“Hey, hey, don’t eat that!”
“Relax. It won’t hurt her.” Kimono Lady, or should I say Pigeon Lady, swallowed her bean without batting a lash.
Meanwhile, my sister started out chomping with gusto but gradually began to grimace. “It doesn’t taste like anything!”
“I know, right?” Kimono Lady smiled with delight, took a second bean, and popped it into her mouth. “Want one?” she offered to me, the one person who wasn’t eating.
“No, thank you.”
“Okey doke.” She nodded so vapidly; it was obvious she would have responded this way regardless of what I said.
“Something smells like flowers.” As my sister wiggled her cute little nose, Kimono Lady leaned in close; my sister’s shoulders flinched in alarm, but then she detected the source of the scent. “Flower lady!” she exclaimed, pointing at the older woman.
“Ooh, I like that,” Kimono Lady beamed, looking genuinely thrilled. “I wish I had a flower on hand for this occasion, but this is all I have…”
“You have more?!”
When she produced a second bag of beans, a dopey smile spread across my sister’s face. Evidently, the joke landed with her. “Bean lady!”
“Hmmm… I think I prefer ‘flower lady.’ Can we go back to that one?” Kimono Lady pressed her palms together, beseeching my sister, who was still grinning from ear to ear. I never imagined anyone could break the ice with her—especially this quickly. Maybe it was the inner child she let show through her classy exterior.
Well, since she’s here, I may as well ask.
“Hey, could you watch my sister for a bit?” My arms were tired, and I couldn’t get any practice in if I was holding her the whole time. But when she heard this, Kimono Lady’s tone hardened.
“Absolutely not! What are you thinking?” She put a chiding hand on her hip. “You can’t trust someone you just met with your little sister, no matter how nice they may appear to be.”
“Rrgh…”
Her argument was further bolstered by how quickly she switched back to the polished persona I was used to. “Listen here—you mustn’t be so quick to trust people. If you truly care for your sister, then you must keep her close and protect her yourself. The thing about predators is that they disguise their true nature around their prey.”
“…Are you saying you’re a predator?”
“Hmmm…” Her gaze wandered as she wrestled with what was apparently a difficult question. “Well, we all have our moments, don’t we?”
“Most people don’t! Ever!” Not to suggest this woman was anything resembling most people.
“Enough about me! My point is you shouldn’t take your sister for granted… Well, not that I’d ever take that advice.”
“You have a sister?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
With a flippant tilt of her head, her eyes locked onto the sky, her lips twisted in a crescent moon smile. What was that about? Still, she had a point, and oddly enough, I didn’t feel like fighting her on it—possibly because it didn’t sound like she was attacking me. But without any protruding thorns, I couldn’t grasp much else.
“Let’s just say that if I did have one, I’d be more inclined to treasure her now. All thanks to you.”
“What?” But I didn’t do anything.
“Seeing you taking such good care of yours has changed my mind.”
I looked down at the girl in my arms. Yes, I supposed it did look as though I was taking good care of her; my heart wasn’t so complex that I could pretend not to see it for myself. On the contrary, everything about me was painfully straightforward.
“Well, there you have it. Now be a good girl and play with your sister.” Smiling softly, Kimono Lady stooped to make eye contact with the girl in question. “You want to play with your oneechan, don’t you?”
“…Yeah…”
With this confirmation, Kimono Lady beamed up at me, flashing her pearly whites. “That said, I’d be bored just sitting on the bench alone, so I’m willing to compromise!”
“How?”
“By joining you, of course!”
She and my sister shared a gleeful high five. My sister, the shyest creature known to man, was having fun in a social situation? If anything, it put me more on guard.
This woman seemed to have a knack for worming her way into people’s hearts. Through the art of misdirection, she pounced the moment your defenses were down. Most likely it was a multitude of different factors working together: her good looks, her smile, her tone, her word choice. And I suspected she could control her threat level at will.
“Now, what shall we play? As one might expect from an old-fashioned kimono lady, I’m quite good at jacks. I didn’t bring any, though.”
“What’s ‘jacks?”
“Oh god, she doesn’t know… I feel so old…”
She extended a hand in my direction, prompting me; I stared down at her palm for a moment, then relinquished my basketball. Evidently, she hadn’t brought hers with her today. She crouched down and began to dribble at high speed, grinning at my sister like she was showing off. If this was jacks, she would have lost after the first bounce.
Drawn in by the woman’s smug chuckling, my sister reached for the ball. Kimono Lady handed it over, then gave me a little pat on the shoulder. “Teach her how to play, Oneechan.” Waving her thoroughly battered right hand, she retreated like she was tagging out.
“Oneechan!” my sister shouted. As a kid, I always made a beeline straight to her whenever she called for me like that. Back then, I was just so happy to be a big sister.
“…So you dribble the ball like this… We’ll go slow at first…”
I watched from a short distance away as she practiced dribbling the ball, just as I’d taught her. Beside me, sun and shadow stretched across the ground—the faint outline of a woman with a cheery smile—and I was easily engulfed. As I was gazing at its source, she called out to me gently: “Yeeeees?”
“…I was just thinking about how tall you are.” And looking at your legs.
“Oh, yes, I suppose I am. But you’re only in junior high, so you’re still growing.”
“Not that I have much time left before I’m in high school.”
“And that’s a good thing.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing! Ha ha ha!” She wasn’t even trying to cover up her comment. “As a third-year, you’ve retired from the team, correct?”
“Yeah.” I still had no clue how she could have guessed what year I was in.
“How did your final tournament go? Did you get closure?”
Suddenly, she was asking questions like an old relative, and I didn’t know how to react. As if, I thought, averting my gaze. “I was benched the whole time, so…it’s whatever.”
“Hmmm… Yes, perhaps you’re not the sort of student that coaches tend to like.”
I had purposely concealed that part, yet she saw through me regardless. I had to wonder if she’d only asked about my basketball team in order to arrive at this topic. “My coach has nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much.”
“If I was talented, they would have put me in. End of story.”
In response to my opinion, her eyes twinkled as she smiled, as if it was all just a game to her. “You’re so young, it’s actually quite promising.”
“You think this is funny?”
“I think it’s admirable, that’s all.” The moment I showed the slightest hint of hostility, she defanged it by changing the subject. “Have you ever witnessed talent with your own eyes? Your own, or someone else’s?”
“…I don’t know.” And perhaps that was proof that I didn’t have any myself. “What is talent, anyway?” I asked in return. She was so tall, my neck ached just looking at her.
“To me, having talent means you can do things you were never taught,” she replied without missing a beat, waving over at my sister as she started to get the hang of dribbling. “I’ve known a lot of people in my life, and this is the conclusion I’ve come to. It’s hard to explain, but…some people come into this world already having all the answers.”
“Huh…”
She didn’t sound jealous of this, either; a beat later, she raised her voice back into a playful tone. “Because of that, I often wonder if I could be considered talented myself! Ha ha ha!” Her airy laughter reverberated against my skin.
“At what?”
“Hmm? Oh, you know. Putting girls in the m—in a good mood.”
“Uh, what…?” Weird place to stumble over her words.
She always looked so well put together, and yet she skipped away from me like a child. Whether she was coming or going, it was always with a jaunty stride.
“Hey, wait.”
“Yes?” She stood in front of my sister with her arms stretched wide like she was playing defense. Then she turned her head to look over at me.
“…Am I ugly?”
I could only imagine what my face must have looked like while I asked this question. I stared down at the ground like the faint morning sun was somehow too much for me.
“You, my dear, are adorable,” she declared softly, firmly, without a hint of shame. Her words painted my cheeks like the dawn. “Why, I’ll bet you’re the third-prettiest girl in your class!”
“…Uh, wow.” Much higher than I was expecting, yet still low enough to keep me humble.
This woman was the only person who had ever called me pretty to my face. Even my own mother, who had seen more of me than anyone else, insisted I was ugly. But if I had to choose who to believe, well…obviously, loath as I was to admit it, it would be the latter. Did that mean Kimono Lady was lying? After a moment of consideration, I realized: no. Most likely they were both right—because they each saw a different side of me.