form of help. After plodding through the textbooks for three hours (and another dinner of cold leftover takeout) and armed with another bottle of the same water, Tsukasa swallowed the amphetamine tablet.
He'd never felt so focused in his entire life. Midnight came and went and he just kept right on reading and writing, completing every workbook assignment he'd been given and reading the information for the following day's tests in history and literature at least four times each.
Tsukasa had the same trouble falling asleep, but once he did it was deep and satisfying. He knew his studies were- for once- up to par with his mentors' expectations. he was again groggy in the morning but his mood was up. He chalked the drowsiness up to not getting enough sleep and quickly resolved the problem.
"I should've just taken it sooner; as soon as school was out," he muttered as he packed the textbooks back into his kaban bag and headed out the door again. He was more than half-hoping to see Maru on the bus again; he wanted to tell him that this last one had done the trick, but the taller boy did not board at the usual corner, nor did he fill his seat in homeroom at the chime of the bell that morning. By lunch Tsukasa was beginnng to feel like his usual self again and the stress of the overwhelming workload was pressing on his mind all over again. He decided to seek Maru in the place where he'd had his first meaningful conversation with the boy.

But the boys' room was deserted that afternoon. The cigarette butts had been cleared from the grimy floor which told Tsukasa that Maru hadn't been there in at least a day. It was then that he remembered Maru's words to him when they'd parted the last time in this room.

"If you want another one, leave a note on yellow paper in my locker..."

Quickly Tsukasa headed back into the hall and headed for his own locker. He had a small stack of yellow Post-it notes in there, and he quickly wrote a cryptic message: "The second one was right. Need follow-up." After which he signed his name and carefully printed the number for the cellular phone his parents had given him- which he'd used maybe a dozen times in a year and a half, mostly when they called him. Tsukasa set the phone's ringer to vibrate before locating locker #3012 and dropping the note inside.

He was on the bus on his way home when he felt the phone suddenly vibrating in his pants pocket. Quickly he removed the small black device and glanced at the face. An incoming text message from an unknown number lit the screen, and Tsukasa immediately flipped the phone open to read it.

It was merely an address and a time of 6:00 pm listed, followed by the phrase "this one's not free." Tsukasa knew what it meant, but he was stumped by how much to bring. He had no idea how much the pills would cost him, but he assumed it would be considerably more than he would be paying if he'd had a legal prescription for  a pharmacy. He swallowed the nervous lump that rose in his throat and placed the phone back in his pocket.

When he reached his home, he was greeted at the front door by the departing housekeeper.

"Oh, young master Tsukasa!" she eclaimed, glancing at her watch. "I didn't realize I'd been here for so long. I'm sorry."

He shook his head, telling her there was no need to apologize. What did he care if this woman took advantage of the fact that his parents were overseas and he in school all day, and invited men to the house and used the luxuries of the master suite to seduce them? His parents rarely used it; it would go to waste otherwise. He never let on that he knew, but he had caught her in the act more than once.

"Sir, your father called while I was...cleaning the kitchen," the pause almost gave her away. but Tsukasa pretended he'd missed it. "He left a message for you on the machine. I suggest you check it immediately."

"Thanks," Tsukasa mumbled as he moved past her into the house. The click and scrape in  her wake told him she closed and locked the door behind her. He didn't even pause to watch her go; instead he marched directly for the kitchen and the household answering machine. The red light on its face flashed once every few seconds: one message. Tsukasa watched the light for a few moments- flashing red like a warning signal- before reaching out and pressing the playback button on the machine.

"Tsukasa, we heard from your principal today. It seems your grades are slipping in geometry and English again. Do you remember what we discussed, young man...?" the message began, and continued on in the same manner for several minutes. No expression of concern about his welfare, no "we miss you". No mention of a return home soon.

"Typical," Tsukasa snorted, then deleted the message. It had been nothing but a tyrannical lecture from his father to improve his grades. "Well, what did I expect?" he asked aloud, voice laced with malice. He pressed the delete button on the answering machine and walked out of the kitchen. he'd been feeling a little hungry when he had stepped off the bus, but hearing his father's message has effectively ruined his appetite. Grumbling, he stomped up the stairs to his own bedroom. Tossing his kaban bag onto his desk, he flopped onto his bed on his back. Tsukasa heaved a deep sigh as he stared at the ceiling.

"I wonder if Maru has anything that can make me forget that I have the coldest father in the entire universe?" He thought aloud. And suddenly an immense grief gripped his heart.

Currently Listening Decade 2003-07 "Ryoujoku No Ame" see related

Lukewarm Rain

The rain had been pouring down all day, and had continued into the night. It was a cold rain, one that seeped despair and malconent into the very soul. Even the clouds looked miserable as they hung, seemingly unmoving, in the sky.

It was fittingly enough that this was the day of Maria's funeral. Few attended, though it was not the weather that kept people from paying their last respects. The truth was, she had been abandoned by friends and family alike, the numbers of her comrades dropping steadily over the course of the last few years. I alone seemed determined to remain at her side, though in the end it had not proven to be enough. She had been growing increasingly depressed as more people had distanced themselves from her for various reasons- her family mainly because they didn't see a future in her choice of career (music) and her friends because...well, really she just chose them poorly. For the most part they were the fair-weather variety, and when her parents stopped funding her tuituion, took away her car, and stopped their weekly deposits of generous amounts of money into her checking account, they no longer had any use for her so they stopped calling, stopped wanting to hang out. Maria's entire life had done a complete 180 in the course of 36 months. She had gone from being daddy's princess to slaving away in a coffee shop for barely more than minimum wage just to pay for her last year of college. And without my help, she would not even have been able to do that.

When she had announced to her parents that she had chosen a major in music early into her sophomore year at the University, they hadn't taken her seriously. When she received her course schedule detailing classes on music theory, classical composition, and piano, they had been furious. Certainly their eldest child did not think a career as a concert pianist could put food on the table? They tried to reason with her, to "wake her from the dream" and get her to "face reality". Her mother was a lawyer and her father was a rising politician with a good chance of being nominated mayor in the next campaign. Couldn't she choose a "better" career to pursue? She had always been good in science- why not become a botanist? Or a surgeon?

But Maria had made up her mind, and she let her parents know that in no uncertain terms. She was twenty, an adult, and fully capable of making a rational decisin about her future. They had been apalled by her response, and as a result...well, they basically cut her off. She was told that she was not welcome home for the next round of holidays; a long weekend in the dorms alone might bring her to her senses.

But it didn't. She got a job at a corner coffee shop when the money stopped coming in, the first in her life. Her mother showed up at her dorm one day and demanded that she turn over her car and the gas station credit card, both of which Mother Dearest had been paying. Maria let them go without a fight, but not without some tears afterward. She wasn't upset about losing the car as much as she was about her mother's cold attitude. It was the same demeanor she used in the courtroom, Maria had told me as she lay on my second-hand sofa that night and cried as we watched Phantasmagoria PVs.

When the money for food and lodging and other expenses of living was cut off, it was evident that Maria's small salary at the coffee shop wasn't going to cut it. Fortunately, my landlady was this amazingly understanding old woman from Ireland who had come from a large and poor family, and she allowed Maria to move in with me. I continued to pay the rent and the utility bills on my own, and provided most of the money for groceries on the condition that Maria did the grocery shopping, washed the dishes, and did light housework. At first she was clueless about what to get for groceries, but after a few 'tutorings' on my part through the food aisles at Super Wal-Mart, she could bargain-shop like nobody's business.

Months passed and turned into years. Maria coped as best she could, but I could see the light fading from her eyes. Her brothers had stopped talking to her, and her friends had all gone- all but me. She was on the verge of her graduation, only a few months away, when the accident had happened. She had been getting off the bus after school when it had been rear-ended by a garbage truck going almost 50 miles per hour. Maria had been thrown from the bus some 15 feet before colliding with a tree trunk. The paramedics said she had been alive and semi-conscious when they arrived on the scene, but the extent of her injuries was so terrible that she had died of internal bleeding on her way to the hospital. I was the first person they had contacted when she'd been brought into the ER, as they had tried to revive her (our apartment address and landline phone number were on her ID card). When I arrived the doctors had somberly informed me that she had died despite their efforts. I was crying, but not hysterical, so they let me in to see her. She still had a tube down her throat, and despite the sheet over her torso I could tell that they had cracked her chest in an attempt to get her heart beating. Her beautiful, long, dark brown hair was caked with mud and withered grass- a rat's nest of tangles. I stood beside that hospital bed and sobbed, staring at the lifeless body of the friend who had counted on me for so long for so much. I never cared how much it cost me to help Maria, she was a brilliant pianist and a good person and had become my best friend.

When I first heard the music I thought I was imagining things. After several minutes, when my sobs began to slow and I could breathe somewhat normally, I heard it again. I looked around, trying to find its source. There were no television monitors, no spwakers in this room. And the music...it sounded tinny and far away, like...

Like when someone takes off their headphones when they're at full volume.

Reaching out with shaking hands I lifted the edge of the sheet that covered Maria. Sure enough, hanging out of her jacket pocket was a familiar pair of white iPod headphones. A gentle tug brought the device out of her pocket and into my hands. Slowly, hesitantly, I raised the ear buds to my left era, trying to recognize the song. At the same time, one finger slipped across the control pad on the face of the iPod, illuminating the screen.

"Ryoujoku No Ame"

Dir en Grey

The Marrow of a Bone

The melody registered in my head in the same instant that I read the screen. Maria always got super depressed when she listened to that song. Especially when she had it on 'repeat'. I checked the play setup on the gadget, and sure enough, it was on repeat. Her parents and friends; that was what this song made her think about. The tears sprang forth again and I thrust the thing away from me. It landed clumsily on top of what had once been my best friend, pressing the sheet against her body in that small spot. Blood began to stain the white sheet. I squeezed my eyes shut, and ran...

I don't remember getting home that night, but I remember crying on my couch for a long time afterward. I remember that the first person I called to break the news to was my landlady, Ms. O'Shea. I called Maria's parents next.

"Sophie, we'll be down tomorrow to claim the body and make funeral arrangements. Be a dear and call the hospital to let them know, won't you?" her mother had said in voice that was half professional and half familiar, but not at all lamentful or shocked.

"Call them yourself, bitch! Your daughter's dead, you only live three hours away, and you can't even be bothered to call the hospital yourself, much less come down today? Fuck you!" I screamed into the phone, crying again, and forcefully hung up. That was how I broke my pink Razr. Now I have a navy blue one.

The next morning I discovered that it was impossible for me to listen to Maria's and my common favorite band. While Phantasmagoria had been my favorite and she had a strong preference for D'espairs Ray, we both heartily agreed that Dir en grey was one fantastic band. We would listen to them together in the way that people watch films together, picking over the details of each song and each member's part of each song. She was surprised that I heard as much in the songs as she did, and on more than one occasion declared that I had a "producer's ear".

But that time had passed, and now I found it impossible to listen to the band at all. Even the other videos we had watched together, and her precious D'espairs Ray held a lot of upsetting memories for me. On the day of her funeral, I had barely been able to listen to my beloved Phantasmagoria...but I had requested that the Music Box version of "Gensoukyoku -Eternal Silence" be played as her eulogy. To my astonishment, her father (without her mother or brothers) had showed up at the funeral and agreed that the song be played. I did not speak to him during the entire event, and only after the coffin was being lowered into the ground and the few who'd gathered began to depart did he manage to corner me.

He caught me by the arm and turned me to face him as I had been turning to leave. He didn't say anything to me, even though he looked like he wanted to, but withdrew a small package from his coat pocket and forced it into my hands. It was a padded manilla envelope with lumpy cntents. I waited until I had returned home to open it; there had been no wake. My apartment seemed the only logical place to have it, and I didn't want people around me at that point. Besides, no one had asked about one so I felt no pressure to host it. The package, it turned out, contained a copy of the "Ryoujoku No Ame" single, Maria's iPod, and a letter to her father written almost a year before.

"Hi Dad,

I don't know if you'll ever read this, or ever be inclined to listen to the CD I've included, but I do hope you do both. I know you guys don't worry about me anymore, I know you don't think I made a good decision, and frankly I'm way past done arguing my side of it.

I would like to tell you that I'm doing fine, that everything's going well, but that would be a lie. What you did to me after all of those years of support and encouragement to be the best I could at everything I tried was such a blow to my morals, you have no idea. You had been lying to me all that time. You and Mom started me on piano when I was seven, and that was one of the first things you really encouraged me to work hard at. Then when I decided that it was my passion, that it was what I did best, you tried to take it away from me. You did everything in your power aside from physically removing me from the school to discourage me. But this is MY life.

But...what is a life if you have no one in it? My friends who I've nown since junior high or before are gone. My family has no use or time for a daughter who makes her own decisions and has her own dreams. What kind of life would a person like that have? I can't even begin to decribe to you the despair I struggle through every day.

This song, its lyrics, remind me of that despair. I've included a copy of the English translation to the lyrics for you. read them, and remember the daughter who you taught, laughing, to ride a pony at age ten and who won twelve ribbons in show jumping six years later. Remember the little girl who swam in the Atlantic Ocean with you when she was nine, and got a sunburn on her nose. Remember the pinata party on her seventh birthday, when she let her little brother break the pinata to boost his confidence with his baseball swing.

This song, while it still sears me through the heart when I hear it, has brought me some comfort. At least I have the knowledge that the people who created it, professional musicians who have been successful in their careers for a decade, have felt the same way I do and experienced something similar. In that regard, I know that I am not alone..."

I stopped reading. I knew what she had meant, I knew the lyrics.

That night, I went online to my blogs which I had ignored since her death. I wrote about her. I transcribed the letter in some. The last one I went to was Myspace. I wrote something similar to the other entries, and mentioned  the letter. I wrote the beginning of the last paragraph I'd read from the letter in my blog here. I completed the entire entry and for the life of me, I coud not think of a title. Finally I decided on something that would get the Mysspace communiy's attention, but would also be respectful to Maria.

"Dir en grey- a tragedy- please read" I typed these words and posted it not only in my blog, but also as a public bulletin. After wards, I was beginning to feel tired so I turned off the monitor, made a cup of soup, and drank it as I read a book about Ireland during World War II, then went to bed. I didn't even think about turning off the computer or logging off of Myspace.

The next morning I turned the screen back on, wanting only to check my email before work. I don't know why I hit Refresh when I saw that I was still logged on to Myspace. But I did have several comments and messages, so I decided to read them. The comments were from acquaintances, basically people expressing their concern, a few of whom had been at the funeral. The messages were more in depth, from long-distance friends and my own family. But what really grabbed my attention were the last two messages in my inbox. Both were from "Dir en grey"- I recognized the picture from heir Official Myspace Page immediatey.

"Please, what has happened? I would like to know more of Maria." Was the message in the first one.

"Your Maria was a fan, I am sad to lose her. I am sad to knowing her family was not good to her. She had a good friend of you. Please tell me more of Maria and her life." Read the second.

The broken English was intriguing. I mused briefly that one of the band members had actually written it, then cast the thought aside. Why would they be reading my bulletins? I'm sure they saw their band's name in hundreds of bulletins every day. But, I decided to write back anyway.

"Maria Elizabeth Huxley died on January 3rd. She lived with me as my roommate and best friend for the last two years. She was buried on January 6th at Beechwood Cemetrey in Bensalem, Pennsylvania. Dir en grey was our common favorite band. She was a music major at Temple University, and wanted to be a concert pianist. She was an excellent musician, and had nothing but good things to say about the musicianship of the members of Dir en grey."

What would it hurt? It would probably never be read anyway. And certainly not by the band members. I sent it, then logged off of Mysapce and checked my email.

It wasn't long after Maria's funeral that the North American tour dates for Dir en grey's next North American tour were announced. I had decided against going beforehand; the wound of Maira's loss was still too fresh, and listening to their music brought back such horrible memories. I knew many people who were going, traveling as far as Boston or Baltimore in order to see multiple shows. Had Maria still been alive, we would have contented ourselves with a single show in Philadelphia...but no. I would not be attending this time.

Or so I thought.

Two weeks before the show, I received another cryptic message on Myspace from Dir en grey's oOfficial Page: "Sorry to ask, I learned of Maria who died recently and of her home near Philadelphia. Dir en grey is to playing there soon. I am wondering if you her friend will be to see this? Please, I am hopeful that you will come."

Thst one threw me off for an entire day. All I could thnk about was the message and who had written it, pondering endlessly why someone was so interested in my firend's passing. I decided to cut the crap and reply in Japanese. It had been my college major, after all, and I was more than competent in its usage. My reply, which I sent two days later, translated to something like this:

"Thank you for your support in my time of mourning. If she was still alive, Maria and I would be attending the  concert together just as we did the last three times Dir en grey were in this area. But I must apologize, I do not plan to see the band on this tour. Even listening to the band's music now is too painful and brings back sad memories of when she was alive. I do apologize if this news is a disappointment to you, and thank you sincerely for your concern and support." I signed the message with my full name: Sophie Alexandra Cohen.

A day later, which was two days before the North American tour was scheduled to begin, I received yet another message, but this one was in Japanese. Translation:

"Thank you for your reply. I was surprised and pleased to read such good Japanese grammar in your message! I do apologize in advance for my boldness, but I have reserved two tickets to the Philadelphia Dir en grey live in your name. There will also be a message enclosed with the tickets regarding an event after the live. Please, if you can attend, I would be happy to know you were there. If you cannot, I understand."

If the previous message had not been enough of a shock, this one truly was. Being more han a little cynical, I still doubted that it was anyone directly related to the band. In fact, I even had my doubts hat this offer was legitimate. I did not reply to this, but decided to wait until the day of the show and check with the venue's box office to see if this was indeed the case.

The day of the concert was bittersweet. I felt, as I prepared in the morning or my trek into Center City, that I was betraying Maria's memory by attending this show alone. Maria and I would have excitedky been assembling clothes, hair, and makeup togetjer all morning if she were still alive. On this morning, I dressed in a simple pair of blue jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a gray hoodie with tiny red stars printed all over it. Over these, I donned my long black wool peacoat and a scarlet scarf that Maria had given me for my last birthday. My makeup was the barest of minimums: foundation, powder, eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss, and a touch of pale peach blush. My hair I skipped entirely, letting it fall in its natural loose ringlets around my shoulders.

I decided that, instead of heading down to the venue for an early morning arrival and waiting in line all day to ensure a pot up front, I would visit Maria's grave in Bensalem first. It was a cold, still day with a bite of frost in the air, sky overcast and leaden and threatening to rain. I opted to take public transit all the way; parking in Center City was practiacally impossible and I did not feel like paying $25.00 or more just to park the old Dodge down there. So SEPTA it was. The first bus dropped me catecorner to the cemetery just after noon. On the corner was a Wawa convenience store where I had purchased several bouquets there on previous occasions, so I stepped inside to buy one for Maria now. The place was deserted aside from two girls in their mid-teens whispering and giggling behind the register counter as I entered. Ignoring them, I headed to the back of the store to the produce area where the flowers had been on previous visits. I found their stand and canisters intact, but they were bereft of  bouquets. Walking back to the registers, I approached the giddy pair with a forced smile and asked if they had any more flowers.

"No, you just missed them," the taller of the two, pimply and brace-faced replied. "Two guys just came in here about ten minutes ago and bought us out. We hadn't sold any before that. Sorry, bad timing." She seemed genuine enough about the sudden shortage.

"Oh," I siad, reasoning aloud. "Probably for a funeral across the street."

"I don't think so," the shorter girl, plump and mousy-haired piped up. "They were foreign. And there was only the one car. Funeral processions go right past here all the time, dozens of cars. But I think I saw that car heading across to the cemetery..."

"Wait a sec...foreign? Like, from where?" My heart was pounding in my chest as I recalled that first message I had sent on Myspace. 'She was buried on January 6th at Beechwood Cemetery in Bensalem, Pennsylvanina...' Could it be?

"I can's say for sure, but the taller one looked oriental. The shorter one had blond hair and was wearing darker sunglasses so I couldn't see his face real well. But they had a girl with them who was translating everything for them, so I don't think they spoke English," the shorter girl blushed as she spoke. "They were both pretty hot." Both of them giggled at this.

Forcing myself to maintain my composure, I thanked them for their time and walked stiffly out of the Wawa. Once I reachd the corner, I sprinted across Bensalem Road to the cemetery entrance. I was going at a pretty good jog in the direction of Maria's grave when a black luxury sedan passed me. I attempted to peer into the windows to get a look at its occupants, but they were tinted so dark that it was hopeless: all I saw was the driver, who looked quite ordinary to me. I watched the car turn onto Bensalem Road and head off in the direction that the bus I'd been riding had also been traveling, then turned back to my original destination.

Maria's grave, when I arrived a few moments later, was covered in flowers so freshly laid that the frost had not yet begun to wilt their petals. Roses, lilies, carnations, daisies...a myriad of varieties in a rainbow of colors. I stared at them as I approached, examining their placement as I drew nearer. They had been carefully arranged in a semicircle around the headstone, piled two layers deep with the top layer having been stacked off-center to the bottom layer. At the base of the arrangement, where the stems met the headstone engraved with Maria's full name and her birth and death dates, was one final surprise: a copy of the CD single "Ryoujoku No Ame".

"Maria, they came to you. They  came...to see you," I whispered aloud. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I turned away and began walking back toward the bus stop to catch the next one.

It was true! It was all real! The messages HAD been from the band, or someone close to them sending their words. That meant that the tickets and these mysterious instructions were very probably waiting for me at the box office in Center City. As I waited at the bus stop, I found it nearly impossible to keep still. I paced up and down the sidewalk within about 20 feet of the designated stop over and over, I have no idea for how long, until I saw the next bus approaching. The ride to Frankford Terminal was not much different; I was continually tapping m feet or fidgeting as I sat, probably making several other passengers very nervous. Fortunately my transfer time to the Market/Frankfort Blue Line was only a few minutes, and although this was the longest part of my journey it never really felt thatway due to the speed of the train. After leaving the cemetery, "Ryoujoku No Ame" was spinning through my head non-stop.

There was, as expected, a hefty line forming when I arrived at the venue. As I walked up it toward the box office I was greeted by a handful of acquaintances, some showing concern over my well-being since Maria's death. I hadn't really expected the box office window to be open so early, but was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was. Almost timidly, trembling slightly, I approache the window and gave the middle-aged, bespectacled, roundish, disinterested-looking woman behind it my name and informed her that I had tickets on Will-Call. Without a word she turned to the files and began shuffling through them, glancing up once to ask the spelling of my last name, then retrning to the file with a nod and extracting a long white envelope. She passed it to me under the slot of the window after I showed her my ID. With quaking hands and a racing heart I took the package, opening it immediately.

Inside were the two promised tickets, and a typewritten note:

"Ms. Cohen,

Thank you for accepting our invitation. We have all heard of Maria's life and love of music, and for our band, and are deeply sorry to hear of her passing. We would like the opportunity to meet whom we believe is the best friend she ever could have had, the one who gave her so much help and showed her so much love and loyalty when things began to go badly in her life. After this eveing's live, please come to the Merchandise Table with this note and your identification and show both to anyone working there. You will be escorted backstage from there to meet the members of Dir en grey who are eagerly awaiting you. Thank you again for coming.

Sincerely,

Kaoru, Kyo, Die, Toshiya, and Shinya

(message translated by staff)"

I could scarecly breathe by the time I had finished reading. With my head down and the contents of the envelope clutched to my chest, I retreated to the back of the line where the previous arrivals promptly ignored me. I sat on the ground and clutched my knees to mu chest, lowering my face to them as the tears flowed down my cheeks. This was too much, I simply couldn't do it. I may be able to handle the concert without completely breaking down, but there was NO WAY I would be able to face the members of the band, who knew about Maria and would undoubtedly want to talk about her at length, without losing my composure. Especially considering what two of the members had just left at her grave. I sat, rocking slightly as my mind spun and my heart thretened to burst, for a long while as the people around me ignored me. At length the tears stopped and I came around, wiped my face try on my jacket sleeve, and began the long wait for the opening of the doors. A few people who passed me or noticed me stopped and said hello, but every one of them knew how close Maria and I had been and how shaken I'd been at her loss and left me alone.

The sun had set and there was a deep chill in the air, which many fought with quick trips to Starbucks or Wawa, both of which were nearby. I stood through it all and shivered until the doors opened. There was the mad scramble to get inside, but I took my time and stayed in the back of the club once inside. It was warmer there, anyway, and there was far less pushing. I had a clear but somewhat distant view of the stage, but without people sandwiched on all sides of me I knew I would be able to see the show just fine.

It was like a dream, like something that was happening to someone else when they took the stage. The majority of the live was a blur until they paused after one song and all sort of turned to face each other wth a meaningful look. Even Shinya rose a bit from his drum stool and pointed his sticks in the direction of the other band members. It was very brief, but I caught the look that passed between them. A few seconds later, the band launched into a full-throttle, heartfelt rendition of "Ryoujoku No Ame". From Die and Kaoru's opening chords until Kyo closed the song with a long, heartbreaking scream, tears coursed down my face. I found myself singing along word for word with Kyo, screaming with him, and reaching heavenward (even though the afterlife is not something I believe in) as the song progressed. After its close, the band walked offstage and the crowd began chanting and screaming for an encore. Dir en grey delivered of course, playng two additional songs before exiting again and the house lights came up. I stood in place as the crowd passed me, heading for the merchandise table or the exit. I was in truth waiting until the crowd had thinned to make my exit, and at the time had no intention of taking the band up on their offer. I would write to them on Myspace or on their website and thank them for the ticket, and apologize that I had not been able to meet them after the show. I decided that offering a reason was pointless, so I would only apologize.

I was jerked out of my trancelike state by a distantly-familar voice calling my name. I turned in the direction of the voice to see an old friend whom I had not seen sine my last year of college approaching me at a rapid pace.

"Rachel!" I exclaimed, hugging her as she reached me and returned the embrace.

"Sophie, I can't believe I ran into you here! Oh my God, I heard about your friend Maria. Sophie, I am so, so sorry. Are you managing okay? I mean, if you ever need anything, I'll give you my new number..."

Rachel was about a year younger than me, and she, Maria (who was two years her junior) and I had all briefly been acquainted. At the end of two semesters, though, Rachel had transferred to Villanova and we hardly saw her after that. We had drifted apart as our time to keep in contact became scarce, and I had become focused on Maria when her life had gone to hell. I had often felt guilty about losing touch with Rachel, but I figured she had been equally busy with her own life. What I hasd missed most about her was her level-headed wisdom, which she seemed to posess in spades. Recalling the note and its invitation, I decided to take Rachel into my confidence. Quickly I recounted the story of the mysterious Myspace messages and how I had ended up obtaining tickets to the live we'd just seen, and then revealed the note's contents to her. She was not overly excited about the invitation, but gave me one of her long, hard, thoughtful stares as she handed it back to me. She placed an index finger to her temple as she often did when she was thinking through a tough situation. After a moment's silence, she replied:

"Sophie, I think you should just go meet them. Even if you only stay a little while. Go meet them and tell them that this is hard for you- I can tell that it is, don't worry. I think they'll understand the tears if you cry while talking about her. Did you bring a picture of her?" I had. "Good, I suggest you give it to them. Just go, if only for a few minutes, and talk to them about her. Tell them how much she loved their music, and tell them why. They'll appreciate that, and I think this might also help you with closure." Rachel put a hand on my arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She knew what I needed to heal, that was for sure. I hugged her again.

"Thank you, Rachel. You always have the perfect answers. Listen, my phone number's still the same, so give me a call tomorrow if you stil have it. But...I'm going to do what you suggest," I replied, trying hard not to cry all over again. With a nod and a smile, Rachel departed.

I waited until the crowd at the merchandise table had thinned significantly before approaching. When the workers behind it began to slow their paces a bit and were not quite as busy, I approached with the letter in hand. I showed it to the woman who appeared to be in charge, who glanced at it and nodded, then handed it back to me with a small smile.

"We were beginning to wonder if you were coming. They've been expecting you, Sophie," she said in a low voice meant only for my ears. Again I fell into that disembodied trancelike state, the whole surreality of her statement was more than my mind could handle, on top of everything else. I didn't have a long wait; she made a quick call on her cell phone, informing who I supposed were the "higher-ups" that I had arrived, and a few minutes later a young woman with short-cropped black hair appeared behind the table and was sent in my direction.

"You are Sophie?" she asked as she approached me, and I nodded my reply. "Good, please come with me. They're winding down right now, but they would like to meet you soon. There is a meet-and-greet going on in a few minutes, of course, and I will take you there. After the other fans have left, you may stay and talk with the band. Will you need a translator?" Her speech was clipped and direct, as though she was accustomed to giving orders. She passed this information to me as we walked toward the stage again, heading for a corridor that bent around behind it.

"As long as the conversation is fairly basic, I should be okay. But if one is available, it may not be a bad idea to have them there if I get lost," I was truly thankful for the offer. My escort nodded and continued to lead me without another word. We walked down the corridor to a large room with several tables and chairs in it where six girls and four young men waited, subdued but clearly anxious. Here my escort left me with a parting phrase spoken in a low tone.

"Use your discretion here. You may participate in the meet and greet if you want, but please do not draw their attention away from it. I will escort you back to the dressing room afterward. Wait for me here." I nodded and said I understood. I decided to stay out of the meet-and-greet scene, remain where the others were lined up against the wall, until it was over. She had been absolutely right about the situation; if I drew attention to myself by introducing myself, it was likely to cause a scene. Best to remain completely anonymous, I decided, and not mingle at all until the personal meeting afterward.

Several minutes passed before my escort returned with three other staffers. She called for everyone's attention and laid down the rules for the meet and greet: no cameras, no recorders, no monopolizing of band members, no hugs, signatures on purchased merchandise only, etc. Immediately afterward, four members of the band entered the room: first Die, then Toshiya, then Kaoru, then Shinya. Kyo, it seemed, was nursing his self-inflicted wounds from the live and would not be making an appearance this evening.

I watched the members cooly take their seats, each at a different table, and then the gathered fortunate few descend upon them seeking autographs and handshakes. Die sat at the table nearest where I stood apart from the commotion, and at one point there was a break in the crowd, during which there was no one at his table. He looked around a bit, and it didn't take him long to spot me standing off on my own. He gazed at me for a moment, a puzzled, somewhat concerned look. Die's playing had always been one of my favorite things about the band, and to now have the real thing in front of me, looking me in the face...well, of course I was looking right at him as well. He gestured to me, then to the empty seat at the table where fans had been sitting to collect his autograph, and held up a Sharpie marker in a pantomime of an invitation to be included. It was a truly moving gesture and for a split second I was tempted, but after a brief hesitation I offered a low bow and replied, just loud enough for him to hear:

"Kekko desu, Die-san," I said as respectfully as I knew how. He looked puzzled as I rose from my bow, but then was distracted as a portly girl, probably in her late teens, with dyed black hair, a veritable constellation of acne across her face, dressed in an unflattering corset and skintight jeans, plopped into the chair before him giggling uncontrollably. His attention was diverted, and I stepped farther down the wall, out of his peripheral vision.

The event took no more than twenty minutes, and when at last all the fans had all their autographs and had returned to the line on the wall the four members of Dir en grey rose and offered shallow bows to the small crowd, then waved as they left to many cheers and applause. My escort had remained in the room, and as the crowd moved toward the exit after the band's departure, she returned to my side.

"Ready to go?" she asked, and without waiting for a response she turned on her heel and led the way through the door which the band had exited. We continued down the curving corridor, and I caught the sound of several male voices not far ahead of us. They were speaking Japanese and seemed to be discussing the temperament of the fans they'd just met. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who was a few paces ahead of us, just around the bend, but when we did emerge from the curve and I was met by the scene of all five members of Dir en grey standing just outside the doorway of a dressing room, I nearly gasped. Kyo had emerged, his torso dressed in white bandages. He held a cold compress in one hand, which he pressed alternately to either side of his face between comments to Kaoru and Toshiya, whom it seemed had been doing most of the talking. It was he who noticed our approach first. He trailed off in midsentence as my escort advanced with me in tow. His face shifted from an expression of curious interest in what had transpired during the meet and greet to one of solemn realization of who this American stranger must be. The others noticed his distraction and turned in my direction.

All my pomp and self-importance, all my leadership roles and cavalier personaliy vanished as those five pairs of eyes turned and fell on me. I had never felt so small and meek and out of place in my life. As each member fo the band turned towards me, his voice fell away just as Kyo's had. There was a moment of utter and complete silence among them as we covered the last few yards between us and them. Without any hesitation once she reached them, my escort turned to me and introduced me to the band. For another moment no one spoke, then I murmured quiety as I offered a respectful bow.

"It is an honor to meet you in person. I humbly thank you for your generous invitation and thoughtfulness in regards to my friend's memory."

Kaoru stepped forward immediately and my breath caught in my throat. He offered me first a handshake and then asked politely if I'd like to come inside and sit. I shook his hand, tembling, and nodded meekly. Amidst the membership I shuffled through the doorway and into the dressing room where three couches and several plastic schoolroom-style chairs offered seating for the group. My escort nodded when she reached the doorway, then closed the door. I could hear her footsteps for a moment as ste retraced her path down the corridor.

I swallowed hard. I was alone in a room with all five members of one of the greatest legends of Japanese rock music, and they were all focused on me. I had no idea what to say as I took a seat on one of the couches, Shinya and Die seating themselves on either side of me while Kyo and Toshia sat adjacent to us on another couch and Kaoru pulled up one of the chairs so he could sit facing me. Fortunately, Kaoru spoke first.

"Sophie-san," he began formally, "we were all very moved when we heard the story of your friend's plight and then her passing. Each of ous thought that what happened to her simply because of her love of music was very unfair. She was lucky to have you, a loyal friend who supported and encouraged her even when things were at their worst. We wanted to bring you here tonight to tell you that your role in the story also moved us. There were many times when we first began as musicians that we were discouraged by all those around us, and it was because we had each other's friendships that we were able to persevere and come as far as we have. Friendship like that is uncommon, and we respect you for all that you did for Maria-san." As he spoke, the other members nodded in agreement. I could feel my face blushing heavily; I was being compared to the members of this band by Kaoru himself! It was a honor, but one that I did not feel I was worthy of. I shook my head.

"Kaoru-san, I was just doing what I thought was right. I knew how important music was to Maria and I wanted her to be able to live her dream. I didn't think it was right that it should be taken from her because of someone else's opinion. What I did for her was not really that big of a deal, I just provided her an option that allowed her to stay in school. but even so....even so..." my voice hitched in my throat as I felt tears welling in my eyes again. "It was all for nothing. She died, and I couldn't stop it..."

I could say no more. The tears were flowing down my face. I looked away, burying my face in my hands in shame. Presently I felt a hand on my back and a soft, light voice in my ear.

"It may sound cliche, but you can't blame yourself for that. It was an accident, no one intended for it to happen and no one could have done anything. It was not your fault." Shinya's words rang true but they didn't help me feel any better: Maria was still dead and I still felt like I had failed her somehow. I began to cry harder, which was immediately met by an arm around my back from the other side and Toshiya murmuring.

"She may have needed this for a long time. Let her go on, we can talk more when she's ready."

There was a soft shuffling from all parties that I heard amidst my sobs and the next thing I knew, I had a hand smoothing the hair on the back of my head, a hand on each shoulder, and the mild scennt of died sweat on male bodies all around me. I gasped; I would never have dreamed that such concern and understanging would come from these five!

I let it all go then, and sobbed for many minutes. I felt a cloth being pressed softly against the backs of my hands and looked up to see Die offering me a white towel. I took it and dabbed my eyes, dried my cheeks. I took a deep breath and straightened slightly. The close assembly broke apart as I sat back, each reclaiming the seat they had originally occupied. I glanced aound the room in silent thanks to each of them, and was surprised to see that Kyo, Toshiya, and Shinya looked as though they had cried a bit with me.

"Thank you...and I'm sorry," I murmured. Kaoru, sitting facing me once again, shook his head as Die piped up.

"Don't be. We understand how hard this must be for you. And really, we appreciate that you came to see us tonight. What Kaoru said is the truth, your story truly moved us and we wanted to tell you in person. We all have a lot of respect for what you did for Maria," his clear, bright voice was like a candleflame in the darkness of my broken heart.

It was easier for me to talk after that, and I spent a while answering their questions about Maria and myself. I couldn't help but notice Kaoru's bright, intense eyes that seemed to catch everything I did and said and hold it in the vault of his mind. It was a bit unnerving, to be honest.

When at last a knock at te door signalled that the band had to get moving, we all rose and again I shook hands with each member. I thanked each for his understanding and kindness, and each left with a kind goodbye after our handshake. Shinya actually pulled me into a light hug as we said farewell. He whispered discreetly in my ear as he embraced me.

"This was actually Kaoru's idea. He was very touched by Maria's story, and he was the one who first contacted you. He came to us with the idea of inviting you to meet us after you replied to his message," he smiled knowingly as he stepped back and moved away from me. I then said goodbye to Toshiya, leaving Kaoru as the lingering member. I felt a slight blush rise in my cheeks again as I faced him.

"Thank you so much for everything, Kaoru-san," I muttered as I placed my hand in his. I was more than a little surprised to feel a small piece of paper being pressed into my palm as he shook my hand.

"This is my cell number while we're in America. If you want to come to another show, please don't hesitate to call me and I'll arrange it. I myself would like very much to see you again...soon."

My eyes flew to his and it was his turn to blush a little. I didn't know what to say but I'm sure my eyes were the size of dinner plates. I grasped the paper with my fingers and slid it into my pocket. The room was empty now besided us.

"I'll be calling you soon, then," I replied, astounded that I had the nerve to say such a thing to this man. To my even greater astonishment, he leaned forward suddenly and placed a feather-soft kiss on my lips.

"Thank you. You're an angel, you know. It was the devotion and purity of your heart which you showed to Maria that made me fall in love with you," he whispered. "Call me soon. And...anytime. Not just when you want to come to a show."

The tears I shed on my whole journey home were very, very different. They were tears of indescribable joy.