Singular, another one…

Everyone is singular in some way. 

Doesn’t matter if it could mean “alone”. But in the last book, which I was happy to got in Kinokuniya and already had read, before the release of the next one which I am waiting, I thought there were two meaning of this word in one – all the stories was about lonely and extraordinary people. But also the stories were as the mirror of the writer or a reader or both. 

I rarely write my opinion about books of Murakami-san and will continue do as I do. 

This time I just tell the story I imagined and thought about while were reading his own.

Wait

What if one day I will become the hero of his story? What if it will really happen with me and somewhere in Tokyo, in the midnight bar, I’ll be alone, without knowing why and what happened before and how I got there, but one old man look at me so I recognize his face.

What will I do and what he do? 

Will I just bow my head to him as a sign of a respect and leave him in his silence? Will I waste my time and chance just passing by or go to tell and ask him something?

I looked from the sidelines and realized that the choice has already been made. I am slowly approaching him, sit down next and look into his eyes for a long time. Perhaps there could be a misunderstanding and fear. Have there been times when strange fans of his works have said something unpleasant or wanted to do something bad?

But who am I to worry? The man in his age, he is almost as my dad or grandpa, isn’t it sensei? He don’t have kids, what can he knows about this emotion? Nothing as I am, perhaps. But… In my imagination the view of this scene is like the slow-motion film. I look at him and he looks at me. And I see just what I want to see. Do I really so young?

Isn’t it obviously, what all your heroes appear in such dark places just to get under the spotlight later? 

He took a sip of alcohol from his glass, the name of which I will never be able to guess. Somewhere is playing a jazz record again, the name of which I am also unlikely will ever to know.

And I suddenly recall the words of some song by some scottish indie pop band from Glasgow, the name of which one I always pronounce with a mistake and more of that, I even can’t write it in the right way: “We bide our time, stay afloat, keeping the sun up off our boat“.

Will I have a chance to tell you as you saved my life once? I never planned to write you a letter till it was swept out of my hand. As a bird, I was able to let it go in the blue-blue sky.

I wonder, will you answer me?

Will you be able to remember my name, if I tell you? Till the end… But my real name is so ordinary, internationally well-known and in some kind is very religious, which starts from the first letter “M”. So I came up with another one. And that name became me, and I became that name. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the first letter. I’m afraid it’s what holds my two reflections together. And what makes me closer to you.

 “I never asked to know, I never lied, so I could keep you on my side”. 

I wonder, will you ask my name? What if I should just go away from that black brick wall? It keeps looking at me and studying me. It continues to be silent and to test me. It continues to live. There, in the center of my distant and lonely heart.

The name I came up with once was meant nothing, until one of my pen pals wrote it with hieroglyphics and it came out as 実音, but don’t confuse it with 美音. If you translate it, you’ll get: “sincere sound,” or “sound of essence,” or “sound of reality”.

If I will replace you someday, what you tell or advise me?

In fact, my new name was created from two other names of two succeeded creators I respect and admire. One belongs to you. What is amazing and happened by itself – all of three names have their first letters as M and H in the beginnings. MH – HM – MH. Looks like the chemical formula, don’t you think? Does that mean I’ve taken a part of you both for myself? Does that mean I stole something from you? Can names really affect the destiny?

But you are still silent and drinking the glistening liquid from your glass. Have you noticed how scared I am and that my voice is shaking? Will you be kind to me? Will you answer me, or will you run away, as you have done before?

I’ll never know.

Will you meet me more than halfway, shape by the clearest blue“.

I’m not sure.

The record ends and the sounds drift away into the emptiness of this place and time. A click and someone flips the music to the other side. It distracted me for a second and I awake to look around. In this semi-darkened bar I noticed that I am sitting alone in front of a lonely mirror hanging on the cold wall and in my hand is your book.

Last chapter ended and there is no one, besides me. I am staying alone and singular, but carrying your name on my hands.

 – Don’t worry, I will do it right way. – I say.