28
B lake stepped out of the car and onto Post Street, sucking in a breath of cool bay air.
The fog that had encircled the city earlier in the day was being blown away by the evening breeze, the last dregs clinging to the streets in the distance.
As Blake rounded the car and began to fuss with the credit card reader on the parking meter, Marin climbed out behind him, shedding his jean jacket.
“We’re lucky we didn’t have to mess with the parking garage,” Blake commented, glancing around the empty streets. He’d heard that the Japan Center malls had been suffering for business as of late, and it showed. “You can get trapped in there for hours on weekends.”
“Guess I’m your lucky charm today, then,” Marin teased, craning his neck to see something beyond the mall itself.
“What’s up?” Blake asked, peering down the sidewalk as well. He could see that some sort of structure had been erected in the plaza between the East and West Malls. “Wanna check it out?”
“Sure,” Marin smiled, leading the way.
As they approached, more of the arrangement materialized.
There was a temporary shade structure built over a cluster of potted bamboo shoots festooned with leaf-like paper tags.
Bead streamers dripped from huge, colorful orbs of paper carnations dangling from the awning.
Over to one side was a set of standees of a princess and a farmer reaching out for one another, separated by an informative poster about the event.
“Oh, it’s Tanabata season, huh?” Blake mused as Marin approached the poster to read:
“ Tanabata—also known as Hoshimatsuri, the Star Festival, or the Qixi Festival—is a Japanese and Chinese festival observed on the seventh day of the seventh month, either July 7 th on the Gregorian calendar, or later on August 7 th on the old Lunar calendar.
“Tanabata celebrates the tale of the weaving princess Orihime (the representation of the star Vega) and her cowherd husband Hikoboshi (the representation of the star Altair). For three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, Orihime and Hikoboshi are kept apart by Orihime’s father, Tentei, and forced to attend to their duties, separated by the river of the Milky Way.
However, once a year on July or August 7 th , the couple is allowed to meet.
“To celebrate this occasion, wishes are written on slips of paper and hung on bamboo trees, later to either be burned or floated down a local river.”
Marin turned to Blake, asking with a bright smile. “Do you want to write down a wish?”
He gestured towards a nearby card table covered with loose wish slips and golf pencils. Blake smiled, his heart pinching. There was no doubting what he’d be wishing for.
“Sure,” he agreed, approaching the table alongside Marin. He grabbed a tag and pencil, glancing at the merman, who had a hand shielding his own paper. “Is yours a secret?”
“If you know my wish, then it won’t come true!” Marin responded with an impish jut of his tongue. Blake laughed in turn, covering up his slip of paper as well.
“Fine, then.” He grinned. “I can keep a secret, too.”
Once they were finished, they hung their wishes amongst the bamboo trees, careful to conceal them from one another, before heading into the East Mall in search of the gallery; a perusal of the area revealed that the windows of its shopfront were obscured with butcher paper.
Behind the glass, Blake could hear people talking softly, preparing for the opening later that evening.
Marin idled at the door, looking anxious.
“Would you like to knock?” Blake asked. “Your… well, Jessica is probably inside.”
“No.” Marin shook his head, taking a step back from the glass. “She’s probably busy… I don’t want to bother her.”
Blake reached out to take his hand, reassuring him: “You wouldn’t be a bother.”
Marin hung his head, his smile small and sad. “I’m nervous,” he admitted in a tiny voice. “I’m not ready yet.”
“I understand.” Blake squeezed his hand. “Here, let’s grab something to eat first.”
They headed to the building on the other side of the mall, where restaurant row was located.
Several difficult years had taken a significant toll on the local businesses.
Most of the shops were shuttered up. The windows that had once featured a myriad of wax food displays were now gray and empty.
To Blake’s delight, his favorite Western-inspired place had managed to remain open, and he treated them to a dinner of chicken karaage curry and seafood rice gratin.
Even by the time they’d finished eating, the gallery still wasn’t due to open for several more hours, and Marin looked sick to his stomach with anxiety. Blake scanned the area for something to distract them, tugging Marin over to a standee advertising happy hour at a karaoke lounge.
“You interested?” he asked. “Breath control via singing might help you calm down a little—I can plug my ears with tissue.”
“I’d really like that.” Marin nodded, looking relieved. “I’m sorry, Blake. I need a little more time.”
“Don’t apologize,” Blake told him as they headed into the lounge. “You have nothing to apologize for. This is… this is a big step. You have every right to feel anxious.”
Inside of the private karaoke room, Marin picked up the tablet used to select songs, rifling through the options with a flick of his finger.
“I hope they have it,” he muttered.
“Is there a song you have in mind?” Blake asked as he grabbed at a box of complimentary tissue set off to the side.
“Ever seen Labyrinth ?” Marin asked, sheepish.
“The one with David Bowie?” Blake recalled, wadding the tissue into earplugs. “Once or twice—is it a favorite of yours?”
“The songs are,” Marin explained as the crystalline synth tones of “As the World Falls Down” began to fill their private room. Picking up the microphone, the merman smiled, closed his eyes, and started to sing.
The earplugs worked, and although Blake became a little dozy, he managed to stay awake through the whole song.
Marin’s voice was as dreamy and ethereal as ever. Now that Blake was awake to appreciate it, he noticed a sort of clarity to Marin’s tone that he hadn’t taken note of before. He touched the high notes with such delicacy that the fine hairs on Blake’s forearms stood to attention.
Blake stared at Marin, enraptured as the merman’s voice wrapped around him like a silk ribbon in water. Somewhere in the back of his mind, images began to form, overlapping reality like a watercolor glaze:
Blake dreamt of coming home after a long day of work to Marin’s embrace.
Cooking dinner together, Marin lovingly correcting his clumsy attempts to assist over the stove.
Easing onto the couch, discussing their jobs, and admiring pictures of the art that Marin had been hard at work on that day.
Brushing their teeth side-by-side before sliding into bed, Marin dozing off against his chest—
Blake melted out of the reverie as the song came to a close, ending on a clear, high note.
Blake looked down and realized that Marin was holding the tablet out to him.
“I don’t sing very well,” he mumbled, throat going dry as he accepted the tablet regardless. “But… I can give it a whirl.”
“The Tequila song doesn’t count,” Marin teased as Blake flicked through the options. He paused as he spotted a song, eyes darting between Marin and the tablet before pressing it. Orchestral tones filled the room, Marin’s expression fading to confusion.
“If I can’t impress you with my singing, I can at least make you laugh,” Blake said, voice echoing over the microphone as he picked it up. As the lyrics for “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith materialized on the screen, Blake began to belt out the words in a ragged falsetto.
Marin immediately dissolved into a fit of giggles, looking like he was about ready to roll off of the couch. “ Blake !”
“I warned you!” Blake jabbed an accusatory finger at Marin before resuming his awful crooning.
Marin grabbed the spare microphone, striking a dramatic pose and beginning to shout the chorus alongside Blake, the words falling to nonsense around their laughter.
By the time the song had concluded, the two had collapsed back onto the couch, foreheads pressed together as they wheezed and choked for breath.
Marin drew his eyebrows together, pressing a kiss to Blake’s temple.
“Thank you,” he said. “I really needed that.”
“No problem,” Blake told him, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
Once their session had concluded, the two decided to do some window shopping while they prepared for the gallery to open, heading down the side of the mall to see what other shops in the area were available.
As they traversed the space, Blake glanced out of the corner of his eye at Marin, whose steps had started to slow down.
He was staring over at Nijiya Market on the corner, eyes round and blank.
“Are you okay?” Blake asked. The sudden shift in his body language was palpable. Marin started gaining speed, jogging out past the store. “Babe?” Blake called out after him.
Marin didn’t respond, stopping short at the corner of Post and Webster, having become withdrawn.
“Marin?” Blake asked, running over to join him. He glanced at the storefront, but Marin’s eyes were trained up at the sky bridge next to it, expression unreadable.
“Your favorite statue,” he said in a soft voice. “It’s. It’s up there, isn’t it?”
Blake started—how could Marin have possibly known the precise location of the sculpture from a picture alone?
Did I mention exactly where it was ? he thought with a frown. He couldn’t recall if he was that specific. Maybe Marin had looked up the sculpture himself after Blake had mentioned it a couple of nights before.
Something brushed the back of Blake’s hand and realized that Marin was reaching for it. He allowed him to lace their fingers together, squeezing Marin’s hand. With gentle pressure, the merman began to tug, leading him back towards the mall.
“I gotta go up there,” Marin whispered, brow furrowed in determination.
You’ve seen this before, haven’t you ? Blake realized as they rounded the corner onto Webster, sliding into a side entrance. Marin’s hand began to tremble in Blake’s grip as they found the stairs.
The bronze sculpture came into view. Behind it was a deep-sea mural, the fish depicted there aglow in the lantern of an angler fish, fine streams of bioluminescence lining their forms. In the center, a large bronze octopus statue emerged from the wall, two of its arms held protectively above two cuttlefish, six other legs fanned out behind him, the very image of pride.
His black glass eyes were carved into gemlike fractals.
The eyes of the cuttlefish flanking him were aglow in shades of amber and brown.
Little offerings of coins—dimes and yen alike—had been placed upon the base of the statue by visitors and passerby.
Upon the base was a small copper plaque, the raised letters turned golden by the touches of appreciators.
SAN FRANCISCO CITY PLANNING PUBLIC ART PRESERVATION PROJECT EST 2007
“home & family” Watatsumi, 2002
One of several public art pieces created between 1998 and 2002 by sculptor and muralist Watatsumi, renowned for the 1999 collection of Castro murals known collectively as “The Whiteouts” and the hanging sculpture “Breathless”, which is now displayed in the San Francisco International Airport.
This is the last known art piece installed by the anonymous artist, with sources reporting an incomplete companion piece in the Japan Center West Mall, which was removed between 2004 and 2006.
Marin reached out to press his fingertips to the plaque, sucking in a sudden, trembling breath.
Blake wasn’t stupid.
He traced the outline of his phone in his pocket.
The photo that he’d kept religiously as his phone background since he snapped the shot four years prior—the singular art piece that had impressed him since his college days—now stood before him.
These were the metal curves and glass gems that connected him to Marin.
“In 2002…” Blake began, his voice small. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, almost unable to speak. “Was… was that when…?”
“In 2002,” Marin whispered, pressing his palm against the plaque as he continued to gaze at the statue before them. “I died.”