There’s no way. Absolutely no way. All those years. All those years I fucking wasted in that place. That time I thought I was crazy. Oh, I’m crazy for sure. I’m the craziest bitch alive if I think that he’s standing right in front of me, dressed as a jester. A jester. What kind of fever dream is this…? All my thoughts are quieted when he looks back at me. Really looks. For the first time ever, I meet his gaze knowing that this boy is real. Really in front of me. 

His act falters, and I wonder if it’s really him- and if he knows me, too. He stands there for a moment, unmoving.

As if on cue, the ringmaster once again emerges, taking the jester by his shoulders and whispering something to him that no one can quite make out. 

“Now… our dear jester would like to perform a little trick for us, if you will.” His voice carries when he speaks this time, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Could we have… a volunteer?” He speaks deliberately slower this time, as if his words have an emphasis that he takes great glee in keeping a secret from the audience.

The jester’s eyes don’t leave mine. For reasons unknown, I find my own hand slowly raising, though among all the other hands that shot up, I don’t know why I’m bothering to try. Usually, these things are first come, first served. 

“You.” I finally hear him speak. His voice wavers slightly, and it sounds more like he’s speaking to someone other than a stranger in the audience. 

Because he isn’t. He’s speaking to me. 

His hand raises as slowly as mine to point in my direction, and I feel his gaze burn through any doubt I had been harboring. He knows who I am. 

He speaks slowly, as if he’s making sure his voice works. “Come up here-” he beckons at the spot on the stage beside him, his gaze unwavering as he stares straight at me. As if for even one more moment, he’ll just… stop seeing me. Or never see me again. “-and be mine for a moment.”

That line catches me off guard until I realize it’s his line in the show. Right. This is a show. But under the eye makeup and odd hat, he’s still definitely the boy I saw… night and day. Sometimes all day, sometimes never. I grew up with him, and he grew up with me… but I never knew him. Knew his voice, his full attention, or his touch.

I slowly stand and make my way to the stage with deliberate steps. I place my hands on it and look up at him, wondering how to get up there without proper stairs and without making a fool of myself. I’m still dressed for a business meeting, even if I have the top few suffocating buttons of my shirt undone.

Apparently I don’t need a way up, because the jester is suddenly in front of me on the stage and offering his hands, his gaze still intent and slowly becoming a little desperate. I wonder if I’m the only one that really notices. 

I reach up and take his hands. And it actually works. When I was younger, I’d try to touch the hologram-like boy in front of me to no avail. It was impossible to play with someone you couldn’t touch or hear. And sometimes even the visibility to one another wasn’t mutual. I never got the point. But it doesn’t matter right now. He’s actually… here. And I’ve heard his voice. Touched his hands.

He’s here.

And I’m not crazy. 

“...I’m not crazy,” I whisper as he hoists me onto the stage to stand in front of him. 

His arms slide to my wrists and hold those instead, as if to pretend he’s stabilizing me while really stabilizing himself, by the looks of it. 

“...No, you’re not.” He finally breaks my gaze and looks down at our hands, then back up at my face. “But I’d like to change that.” He lets go of my wrists and stands behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders and looking out at the audience. “Care to tell the audience your name…?” Back to business, I guess. His voice carries now so the viewers can hear his words, not just me.

I pause. “...Haruka.” If I only get to give him a name, it’s going to be my given name. I owe him that much for the times he’s tried to communicate with me over the years… to no avail. I take half a moment to wonder what this looks like to the audience. Does it look as strange as it feels?

“Haruka! Well, Haruka, come with me and we’ll use you for a little act, hm?” He hums, seemingly putting on his act now.

I nod and follow him, confused but willing to participate if it means another moment of clarity with him. Another moment to figure out what the hell is going on, and why my life was ruined for this boy that I’ve never met. 

I watch as he draws a deck of cards from seemingly nowhere, spreads it on the table in the middle of the stage, and looks back towards the audience. “Our lovely volunteer here will now choose her card, show it to the audience, and I’ll have my guess at it. Surely it won’t be easy with such a… distraction… right here in front of me.” He smiles. It’s sickeningly identical to the ones that I thought about over and over again this last year.

My heart wrenches, and I look him in the eyes, suddenly feeling smaller in this confusing situation. Now that I know he’s real, I’m wondering how that all happened when we were younger. Why was he there? Why was I?

“Haruka?” His voice is gentler now, as if abandoning his persona to make sure I was alright. “Would you like me to choose someone else?”

I freeze. “No,” I blurt. “I’ll do it.” 

He nods and steps back slightly, giving me easier access to the table and cards. I glance over them, take a deep breath, and pick one up. I face the audience and hold up the card.

“Alright…” The jester lilts, stepping up behind me once again. “Shall I guess the suit? What do you think? Yes or no- diamonds?” He faces the audience for an answer. After a moment, a chorus of “no”s and “nope”s answer him. He seems puzzled, as if thrown off. “Hmm… spades, then?” Again, the audience tells the jester he’s wrong. “Hearts?”

Incorrect again. 

“Well, that was anticlimactic…” He sighs. “Then I suppose it’s clubs, yes?” The crowd seems immensely pleased to inform him that this is also incorrect. 

I watch, also unaware of my own card’s suit or number. 

He tilts his head. “It can’t possibly be anything else… unless…” He turns to me. “Look at your own card, please.” He instructs me.

I do. I nearly laugh out loud. Surely he was supposed to remove these from the deck beforehand. 

“...it is the joker, isn’t it?” He sighs. “Well… that’s my mistake. I admit I was supposed to remove those from the deck prior to our little meeting here, my friends. I’ll just have you draw again, alright?” He plucks the card from my hand and gestures at the table once again. I reach out and pick up another card, this time glancing at it myself. 

Surely this isn’t possible.