Lost and Found [Harvest Moon: A New Beginning]

Inhibition

The grand finale exploded against the blackness of the night sky with a dazzling array of colors that slowly drifted to the earth like a Technicolor snowstorm amid cries of delight and amazement. As the last traces of smoke dissipated, so too did all the onlookers, returning to their homes and thence to their beds. All but one, that is, and he paced the summit of the mountain in solitude long after the smoke from the fireworks had cleared and the last windows in the village had darkened.

Finally, as the pale sliver of the crescent moon reached the apex of its nightly progression, he turned and strode determinedly back down the mountain, crossing the river into the town and turning down the long driveway leading south from the village. Moving slowly and soundlessly, he passed a few outbuildings and heard a series of muffled barks from one of them. He glanced at the house, but the windows were dark. Or nearly so—after a moment, he could make out a dim, flickering light through the drawn curtains.

Stepping silently onto the front porch, he paused for a moment, listening. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand to knock, hesitated, then withdrew his hand as he glanced again at the windows and listened. Hearing only the chirping of crickets and a chorus of solemn bullfrogs in the distance, he slowly began to leave. Then a dull bang, like a drawer or cupboard being slammed shut, startled him, and he quickly turned back to the door. Taking a deep breath, he reached out again and quickly knocked on the door.

"Please go away," a hoarse voice croaked a moment later. "Just leave me alone."

"Rio?" he called. "Rio, let me in. I need to talk to you."

There was a long pause, then just as he was opening his mouth to call out to her again, the porch light came on and the door opened. Rio stood there, wearing baggy old sweatpants and a faded, torn t-shirt, a carton of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked as though she had been crying a lot, and very recently. The house behind her was nearly dark, the only light coming from a few candles on the coffee table in the living room.

"Funny, I don't much feel like talking to you," she commented, her voice raspy, as she stood in the doorway and stared at him.

"Please, Rio. I... I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I didn't mean...."

"Didn't mean what? Didn't mean to call me a slut? Didn't mean to imply that I'm some kind of half-crazed man-eater, desperate for attention? You'll have to clarify a little, because I'm not sure what you're suggesting spewed out of your mouth entirely by accident."

"I... Can I come in? Please?" he asked, nervously shifting on the doorstep.

She blew impatiently into her hair, which was hanging down over her face and partly obscuring it. "You.... Oh, whatever. Come in, I guess." She turned and slouched back to her living room, dropping heavily onto the sofa. She dug into the carton of ice cream and popped a large spoonful into her mouth, turning to glare as he followed her, closing the door behind him. He sat on the sofa beside her and stared down at his feet, not saying anything.

After a few minutes, she rasped, "I thought you wanted to talk."

He started slightly, then reddened and cleared his throat, not looking at her. "Umm, yeah. Yeah, I do. I'm... I'm just not sure where to start."

"Well, let's see. You haven't yet criticized my hair or my weight, or my work ethic, or my cooking or housekeeping or—"

"Please don't, Rio. I'm really sorry. I don't know what came over me. I... it was wrong to say those things to you."

"Is that what you really think of me?" she asked, eying him guardedly as she scooped out another spoonful of ice cream.

"No! No, I really don't. I mean... well, I guess the way you dress does bother me sometimes. It makes me angry when other guys stare at you or talk about you, as if you were a piece of meat in a butcher's window. But I didn't mean it the way it came out, honest. I... I sounded like my dad. And I hate that."