Interlude: A Visit to the Butcher’s Shop, Part 1

Interlude:
A Visit to the Butcher’s Shop
Part 1

 

GROWING UP, I was taught to always be honest. So when a customer walked in looking to buy menchi-katsu, I told them the grocery store across the street was selling the same product at half-price for their night market event. I’d seen an ad for it in the paper. But when my dad overheard me telling them, he smacked me over the head. That was how I learned that no good deed goes unpunished.

Honestly, it’s his fault for making me run the store in the first place. I swear, he never learns.

You’d think my parents would give me a day off now that finals were coming up, but alas. That said, if they had given me the day off, I can’t guarantee I would’ve spent it studying. Nah, I probably would’ve crawled under the kotatsu to take a nap. Maybe they knew me too well. I looked out the window.

“Oh, here she comes again.”

Across the street, I saw a small figure dart out from between the closed-down cigarette shop and the building next to it—a weird little girl with bright blue hair. She waved at us gleefully with both hands as she ran over to the store. Lately she came by every evening, always to buy the same thing.

Sure enough, she walked into the store, stood on her tiptoes, and held up three stubby little fingers.

“I’d like three croquettes, please.”

“The usual? Coming right up.”

This time I didn’t mention the night market. Instead, I passed the order on to the kitchen, where my dad dished up three croquettes fresh out of the fryer. I took them, nestled them into a to-go container, and handed them to the girl in exchange for her coins. Without missing a beat, she opened the lid and devoured one right there on the spot.

“Sho good!”

Satisfied, she walked out, crossed the street, and disappeared between the buildings once more. Idly, I wondered to myself whether she came here for fun, or if her parents had sent her. But no matter how many times she came by, my poor dad could never quite get used to seeing her around. He always froze up like a deer in headlights.

Apparently she was friends with Hino. No surprise there—Hino had a lot of weird friends. Not me, though. I was normal.

Once my mom finished her chores, she walked out to the counter and told me she’d take over for me, so I was free to go back into the house. And since I was an honest girl living an honest life, I did as I was told.

Before I left, however, I looked up at the sign hanging overhead: NAGAFUJI’S MEATS. Always made me hungry just looking at it—especially the “MEATS” part. I liked to look at it every time I came home. Come to think of it, maybe this sign was what inspired my childhood nickname, “Beefuji.” The longer I gazed at it, the hungrier I got, so I decided to hurry on inside.

Once I passed through the threshold in the back of the store, I kicked off my shoes and stepped into the living room. After the lunch rush, the whole house would always smell like fryer oil. Since I lived here, I never really noticed it, but one of my friends would always say it made her hungry. As it happened, that friend—Hino—was currently lounging under our kotatsu table, eating kidney beans and watching TV.

As I entered, she turned and looked at me. Then she grinned and handed me her empty Styrofoam container.

“Gimme a refill!”

“Go home.”

I ignored her demand, walked around to the other side of the table, and slid in. Hino turned back to the TV. Why does she spend so much time at my house? One minute we were just two kids who went to the same preschool, and then she came over to my house one day and ate croquettes with me. I don’t remember how we met, but I remember we used to call each other by our first names. Then at some point early on in elementary school, we switched to last names and kept it that way.

Hino was really short back then. Not once did she ever outgrow me in terms of height.

“How come you never get any taller, anyway?” I mused aloud, gazing at her pensively.

“You wanna go, punk?!” She reached out for my chest, but I smacked her hand away.

Come to think of it, she preferred fish over red meat—could that be it? Was it the fish? That’s hilarious. Then again, my mom loved fish too, and she was huge. Maybe Hino just wasn’t trying hard enough. Not like it really mattered how tall she was, anyway. She was always somewhere nearby, so I didn’t have to search for her too hard.

Then it occurred to me: Looking back, I’d managed to memorize Hino’s name really quickly, hadn’t I? Maybe I was just excited to make my very first friend. Now, though? Now I was used to her the same way I was used to the smell of fryer oil—her presence was a given. Not like anybody ever really paid attention to the air they were breathing, you know?

“Have you ever forgotten what my name is?” I asked.

“…You seriously think I’m stupid, don’t you?” She sat up, leaned forward, and rested her chin on the table, all the while glaring at me. For some reason she kept arriving at this same conclusion, even though it wasn’t my intention at all. Better question: Why did everyone seem to think I was stupid? It was a total mystery.

“Oh yeah, and there was that other thing,” I mused to myself as I reminisced. Gosh, that takes me back. I couldn’t remember why we used to do it, but oh well. I decided to give it a try.

I slid out from under the kotatsu and beckoned to her. “Come here for a sec.” Then I took my glasses off. Back in those days, my eyesight was a lot better.

“What do you want? You gonna give me something?”

“Yeah.”

“Ooh, really?” She crawled on all fours in my direction. Was she hoping for more kidney beans? What a little scamp. I reached out to her.

“Wha—?”

Then I lifted up her bangs and pressed my lips to her little forehead. Sure enough, it was every bit as firm as it was back then. A little chilly, though. ’Tis the season and all that.

Hino froze for a moment. Then I gave her a lick, and she jumped backwards, leaning her entire upper body away from me. Eyes wide, she reached up and touched her forehead. This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. Back in the day, she’d always get her revenge by doing it right back. We’d spend the whole day doing it, too.

“Wh-where did that come from?!”

“Oh, I was just thinking about how we used to do that all the time when we were little.”

Hino’s eyes darted around nervously. “Oh…right…gotcha. But we’re not kids anymore, y’know? We’re…uhh…”

“So? Has anything really changed?” I asked.

She fell silent, glanced around a bit more, then slumped her shoulders in defeat. “Not really, no.”

“We’re the same as ever,” I agreed.

She grinned, still holding her bangs up. And as I looked back at her, it all clicked.

Sure, maybe nobody ever paid attention to the air…but you could still feel it against your skin.