BLANKMIND WORDS 2

Suddenly, my mind focused on the blurred sunlight on the other side of my eyelids. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times, as the senses in my previously sleeping body gradually stirred and awoke. That body, afloat and bobbing among the soothing waves of sound like a clear plastic bag, slowly regained its plodding weight—forcing me to feel the full shape of my form as it remained sunken in bed.

“Oh man,” I said, lowering my eyebrows. “I wish I could’ve slept a little longer.” But it was too late. I was a light sleeper to begin with. In a state like this, I had no way of making a return to that realm.

Resigned to my fate, I removed my earbuds. My ears were relieved of the pressure, and gradually blood flow returned. Turning off the music, I lay there while my eardrums were instead rattled by all the “sounds” that composed the real world. The hateful, blunt, pounding sounds of the outside world.

I sighed and propped up my heavy body. In the hopelessly ornate full-length mirror placed in front of me, I could see an equally extravagant canopy bed reflected back. The bleary-eyed, worn-out-looking person seated in the middle of it looked into the image.

“…Morning.”

The image’s mouth moved in tandem with mine.

Another odious morning began.

I stretched out my arms and looked toward the window. The bright, cheerful light of spring was working its way through the flowers of the dogwood tree outside, displaying a constant flicker. There was still a crispness in the air, but this tree always bloomed early, and it was showing signs of going into full flower soon. The wavering light-pink petals brought the term “delicate flower” to mind.

Delicate flower. Truthfully, I liked the way the words sounded, but I had always associated a negative image with the phrase. If anything, it provoked me to anger a little.

My name was “Tsubomi.” It was a word that, in Japanese, referred to a flower bud that hadn’t bloomed. I once asked my mom why she used a word like that for my name. I think she had said it was because “it’s a sign of all the potential you have—the potential to grow into your own delicate flower.”

I suppose a normal girl would jump up and down and shout, “Wow! That’s such a cute name! Thank you, Mother!” And that was how everyone reacted whenever they heard my name. Every single one. They always said, “What a lovely name that is” or whatever.

A word that the entire world loved. Delicate and filled with potential.

“…And what the hell’s so delicate about you?”

The image in the mirror defiantly glowered with a half-asleep glare. This was no budding flower. If anything, it was more like some kind of noxious weed. There was nothing at all about the name Tsubomi that suited me. Every time someone called me that, I felt like they were sneering. Like, “What’s so cute and bud-like about you, huh?”

I hated to say it to my mom, but to be honest, there wasn’t much about the name that I liked.

As my mind filled with gloom, I could see delicate little Tsubomi in the mirror clouding up her face in tandem, expression as dim as a burned-out bulb. I decided to finally get out of bed.

Putting on the slippers I had thrown off to the side the previous night, I began to walk toward the door. The place was fully air-conditioned—a comfortable temperature, not too warm. I trod along the carpet, decorated with symbolic patterns of some kind or another, and just as I almost reached the door, I heard knocking sounds.

“Ee…?!”

I instinctively let out a languid yelp, wholly unprepared. It wasn’t hot in that room, but I felt an uncomfortable sweat begin to form across my whole body.

My mind began to race. Mentally diagnosing how to correctly handle the knock, I immediately opened my mouth. And kept it there. It stayed open…But no matter what, I just couldn’t get the words to come out.

“You’re awake, aren’t you, Tsubomi? If you’re awake, why don’t you answer me?”

It was a cold, ringing voice on the other side of the door, as meticulously crafted as a high-quality obi, and it had strength behind it. I froze, like a frog in the sights of a snake.

No doubt about it. She was on the other side. I’d have to give the correct words in response, or…or…

But the more I thought about it, the more my mind began to jumble. Time passed.

“…All right, I’m opening up,” the voice said curtly as the door whirled open. There was my older sister, Rin Kido, the owner of the voice that froze me. Her hair, which had a little red to it, was tied back, her back straight up as she stood there. This early in the morning, and yet her posture didn’t reveal a single weakness.

Rin in Japanese could mean “dignified,” but also “cold” and “bitter,” and I didn’t think anyone had ever been given a more suitable name. She was great at everything—intelligent, beautiful, physically active. Nobody in this nation bore the name Rin better.

And here was this girl with a killer case of bed head, fresh from putting herself on the same level as weeds, trying to make her mouth work.

“Uhh…hhmmm…good, good mor…”

My sister sighed at the barely comprehensible syllables I uttered, forehead wrinkling in a show of pity, I assumed.

“Tsubomi, you know I’m not here to try to scare you or anything, okay?”

I knew that, of course. I knew she wasn’t the kind of person to get off on scaring me, and I also knew why that graceful face of hers was pouting at me. But even though I did, I just couldn’t connect my head to my mouth. No matter the reason, I just couldn’t say more than: “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Rin sharpened her eyes further. “Keeping quiet like that,” she growled, “you’re acting like some grass by the roadside, Tsubomi.”

Her words struck me like a knife. My frozen body gradually began to shake.

It was…difficult to speak in general. The doctor said there wasn’t anything wrong with my head or vocal cords or whatever, and I instinctively knew that already. If I was alone, in my room, I could chatter on with abandon. It was only when I was trying to talk to someone else that the words petered out on me.

Up until recently, I could still handle it. If someone wished me a good morning, I could wish them one back. Giving basic yes-or-no replies was never any kind of problem.

The reason it had gotten this bad was simple: One day, at the children’s center my mom took me to, I was with a boy who started making fun of my speech. That was the start of it. I don’t think anything he said was particularly cruel or abusive, either. The grown-ups around us didn’t see it as worth dwelling on, quickly ordering the boy to apologize so we could all drop the subject.

But no matter how much time passed, I couldn’t let it go.

Right up until that time, that moment, I had never considered what my voice and word choices sounded like. As a result, the meaning behind what the boy told me came as an incredibly heavy blow. It meant that, compared with other people, there was something weird about me. The instant that thought crossed my mind, it was like someone had turned out all the lights in my head.

Back on that day, when the full meaning became clear, I ignored all the grown-ups around me and started punching the boy. That wound up becoming the bigger deal to them. My mom kept bowing in apology to that kid’s parents for the next several visits afterward.

After that, I started avoiding situations that involved talking, and now I was so timid about it I couldn’t even communicate simple words or concepts.

“…All right,” said Rin, crossing her arms at me from her hallway position as she grew more impatient. “It’s fine.” Then she set foot in the room.

Great. I did it again. If I don’t respond to anything she asks—not a single question—well, that’d make anyone angry. I lowered my eyes, unable to take the strain. The shadows from the dogwood blossoms were creating undulating patterns on the carpet. Even in silhouette, they were as delicate as always.

…It was just driving me crazy. My voice, my name, everything.

What kind of hopes did my mom used to have for my future? Or maybe all those dreams were now focused on sharp-minded, strong-willed Rin instead.

But I’d never know how she really felt. You can’t ask a dead woman a question and expect an answer…And I mean, even if Mom were still alive, I couldn’t speak a single word. I couldn’t even “ask” her anything.

How many words had I even exchanged with my mother since that episode—back in that cramped apartment we were in?

No. I haven’t changed at all since then. It’s going to be this way for the rest of my life. I know it will. There was no way I could ever become the delicate flower my mom was hoping for.

Thinking about that, about how pathetic and useless I was, made the inside corners of my eyes start to heat up.

My sister’s feet approached, trampling over the dogwood silhouettes. I stared at her. She already had one arm in the air.

I winced and shut my eyes, expecting a slap. But the pain never registered across my cheek. Instead, I felt something soft brushing down my disheveled hair from the top. Surprised by this, I suddenly opened my eyes and looked at Rin again. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t seem to be angry, either. She was just staring down at me resolutely.

What was weird about this was that she was patting me on the head and definitely not slapping me on the cheek. Maybe this was a new way of expressing anger that I wasn’t familiar with, but either way, this behavior was new and confusing.

Then Rin slowly parted her lips and spoke.

“Bread or rice? Which one do you want?”

…Bread or rice? I was more of a rice person. It went with a lot more food than bread did, and I liked how it tasted. But why was she asking me that now? Not to put too fine a point on it, but the general flow of things had indicated she was about to scream her lungs out. Something along the lines of “You’re gonna stay in your room until you tell me why you’re not answering me” or whatever. I would understand that. But why’s she asking me about my starch preferences…?

“Ah,…,” I exclaimed out loud. An idea came to mind. It never showed up when it’d actually be useful, but my voice would always find its way out when I surprised myself over something. It was so mean.

Rin betrayed zero reaction to this. She stared at me, apparently waiting for a reply. I shivered a little.

“Bread” or “rice”…She must have meant those terms to mean some kind of punishment. That would explain a lot of things. I had seen crazed murderers on TV shows offering their victims a choice of deaths to experience. And it was all too easy to picture Rin as capable of something similar. She might have used harmless words like “bread” and “rice,” but that only made it all the scarier.

If those were punishments, it was easy to imagine them as cruel and/or painful. My imagination began to go wild. What would “bread” mean? Was she going to sandwich me in something, or use the toaster oven as some kind of torture device? It was a bit tougher to figure out “rice”—a rice cooker didn’t seem too well suited for physically tormenting someone—but already I felt horrified.

Which answer would be better to give? If I said something like “I don’t want either,” would she fire back with “Okay, noodles, then” or something—and then, oh God, stick my hand in boiling water, or…?

Maybe I better pick bread, then. No, wait, rice…

“Tsubomi?”

“R…r…rice, please!”

Being called by name made my mouth reflexively spit out “rice.” At pretty high volume, no less. Loud enough to startle Rin a little, by the looks of it, but I was even more shocked. It might very well have been the loudest I had ever shouted, since I was born.

The blood began to pump hard into my skull. I had gone from one extreme act of rudeness to another. It was all over. “Rice” might not be enough to punish me with anymore. I was starting to picture the potential introduction of fried rice to the menu. Boiled up, and left in the wok to simmer.

As my mind zoomed down ever more ridiculous pathways, Rin’s resolved gaze suddenly melted into a smile. I didn’t know why that happened, but—as inappropriate as it was—I caught myself thinking, “Man, she really is beautiful.”

Rin gave my head a few pats with her outstretched hand, then bent down, bringing her eyes to mine. “All right,” she said. “I’ll try to whip up something really great for you today.” Her voice had all the sharp tones it came with by default, but it still bore a sense of warmth that seemed to permeate my skin.

Ah, what do I have to do to start speaking like this? I couldn’t help but admire her.

Having had her say, my sister turned around on her heels and lightly padded off. I stood there silently for a little while, then started freaking out again. Maybe “something really great” meant the level of punishment in store. Little else crossed my mind as I got dressed and headed for the breakfast table.

Even during the meal, Rin acted like she was on cloud nine. My dad’s work had apparently been going well, to the point where we were talking about how they might expand into new businesses, so maybe that’s what she was happy about.

I remained prepared for my slaughter the rest of the day, but at the end of it, I reached nightfall without any sort of rice-related punishment. Kicking my slippers off, I burrowed into bed and stuck my earbuds in. It was only then that I realized the rice served with breakfast that morning had been noticeably tastier than usual.