Kiss The Sky [Prologue]
Sometimes you think that you know yourself well enough to predict what you would do at certain situations at certain times. You think that you did what you did, heard what you heard, and saw what you saw but what happens when this trivial task turns into a lie? I am, of course, not referring to the lies that are attributed to evil and deceit but the kind of lies that make you think, the kind of lies that lead into an eventual and necessary truth.
I've known Trowa Barton all my life. In fact, I don't remember ever being separated from him. I was there when he lost his first tooth. I was there when he graduated from kindergarten. I was even there when he picked his nose right in the middle of a discussion panel when he thought nobody was looking. Through the years, I have learned how to adapt to his ways, understand his desires and uncover his little secrets. You could almost say that Trowa and I are one and the same. We were one and yet we were so different from each other. That was what complicated things the most.
Let me describe Trowa for you. As a child, he spent most of his time with me. It wasn't that he loathed the company of others. It was just that he was more serious than anyone his age. When I say serious, I mean serious. Rarely did he laugh or smile or wondered about the giant fluffy animals that were featured on television. To him, everything of a child's world were no mystery. He knew that the sun was a star, that no monsters came out at night, and that the fluffy and hideous animals on television were merely actors dressed in heavy, poorly designed costumes. He knew too much and therefore indulged in more serious thoughts, uncharacteristic of a child. The poor thing was always too old for his age.
No one was ever good enough for him except me. Being his only true friend and confidant, I spent all of my time with him. A lot of people suspected that he was insane to seek my company but all of the doctors just attributed our association to a phase that was present during childhood and that ended at the onset of maturity.
Maturity. I would say that the word was highly inappropriate. I found such conclusions an insult to Trowa's brilliant mind and a blow to my capabilities as his only friend.
Nevertheless, our separation did come and it was not because he'd grown more mature but because times had changed. I was near him as I always was but it wasn't the same as it used to be. He would consult me when he made the most crucial decisions in his life and he spent time with me when he had to escape from the horrors of his busy life. Other times, he was just too occupied.
It was sad, really. The responsibilities that stacked itself upon his already strained existence had moved him further and further away from me. He was too busy with his education. He was too busy making brilliant discoveries that even the oldest intellectuals could not fathom. I was proud of him and because of that, I felt content to be by him in every step he made, whether it was a step up or a step down. Indeed he was stepping up into his life goals but at the same time he was stepping down from the life of simple pleasures. He was getting nowhere. That was when I decided to step in.
You couldn't really blame me for what I did. I had to save him from the sad little grave he was digging for himself. He was only seventeen. He may have been a child genius but he was still a teenager. His childhood was anything but a childhood and it was about time he got a real life. Besides, he was dragging me down with him. I don't mean to sound cruel. I was just trying to save the both of us a lot of grief.
I'm telling you now that I didn't have much to work with. Trowa didn't have a life. Period. Maybe you would suggest that I could use his winning personality? You're wrong. Don't get me wrong. He's the sweetest person there ever was but he had the amazing tendency to drive people away. They think that he's too strange.
Strange? Well, let me give you some examples. When he has seven different tasks to do within an hour, he devotes exactly eight minutes and fifty seven seconds to each chore. On exams that last for two hours, having 100 multiple-choice questions, he devotes exactly one minute and two seconds for each question. When he has three cupcakes on hand and two homeless people awaiting the delectable treat, he gives each person one and a half shares of the cupcake. You would think that he was absurd but believe me, Trowa Barton was all about maximum efficiency.
Communication skills, you ask? Oh, dear. Where should I begin? He rarely talks and when he does, he sounds so complicated that most people wouldn't even dare continue the conversation lest they be exposed as incompetents. Thank goodness I at least have the same capabilities he had. Otherwise, he'd be entirely isolated.
Thank goodness too for his wonderful sister. She just may have been sent from up above. She was a dear, always attending to his well-being, making sure that he had his meals in between busy school and work schedules. She always tried her best to cheer him up, bring him out of his stale room and meet other people. It didn't work often though. He'd usually stare blankly at prospective friends. I took pity in his sister for her fruitless attempts.
In some ways, he brought her down with him although I'm sure that he didn't mean to. I hated to see her as miserable as he was. It was heartbreaking and it was killing me. That was why I had to take action.