Ambitions of Youth
Once, when Chiharu was younger than she was now, she sat at the edge of a dock, contemplating the reflecting light glistening on the waves. She imagined spinning it into a silk so fine, it would twist and bend to every contour of her finger, mimicking a perfect replica of her print. Then she would sell it for heaps and bounds of ryō. She alone would tame the ocean, and then maybe her mother would love her.
“It isn’t possible.”
Chiharu’s daydream was broken by a ragged voice from behind her. Despite the intrusion, the young girl wasn’t offended—just curious.
“Why not?” she whispered. This was the first time she had spoken in weeks. Despite her neglect of speech, the honeyed nature of her voice was evident. It was almost comical how different Chiharu and this woman were—they lived in complete opposition to one another.
The woman was kissed by the sun, her skin beautifully tanned even though that same sun seemed to despise this particular place on earth. Her hair and eyes were so impossibly white, the little girl would have thought she was a mystical being if she hadn't seen her around the village before. The woman was clearly old, but there were no prominent wrinkles to suggest any great tragedy or triumph in life—only the boring ones that were promised with age.
Chiharu, on the other hand, was favored by the night. Her dark hair and eyes could suck you into a cosmic abyss if you looked long and hard enough. Her skin wasn’t paper white, but if one were to guess where she had grown up based on the shade alone, they'd be quick to assume Kirigakure. Her feminine visage was alluring in a gentle way, and she knew this, but her favorite feature wasn't that of her hair or eyes. Instead, her pride lay in the two soft indents that graced her plump cheeks—evidence of her fondness for joy.
“The ocean isn’t a creature to be domesticated. It lives and acts on its own.”
Chiharu thought about this statement for a bit. It seemed like a pretty straightforward answer and very logical; this was exactly the problem—nature wasn’t logical.
“Who says?” The little girl finally turned towards the old woman. If she were anyone else, Chiharu would have been more outwardly respectful; but deep in her immortal soul, the girl knew no offense would be taken. If Chiharu was rude, the woman wouldn’t be entertaining the child with her presence as she was right now.
“I do.”
“And who is that?” She giggled, and her dazzling smile made a quick appearance. She knew who this woman was—everyone yet no one did at the same time. They knew her name, or at least the name prescribed to her: Tomoe. They knew she wasn't from the island; however, the exact location was a question left high above their heads. The only evidence for this woman’s existence was her physical body, and even this was questioned by those that inhabited their tiny island.
They say complex women tell complex stories, but most would believe she told no story at all. Chiharu begged to differ.
“They call me Tomoe.”
“Yes, yes, I knew that; but that wasn’t exactly my question.”
“You know me as Tomoe, so that is who I shall be.”
Tomoe spoke in the same tone she did as when the conversation began. Her voice was like her best friend—one sworn into secrecy, never betraying even the slightest of details to an illustrious story.
“Could I tell you a secret, Ms. Tomoe?”
The question flooded past Chiharu’s lips before she detected its presence in her mind. Tomoe said nothing, neither prompting the child to speak nor to remain silent; she would let nature take its course, and she wouldn’t dare to interfere.
“I’m going to be a ninja.”
“Who says?” The woman parroted back to the child. Chiharu giggled once more.
“Me, of course.” She was now fully facing the woman at the end of the mossy dock, still sitting but now in a cross-legged position.
Before Tomoe could continue, the girl tilted her head and stated:
“My name is Chiharu.”
Tomoe took the girl in; she was still smiling. Chiharu simultaneously stood out and blended into the environment around her. Her coloring was that of Kiri; this was undeniable and quite stereotypical, but whereas most natives possessed sharp and mean features, she was more poetic than that. Her appearance rang like a fairy’s bell, it smelled like peaches encased in spring dew, and felt like a butterfly’s wings. Her personality was similar to her appearance in these ways, but it was deeper and too complex to pinpoint exactly. It seemed fluid and ever-changing; truly, it wasn’t any wonder why she favored the ocean; they were kindred souls destined to meet in every lifetime, no matter the form they possessed.
“Why?”
Chiharu turned her body back towards the water. She could have said so many things. Millions of defenses sprang to the forefront of her mind, each trumping the last. Despite each reasonable and inarguable truth Chiharu harbored, the one she chose to immortalize through the ears of Tomoe embodied them all.
“I’ve never seen a clear sky.”
The chiming sweetness of her voice held a conviction unnatural for a girl of her age, and yet the unnaturalness she possessed seemed natural, at least for her. Chiharu peered over her shoulder, her face now flat and her two eyes piercing Tomoe’s, expecting a jeer or taunt. When none came, she dropped her head. Her smile was so small Tomoe almost missed it, and she never missed much. Both the woman and the girl sensed the end of the conversation, but Tomoe was the one that docked the ship.
“Then you better start practicing.”
Chiharu’s laugh overtook her, and she fell flat on her back with her arms spread wide. Truthfully, that was the last thing she expected to hear. Her song of joy tickled the water’s heart. With the way the wind flew past and leaves twirled, it seemed to be laughing with her. Tomoe began walking away, allowing the girl to revel in her fun.
When she finally pulled herself up, the old woman was gone, and tears sparkled down her cheeks. Her legs dangled off the deck once more, and her head hung above the water. The salty droplets joined its kin deep in the water, conjoining into the mighty beast that was the ocean.