Chapter 2: The Other End of the Calendar

Chapter 2:
The Other End of the Calendar

 

TO REACH MY maternal grandparents’ house, we traveled along the river, heading upstream. You could see it from every road we drove down. And because we always came to visit in the summer, the sunlight would always glint off the water’s surface directly into my eyes. Somehow I forgot about it every year.

It was the same old river, but the water was perpetually changing, like the flow of time itself. Maybe I’ve gotten a little taller, I mused to myself, chin in hand.

We traveled from the dry countryside waaay out to the boonies, where everything smelled fresh and earthy. This was still the same prefecture, and yet it already looked nothing like home. We passed over a big, spiraling bridge, then headed along the river once more. Then, around the time the buildings started looking their age and dull mountain colors took over a majority of the scenery, we drove over one more tiny bridge and arrived at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

Their driveway was disproportionately huge—bigger than their whole house, maybe. Atop the poorly drained soil, I could see a depression in the center with a murky puddle of what I assumed was probably rainwater. There were no trees in sight, and yet as we got out of the car, I could hear cicadas wailing at me from every direction. Talk about surround sound.

Between the driveway and the house was a thin layer of overgrown vegetation that served as an outside barrier. This was actually the back of the house. It was a lot of hassle to have to walk all the way around to the front door, so for the most part, any relatives that visited would use the back door. At the midpoint, a doghouse with a dingy roof sat empty, no longer in use. I peeked inside just to check, but all that remained of its occupant was a single folded blanket, so I promptly walked away.

As I walked across the bare earth, the heat and scent wafted up from underfoot. This burnt smell always made me feel like I was home again. My vision began to blur like I was underwater…or maybe it was just the summer heat getting to me.

If he died, I would have heard about it by now, so he’s still alive, right? Thinking back to how old and weak he looked last year, I followed my parents in through the back door. As we crossed over the threshold, we were met with a gust of cool air.

“I’m hoooome!” my mother called cheerfully.

“Come on in,” came the prompt response. “Grandpa’s over at the neighbor’s house, but he’ll be back soon.”

There, we were greeted by my grandmother, plus the four-legged resident of the house, lying on the floor. But the second we spotted each other, we both looked up.

“Gon!”

I shot past my mother, calling his name. He was an old dog with missing teeth, poor hearing, and cataracts in his left eye, but he was wagging his tail like he was in good spirits. When I crouched down, he hopped up and hugged me with his full weight, resting his head on my shoulder. I ran a hand along his bony spine in greeting. I only got to see him during the Bon Festival, so this was our yearly reunion. I nuzzled my face against his rough, bristly fur.

“Grrrr. Why does he like you more than me?” my little sister pouted. Since she was the designated animal lover of the family, it was probably a blow to her pride.

“Well, he’s known me longer, that’s all.”

We had first met when we were both little, back when he was first adopted as a puppy, and now he was an old grandpa. Our friendship had spanned a good ten years now.

“He woke up as soon as Hougetsu walked in the door! Must’ve smelled her,” Grandma laughed. She hadn’t changed a bit since I was a kid, which was honestly impressive.

Unfortunately, the same didn’t apply to Gon. Over the years, he grew bigger and bigger, and then…he grew old. When we were little, he would always jump up to greet me when I arrived; sometimes he’d even pee a little in his excitement. These days, he was much calmer, of course, but I wanted to believe that in his heart, he was still just as thrilled as I was.

My grandparents used to have another dog too, but that one passed away two years ago. Later, I planned to go out and visit his resting place…but once I got there, I could already tell I’d probably start questioning myself again. There was one thing I just couldn’t remember for the life of me.

“Oh, Hougetsu, you dyed your hair back!”

“Ow!”

Grandma tugged on a strand of my hair—a small strand, sure, but it still hurt.

“Nee-chan finally gave up being a bad kid,” my sister announced. Apparently, the mere act of dyeing my hair was enough to label me a delinquent. Kids these days.

“Well, that’s a shame! You looked better with the lighter hair.”

“What, really?” No one had ever complimented my bleach job, other than the hairstylist herself, which…well, of course she would.

“Darn tootin’,” she assured me with a grin. She’s totally lying.

“Oh, they’re all here! Sorry, folks. Got caught up in conversation,” my grandfather called as he walked in through the front door.

Then another old guy came in after him. This man reeked of dirt so intensely, being in his orbit made me gag. By birth or by sun exposure, his skin was a deep tan color, which contrasted sharply with his bright white beard. He was wearing a blue turban and clothes so baggy, he looked like a desert-dweller. Frankly, I was amazed he could tolerate the heat in all those layers.

Meanwhile, my sister discreetly positioned herself behind me. This man was no stranger to us, but maybe she didn’t remember him.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Iwaya!” my mother exclaimed like a child.

The man smiled at her, eyes crinkling. “Hello there, Yoshika-chan.”

“Yoshika-chan”? Never in my life had I heard anyone address my mother like she was five.

“What’s that look for?” my mother snapped, quickly detecting my reaction.

“I mean, it’s just weird. Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“Rude! Hougetsu, you little brat!”

She tugged on my ear from behind; Gon looked at her and barked angrily, which was a real blow to my eardrums, since his mouth was inches from my face. Then it hit me.

“Hee hee hee!”

When I realized Gon had stood up for me, I was so tickled, I started to giggle.

“Hmmm…” My mother pulled her hand away and pressed it to her chin. When I didn’t take the bait, she continued of her own accord. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Wouldn’t it be cute to call you ‘Houge-choo’?”

Where on earth did that come from?

“Houge…choooo!”

“Ugh! Stop!” Sometimes I really couldn’t understand her.

But by the time I looked up again, the two old fogeys had disappeared. “They left to go play mah-jongg,” Grandma sighed when she noticed me looking around. Evidently, Grandpa was still as free-spirited as ever. Not even a family visit could keep him cooped up at home.

As I smiled, I caught sight of Gon’s wagging tail. His fur had seen better days, and energy-wise, he was barely a shadow of his old self.

“Gon…”

Again, I called his name and stroked his back. My chest felt humid on the inside, like my heart was sweating.

Next, we all split up to drop off our luggage. Leaving Gon behind, my sister and I headed to the room allotted to us, which was located on the second floor. It was the first door right next to the narrow staircase; supposedly, it was our mom’s old room. It was barely wide enough to fit the bed, which already wasn’t that big to begin with, and it was a total pigsty. No one had ever bothered to tidy it up after Mom moved out, I guess.

Directly at the foot of the bed was a closet full of old Shonen Jump manga magazines. The closet doors depicted a distant city skyline; at night, when we turned the lights off, I would always stare at it from under the covers and feel at peace. Judging from the beach and the palm trees, maybe it was meant to be a foreign country. Either way, my ordinary life was pretty far removed from either of those things.

“Ugh, I hate this tiny bed.”

I always had to share it with my sister, so perhaps it was no surprise that it seemed to shrink and shrink with each passing year. At this point, my sister was probably growing more than I was. Or am I just getting fat? I pinched my stomach through my clothes.

“It’d be bigger if you lost weight,” my sister remarked boldly.

“Wa ha ha!” Naturally, she received her just deserts for that smart-ass comment.

“Bleeegh…”

Afterward, I left her rolling around on the floor and headed downstairs. When I looked around for Gon, I quickly found him in a dark corner of the airy living room, lying on the floor as if in defeat. His eyes were closed, but when I approached, he slowly looked up at me. I waved to let him know I was just saying hi. He seemed to understand, because he closed his eyes again—peacefully, like the wail of the cicadas didn’t even bother him.

It felt like everything in Gon’s periphery had lost all color…as if he’d expended all of his energy just celebrating our reunion. Wow, you must have been really happy to see me, huh? Me too, buddy. At least, I think so.

I sat cross-legged right next to him, mouth closed, holding my breath, just…sharing my air with him. In the past, there were two dogs around, but now with Gon asleep, there was no one left to fill the house with the sound of barking. The one that passed away was adopted before Gon arrived, so he was even older. But because I first met him when he was a big dog, he didn’t take to me quite as much as Gon did.

When I found out that he died, did I cry? This was the one thing that, try as I might, I couldn’t quite remember. You’d think there’d be a telltale warmth in my eyes or an ache in my chest, but it just…didn’t click. Given this heat, maybe I just couldn’t tell the difference between sweat and tears.

“……”

Gon was growing weaker with each passing day. When I first laid eyes on him last year, I started to worry that he might not make it to this year. And now here I was, wondering if he would make it to next year.

When Gon dies, will I cry?

Whenever I asked myself this question, something dark and murky clogged my chest, suffocating me.

 

***

 

It felt like I had drawn a raffle ticket that didn’t win anything. For the next three days, I would have a zero percent chance of encountering Shimamura on the street. Without that possibility, my life was so bland. The whole town was colorless and dead. I didn’t even feel like leaving my house.

So instead I sat in my air-conditioned room and agonized over the slowly ticking clock. I would slump forward over the table, then occasionally straighten up again to stave off the restlessness. Three days was an eternity…or, more accurately, three days without Shimamura was an eternity. Three days with her was hardly longer than a blink.

As the boredom and frustration gnawed at me, it became all too apparent that my entire life was centered on Shimamura. That fact in and of itself was fine, but…without her around, I was miserable. My hands fidgeted as I contemplated calling or emailing. But I didn’t want to bother her, and besides, I didn’t have much to say.

My days off were always exceedingly dull, with nothing worth talking about. Hanging out with Shimamura was easily the highlight of my life…even if it did result in me acting like a weirdo half the time. Hard to say if I was making any real progress.

I straightened up and looked at the calendar hanging on the wall. It was completely blank, save for the mark I put on the day of Shimamura’s return. Not sure why I bothered putting one at all, frankly, since I wasn’t likely to forget, and the sight of it made my chest ache like someone was yanking on my heartstrings.

Next, I paced around and around the room. I was so antsy, I couldn’t sit still. It hadn’t even been a full day, and already I was desperate to be with Shimamura again.

After a while, I jumped onto my bed and sat cross-legged. Then I fell forward and buried my face in my blanket, turning my vision pitch-black. If only I could spend all three days in this perfect void… I closed my eyes to endure it. But I no longer liked the color black, because now I had learned that something beautiful was waiting for me on the other side of my eyelids.

What colors did Shimamura like? Come to think of it, I still didn’t know the answer to what was inarguably one of the most basic questions. My understanding of Shimamura was still riddled with holes. But thankfully, I had the ambition to fill those holes one by one. If I didn’t know something, then all I had to do was ask.

Having thought of a topic worthy of discussion, I grabbed my phone and typed out an email that read:

“May I ask what your favorite color is?”

Belatedly, I tilted my head in confusion. Wait, why did I make it sound so formal? While I waited for her response, I put my hands in the gap between my crossed legs and swayed from side to side. A short while later, I got an email back that read:

“I like blue and white, I guess?”

“Oh, wow,” I murmured aloud. I was expecting her to say she didn’t have a favorite color, so this came as a bit of a surprise.

Then I thought back to her bleached hair. She really rocked that look… I cursed myself for not taking more pictures of her while I had the chance. But of course, she still looked great with her natural hair, so I decided I would get a selfie with her as soon as she came home.

Ahem. Anyway, blue and white, huh?

I opened my closet to look at my clothes, but I didn’t have much in the way of blue, and hardly any white either. Clearly, I would need to go shopping. But if I bought clothes in Shimamura’s favorite colors, then maybe we’d end up accidentally matching… Would she remember that I asked and realize I was doing it on purpose? Would it creep her out?

Maybe I could tell her those are my favorite colors too. I hadn’t even bought the clothes yet and already I was getting nervous. God, I’m such a terminal case.

As far as underwear was concerned, I probably didn’t need to worry about the colors. Not like she’d ever have the opportunity to see them…right…? The thought made my brain go all hazy, and I felt the sudden urge to slam my face into the closet door. Instead, I pressed my forehead against it and nuzzled until my skin hurt.

Once I was calm again, I pulled out the swimsuit sitting folded on the edge of the shelf. Thus far, I had only worn it once, but… Maybe I should go buy another…? Something told me I wouldn’t get another opportunity to go swimming with Shimamura this summer, but…still…

I looked up at the bottom half of the calendar. Summer vacation was only half over, and summer was called “swimsuit season” for a reason. There was no telling where things might lead. Hence, I started thinking maybe it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

Fortunately for me, I had plenty of money to spare, thanks to my part-time job. I had only started working there as a way of killing time, and by this point, I had saved up a decent little nest egg, but I still had no outlet for it. I had no hobbies and nothing I really wanted to save up for. But lately, I had come to understand that this was precisely the kind of situation in which that money came in handy. It really felt like I was spending wisely, you know? Yes, this was a very educational experience. Probably.

As it happened, I was scheduled to work today. When the time came, I left the house in the clothes I was already wearing. The instant I walked outside, I was greeted by the drone of the cicadas, though it felt a bit softer today. Summer was already past its peak.

The first half overwhelmed me with its heat, both physically and emotionally…so what was waiting for me in the second half?

I pedaled my bike, miserably sweating up a storm, until at last I arrived at the Chinese restaurant. But when I got there, I found the name of the place had changed. Now there was a different dilapidated sign hanging over the entrance. That said, nothing about the interior or the food or the staff had changed whatsoever, so I couldn’t really see the point of it. Maybe there was some feng shui aspect I was missing. Either way, it gave me bad vibes. Businesses that had to resort to cheap tricks were destined to go bankrupt.

I walked in through the side entrance, then stepped into the office-turned-changing room to get dressed. Only then did I realize: my cheongsam was blue. Maybe that was why Shimamura seemed to like it.

Tugging the hem, I walked out to the dining room, and my manager promptly waddled over, followed by a girl I didn’t recognize.

“New hire, summer break only. You teach her, okay?”

As the manager spoke, the new girl stepped forward. Since she was young, naturally, they had put her in a cheongsam just like me, except hers was red and embroidered with plum blossoms. And unlike me, she didn’t seem embarrassed to wear it—maybe she had embraced the rare opportunity to wear this kind of dress. Oh, and her legs were ridiculously long.

“Nice to meet you, Senpai.”

“Uhhh…sure.”

Before now, all my coworkers were older than me. But then at some point, they all quit, or…got reassigned to some other restaurant, I guess. These Taiwanese-managed restaurants were all buddy-buddy with each other, so it happened all the time, and we lowly employees never got much of a say in the matter. Wait, but why would they hire a new person when we’re hardly ever busy as it is? Or am I just paranoid because of the name change?

Not like I even really needed this job. I’d already saved up enough “Shimamura money” to tide me over for a while.

“Hey, hey.”

My new not-quite-disciple called out to me, so I shot her a questioning look, and she smiled. Now that someone else was wearing a cheongsam along with me, I realized just how eye-catching the glossy fabric actually was.

“You don’t really seem like you’re in charge. Are you younger than me?”

Apparently, she assumed the answer was yes, because she had already dropped all pretense of formality. So I didn’t answer…and yet she refused to leave my side.

“Hmmm…” The new “junior” employee put a hand to her chin and tilted her head pensively, and I could feel my hackles rising. “Y’know, kid, I think I might know you from somewhere.”

If I had chosen to have this conversation, maybe it would have led to a different story altogether. If I had paid attention to the person in front of me, maybe something would have taken root. But I didn’t need any of that.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know you.”

I shot her down and walked off. Maybe she was just trying to be friendly, but to me, it felt pushy—the polar opposite of the comfortable silence I often found with Shimamura. But Shimamura was generally pretty friendly with me too, so what was different? I ruminated on it between customers.

Naturally, the more I thought about Shimamura, the more distracted I became. My imagination spiraled out of control, and try as I might to convince myself I shouldn’t walk around smiling like an idiot, it only made me think about her more. It was a vicious circle, as they say. But hey, at least I felt great.

There was a fire inside me that burned hotter than any air conditioning could cool. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what the root cause was—in fact, if I did, it might ruin the whole thing. But somehow I could feel it in my core: Shimamura was the only one for me.

 

***

 

Whenever we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, we always had the same thing for dinner: pork and chicken cutlets, beloved by Japanese kids everywhere. A giant mountain of them, in fact—and don’t forget the miso sauce on top, our local tradition. The mere sight was enough to transport me straight back to childhood. But here in reality, I was already taller than Grandma sitting across from me.

My sister and I pressed our hands together to say grace, and by the time we lowered them, my mother had already started eating. She poured on a ton of miso and stuffed her face like a little kid. But when she grinned at Grandma, I remembered: she was their kid. She had spent her whole childhood right here in this house.

“Ahh, I love coming home. This way I don’t have to cook,” my mother gloated.

“Hey!” Grandma snapped. “Save some for the kids!”

“It’s fine, Grandma.” Honestly, there was so much on the table, I could already tell we’d be having leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

“We can always make more,” Grandpa nodded. At this, we all shook our heads, including my father, who hardly ate much as it was.

If Yashiro were here, she could probably vacuum up an inhuman amount of this food… Was she surviving on her own without us? She didn’t break into our house after we left, did she? I felt compelled to keep an eye on her…for multiple reasons. Maybe she was already the Shimamura family pet in my mind.

As I poured the miso sauce over my cutlets, my eyes wandered to Gon lying in the corner of the kitchen, nibbling at some bread that Grandma had crumbled up for him. The amount was so slight, you could mistake it for birdseed, and he was eating it reluctantly, like he was too tired to even chew. In the past, he used to devour anything you gave him and beg for more… Come to think of it, he kinda reminded me of Adachi.

Not that Adachi was quite that annoying, of course. Well, except for when she freaked out at me the other day. She kept babbling on and on, and I couldn’t remotely tell what she was trying to express—and she was so emotional, I didn’t dare ask her to repeat herself all over again—so I just kind of…hung up on her. She was sobbing so hard, all her words slurred together, and I could barely parse any of it.

I mean, from my perspective, it sounded like:

“I dowa you hag fun thout me! Or holg hansh summer girl—just me! I wayou bewit me! I wand take yufesval myself! I wanbe der why your smiligand have fund! Thasat I wanded! Myad urso much cuz I’bn thinkaba you nostob in loosig my minin…I’s wading fyout call! Whydn yever call meer starda cobnsation? Whysit always avabe me? Don you…donya careboume eva liddel? Nothig? Noddeven a bid? Just freds? Jusregur freds? I dowannbe regurfreb—jus wassteb bovat! Thassall I wan… Shibamura, whaddyou wamme do? Well? Shimabura, ayu liddenig? Reay listed. How you feewhen you hemy voidce? Dyou feessomthin? I wand youf feessomthind, anythid, evajus cofford. Thassat I wand. Issat sorong, Shibabura?! Cuz is you! You’re the wannawan! I donwan ennyn eld oneed ennyn eld—I onneed you. Is irely so seffisa wan won me’s lesteb? Just one! I donc arebout ennyn eld—I don wannem arou—so I’d you? Jusgom fide me adbe wisme ansday wisme andon lead! I donwan ennyn bean wishoe sep me. I wanbe therith you, so jusled me! Hooebe is she? I donnoer. I dowan you turnind some in I donno! I wanno ebthin bout you; I donwan yookeeb anthin frobme. I haynot noig cuz it heard! It heard so much, Shiamura… I’das you hang out, budeye wannid taykoo fesval. I wandgo wissue, bud yuwenwid her! Ayou hagout wifer? Wherer you rinnow? Ayou wiher, Shigamura? Shiadura, ayou liddenig? Issike I’bin talgindo abbrig wall is hole tibe. Norblyou talga lot more. Why? Whas diberend? Abeye diberend? Yeah, I musbe. Igandell. But I wanno…I wanno bouyou so badiss messinme up. I donwanbe part frob you… I wanbe wisyou ald tibe… I dond gare wheriare long is we’re todeth… But I’ven seeyou anni miss you budifee medup ride now I thinguy cry… I ball red grying… I geep wobring hooshies in whashie is do you… Ayou stilidning? Woyou radderbe is her in wime? Abbi nogood enoud? Whappar me is in good enoud? I worgon it, sojusdell me… Iffixit, I swear, so pleajusdell me… I wanno… You’re reay spesal me, yunno it? Evif sudwon elsis zakly like youn every way—budere not, soat dozen matter! Jus forgedall that! It hasbe you! I wanus gedalog, but isjus… I wand talk bout moren justice, bud canstob thinkibout it… I me you were smiling! I donwan you smilig enywonnoo isnme! Issucks, yuno? Donyou evefeelike that? Hayou evehadda grush? Dyou haffeeligs someone? Or enywon adall? Dyou knowat lubbis? Somtibe I gescare, wodderig why youste wimme. I mewe freds, anwe? I thig were aleas freds. Dyou thig we freds? Duzit… Hhhnn… Shiabura, say sothig. Lemme heyour voidce. Talk bout me… I wanyou unstan me beddern…beddern enyon. I wanno you, an wanyou know me. I wanyou be my nubber one, ani wanbe yours…”

Needless to say, it felt like someone was pouring overcooked porridge directly into my ear. Still, in hindsight, I could have been a bit nicer about it… Maybe I should have worked up the courage and asked her to repeat it after all.

“Hmmm…”

I mulled it over as I chewed a bite of chicken. It’d be awkward to bring it up again, so the safest option was probably to just forget it ever happened. But something told me that if I procrastinated on this problem instead of actually solving it, it would come back to bite me later on. Sort of like procrastinating on homework.

Soon, summer break would be over and the second semester would start. Most likely I’d spent the rest of the year in class instead of hiding in the gym loft…and if I had to guess, Adachi would too.

“Nee-chan, you’re making a miso ocean.”

“Huh?” At this, I looked down at my plate to find my cutlets drowning in a sauce swamp. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Hastily, I rescued each one, but it was too late. Their crispy batter had gone completely soggy.

“Ha ha!” My mother snickered like a little kid, pointing at me with her chopsticks and flicking globs of miso everywhere.

“Ugh. Remind me not to grow up to be like you.”

“Please. You couldn’t be like me if you tried.”

I wasn’t even annoyed—just baffled that we were fighting all of a sudden.

“That reminds me, Mom, how’s your knee? You said it was hurting, right?” she asked Grandma, her chin sticky with miso. I hadn’t heard anything about this, so I wasn’t sure what exactly had reminded her.

Everyone looked at Grandma, who chewed her chicken and nodded. “All better now,” she answered curtly.

“Really?”

“When you get to be my age, some part of your body’s always in bad shape,” she replied dismissively, like she was avoiding the subject.

At this, I looked over at Gon, his milky left eye staring into space from the corner of the kitchen. To me, it seemed like every part of him was in bad shape. Hopefully, he wasn’t in pain though.

What did Gon seek from the world, now that his freedom was slowly being sapped away? Peace? Release? Or…something more optimistic?

“Blegh… Too salty.” Unsurprisingly, the sauce overdose had rendered these cutlets well nigh inedible…and I still had a whole ocean of miso sauce left on my plate.

“Better eat it all up! Better not leave any! Better lick the plate if you have to!”

As it turned out, I didn’t especially enjoy reaping what I’d sowed.

 

***

 

I set my new swimsuit and my cell phone side by side. Nope, this still didn’t make much sense. I looked at each of them in turn. Should I show Shimamura and ask her what she thinks? Seems stupid. Like, really stupid. Fortunately, the fact that I realized this prior to taking action meant my brain was relatively functional today…and yet I still wanted to get her opinion.

Granted, I didn’t have to ask her outright; I could always arrange an opportunity to wear it and find out then. Should I invite her to something? I bent forward, leaning close to the phone. Just because we already went to the pool once didn’t mean we couldn’t go back a second time. Or I could invite her somewhere else. I had no shortage of places I wanted to take her. A summer festival, the aquarium, the planetarium…

When my parents took me to these places, I learned a lot, but had trouble expressing my feelings. This time, however, I was confident I could be more open with my emotions. As long as I was with Shimamura, anywhere we went had value.

So let’s call her, I told myself, spurring on my cold feet. If I kept hesitating, I’d miss another chance.

I still hadn’t forgotten the night I saw her walk past. The memory made a dark heat well up in my eyes. That night at the summer festival, Shimamura was walking side by side with some other girl, smiling at her…

Who was she, anyway? I wanted to know, but I didn’t want Shimamura to tell me. I didn’t want to hear about her other friendships; the words would stab my eardrums like a hot poker, and I’d lose whatever composure was currently keeping my emotions safely beneath the water’s surface. If I exploded at her like last time, she would probably cut ties with me for good…and that was the one thing I could not abide.

Thus, I needed to keep myself in check. But every time I thought about Shimamura or met up with her, I could feel the water levels rising, waves crashing like an unruly ocean, depicting the storm in my heart. I couldn’t let myself lose control, and yet distancing myself wasn’t the right answer either. But I lacked the experience to know how to gauge these things by sight alone. Objectively speaking, I was immature…and that immaturity was goading me onward to the day highlighted on my calendar.

Just three more days… What was Shimamura doing right now, all the way on the other end of the calendar? I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to connect with her, if only over the phone. At least then I could be sure she was thinking about me.

Passion superseded fear, and I reached for my phone. But I didn’t want to call her up out of the blue, so I decided to ask permission with a quick email:

“May I call you?”

…Seriously, why was I always so formal?

 

***

 

“Thing is, I’m over at my grandpa’s house. In an even smaller town, if you can believe it.”

“Ooh, gotcha. I forgot that’s what you always do for the Bon Festival.”

At long last, the sun had mercifully sunk beneath the horizon, leaving behind a night of chirping cicadas. I walked through the shadowy soundscape as I talked with Tarumi over the phone. She had invited me to hang out tomorrow, but obviously, I had to turn her down. This seemed to remind her of the past somehow.

“I feel like you used to bring me souvenirs too…”

“I did?”

“Uhhhh… Maybe not? Not like our prefecture’s got any specialty products, I guess.”

“Sure we do! We’ve got persimmons, and sweetfish, and…kurikinton…?” This prefecture was my home, but I only had an outsider’s view of it.

I crouched down in front of the doghouse. Grandpa’s house was small, and the walls were thin, so I had chosen to take the phone call outside. It really drove home just how useful cell phones could be… Great, now I sound like an old person.

“I swear, there’s nothing good about our town… Shima-chan, haven’t you ever thought about moving to the big city?”

“Hmmm…”

“You know, enroll at a college in Tokyo? Or even just a college in Nagoya!”

Judging from her tone and choice of words, Tarumi wanted to get away from the countryside. But…would a different city really be that much better?

Everybody always acted like big cities were inherently superior for some reason. Some of the older kids I used to play with went to Tokyo and never came back. Maybe Tarumi could see the same appeal they saw.

“No, I haven’t thought about it. I don’t even know if I’m going to college at all,” I answered honestly.

“WHAT?!” came the startled reply. “Really? You’re just gonna get a JOB?”

Her voice was louder now—was it really that hard to believe? I didn’t have the motivation to study for four more years. My mom would just tell me not to go.

“Yeah, assuming I can find one, anyway. And I think I’d rather stay here.”

Maybe I could work at a local bakery somewhere. I liked bread, and I had some connections… Granted, maybe it wasn’t that simple. But I couldn’t think of a job I actually wanted. I had no prospects.

It was too dark to see inside the doghouse. No one lived there anymore.

“Hmmm. Wow… Well, okay.”

Her voice probed around me, like a wild animal tentatively approaching something it didn’t understand. Once she identified me by scent, how would she react…? I decided to change the subject before I could find out.

“So was that your way of asking for a souvenir?”

“Huh? No, no, nothing like that. Not at all… But I mean, hey, if you did want to get me something…” She trailed off, laughing. Yep, she’s totally trying to be slick.

Casually, I put my hand in the doghouse. In the darkness, something felt off about the blanket I touched, so I grabbed it and pulled it out. I was expecting something stiff and scratchy, but instead it was soft. I brought it close to my face.

It was an old turquoise blanket I had bought long ago. But in contrast with the dirty doghouse, it was clean. Someone had washed this blanket and brought it back out here—back to a home that had lost its only resident.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Reflexively, I searched for my grandmother beyond the darkness.

“Shima-chan?”

“Oh, uhh, it’s nothing. If I see a cool souvenir, I’ll get it for you,” I blurted hastily.

“No, no, you don’t have to! I mean…you know…it’s not about the souvenir. It’s about you,” she blurted just as quickly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…I want to see you again, that’s all. You’re all I really…need, I guess? Uhh, I think maybe I said too much. Yeah, definitely said too much!”

Half-listening to Tarumi’s long, apologetic tangent, I returned the blanket to its proper place. Was this what it meant to “feel sentimental”? Cold air rushed into the empty hole in my chest, and it stung.

“I feel like I’m only gonna dig myself deeper, so uhhh, I think I’ll run along now!” Tarumi announced cheerfully, though it sure didn’t seem like something she was meant to be cheerful about.

“Not sure I get it, but okay.”

“Let’s meet up again when you’re back in town, Shima-chan!”

“Okay!” And with that, I promptly ended the call.

Then, ten seconds later, I got an email from Adachi: “May I call you?”

“Gosh, I’m so popular,” I joked to myself.

Adachi always asked permission first. While it did seem like it would be tiring to have to ask before every little phone call, I could appreciate the effort to be polite and considerate. It spoke volumes about her moral fiber.

“Yes, ma’am,” I wrote back, and without missing a beat, my phone rang. It was kinda cute. I could picture her sitting cross-legged on her bed, waiting patiently.

“Hey hey!”

“Hello?”

Somehow, the order felt backward.

“Shimamura?”

“Hey heyyyy!” I repeated, louder and longer this time. I could hear the chirping of some insect I didn’t recognize.

“Uhh…are you in a good mood or something?”

“Not really. I’ve just been talking for a while already, so I’m all warmed up, I guess? I was on the phone with another friend just now.”

I decided to just be honest with her. Would she get upset again? To tell the truth, she could be a real hassle sometimes. Not that I was perfect at social stuff myself, but man, she was somehow even worse than me. She seemed desperate to make our friendship work, and I was a little bit curious to learn why…but I knew if I asked, things would probably get messy again. So instead I let it go. But maybe that was why she blew up last time—because I never gave her the opportunity to explain herself.

Our friendship was complicated, but perhaps that was to be expected when one of us was a total enigma.

“Hggghh…”

It was the sound of something being inhaled—Adachi was taking a deep breath, I guess. Kinda sounded like she was holding something back.

“So…h-how are you doing out there?” Her voice was hard, but she was making an effort to continue the conversation. It wasn’t quite natural, but definitely an improvement.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you…reliving old memories, or…enjoying the fresh air, or something? I wouldn’t know what it’s like out there.”

“Oh… Yeah, I’ve been thinking about the past, I guess,” I lied. Then I ran from what was hiding on the other side of the lie. “How was your day today?”

“Mine? Well, uh, I went to work…”

“Ooh, how very responsible.”

“And then on my way home I bought a swimsuit.”

“A swimsuit? Don’t you already have one?” I thought back to our trip to the pool and her classy little one-piece.

“I do, but um…I figured I should probably have an extra, just in case.”

“Oh, interesting. Going to the beach or something?”

She was a little old to be going with her parents, though. Not that she would.

“Well, um…uhhhh…y-yeah, totally. With you.”

“What? That’s funny; I don’t remember making plans to go to the beach.”

“No, I was just…thinking it’d be cool to go with you sometime! How about it?!”

Her invitation was so aggressive, she practically bit my ear off. It really threw me for a loop. Her voice was all wavery and pitchy too… Classic Adachi, I guess.

“I mean, yeah, it’d be cool. But we’re nowhere near the ocean.”

“Uhhh…o-okay then, the river!”

“I don’t know about that. It’s dangerous to play in the river.”

That was what a certain someone once told me after she slipped and cut her head open on a rock at the riverbed.

“Okay then, uhhh…a pond…?”

If I said no, I had the feeling she’d invite me to a swamp next. Apparently, she really wanted to go to a body of water somewhere. Heck, maybe she’d settle for a communal bathhouse if it meant she could show off her new swimsuit… Was it really that cute? Now I was curious.

“Hey, you should send me a picture.”

“Wh-what? A picture of what?”

“Your swimsuit!” I teased.

“What for…?” she mumbled. But I could hear her voice grow distant, so clearly she had decided to oblige. Well, that was easy. Maybe she really did want to show off her cute swimsuit. I lowered my phone from my ear while I waited, and sure enough, I received an email a short while later with an image attached.

It was a photo of the swimsuit lying on her bed. Incidentally, it was my favorite shade of blue. Hmmm. Not wrong, per se, but not what I wanted.

“I want to see you wearing it, silly.”

“Wh-wh-why, though? What for?”

“Try again, please.”

I ignored her confusion and repeated my request. I didn’t have an answer to her question; I just wanted to see her reaction, that’s all. I didn’t have a mirror on me, but I could feel myself smirking impishly. As I waited in silence like a total bully, I heard her move away from the phone.

She had decided to oblige, part two.

For some reason, I was really excited to see what she would send me…and sure enough, it met my every expectation.

“Ha ha!”

Her face was far more interesting than the swimsuit—she was trying to smile, but her embarrassment had clearly won out. Her lips were frozen in place, her bangs were sweaty and sticking to her forehead, and her eyes screamed, “Help me!” Her left arm was extended in the traditional selfie fashion, but because she was bent over, she kind of looked like she was doing a superhero pose. It was a still image, but I could practically see her trembling from head to toe.

“Ha ha ha ha! Thanks.”

I could hear some kind of faint thumping sound on the other end of the line, like she was punching a pillow or something.

“Pretty eye-catching, I gotta say.”

More thumps. The thought that she was punching her pillow in a swimsuit was somehow even funnier.

“So where do you want to wear your new swimsuit? The beach? The river? The swamp?” I pressed mischievously.

Hesitantly, she answered: “…The bathhouse.”

Wait, really? I pictured it and laughed. “Okay, then, let’s go once I get back.”

The communal bathhouse was not generally somewhere a couple of teen girls would hang out. But for a moment, I thought to myself: perhaps it was precisely that departure from social norms that kept me coming back to her.

After that, we chatted idly for a while longer. Oddly enough, the conversation was actually fun for a change. But eventually, I started getting thirsty, and when the chirping shifted from insects to birds, I decided to call it a night.

“Sleep well, Adachi.” Surprisingly enough, my voice was soft and kind. So kind, in fact, it alarmed me.

“Oh, um…g-good night, Shimamura-san.”

She addressed me formally for some reason. Reflexively, I bowed my head in return. Then I hung up the phone and let out a sigh.

So she bought a swimsuit, huh? I marveled at the steps she was taking to improve. All day long, I’d found myself thinking about Adachi here and there, but I certainly never anticipated this.

On the other end of the calendar, time was passing, and things were changing. Even when I wasn’t looking, life went on—births, deaths, chance encounters. Somewhere in the world, someone was facing a big problem; somewhere in the world, windmills were turning; somewhere in the world, someone just bought a Coke from a vending machine; somewhere in the world, deep-sea creatures were thriving.

Changing, creating, filling, aging, withering, fading. But I didn’t really understand all that. I was still every bit as innocent and ignorant as I was when I was a child.

I rested my arms on top of my bent knees and buried my face, listening to the faint sounds of my own breathing. But try as I might, I couldn’t find the overlap between myself and the younger me who crouched in front of this same doghouse all those years ago. No matter how long I waited here, no tears would ever come.

Just then, I heard a noise and looked up. The pressure against my eyes had turned my vision fuzzy, blurring the already indistinct darkness.

I had received an email from Adachi. Once again, it was just a single heart emoji.

“Is this part of her routine now…?”

I debated whether to respond, but ultimately decided to send a heart back. My heart is with you, Adachi! I joked to myself, playfully clutching my chest. But I was already pretty heartless, so I couldn’t afford to send much more.

I thought back to the ocean of miso at dinner. Life would probably be a lot more painful if my heart was all melty like that. But because I had avoided those sorts of confrontations, I was probably really fragile, actually. My heart and body were detached, and now I was incapable of detecting any changes.

I lowered my phone, gazed into the empty doghouse, and basked in the sleepy countryside. And as I listened to the whir of a bicycle in the distance, I thought back to the cityscape on my mother’s old closet.