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They each had the same beginning. Keigo and Touya. The first to be born. First to be treasured. The first to be discarded. The first to be both tossed out and trapped exactly where they were; for simply being exactly what they were. Both of them misfits. And both of them cast aside. Ignored and tortured by those who were supposed to be in their corner. Unwanted, & unloved. Treatment unwarranted and unapologetic. They both stayed grounded in those places for far too many years.
Then freedom called, beckoned , them. Through the vibration of guitar strings and on the tip of a paint brush. A chance. A choice. A destiny.
The moment their wings spread, it seemed as though they never stopped moving. Never stopped traveling.
Life’s a journey, and all that.
***
They met on a train. One hoping to nail an audition in the city, the other hoping to impress a new gallery owner. Both tired. And as worn out as the jeans and threadbare T-shirts that hid the evidence of their former stationary lives.
The golden sun met the electric blue sky and it was as if the whole universe had come together. The holes in their universes filled, for the very first time.
The rocking of the train over the tracks, pierced the dark and silent night with its rhythmic clacking. Attempting to lull and dissipate the electricity that had begun to create their new world, gravitating towards their new destination. To the same stop. On a midnight train going anywhere.
Like the song.
They would laugh about it later on. Teasing each other. Arguing about which one of them was supposed to be from South Detroit, and which of them was the small town girl. It was always the kind of argument that had no reason being as passionate as it was, and ended up in a different kind of passion altogether.
***
The first sweet dates when they were too broke to really do anything except ride the escalators at the mall. Wandering around dreaming of all the things they would buy when they made it big.
Splitting a small order of fries and a medium soft drink at the roller rink, as they shared the one set of skates they could afford to rent.
One watching the other glide gracefully over the smooth floor through disco lights like he had feathers on his back guiding him.
The other watching in return, and offering a helping hand through the struggle to get both feet rolling in the same direction.
Both laughing every time they caught each other or when they stumbled and fell and no longer knew who was holding up who.
***
The skateboard they found abandoned in an alley was cleaned up and traded depending on the destination. Rolling and clicking along the pavement and through days where there was nothing better to do.
The one that rolled up to impress yet another new band for yet another audition. It wasn't really the kind of music he wanted to play. But he had to start somewhere.
The same board that was hidden behind the open door to a brand new gallery searching for young artists. Needing to cover its walls with edgy frames, filled with emotional outbursts in acrylics, chalk, and oils.
***
Ubers, and ride shares, taking them to practices and showings that were too far for the skateboard. To purchase more strings and picks and brushes and chalks. Taking too much of their precious savings. Too much of the profits from the selling of trauma spread in colors across canvas so others could feel it too. From the selling of tears as notes burned into shiny discs of plastic so others could feel it too.
Tortured artists and all that.
***
A rusty brown sedan. Check engine light on, one headlight off. Windows that steamed up too quickly as they sank into the back seat. Sank into each other. Celebrating selling enough of their pain to afford such a luxury.
A handprint against the glass, like a scar. Proof that their bodies match their hearts.
Just like in the movie.
They joked about that too. Planned a fantasy cruise for after fame found the two of them.
Neither of them washed the window for months afterwards.
***
The bed rolled into an aseptic room. The night had been dark enough and now he was waiting for the first sign that light would fill the morning sky once again.
Knee bouncing. Keeping the seconds. Rubbing at bruised and broken knuckles. Blood staining the string calloused digits. Anger nearing the surface yet again. A pious fury. One was supposed to worship the golden sun, not tear it from the sky.
It rose, in its own universal time. Relieving the blue sky of its clouds and worry. The only world that mattered would be light again. He, a baptized priest of luminosity, would wage war to ensure it glowed with radiance once again.
***
The sign above the window on the bus they took to court was the only thing he remembered that day. Their fight. His war. They had been bruised by their family for the same things in the past. For the fear and hate of a love that looked different. No one should be able to bruise them again. No one should be able to block out the golden sun and the blue sky with their dark rainy minds. With their clouded hearts.
A crime of defense versus a crime of hate. Hand prints still visible against pale skin. Evidence of hate just as much as the renewed handprint on their car window was evidence of love.
Knuckles still bruised from the fight to live their lives unharmed. Fingers broken in the fight to take it away.
How much hate, and love, and defense, and beauty, and blame, and art came from all of the hands in that room?
Either the buses all had the same signs in the same places. Or the one that brought them to the hallowed halls of law was the same one bringing them home. Both in a bit of a shock. Both almost missing their stop.
***
The brown sedan was hooked to the truck. Rented, not with the money from their crafts - the ones that peddled their lacerated souls for the masses to commiserate with.
Fame had not yet found them.
But justice had.
Hate had lost out and was now paying for them to move to a safer neighborhood. Paying for a slightly larger place to live surrounded by art, and love, and each other.
***
A limo pulled up to the gallery. Its occupant, quickly entranced by the beauty that was poured out onto the walls that surrounded the space he entered. He motioned to the bright sunshine smile that was directed at him.
With the deal done and a life changed he turned to meet his driver once again. He stopped a few feet from the exit and smiled warmly when he saw the beaten up skateboard poorly hidden behind the open door. Remembering the beat up scooter from his own past.
***
A shiny black SVU sat in their parking spot now. Easier to lug instruments and equipment back and forth. A record deal with a big label, a tour around the country. Radio stations, and billboard charts.
The brown sedan just wasn’t enough anymore, so they cleaned it out and got it ready to donate. But not before they fogged up the windows one last time. Though, they didn’t leave the handprint on the glass.
***
They both had sweaty palms as the brightly colored balloon rose higher and higher in the air. One set of hands gripping the outside of the large wicker basket they were standing in. The other set gripping the small box pulled from its hiding place in his pocket.
It was cliche, and cheesy. But he could think of no better place. His eyes were so much like the bright sky they were ascending into. And he wanted to be able to aimlessly meander those horizons for the rest of his life. The silver ring, a silver lining to any clouds that may come their way.
***
Their friends and bandmates drove them to the courthouse the second time. Only now instead of facing hate, they faced each other. The golden sun met the electric blue sky with the same electricity as it had that first time on the train so many years ago. Smiles and cheer replacing the tired and the worn out.
Silver linings for them both. Blessed by their love, shared over tears of happiness, and placed upon hands that linked quickly back together as if the bands were magnetized and pulled in by shared souls and promises.
***
The wheels of his carry-on sounded like their old skateboard. The itinerary was packed with concerts, gallery shows, interviews, and photoshoots. His silver lining dug into his palm as it gripped the handle of the luggage harder. He was just glad to be flying in a plane this time instead of a basket. It still made him smile though.
He grinned at the man walking next to him. He received a signature sunshine smile in return. Once this trip was over, they would have to take that fantasy cruise they talked about.
Because, life’s a journey and all that.