*Divided*
Part 1 - Past Influences

Over the course of a lifetime, countless decisions have to be made. The 
only regret I have now is that fate could not have made them for me. 
Instead, she cursed me with many talents and many paths to discover on my 
own. From the moment I began to experience all the wonders of this life, I 
was torn. My parents divorced when I was 4 years old. I was sent to live 
with my mother who, bless her heart, loved me enough to keep me away from my 
father's side of the family. My father himself was not a bad man, quite the 
opposite, but his relatives never liked my mother, nor myself. That was the 
straw that broke the camel's back, I suppose. And my parents just couldn't 
make it work.

I was born with dark green hair, although it lightened over the years. At 
the time of the separation, whenever I went out into my mother's garden to 
play, I used to love to leave it down. It always fell loosely around my 
face, hiding it. I wanted whatever little privacy I could get, and couldn't 
stand when people watched me. Ever since the divorce my mother became very 
overprotective. For what reason, I'll never know. I was never in any 
situation where I could have been taken from her. Nevertheless, she watched 
me like a hawk, and wouldn't let me go beyond her sight. That's also another 
reason why I didn't play in the local park, like other children on my 
street. Instead, I settled for the garden and did my best to hide myself 
among the flora.

My first years of school went well, according to me. To everyone else they 
were a complete disaster. I was too shy for my own good. I kept to myself, 
always wanting my privacy, and my classmates never really bothered to try 
and disturb me. I didn't mind, as long as I could be alone with my thoughts. 
My academic record was average, much to the chagrin of my father. He was a 
university professor, and the few times I visited he constantly made me 
study my lessons. Most of the time it was math. He said it's the most 
essential subject, and I guess it somehow is. To this day I have never 
really cared for it. The visits with my father stopped when I entered the 
third grade. He remarried and had a son with his second wife. I've only met 
the boy once in my life, but I won't get into that yet. The point is, that 
singular event threw my mother off guard, and she took it out on me.

To land myself a good and honest man, she always said bitterly, I had to 
learn to be a proper, elegant lady. I was nine years old, and didn't 
understand why she would want to take away my childhood like that. I still 
don't, and admit to being resentful about it. But I could see how much my 
mother was hurting, so I put away my toys and became a dutiful daughter, 
just like she had been to her mother. My time was suddenly monopolized with 
etiquette and flower arranging classes on the weekends. Not to mention juku 
after school five days a week. My mother also wanted me to be able to "hold 
my own in a conversation". What can I say? My marks improved, and school 
became less of a struggle. And I can be sure of this: My father would have 
been proud, if I had ever had a conversation with him.

While learning how to be polite and graceful when you're an adolescent isn't 
the simplest thing, I managed. I became accustomed to wearing a traditional 
kimono when I wasn't wearing my school uniform. But there came a point when 
rebellion seemed like the only possible choice. My rebellion, however, 
wasn't as extreme as those of some of my classmates'. All I wanted was to 
have some fun, and not study for at least one day a week. I thought my 
demands were fair, and my mother slowly agreed over time. My idea of fun was 
tame, and I suppose that is why she allowed it. I wanted to express myself. 
Not through pleasant dinner conversation, but through music. 

I sang in the choir at school, and while my voice was decent, I never much 
liked hearing it. It also made people pay attention to me, which still 
bothered me like nothing else. We sang classical music, mostly in Latin. One 
day, when my teacher was getting ready for a performance, he put a CD in his 
stereo for white noise in the background. The other girls around me were 
talking quietly to their friends, but I sat and intently listed to the 
music. It was Mozart, that I could recognize, and the particular piece was 
being played by a string quartet. The violins stood out to me, more than the 
viola and cello. It made me calm, and I decided on a whim that I was going 
to play the violin, no matter what stood in my way. As it turned out, not 
much did anyway.

My mother and I were well off, so she made sure that was I playing a top 
quality instrument. My violin was, and still is, a Stradivarius. At the 
time, it didn't matter to me what kind of violin I was playing, as long as I 
could still try and play my beloved Mozart. I practiced in my spare time and 
tried to take lessons when I could. I went sporadically, never really caring 
to be under the instruction of someone else. I wasn't playing for attention, 
and it didn't matter if I was any good. I was playing solely for myself. I 
was also careful not to let my mother hear me. She was determined that I 
make her proud, and learn to be a proper lady. The violin somehow fell into 
that category, so I wasn't worried about facing her wrath. I was worried 
about her praise. What I was not prepared for, however, was when one of our 
maids heard me playing. The news spread quickly around the household, and 
soon my mother was knocking down my door asking me to come out and perform. 
I declined, put my Stradivarius back in its case, and under the bed it went.

At around the same time, I was preparing to enter Junior High. I had my 
heart set on a school not too far from my house, and it was modest enough. 
The few friends I had were going there, and we always talked about how much 
fun we would have. The uniforms were well designed, and looked modern enough 
to not pass for uniforms at all. We giggled about how the boys would look at 
us walking to school and think we were older, going to our jobs instead. I 
was sure my mother would let me go, at least for the sake of not separating 
me from my friends. She knew I had trouble meeting new people, ever since I 
started school. I was taken by surprise when she refused haughtily, saying 
that I was going to go to a school in the Shinagawa-ku ward, and not in 
Minato-ku, where we lived. I was devastated beyond words. Daily, I would 
rush home and lock myself in my bedroom. I cried for hours, refusing to 
believe that I would have to start over. I was afraid of moving forward. I 
know now that was a direct result of having to grow up fast, and be 
responsible early on. It still didn't make it any less painful.

From that point on, the relationship I had with my mother became strained. 
I tried to avoid her whenever possible. My bedroom was my safe haven, free 
from the problems and schedules of the outside world. I quit the etiquette 
and flower arranging classes, and only went to juku two days a week. I was 
not going to be her puppet anymore. Times were changing, and I doubted that 
any interesting man would want a sophisticated girl, one without a backbone. 
The politeness, however, stuck. More out of habit, but if I couldn't find a 
reason to be rude I couldn't force it.

My room was decorated in my own style, unlike the rest of my house. I wanted 
some place that fit me personally; the real me, not the one the rest of the 
world saw. I loved blue toned colours and ocean scenes. I had a small stereo 
in the corner of my room, and a neat pile of CDs next to it. My desk was 
messy and cluttered with papers for school. And under my bed..was my violin, 
still dusty from when I put it away several months before. My rebellion, of 
sorts, was never followed through. So just to spite my mother, my 
overbearing and bitter mother, I decided that I would learn to play and be 
the best. And never let her know.

The very next morning, I woke up early for school. I quietly put on my 
uniform, an outfit consisting of a baby blue pleated skirt and sailor's top, 
and still wished that I could have gone to that school in Minato-ku with my 
old friends. But I digressed. Picking up my bag and putting it under my arm, 
I also grabbed hold of my forgotten violin case and brought it with me. 
Then, slipping out the backdoor, I took the early bus and arrived an hour 
before classes began. No one was around, save for a few seniors that also 
lived out of the area. Gathering my courage, I knocked on the door belonging 
to the music teacher. When he answered, I closed my eyes and held out my 
violin case. 

"My name is Kaioh Michiru," I said, intimidated because I was a new student. 
"Please properly teach me how to play."

After a moment, I could feel him gently take the case out of my hands, and 
heard him open it. Slowly, I looked over to him. Okano-sensei looked at my 
Stradivarius appreciatively, not shocked at how much it would have cost. 
Carefully placing it under his chin, he took out the bow and started to 
play. It was already tuned; that was one of the only things I had learned 
how to do with my former teachers. Okano-sensei looked so peaceful while he 
played and I felt even more peaceful listening. He had a smile on his tanned 
face while his notes seemed to float in the air. I was surprised; he behaved 
like a professional. But abruptly, he stopped.

"Do you play at all?" he mused. His deep voice made me nervous.

"I used to, but I want to take it up again. Can you teach me?"

There was silence in the small room. I looked down at my shoes, and dug the 
points into the floor. He was looking at me with a raised eyebrow, trying to 
decide what to do. He was watching me, so I tried to let my hair hide my 
face, like I did when I was a child. Only my simple black headband wouldn't 
allow it, so I knew Okano-sensei could see the blush on my cheeks.

"Show me what you can do, then I might consider it."

He handed the violin and bow back to me, and I can honestly say I'd never 
felt more nervous in my life. It was only the two of us in the music room, 
and he would be paying close attention. My mind raced. The only song I could 
think of was the piece by Mozart, the one that had originally interested me 
in the violin. I had it on CD, and listened to it often. I took a deep 
breath and hoped I wouldn't mess up.

To my credit, I still remembered the bare essentials on how to play. I only 
squeaked twice, and I don't think I humiliated myself that badly. As the 
last note ended, I lowered the violin with shaking hands. He smiled at me.

"Even though you said you stopped, I don't believe you. Were you playing for 
many years before you quit?"

I furrowed my brow. "No, less than a year."

"I'll enjoy teaching you, then. It seems you're a natural."

And so every morning, an hour before classes started, Okano-sensei let me 
into his room to have a one-on-one lesson. As far as I know, my mother never 
suspected anything. Her job didn't start until late, and she enjoyed 
sleeping in more than worrying about me. For that I was thankful. I didn't 
have to hide myself anymore if she wasn't paying attention.

During my first year in the school in Shinagawa-ku, I flourished. The 
atmosphere was lively and calm all at once, with a courtyard out in front 
and a track behind. I spent most of my time there by choice. In fact, to be 
away from home more, I decided to join the swim team. The members seemed 
like nice people, and they were once I got to know them. The coach was a 
ninth grade teacher, who also taught mathematics. The seniors knew him well, 
and weren't afraid to joke around with him during practices. And for good 
reason. Saito-sensei was a nice guy. It showed; even though there weren't 
enough freshmen trying out, he didn't complain. He just kept all of us on 
and led us the best he could. I admired him for that, and I know the other 
members did as well.

Two months after I joined, there was a swim meet. The season was short, 
and would be coming to an end soon. Our school's trademark swimsuit was the 
same colour as our uniforms, the dull baby blue. I put it on, feeling 
nervous to be competing for the first time. While tying back my long hair, 
I also slicked it with gel to make it behave better under water. From past 
experience, the gel was difficult to work with and hard to wash out after, 
but I decided to use it anyway. It might help my time. Not long after, I 
heard another girl, a year older than me, call out into the locker room.

"Saito-sensei wants to see all of us right now! He's waiting at the door." 

She sounded so laid back and relaxed; not nervous at all. It came with 
experience, I told myself. Now it was my turn to gain some.

Saito-sensei grinned when I came out, not unlike how Okano-sensei usually 
did in the mornings. But it didn't help, my nerves were still tangled. The 
other members stood around, and I could tell they had been waiting a while. 
I looked down and wished I hadn't gelled my hair. It had wasted time, and 
now I couldn't try to hide from them.

Before our coach could even utter a word, announcements came over the loud 
speaker. They quickly explained proper conduct, and instructed that all 
participants in the 100-metre freestyle were to go to their lanes. My race 
was about to begin, and I didn't have the slightest clue whether my 
performance would amount to anything. My self-esteem was never good in 
situations like those. And no matter how many times and in how many 
different ways I tried to calm myself, nothing ever worked. Although, music 
still made me distracted enough to create the illusion of being calm. So I 
walked over to the edge of the pool and got in my starting position, all the 
while making sure that Mozart was playing softly in my head.

The race itself is a blur in my mind. All I remember is the feeling of 
desperation. I ignored the rest. The memories of how the cold water splashed 
against my skin seemed lost in the moment. My arms cut through the water 
more easily than they did through air, but that didn't feel strange; more 
familiar than anything. I didn't give it a second thought. I reached out and 
touched the tiled wall, lunging as far as possible. The other swimmers in 
the lanes around me weren't far behind.

I climbed out of the pool and immediately reached for a towel someone was 
offering me. Above the crowd cheering, I heard Saito-sensei's voice calling 
out to my side.

"Congratulations, Kaioh," he said with a smirk on his wrinkled face. That 
was as close as he ever got to really smiling. Even in pictures, he always 
had the crooked grin on. I found it quirky, but had no reason to doubt he 
was genuinely happy.

"For what?" I said, my head still cloudy.

He chuckled a little. "You broke the record. I knew you could do it."

It was then that my senses came back to me, and I could hear how loud 
everything in the building truly was. The volume of the spectators increased 
ten fold, and I realized that Saito-sensei had yelled over the noise. My 
eyes widened as I saw my team rush over and pat me on the back. For the 
first time I didn't try to hide from the attention as it was being showered 
on me. I was happy then, and quietly stepped aside as the next races began. 
But for the next few weeks, I couldn't help but hold my gold medal and smile 
as I replayed the events in my mind. 

It was during second term, in the middle of October, that I began to feel 
restless. Swimming had ended, and although I still practiced violin with 
Okano-sensei every morning, my timetable seemed empty. Homework kept me 
busy, but it just wasn't enough. I was teaming with pent up energy and 
needed to express myself further. But I didn't want to do anything physical, 
or take up another instrument. My answer came from somewhere else.

The first signs of winter were just beginning to show. As I walked to 
school, I passed by the tall trees on the boulevard, their branches bare. 
Snow was falling on the streets, covering everything in a blanket of white. 
I knew that it would melt by noon, but I couldn't help but wish it would 
stick around. Checking my watch, I saw that I was even too early to go see 
Okano-sensei. He would be expecting me in 20 minutes, and I was fairly close 
to the school already. So I acted on a whim.

I took a seat on a bench that was opposite a small park. The sun was slowly 
rising above the horizon, and light filtered through the trees onto the 
scattered leaves on the ground. I was in awe, and wished I had a camera. I 
thought for a moment, and then went through my bag. I took out a notebook 
full of lined paper and a mechanical pencil. They weren't ideal materials, 
but they were all I had to work with. I began to sketch the scene laid out 
infront of me. I tried to include all the tiny details; the frozen berries 
on the bushes, the discarded mitten underneath a particularly short sapling. 
All of it was fascinating to me.

By the time I realized I was late for my lesson, my picture was nearly 
complete. I added in the shadows and the texture of the bark as after- 
thoughts. Then, as orderly as possible, I picked up my things and ran to the 
music room. I found Okano-sensei sitting in his chair, as usual. I quickly 
dropped my things in a corner, took off my earmuffs, and took out my violin. 
As he handed me new sheet music, he looked over to my things and raised his 
eyebrow.

"Did you draw that, Kaioh?" he asked nonchalantly.

I was concentrating on the notes, and had only vaguely heard what he had 
said. "Yes, just this morning."

"Be sure to take that over to Norrie and show it to her," he suggested, then
turning back to me and focusing on the music. "Now, I know this piece is a 
bit harder, but.."

As he explained, I glanced over at my sketch. Norrie-sensei was the art 
teacher, and we had never been properly introduced. I wasn't enrolled in 
any of her classes. I supposed I should take Okano-sensei's advice and show 
her the picture, if only to get an opinion. I decided to do it after school, 
when I usually complained of having nothing to do.

After the last bell of the day rang, I knocked on the door of the art 
studio. When it opened, I was confronted with a disorganized looking 
middle-aged woman. Her brown hair was falling out of a messy bun, and what 
was probably clay was smeared on her left cheek. She frowned, then asked 
what I wanted.

"My name is Kaioh Michiru. I'm not a student of yours, but Okano-sensei 
asked me to show you this.."

I produced the sketch, which now had a tear in all corners but one. The 
inside of my bag wasn't neat by any stretch of the imagination, and loose 
papers didn't fair well.

"Okano did?" She ran her eyes over the picture, then motioned for me to step 
inside. The atmosphere in that room was the opposite of all the others in 
the school. There were desks everywhere, in no set pattern. The bland white 
walls were covered with students' art and made every one more colourful than 
the last. The black board had meticulous scribblings on it, but no words. I 
doubted the janitors even came into the room on a regular basis.

"How long did it take you to do this?" she inquired, the frown gone. It was 
replaced by a thoughtful smile as she patiently waited for my answer.

"Twenty-five minutes, give or take a few."

She laughed. "My, my - And you say you're not my student! What a shame! It 
seems you're a natural."

A shiver went up my spine when she said that, which was either déjà vu or an 
omen of sorts. I was pleased that she found my work acceptable, but at the 
same time dismayed that I had found another time consuming hobby. Sketching 
was self-expression, there's no doubt about that; exactly what I had been 
looking for. However, Norrie-sensei had a sparkle in her eye that made me 
nervous.

"You should continue doing this, just quickly drawing what you see. Your 
talent is above average already from what I can tell. If you keep on, 
there's no telling how far you can go." She rubbed the clay off her face. 
"Be sure to come back if you ever need anything, supplies or what have you."

I thanked her and then closed the heavy door behind me. I proceeded to walk 
to the bus stop, and passed the same park on the way. As I had predicted, 
the snow had disappeared without a trace, even the moisture was gone from 
the ground. I held up the picture next to the scenery, and smiled just a 
bit. Taking the pencil out of my bag, I added in the other mitten beside its 
consort. It must have been hidden that morning under the snow. Then a 
thought occurred to me. Maybe I did enjoy sketching after all. Maybe 
Norrie-sensei was right; there was a future in it.

And so the days continued like that until the end of the seventh grade. 
I arrived early in the mornings and practiced violin with Okano-sensei. 
Whenever I walked by Saito-sensei in the halls, I always smiled. He did the 
same, with his familiar smirk. And when I found time or was truly inspired, 
I sketched the objects around me. I then showed them to Norrie-sensei after 
school, where she suggested new media to me. I discovered that I rather 
liked painting with watercolours, but still used pencil on quick projects. 

There was no doubt in my mind, that year was the best I had ever spent in 
school. My mother had been right when she said that I would do better in 
Shinagawa-ku. But I would never admit it, to her at least. Although I now 
liked her decision, I was still bitter about not keeping in touch with my 
old friends. And rightfully so. Because with the eight grade came a new set 
of challenges, one of them being the decline of my happiness.

****************************************************************************

Standard Disclaimers: I don't own Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon, including all 
the characters and basic plot lines. They belong to Naoko Takeuchi, 
Kodansha, TV Asahi, Toei, and many others. This fanfic is copyright MinaP 
Aino, June 2003.

- MinaP Aino (MinaP_Aino_hime@yahoo.com) 1:25 PM 6/22/03

http://www3.mb.sympatico.ca/~holig