Playground Love
“Whoever this girl is, she needs to be put in her place.”
These ‘oh-so-vicious’ words were uttered by one very angry Osaru-chan, which was what her mother and her classmates had come to call her. Yes, she was as mad as an eight-year-old could get and was pushing the line that separated her from a nine-year-old’s anger, which would be enough to make anyone want to pee their pants. Yes, Aya Matsuura was mad.
This girl, as cute as she was with her curly brown locks and sailor fuku, was very mean! A little boy with (she had to admit) girly hair insistently followed around the target of Aya’s anger, which guaranteed him a trip to the hard ground on his butt every time he got within arm’s reach of her. No one deserved to be pushed around like that! Aya thought, digging her fingernails into the dress shirt of her own school uniform. Even with chibi-justice Aya weighing in heavily on her left shoulder, the lazy part of her pointed out the obvious fact that the boy was the one who kept getting in the girl’s space. But, Justice Aya had prevailed, pointing out once again, that no one deserved that kind of treatment.
Casually, she glanced around to find her mother currently occupied with her little sisters, which was a relief because her mother would have stopped her the moment she set off on her mission. And so, with no one stopping her, Osaru-chan the Mighty set off to restore the balance of justice on this playground.
“Hey!” Aya shouted, not even a foot away from the troubling girl and little boy, which sparked a hint of surprise in one (accompanied by not-so-fun warmth in his bloomers) and a quirked eyebrow from the other. The little girl, smart enough to figure that this new girl was talking to her, shoved the little boy off of her and stood to her proud height of a crisp four feet. Smugly (and as if to annoy Aya even more), she carefully brushed herself off even though there was not a smudge of dirt to be seen, and tediously began fixing her neckerchief.
A few children that were running around on the playset behind the duo engaging in a western-style stare-off paused, cringed in perfect unison while their hands flew to cover their open behinds and promptly turned around to run in the opposite direction. Some of the braver souls (some had no sense of fear and others had no feeling left in either of their cheeks) decided to stick it out and buried their noses between the yellow painted bars that separated them from the third grade tormentor, otherwise known as Miki Fujimoto, or better yet, Mikitty the Groping Demon. The eight-year-old, recently turned nine-year-old, was known throughout the school for her ‘friendliness’ as their seniors put it. If Miki was walking through the hallway, every first, second, and (some) third graders had one hand on their bottom and another clasped in an awkward prayer that they wouldn’t get picked on today. How Miki did it, no one knew. How she got away with it was also another question that every child in her elementary school held. Many dared to ask, but like a magician, Miki’s lips were sealed. It was a popular legend that Miki once got away with groping the principal’s daughter while they were giving a presentation, right in front of the teacher! Then, an even more popular rumor began passing through their paste smeared mouths that Miki had paid a visit to the high school department where her siblings went to school and managed to get her little hands up a skirt or two.
Hushed murmurs of excitement coursed through the small collection of first graders perched on the metal bridge that led to higher and ultimately safer places to observe the confrontation. But, what’s a show if you can’t watch it up close and right in front?
And of course the gathering of a crowd of first graders is bound to get the attention of a few noisy kindergartners (and second graders to a degree) that are curious about the horrors wonders of their senior’s worlds. One or two climbed over their elder’s shoulders, some peaked between a pair of legs, either sucking their thumb or picking their nose (or wiping boogers against some unfortunate kid’s new shirt with an evil snicker in some cases). Much to their annoyance, they were shrugged off and pushed to the very back because of something like ‘First Grade Respect’ (even though a few of the children were above them on the education system). Most began to cry, running off to their mothers, except for an odd one that stared at their backsides like a doe in headlights, until another child with a bean-like face began pulling her away to assist in freeing her other friend from a very tight space she had squeezed into.
But let’s return to our hero and villain, shall we?
“Hey, what’s your name? My name’s Miki, but you can call me ‘Mikitty’.” The young groping demon stated sweetly, only furthering her seemingly innocent persona by wringing her hands together and swaying side to side with a cute grin.
The action only seemed to irritate the younger girl, causing her to tighten her crossed arms around her torso and let out a grunt of acknowledgement. This girl didn't fool her; it was obvious that she had to be a bully of some kind, thanks to the flock of little kids watching them from higher ground with profound fascination on the playset.
When it finally sat in that she had been denied, it only furthered the nine-year-old’s interest in this newcomer. Her play time at the park usually consisted of her hiding from that cursed Tachibana brat, terrorizing her way down the education system, and finally (when she had been found) persistently prying the stubborn Keita from her side. No one, not even the parents (who just assumed Keita had developed a crush on the slightly older girl, which was true for the most part and were too busy fawning to take it seriously) had the guts to stand up to her, Mikitty the Groping Demon. Whoever this girl was, Miki liked her. But for the purpose of her act, Miki pouted, tilting her head to the side, “Can’t we be friends?”
“NO! You go new girl! Put her in her place.”
The cry came from the smallest first grader in the group of observers, who was promptly shoved on his way just as Miki lashed her head around.
Everyone, at the sound of that whipping sound, cringed in unison, a hand covering their bottom while the other fumbled into an awkward prayer formation. Simultaneous gulps echoed throughout the group (while the first grader who made the smart comment was quiet shuffling away whilst doing the same) and they chiefly wondered if they would make it to dinner to enjoy their mother’s dessert.
“Go.”
It was a simple command, one that could be ignored, even passed off with the excuse that it was too vague to follow, but as soon as that order was issued, every kid that was caught observing scattered off into the groups of children playing with reckless abandon. If one attempted to, cries of “Scatter!” and “Run for your lives!” could be heard over squeals of laughter and childish screams.
Aya regarded Miki with a wary stare, somewhat awed by the display of authority this girl had over the children, despite the obvious fact of her being older. Even so, Aya’s pride kept her from showing it.
“You’re mean! It’s not nice to push someone around, especially when they’re younger than you!” Aya snapped, somehow managing to look down on Miki, despite her being shorter.
Oh, now she had her. Miki suppressed a smirk, instead settling for a contemplative look aimed at her shiny black penny loafers. Letting out a sigh, Miki tipped her head up to meet her lecturer’s gaze, “You’re right. I’m really sorry. Can we be friends? You’re really pretty!”
And that was an unfair counterattack. Who could possible say no to someone who was acting so sweetly, admitting you were right and they were wrong, and finally adding in how nice you looked to boot? Certainly not Aya. The young girl was caught off guard by…dare she admit it… this charming character, blinking reflexively at this victory, as it was hard to win any arguments with her other friends (and it was even more alarming that this girl was thought of as a friend in her own mind). Aya was not one to trust easily, and despite her age, had been around the block a few times to know that people will hurt you; yet this girl was slipping past her defenses with surprising skill. Intrigued? Yes, indeed. Naïve and unaware of the cougar (in more ways than one) that lurked underneath this cute kitten’s appearance? Heavens, yes.
Knowing very well that her prey had been snared by her compliment, Miki clasped one hand behind her back (a habit taught to her by her well-mannered father) and extended the other to the still thinking girl. Once again, Miki gave the girl a picture perfect smile, which once again, caught Aya off guard.
Aya suddenly found herself relaxed by the action, squeezing out a small smile of her own (not lacking in perfection as well), and allowed her hand to ease into the welcomed warmth of her newfound friend, but oddly enough, this felt different. It was like their hands were made for each other, and everywhere Aya’s little hands puffed out, Miki’s hands were sunken—like Miki’s hands were molded against a model of Aya’s (or vice-versa, given the fact that Miki was born first). And besides this odd feeling, there was another feeling warming her chilled body on this cold February day. It was strange, to say the least, similar to how she felt whenever her grandmother cooked her her favorite meals and how she felt when she would help her mom take care of her little sister’s, but multiplied by the thousands and maybe… a little bit different. Something more.
And then, it was time for the cougar to immerge and pounce on its unassuming prey.
“I’m Aya. Nice to-” and as when anyone speaks, occasionally, your eyes flicker shut, and it was in that brief moment, this special warmth that was pressed in her hand decided to relocate itself and cause a different special warmth which was all too new for her body. In terms of health and growth, Aya was far ahead of her peers, already sneaking sports bras under her shirt, and while she was nowhere near a noteworthy letter, her chest was something to be in awe of if one payed attention to detail.
In the end, her mind did the only logical thing, which was to shut down for the most part. Given the fact that Aya had never been touched liked this, all she could was hope that no one was watching them, especially her family, and continue to blush, hopelessly lost in chocolate (nearly black) eyes.
In Miki’s defense, she had tried to stop herself, she truly had. But it was those cursed groping tendencies that unconsciously guided her hand to rest on her new companion’s surprisingly well-endowed chest. As usual with a trademarked ‘Miki-touch’, there would be a snide grin and a loud cackle before she sprinted away. But this time… but this time…
All the Groping Demon could do was blush and sheepishly stare at her friend, who she had just found was named Aya. For some odd reason, the normally sadistic nine-year-old felt the oddest stirrings in her chest. A familiar weight made itself known around her neck, accompanied by the wise words her father had passed to her. Miki hoped this girl wouldn’t pummel her for this and hoped with all her heart that neither of their parents were watching them (because to her parents, Miki was a saint). Deciding that it was best she broke this awkward (and terribly intense) moment, Miki quickly snatched up Aya’s clammy palm and dragged her away to the playset.
Aya didn’t know what to think right now, seeing as her brain was currently far away, probably sipping a mango smoothing on the coastal shores of Jamaica. So, she just let Miki cart her off to whatever location, somewhat disturbed by the horrified glances on some of the children-they-passed’s faces and the gestures all of them completed in unison, but chose not question and just go with the flow, a very smart decision.
“Out of my castle, twirps.” Miki breathed hastily, jabbing a finger at five children: the doe-eyed little girl from earlier, her bean-faced friend, the turtle girl that had just been freed from a water bucket she had been stuck in by her bottom, a scowling girl that was owner of a carbon copy of Miki’s attitude, and finally, a very non-athletic girl that had dyed her school uniform pink to match the rest of her closet. In a less wordy explanation: Ai, Risa (or Gaki, depending on how close you were to her), Eri (popularly called Kame), Reina, and Sayu. Miki, out of some odd act of kindness (or her growing soft side), spared these second graders from her groping antics, letting them gather in her private part of the playground, which was appropriately named: Miki’s Castle.
Knowing very well how lucky they were, the five second graders quickly made their exit down the red slide at the end of the otherwise dead-end ‘castle’, leaving Miki and her new friend alone for the time being.
Aya was still in shock, to Miki’s never-ending approval, because even with her father’s advice, she was unsure of how to do this whole thing. Steeling her nerves, shesat down at the edge of her slide (which other kids were forbid to use, because all they ever did was drag the cargo nestled in their pants down with them and make the other slides less enjoyable to others) and gently tugged little Aya beside her.
Hesitantly, Miki released her hand, watching for a moment to be sure the other girl wouldn’t run away, and moved her fingers around the nape of her neck, fumbling the with metal clasp found there. With shaking hands, Miki pulled the necklace from underneath her sailor fuku, holding it out to the younger girl for examination.
Little Aya examined the metal chain, admiring it before letting her eyes travel further, gasping at the sight of a gold band engraved with cherry blossoms. It was beautiful.
Miki’s heart was hammering in her chest as she placed the ring her friend’s hand, curling Aya’s hands around the object with her own. Taking a deep breath (and secretly wishing she had an inhaler), Miki managed to squeak out, “Willyoumarrymesomedaythisismygrandma'sringandmydadgaveittometogivetothepersonmostdeartomeI’mnotsureabouthisbutithinkyourreallyprettyandithinkimightloveyou.” (or somethings along that line. We still aren't sure to this day.)
Immediately after completing her two second proposal, Miki’s face flushed a brilliant shade of vermillion; shortly after Aya managed to decode her blathering, she blushed as well, shyly turning her head to the side to avoid Miki’s somewhat pleading gaze.
“You don’t go around asking random people to marry you, especially a girl, idiot!”
“I don’t care and you're not a random person! You're different!”
A stubborn response followed by an even more stubborn reply.
“Fine, but you can’t just jump into marriage! You have to at least k-ki-kiss first!” Aya declared, crossing her arms and sticking her nose into the air.
And in a split second, said deed was completed, initiated by Miki, of course. It was quick, chaste, and sweet—all the makings of a perfect first kiss (which was the case for both). In fact, it was over so quickly, Aya was unsure if the faint pressure of another’s lips was real or not. So, what was the natural reaction? To repeat the action.
And so they repeated it many times in fact, happily holding hands and never venturing past the ten second mark. And they continued, until Aya’s mother began calling for her, echoed by her little sister’s voices.
Reluctantly, Aya peeled herself from her first… girlfriend? Was that even alright? Where did they stand exactly… best friends didn’t cut it, because you don’t kiss your best friend repeatedly from when it’s bright out to sunset, although it’s nothing more than lip to lip. Fiancé sounded too…adult-like. Aya would figure out what they were soon.
“Let’s promise we won’t forget.”
“Pinky promise.”
“And you’ll keep it?”
“I’ll wear this necklace every day!”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Maybe love wasn't so yucky after all. And maybe, just maybe, the word 'love' could easily become Aya's favorite.