Chapter 1: Shimamura Goes to the Gym

Chapter 1:
Shimamura Goes to the Gym

 

“CAN YOU DO a sit-up?”

About two minutes after I sent this email, right as I was getting ready to leave, I got a call from Adachi, the recipient of said email. I peered out of my room and down the hall to find that my mother was still wandering around the house. Evidently, I still had a few minutes to spare. Adjusting the strap of my gym bag, I picked up.

“Care to explain this email you sent me?” she demanded.

“What? I was just curious if you could do a sit-up, that’s all.”

I leaned against the wall near the door. Frankly, I hadn’t expected her to call me, and now I didn’t really know what to say—my usual reaction to phone calls.

Someone once told me it wasn’t normal to be so self-conscious about it. Maybe they were right.

“Well, let’s see…” Her voice grew faint; then, after a few moments, she returned. “Did it.”

How very dutiful of you.

“Uh, hello? I did it…?”

“Way to go.” Cradling my phone against my shoulder, I gave her a round of applause, but deep down I was kind of hoping she’d suck at it like I did. Misery loves company, after all. “To be honest, I can’t do sit-ups unless someone else is around to hold my feet down,” I confessed.

“Really?”

“Really really.”

I stroked my stomach. I wasn’t overweight, but I wasn’t exactly toned, either. Wait, but then how do I get out of bed in the morning? Weird. Incidentally, my little sister could do sit-ups just fine. Probably the boobs weighing me down, if anything.

“Okay, well…is that all?”

“Yep, that’s all I wanted to know! See ya.”

I hung up the phone, then shook my head in exasperation. What was the point of that call? Maybe I should’ve thought of something else to say…but what? And even if I did have more to say, would she have anything to say in response? Probably not. She was generally the quiet type, like me. Plus, I was already on my way out the door.

Somehow it felt like I was making excuses for something, but I couldn’t quite tell what it was I felt so guilty about. Or maybe I was just overthinking it. Why do I always get so worked up over nothing?

“We’re leaving!” my mother called.

And so I accompanied my mother to the gym that afternoon—willfully, but not enthusiastically, if that makes sense.

 

***

 

Our local sports gym was only open to members eighteen and older. That said, minors could get in if they had a free one-day trial voucher. And since my mother was a member, she could purchase these vouchers at a discount, which she did. Then she gave one to me for some reason, so I figured Eh, why not? I’ll give it a try.

I had no real reason for doing it; I simply had nothing better to do, and I was bored. If I stayed at home, I knew I’d end up either studying or dealing with my sister. Hence, I decided maybe my time was better spent getting a little exercise instead of sitting around and zoning out. Not that a single day of working out would do much in the long run, of course.

Our family only had one bicycle, and my mother didn’t approve of riding double, so instead we had my father drop us off in his car. Once we crossed the big bridge in the shopping district and passed the public sports field, a pale off-white sign came into view, its color reminiscent of Pocari Sweat, announcing the name of the gym in English rather than Japanese.

There were two parking lots: one on the left-hand side across the street from the gym, and another located to the right of the entrance. Both were absolutely brimming with cars. I guess a lot of people are bored today.

My father pulled up to the entrance and stopped the car. Once my mother and I hopped out, he drove off without even saying goodbye. My mother had invited him to join us, but apparently he had no intention of taking her up on that. Supposedly his company’s yearly physical exam had given him a clean bill of health, so he didn’t “need” to exercise. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to exercise no matter what, Dad.

“Come on! Let’s go!” my mother called as she stretched her shoulders in a circular motion.

“Coming,” I replied as I followed after her.

My gym bag was a hand-me-down from my mom, and it was downright riddled with holes and dirt stains. One end sagged lower than the other, its corresponding strap completely stretched out. I held it up with one hand as we entered.

The automatic doors slid open to reveal a lobby with a reception desk. Seated there were two female employees, each wearing a white track jacket. My mother approached one of them and handed over her membership card; likewise, I approached the other one and showed her my voucher. In return, she gave me a blue wristband with a numbered key attached. My number (locker number, maybe?) was 83—I paused for a moment to contemplate whether “83” held any significance to me, but it didn’t. Nor could I think of any numbers that did mean something to me.

“Would you like an overview of our facilities?” the receptionist asked.

“No thank you,” I answered. I wasn’t exactly eager to stand around and listen to her talk for however long.

Instead, we walked around to the glass door on the left side of the reception desk. On the other side, in the distance, I could see a tennis court filled with middle-aged women batting a bright yellow tennis ball back and forth, as well as even more women sitting on the sidelines to watch. Did they all know each other? Was this some kind of exclusive “forty-somethings” women’s tennis team?

Nearby, I noticed a series of round sofa seats, all of them occupied by other middle-aged adults, and it was then that I noticed the weird age demographic. Sure, I wasn’t expecting any fellow minors to be here, given the membership age requirement, but where were all the twenty- or thirty-somethings? My mother was right—almost everyone here was forty-plus. I wonder what the age statistics look like for this place.

We passed by a little sporting goods shop on our way to the shoe lockers, where we took off our outdoor shoes. As for my mother, she left without me and never looked back. This encapsulated my mother in a nutshell.

I walked over to locker #83 on the left-hand side, opened it, and stored my shoes inside. Then I headed up the stairs to the second floor, where I found myself surrounded by gym equipment of all different kinds, all of it raven-black in color. Now this was my idea of a gym.

There were ten treadmills lined up in a row along the wall, each operating at a different speed and incline as determined by their (middle-aged) users. Each one had a mini-TV built into it, and everyone was tuned in to the same daytime soap opera. Inside a different room on the far side, I could see a group of older ladies doing aerobics.

I turned and headed for the women’s locker room. Then I felt the treadmill grandpas all turn to look at me, and I bit back the urge to snap at them.

Inside the locker room, I stuffed my gym bag into my assigned locker, changed into my workout clothes, and tied my hair back in a lazy ponytail. Somehow I managed to get dressed faster than my mother, despite her sizeable head start, so I stopped by to let her know where I was headed before I left. Some other guests had lined up to weigh themselves on the scale by the door, but I ignored it and speed-walked out.

Returning to the equipment room on the second floor, I noticed a large mat laid out on the floor in the far right-hand corner, where a small group of women were lying on their backs, legs swinging in the air, inflatable plastic balls of varying sizes clutched between their thighs. I could already feel the ab workout from here. For some reason it struck me as the sort of exercise Hino would be good at.

As with the first floor, the second floor had its own sporting goods shop selling shirts and yoga mats and anything else anyone could possibly want to buy at a gym. Frankly, I respected the hustle. If only I could be as passionate about something as these people were about selling me stuff… I just couldn’t imagine what that would look like.

As I stood around contemplating my next move, one of the treadmill people stopped their machine and hopped off. Out of sheer curiosity, I decided to give it a try. I picked the settings at random and started running.

Naturally, this only lasted for about thirty seconds, at which point I slowed the pace to a walk. That lasted for a good five or so minutes, then I stopped the machine and stepped off. My sides were killing me, but I made sure not to let it show on my face.

“Whew! What a workout.”

“Lazybones!”

Out of nowhere, my mother smacked me upside the head. When did she get here? Her wrist snap technique was on point. Ow. Must be all the sports.

“Now I understand why your grades are so bad…”

She proceeded to pretend-cry, even going so far as to “wipe her tears” with the sleeve of her workout shirt. Personally, I didn’t see what being out of shape had to do with my grades at all. I guess she wants me to put in more effort?

“Do try to set a good example, all right? You’re one of the very few young people to ever visit this place.”

“What’s my age have to do with anything?” We’re surrounded by a bunch of elderly men who can bench-press, for God’s sake.

“You’ve been such a sloth from the day you were born…or were you? No, I think you were,” my mother nodded to herself. How do you not remember what I was like as a child? You’re my mom!

Then again, even I couldn’t really remember what I used to be like. Not to the point that I could explain it to someone else, at least—just bits and pieces here and there. One thing I could remember for sure, however, was that my teachers never wrote anything interesting on my report cards. For our graduation essays we had to go around asking our teachers for comments about us, and hoo boy, was that ever awkward. Come to think of it, I can’t even remember what they said.

“Now here’s how you’re supposed to use this thing!”

My mother stepped onto the treadmill, set the pace and incline ridiculously high, and started running at full speed. Amused, I decided to watch and see how long she’d last.

“So tell me, little sloth, are you actually going to school?” she asked me as she ran. Meanwhile, she tapped around on the mini-TV. Always the multi-tasker, this one. Personally, I wasn’t excited to be having this conversation right now.

“What are you talking about? You’ve seen me put on my uniform every morning.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything.”

Her eyes narrowed sharply as her gaze bored mercilessly into my skull. The more she looked at me, the guiltier I felt, even though I literally hadn’t done anything wrong—I honestly did go to school every day! I guess moms are just that intimidating.

“Yes, I’m going to school, okay?” Leaning up against the treadmill handlebars, I pretended to “get distracted” by the show on her TV.

My mother and I hardly ever talked one-on-one, not that I particularly lamented that fact. I was now so uncomfortable, I was starting to wish I hadn’t come with her. The quintessential teenage experience, I supposed.

Meanwhile, she was still running at a steady, vigorous pace—perfect posture, perfect form. Way to make me look like a loser, Mom.

“If you don’t stay in school, you’ll ruin your life. Plus the lives of everyone around you.” Apparently she didn’t believe a word I said. Classic mom stuff. “Didn’t I raise you not to be a burden on other people?”

“Yes, Mom, I know.”

Great, now she’s lecturing me. Was that why she brought me here? I thought back to the time I heard her “jokingly” tell my sister “Don’t end up like your onee-chan.” The memory made me laugh in spite of myself.

In my head, I knew she was only worried about me because she cared about me…but I wasn’t yet mature enough to admit that she was right. I pushed myself away from the treadmill.

“Where are you going?”

“Gonna go do some other exercise, then hang out in the pool for a while.”

“Wimp.”

She kept on running, so I waved goodbye to her and got out of there. After all, the prospect of lounging in the pool was, in fact, my entire motivation for coming here.

Once I finished what I felt was a reasonable amount of exercise, I returned to the women’s locker room.

I hadn’t even been trying all that hard, but somehow my face and back were both dripping with sweat, and my upper arms hurt. I had intentionally chosen abdominal workouts—in the hopes of getting myself to the point where I could do sit-ups unassisted—and as a result, my sides ached, too. Maybe I did too much of that thigh-ball thing.

I hadn’t done any warmup stretches beforehand, so I already knew I was going to be sore tomorrow. Or maybe I’d get lucky and my young teenage body would bounce back from it! I decided to stay optimistic.

Back at my locker, I dug around in my gym bag, retrieved my swimsuit, and changed into it. Nothing special, of course, just your standard-issue school swim uniform. For a high-schooler like me who no longer had free time for beach vacations with the family, it was the best I had on hand.

Next I put on my swim cap, which proved to be more of a struggle than I’d anticipated. Ugh, my hair’s getting long again. On my way out of the locker room, I passed a group of older women on their way in. I left through the other door and headed for the pool.

Instantly, the pungent smell of chlorine greeted me—so overwhelming, in fact, it made my high school pool seem like tap water by comparison. Even in November, the scent never failed to remind me of summer. Groaning in pain, I eased myself down the dimly lit stairs until I reached the door at the bottom, where the light from the pool room was shining in.

I slid the door open, and right as I stepped inside, they stopped me to spray my feet with disinfectant. I was expecting it to be cold, like it was at school, but instead it was room-temperature. That caught me off-guard, actually. After a quick shower, I wandered over to the pool.

“I’m so glad I joined… Heh heh heh… Sometimes I surprise myself with my own brilliance.”

The sudden voice made me jump. I peered down over the cinder-block wall to find a twenty-something guy sitting there. He had blond hair, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and a big goofy grin on his face…as he watched the young girls learning to swim in the far right-hand lane of the pool.

Yikes.

He was by no means ugly, but he had a creepy vibe. By which I mean he was smiling wistfully at a swimming class for children. Then he noticed me looking at him and met my gaze.

Yikes!

His affectionate expression vanished in an instant, replaced by a blank canvas, like someone who had grown bored of staring out the window. Judging from the conspicuous contrast in his enthusiasm levels, he was either a big fan of kids in general or a sex pervert. Not sure which.

“Whoops.”

With that, he turned back to the swim class like he was unwilling to miss even a single second. Okay, yeah, this guy’s a pervert. I’d better keep my distance. I promptly walked off.

Using the set of stairs and the handrail provided in the left corner of the pool, I stepped down into the water. The far-left lane was apparently reserved for water walking exercises: A bunch of old people were wading back and forth in a perfect circuit, like the world’s weirdest parade. I joined the procession.

This was a heated pool, and considering I had just worked up a sweat with all that exercise, I found myself wishing the water was a bit colder. The smell of chlorine intensified as I lowered myself down to my chin.

Once again, as with earlier, everyone was staring at me—and no, I wasn’t imagining it. Was it because I was wearing a school swimsuit? Or just because I was a high-schooler in general? Maybe some people enjoyed this sort of attention, but I was not one of them. If anything, I only cursed myself for being naïve enough to join in. They were staring at me because I stuck out. I didn’t belong here.

Crouched down with my chin in the water, I toddled along sluggishly. In the next lane over, an elderly man swam past me; the ripples from his motions sent water into my nose and mouth. Wiping my face, I straightened my posture. There was no point in trying to hide.

Part of me wished I could have invited Adachi along, but on the other hand, I knew she wasn’t the type to have fun at a place like this. As far as I could remember, I’d never seen Adachi enjoy herself in a setting as public as this one. And I don’t think she’s ever attended pool day in gym class, either.

As I shuffled along with the grandmas and grandpas, I suddenly spotted the pedophile from earlier diving into the lane immediately adjacent to the swim class on the far right-hand side. Compared to the beginner swimmers, he seemed far more skilled, or perhaps just comfortable in the water. He was even wearing goggles. Not only that, but this pedo was pretty darn fast, too. Or maybe he just seemed fast by comparison, considering the competition in these parts.

He swam front crawl style, zipping over to the far end of the pool. There, he flipped his feet up, kicked off from the wall, and headed back in the opposite direction. It was pretty entertaining, actually.

The more I watched, however, the more I started to notice something…weird…with his form. Specifically his neck. Hmm. I slid my goggles on and peered under the water to observe him. That was where I determined the problem: he wasn’t rotating his head at all.

Oh, I get it.

He was still watching the girls. Constantly. Even while swimming at full speed.

Yeah, this guy is a pedo with a capital P. Seriously, bro, do us all a favor and at least pretend to be normal, would you?

Then again, perhaps an outside observer would see me as every bit as strange as I saw him. Maybe it was all a matter of perspective…

But on second thought, at least I’m not a pedophile. Yeah, I’d better give him a wide berth.

As I waded along, I noticed that one of the other lanes had become available, so I decided to retreat there. It was labeled “sprint training” and was clearly meant for competitive swim practice, but I ignored that detail and floated out on my back, my arms and legs spread wide like I was making a snow angel.

Then I slid my goggles onto my forehead—not like I was actually planning to swim, after all. Looking up at the ceiling, I could almost pretend they weren’t all staring at me. But the fluorescent lights were too bright, so I squeezed my eyes shut, redirecting my focus to the gentle rocking of the waves. With my eyes closed, it felt more like I was floating in an empty void.

Over the waves, I could hear my mother’s voice: Don’t cause trouble. This was the one lesson she ingrained in me more than any other, because she knew any trouble I did cause would find its way back to the rest of the family.

Was I causing trouble for anyone by floating here? Just by enjoying a brief escape from gravity? Same thing with all the classes I skipped—after suffocating for so long, was it such a crime to come up for air every now and then? My presence in the classroom was hardly mandatory; class would simply go on without me. As such, I personally didn’t see the harm in it.

But my mother, on the other hand, was afraid it meant I’d grow up to be a loser. To her, this was unacceptable. She very much wanted me to leave the nest when the time came. In that regard, I had absolutely no freedom to decide my own path.

I generally saw myself as a decent student, but apparently I was still nothing more than an irresponsible child—to the adults, at least.

I opened my eyes and slid my goggles back on. Then I relaxed even more, letting my body sink beneath the waves as I exhaled all the breath in my lungs. Now I was free from the natural buoy that tethered me to the surface. Watching the bubbles float up in my wake, I descended further and further until my back touched the pool floor—a wide expanse of aqua blue to match the wall of water above me. The shade reminded me of the label on Adachi’s favorite mineral water.

Here I was, alone in a world of color and refracted light. Coupled with the peaceful sounds of the waves, I was in heaven. My goggles were watertight, and yet my eyes felt a little damp.

The only downside to this paradise was that I could only visit by emptying my lungs, and my lungs were not generally a fan of being empty. Reluctantly, I heeded the discomfort in my chest and rose back to the surface. Right as I took a breath, however, I felt a sudden shove against my stomach, pushing the air right back out again. Down to the bottom I went.

This time, however, I landed on my feet and kicked back up to the surface. There, I witnessed the culprit: my own mother, laughing like a woman crazed as she dashed away from the scene of her crime, kicking up water as she ran like some kind of kappa monster. Not that I’d actually seen a kappa, but you get what I mean. Like a comedic antagonist in a gag manga.

“Oh, grow up,” I grumbled, but otherwise kept my opinion of her behavior to myself. I followed her out of the pool, pulled off my swim cap, and contemplated my next move. Maybe I’ll go see what’s on the other side.

As it turned out, the opposite end of the pool room was home to the men’s and women’s shower rooms as well as an indoor Jacuzzi, which was currently exuding steam like some kind of hot spring. The sign on the door nearby indicated there was another separate Jacuzzi outside, but when I peeked out there I found my mother lounging in it, so I decided to go somewhere else.

Adjacent to the outdoor Jacuzzi door were two different types of sauna: a “mist sauna” and a “steam room.” I could feel considerable heat radiating from both. Since I was here, I figured I may as well try one of them out—I just wasn’t sure which one. Not like I’d ever been in a sauna before.

As I stood around cradling my newly acquired blue seat cushion, a middle-aged woman passed by me on her way into the steam room. As I glanced at her, I was struck with a bizarrely gripping sense of déjà vu. Suddenly I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Then she noticed me looking at her and stopped short for some reason.

She wasn’t wearing a swim cap. Evidently, she was just here for the sauna. Her hair was dark, and her features suggested she was about my mom’s age. Who does she remind me of?

Then she spoke.

“I don’t like this.”

Contrary to what her words suggested, her tone was playful, but this didn’t ring any particular bells.

“You want to know why I come to this gym full of old fogies? To feel young by comparison! Ignoring the little kids who come here for tennis or swim lessons, obviously. But now you’re here, stealing my spotlight? How am I supposed to gloat now?”

I laughed awkwardly. Apparently she was jealous of my youth or something. No one had ever complained to my face about my age before, so that was…refreshing? Kind of?

“Oh, I’m just messing with you. It’s just not often we see any teenagers around here, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I replied. Then I gasped slightly as the realization hit me. Looking at her face in profile, I knew exactly who she reminded me of.

Just then, another older woman walked out of the sauna and called out to her, instantly confirming my suspicions.

“Hey there, Adachi-san! Didn’t know you were here. You know, you can hang out in the sauna all you want, but you won’t lose any weight!”

“Oh, mind your own business!”

Now there was a name I recognized all too well. And as Yashiro would put it, this felt like destiny.

 

***

 

Never had I imagined I would encounter Adachi’s mother in a place like this. Small world, indeed—or was it fate?

I sat hunched over in the steam room, eyeing Mrs. Adachi and ruminating on how awkward it was to interact with mothers in general.

Adachi never liked to talk about her parents. She always clammed up the second the topic arose. That much wasn’t all that unusual for people my age, but in her case, I could tell there was a bit more going on than your usual teenage rebellion. While the rest of us could admit to caring about our families at least a little, Adachi regarded hers with icy contempt. What she didn’t seem to realize, however, was that the smallest spark of emotion would heat things right back up again.

“…and I tell you, that other coach is a terrible teacher!”

“I know, right? I like the other one. He has a nice voice.”

Mrs. Adachi was now sitting with some other lady, both of them sweating up a storm as they chatted away. As they compared the male tennis instructors, I was reminded of the way the girls at my school talked about boys. Also similar to teenage girls was the way they bad-mouthed other women.

Unlike her daughter, Mrs. Adachi was sociable and chatty. Other than her wrinkles, she was nearly identical to her offspring, especially the curve of her jaw and the color of her hair. In fact, if I hadn’t seen her up close, I might have mistaken her for Adachi with a different hairstyle.

Come to think of it, their house was pretty far from here. At least she’s motivated to work out, I guess, I scoffed to myself, without thinking too hard about what exactly I was implying she didn’t have motivation for. Man, it’s hot in here.

It felt like an August afternoon, and I was starting to get dizzy. I was never a fan of warm temperatures to begin with, but Mrs. Adachi had held the door open for me on her way in, so it would have been rude not to follow her.

“Good grief… That reminds me, how old’s your daughter now?”

“Fifteen. Just started high school,” Mrs. Adachi answered. Interesting. Most people in our grade had already turned sixteen; apparently Adachi’s birthday hadn’t rolled around yet.

“Oh, that’s great! Must be a relief not to have to study for entrance exams anymore.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Mine’s gearing up to apply to college this year.”

Idly, I wondered if my mom ever had this conversation.

“While I’d like to say things are easier with exams out of the way…with my daughter, things are never easy. She’s so difficult!” Mrs. Adachi explained with a dry laugh.

This caught my attention—specifically the word difficult.

“She never communicates with me, so I can never tell what she’s thinking. And she’s so gloomy—always keeps to herself! I just don’t understand her.”

Her tone was so light and airy, she barely seemed to skim the surface of the topic. In fact, she didn’t sound like a mother at all—not if she treated her own child like some indecipherable alien creature. Adults were always so quick to forget that they were teenagers too, once upon a time. So I spoke up.

“Excuse me.”

Every now and then I found myself cutting into conversations purely on impulse.

“I admit I don’t know all the details about Ada—er, your daughter—but I don’t think you should talk about her like that.”

I don’t know why I lied. Then again, maybe in a certain sense I hadn’t. After all, I couldn’t exactly claim to know everything about Adachi.

My heart thumped in my chest as a wave of panic settled over my eyeballs. It took a lot of courage to speak out against an adult—courage that I didn’t have—and I was scared out of my wits. Now I was really sweating, and not from the heat.

Mrs. Adachi looked at me dubiously. Clearly she hadn’t anticipated me butting into her conversation.

“How are you going to understand her if you don’t ever try?”

She glared back at me. What? Am I really that off-base?

My mom was a total nag, but at least she understood her daughters. And she only understood us because she actively tried to connect with us. Wasn’t it a bit unfair to dump the blame entirely in Adachi’s lap? It takes two to tango, you know!

“Oh, but just to be clear, I’m not trying to start an argument,” I added hastily, before she could start shouting at me in her shrill mom voice. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I could win a debate against someone twice my age. And even if I could, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. I couldn’t be sure she would even listen to my advice.

“Are you here with your parents?” Mrs. Adachi asked, her voice a lot calmer than I was expecting.

“My mom, yeah,” I replied.

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with this.” I was speaking for myself, not my mother. Before she could get another word in, I continued, “I’m not trying to pick a fight with you.”

I wanted to make that clear to her—I wasn’t looking to meddle in her life, just like I wasn’t looking for anyone to meddle in mine. Granted, it wasn’t exactly mature of me to criticize her without giving her a chance to defend herself, but teenagers weren’t exactly known for being mature, now were we?

To be honest, Mrs. Adachi could have just written me off as an ignorant child who didn’t know what she was talking about, but she didn’t. Instead, she froze in her tracks. Judging from the look in her eye, she wasn’t angry—rather, she seemed almost intrigued at the suggestion. Since I hadn’t introduced myself, she had no way of knowing Adachi and I were actually friends, but…since I was the same age as her daughter, maybe that was what piqued her interest.

Perplexed, the other woman stayed silent, watching us. But Mrs. Adachi didn’t say anything else. Instead, she continued to gaze at me curiously. Now the ball was in my court, and it was my move. Finally I began to see a familial resemblance.

“But since we have no way of knowing who’s right…I’ll challenge you to a contest.”

“A contest?”

I was being ridiculously aggressive, even by my own standards. Still, I had a feeling this way would be more efficient. Talk is cheap, as they say, and I wanted to settle this once and for all.

“Whoever can stay in here the longest wins. And if I win, you have to go home and act like a real mom to your daughter, just for one day.”

What was the point of making her do this? What did I even mean by “real mom”? I didn’t have a clue. But if I won, maybe I’d have something interesting to look forward to the next time I talked to Adachi. That was the closest thing I had to a motive.

“Is this how kids these days get their kicks?”

“Something like that.”

I wasn’t doing this for Adachi—I was doing it for me. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

I could feel something dripping down my back. Whether it was pool water or sweat, I couldn’t tell. Maybe this was a bad idea…but before I could change my mind, Mrs. Adachi mimicked my posture, leaning forward with her head in her hands. Apparently the battle was on. No going back now.

I was a little amazed, actually, that she’d accept a challenge from some rando she’d barely spoken to. It reminded me of when Adachi challenged Yashiro to a competition at the bowling alley. Maybe it ran in the family.

Meanwhile, the other woman tilted her head in confusion. “You two are so odd,” she mused.

Yeah, this was definitely a little abnormal. I wasn’t trying to fix Mrs. Adachi; I just felt like someone ought to stand up for her daughter. So how did we end up here?

Nevertheless, our battle of endurance continued…which is to say, we sat there in silence. Nothing much to write home about, except it felt like my soul was evaporating along with my sweat. Maybe I should have challenged her to a swimming competition instead. At least that would have been kind of fun, even if I probably would’ve lost.

Then Mrs. Adachi’s friend left. On her way out, she warned us not to “overdo it,” but my ears were starting to ring, so I couldn’t make out anything else she said. Idly, I wondered what Adachi would think if she knew her mom was sitting here, competing in this juvenile contest—and with me of all people.

“What does it mean to be a ‘real’ mother, anyway?” Mrs. Adachi asked after a while, her voice dry.

I gave it some thought, but try as I might, I couldn’t find the right words—just fuzzy imagery. Ugh.

“I don’t have any kids myself, so I can’t be sure,” I answered finally.

“Okay then, how about your idea of a real mother?”

What, so my vision of the perfect mom? How am I supposed to describe that? “I don’t know… Normal?”

“And how does a ‘normal’ mother act?”

“She…spends time with her kids? Eats dinner with them, I guess? How should I know?”

The moment I tried to put it into words, my mental image of the perfect mother blurred even more. Be it friend or family member, no human relationship could truly exist within rigid structures. You could try to flesh it out, but no matter what you did, it would always end up hollow on the inside. If you tried to give voice to the unspoken parts, they would lose their value as “unspoken” and shift into something else. And once you nailed down the parts you thought you knew, you’d mistakenly assume that was all there was to it, then feel disappointed that it wasn’t what you originally wanted.

Just as it would be a mistake to turn a blind eye to someone’s faults, it wasn’t right to focus on them exclusively, either. A healthy relationship required the full picture.

I knew Mrs. Adachi probably wasn’t satisfied with my half-assed answer, but she fell silent nonetheless. With each bead of sweat that trickled down her eyelids, she grimaced and started jiggling her leg more aggressively. I stared down at the floor and braced myself. Another ten or so minutes passed, meaning we’d been in there for nearly twenty minutes now.

“Did you hear about the old guy who stayed in here longer than he was supposed to? I heard he got a nosebleed and passed out.”

She was clearly trying to get under my skin. Very mature of you.

“Want me to let you win?” she offered with a stiff smile, her face as red as a tomato.

As for me, I was too stubborn to let her hand me the victory on a silver platter. “No thank you.”

“Then you should let me.”

“No.” What is this conversation we’re having right now? Is the heat getting to our brains?

“Okay then, I’ll let you win.”

“Please don’t.” It was getting harder and harder to keep up with her mind games.

“I just…wish she would be straightforward with me about how she feels,” Mrs. Adachi volunteered out of nowhere, pouting her bottom lip. “No matter where I took her, she would always clam right up… I could never tell if she was having fun or if she was miserable.”

“…Your daughter, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Oh, she would’ve been…” She paused to count on her fingers. “Five…? Actually, maybe four?”

Four years old… In my mind, I pictured a miniature version of Adachi.

“Instead of getting hung up on what she was like back then, maybe you should pay attention to what she’s like today.”

“But if I try to pry into her life, she’ll hate my guts. I know I was like that at her age.”

“Yeah…”

Sure, nobody liked a nosy parent, but even that was better than being straight-up neglected. Sometimes your mom was the only person you could turn to about certain things… I just wished this woman could see that. Maybe it was hypocritical of us to push them away only to complain when they were gone, but it was their job to know how to handle that.

“All right, I think it’s time for me to let you win.”

“You really don’t have to…”

She rose to her feet and staggered toward the door. She’s actually leaving! Apparently she couldn’t stand it anymore. Right before she opened the door, however, she came to a stop and slowly, sluggishly, turned back to look at me.

“My daughter… Actually, you know what, never mind.”

Shaking her head, she decided not to finish that thought. Instead, she walked out.

I got up and followed suit. Had I said something to offend her? I tried to remember, but it made my head hurt. Stumbling out of the steam room, I collapsed into a white chair nearby, completely exhausted.

Then, belatedly, I realized I hadn’t set the condition for what would happen if she won. Surely she must have noticed that, and yet she didn’t point it out to me…but why? My brain was total mush, and I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, but I had a vague idea as to her reasoning: She must have decided to be the “bigger person” in order to maintain her dignity as a grown adult. That had to be it.

Meanwhile, as a teenager, I pretended to have all the answers.

 

***

 

I could hear my body speaking to me: You put in a lot of effort yesterday, so go ahead and take it easy today! At least, that’s how I decided to interpret this muscle tenderness. Thus, Monday morning found me not in the classroom, but on the second floor of the gym, lying on the floor of the loft. The hardwood was chilly at first—a sign that winter was well and truly on its way.

By sheer coincidence or perhaps a miracle, Adachi was there, too. Not only was she hanging out with me, but she had graciously agreed to be my pillow. I laid with my head against her thigh. Her skin was chilly at first, but as with the floor, it warmed up after a while. Unlike the floor, however, it was nice and soft.

“I’m getting some déjà vu. Didn’t we do this before?”

“Yeah, once. But our roles were switched.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

I rolled over onto my other side to find Adachi staring not at me, but the ceiling. Her mouth was agape, and she seemed distracted. Plus, her cheeks were flushed, and her leg muscles were…spasming?

“Hey, uh, your leg’s twitching. You okay?”

“Uh…wha…? Oh, uh, I’m fine. It’s no biggie.”

She didn’t seem “fine” to me…so I gave the twitchy spot a big poke with my finger, and her entire leg jerked up reflexively. With my head on an incline, I slid down her thigh to her hip, onto her skirt. Then she lowered her leg, but moving back was too much effort, so I stayed put.

I thought back to the last time we did this. Back then, she mentioned smelling my scent, and now the tables were turned.

Meanwhile, she continued to stare up at the ceiling. Her mind was elsewhere, but her body was still as responsive as ever. Hmm.

I thought back to the conversation I had with Mrs. Adachi yesterday. Did she have anything to do with how her daughter was acting this morning? Is that why Adachi felt the need to come up here? If so, that would make it partially my fault as well.

After a long moment, Adachi found her words.

“What did you do yesterday?”

“Me? Oh, you know. Just kinda floated around.”

“Floated?” She quirked a brow at my word choice.

For some reason I felt compelled to conceal the fact that I’d gone to the gym. Granted, it was possible she had no idea her mom even went there, but even so, there was no sense in me blabbing about it. I looked up to find her glancing around nervously.

“Yesterday, uh…”

“Yeah?”

“My mom was…acting kinda weird,” she mumbled.

I knew it. Great, now I’ve made Adachi miss another day of class.

“Weird how?” I asked, playing dumb even though I could probably wager a guess as to the answer.

She ran a hand through her hair as she fumbled for the right words. “She…ate dinner with me.”

“And…that’s weird?”

At my house, that was pretty par for the course. My mom, dad, sister and I had always eaten our meals together ever since I could remember, so it was hard for me to put myself in her shoes.

“Yeah. It was just sorta…rare? And…suffocating,” she explained, fumbling for adjectives one at a time. I couldn’t sense any happiness concealed in her voice, just pure confusion. “I’m used to her cooking for me, but she would never eat it with me usually.”

“Interesting.”

“She’s barely ever home anyway.”

Apparently she’d kept her end of the bargain. Maybe she has more integrity than I gave her credit for, I thought. This was another trait she and her daughter had in common.

“Was it fun, at least?”

“Not really. We didn’t talk, so it was super uncomfortable. Couldn’t even taste the food.”

“Oh…that sucks…”

“And then this morning I ate breakfast alone again, so it’s like…was it some kind of fluke?”

“Hmm…yeah, I couldn’t tell you,” I lied, hugging my knees to my chest.

Her mother had probably felt just as uncomfortable as she had. But I knew this particular brand of mother-daughter relationship wasn’t all that uncommon, so I didn’t feel bad for either side in particular. If anything, I simply regretted the part I played in the whole debacle.

None of it had inspired any lasting change in Adachi, but perhaps it was more important (for her, anyway) that she was able to talk to me—or anyone, really—about the way it made her feel.

You know, it’s funny—the two of us are almost total opposites. Our home lives… The way we interact with people… The times we need intimacy, and the times we need space… On second thought, maybe we’re a perfect match. The more you have, the more you take for granted, and vice versa. Maybe that’s just how it works.

To be clear, I didn’t particularly want to live my life alone—not that it was possible in the first place. A wise philosopher once said that “any person who can fully separate themselves from society is no longer a person at all,” or something like that…because the social aspect is an integral part of humanity, I guess? I could understand that for the most part.

Me, I was perfectly content staying human. Hence, there I was, lying with my head in Adachi’s lap.

Just then, she let out a “whoa,” and when I looked up, I found her staring down at me. Apparently it had taken her this long to realize that I had rolled closer to her stomach. She froze, startled. I moved to lift my head, but then she hastily pressed it back down.

What the hell?

Regardless, I didn’t fight it. Instead, I let her press me against her leg. The fabric of her skirt was scratchy against my face.

Great, now my nose will get even flatter. Oh well. For a while I just lay there, my face buried in her thighs. Wait, no, that makes me sound like a pervert. I attempted to think of a more wholesome way to put it, but it was getting harder and harder to breathe, so I gave up. Fine, pervert it is.

At last she pulled her hand away and I was free to roll onto my side, where I sucked in a breath like a swimmer coming up for air. It tasted different over here, and the thought made me smile. “You were right.”

“Huh?”

“I can really smell your scent down here.”

Instantly her face flushed, almost like I’d flipped a switch in her cheeks. It was mildly reminiscent of Mrs. Adachi in the steam room, except the color was different—her mother’s face was beet red, but hers was pink. Much cuter. At last, I’d found something that set the two of them apart.

“Hey Adachi, could I watch you do a sit-up?” I asked.

“What for…? What is with you and sit-ups lately?”

“I don’t know. I just want to see,” I answered vaguely.

She paused for a minute, then started moving. Maybe she was hoping she could hide her blushing this way. Too late for that, I’m afraid.

She crawled on her hands and knees to an open space. Then she sat down with her legs pointed in my direction, lay down on her back, and did a series of sit-ups with no trouble at all. Her movements were slow, but she kept it up without pause. After her fifth one, she lay back on the floor and fell still.

Somehow, it felt like she was showing off as the “cooler” delinquent.

“Grrrr…” I stared at her. She seemed to sense my gaze.

“What?” she asked, looking up at me. She had such an innocent look on her face… It made me want to tease her.

“You know I can see up your skirt, right?”

I didn’t actually look, for the record. I was just messing with her. But she bolted upright in terror like my sister whenever she saw a cockroach. Pressing her skirt down, she adjusted her sitting position, then glared at me. Paired with her pink cheeks, she was the perfect picture of a bullied child…

Wait, does that make me a bully?

“Hold on—are you actually mad at me? I was just warning you!”

“This is sexual harassment!”

Never in my life had I been accused of sexually harassing someone, probably because I was a girl.

“Oh, come on! No one’s looking except me!”

Technically not even I was looking, but whatever. Meanwhile, Adachi scratched her flushed cheek. “That kinda makes it worse…”

“Worse?”

“Yeah.”

I would’ve liked more of an explanation, but apparently she didn’t feel the need to clarify. I gave her a minute to calm down, then attempted to steer the conversation back on track.

“Anyway, it’s really cool that you can do sit-ups! Maybe it’s all that bike riding you do.”

“You sure you can’t do it?”

“Hah…”

I could feel my muscles screaming at me as I moved my body, shifting onto my back. I could smell the dust that coated the floor of the loft, and I wasn’t excited about getting it in my hair, but then the high ceiling came into view, and I gradually stopped caring.

I cupped a hand under my head, bent my knees, and inhaled. Then, exhaling, I lifted my neck. My shoulders rose a few centimeters off the floor, followed by my back. I could feel my neck cramping already. But my stomach had no muscle to support my weight, and thus any further progress was rendered impossible. Eventually I ran out of breath in my lungs and gave up.

“Was that…supposed to be a sit-up?” Adachi asked, and I could hear the silent implication that I had barely moved at all. Yeah, I know—there was no “sitting up” involved. I get that, I thought to myself, arguing with the Adachi in my head.

Grinning bashfully—or trying to, at least, assuming my facial muscles were willing to cooperate—I used my hands to push myself up into a sitting position. I’d given it my best shot, but…you know, my post-workout soreness had gotten in the way, that’s all.

“I guess I can’t expect anything to change after just one day.”

Adachi cocked her head and stared at me. Evidently she didn’t understand what I was talking about…but things would get more complicated if she did, so I could live with that.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, just a random observation.”

I pushed myself to my feet, dusted my butt off, and headed for the stairs. It was nearly lunch, and I was planning to camp out here for a while yet, so I figured I might as well go buy something to eat. For both of us.

That way at least some things could remain unspoken.