She impatiently whipped off the burnt-umber lid to reveal mugian wheat cakes, mostly untouched save for one in the upper-left corner from which a bite-sized square was missing. When I’d brought the cakes home yesterday, I’d given that one a try and found that it sapped all the moisture from my mouth. From their color and appearance, the cakes looked like they were made entirely of compacted sand, but there was bean jam in the middle.
“Woo-hoo!” Without further ado, Yashiro raised a cake to her lips, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, all without incident. Personally, if I hadn’t washed the cake down with a cup of tea, I would’ve choked. “Tastes like destiny, doesn’t it?” she remarked afterward.
“By all means, enjoy.” One bite had been enough sweetness for me.
At my offer, her eyes sparkled, and she pulled the box closer to herself. “Heh heh heh! Mine!” Her body language reminded me of a squirrel guarding nuts. “There is something to be said for these more refined flavors, don’t you think?”
She dug into her second cake, chewing loudly, and for a moment, the sight sent me back in time. Then I looked down at my hand, unmistakably wrinkled with age. It snapped me right out of the dream, but it left me with a pang of loneliness in its place. “It’s strange to think I’ve known you for nearly seventy years now.”
I reached out periodically to wipe away the powder that clung to her lips.
“Much obliged,” she responded flatly, as if out of obligation rather than sincerity.
Getting up, I retrieved a bottle of barley tea from the refrigerator. After a quick sip, I handed it to her.
“Glug, glug.”
Had she actually drunk any, or was she just pretending?
Instead of returning to bed, I sat directly on the floor, let out a breath, and closed my eyes. All I felt was Yashiro’s presence and my own respiration—not even a hint of anything more.
Five years after Adachi’s death had parted me and her, I realized that there must not be such things as ghosts. If there were, her spirit would still be with me, and I would certainly have had the power to sense her at least once. No, there was only one place where ghosts existed, and that was the human mind. The soul of Adachi’s memory lived on inside me.
Sure, most people would call that a delusion, but it kept my heart beating.
With nothing better to do, I switched on the TV. On the screen was an old woman, likely around my age, discussing the secrets to health and longevity: “I think perhaps…it’s about having a goal in mind.”
“Hm.”
This woman had a strong, clear voice. When she was asked what her goal was, she replied cryptically, “I want to see a rainbow.”
“A rainbow?” I repeated incredulously.
Then I lifted the corner of the curtain and peeked out at the sky. All that decorated its bright-blue color was a smattering of clouds—sure enough, no rainbow was to be seen. Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t recall ever seeing one from this window. Perhaps it wasn’t as easy as I’d assumed.
“That reminds me, Shimamura-san—will you not be eating breakfast today?”
“Hm? Oh yeah. I’d better do that.”
“I look forward to it!” Yashiro exclaimed through a mouthful of cake. Perhaps the most frightening thing about her was that, having known her for so long, I didn’t find her entitlement so rude anymore.
Anyway, I threw together whatever was in the fridge and served it for breakfast.
“Feeling lazy today, huh?”
“You make something, then!”
“Me? Good one.” Adachi dangled her hands in front of her, imitating a ghost, and I laughed.
After we finished eating, Yashiro raised her hand to speak. “I nearly forgot—I have brought you something.”
“Hm?” I squinted at her hands, but they were as empty as always. “Where is it?”
“One moment, please.”
She dashed out the front door and, two seconds later, walked back in carrying something. Whatever it was, I knew for a fact that she couldn’t have left it sitting out there. I decided not to think too deeply about that, though.
“Unfortunately for you, Shimamura-san, it is not edible.”
“If it were, you’d have eaten it yourself, punk.”
“False! I would surely have brought you half,” she declared proudly.
When she handed the object to me, I recognized it at once. “Talk about retro,” I murmured, pressing the buttons on the controller.
“Little and I played many games on this console.”
“Is that so?”
It must’ve belonged to my sister, then. I was the one who organized her things after she’d passed, but I couldn’t remember what I did with her video games. For a moment, I wondered why Yashiro would bring me this, but that was a stupid question. Why would she bring it except to play something together? Maybe she thought that I was bored and wanted to do something nice.
“Little wanted me to have it, but I shall pass this gift along to you.”
“You sure?”
“She gave me many other things.”
“I see… Will it even work?”
“Who knows?” Yashiro replied with a shrug.
At the very least, there was no way to connect it to a modern television. “I’ll need to figure out how to set it up…”
My first thought then was, Too much effort. That would certainly explain why I sat around all day, wouldn’t it? If every hobby was “too much effort,” it was no wonder I didn’t have any.
“So I guess I’ll try to do that…tomorrow, maybe.” If I went around town asking specialty shops, I could probably find a way.
“I shall accompany you.”
“I won’t be buying any snacks, you know.”
I watched, chuckling, as she visibly deflated.
After that, Yashiro stayed, not just for breakfast, but all the way through dinner before finally going home. But where was “home,” now that my parents and sister were gone? At one point, she’d tried to get out of taking a bath, so I’d snatched her up and forced her in.
“You are behaving like Little,” she had remarked.
“It runs in the family,” I’d replied.
That night, as I lay in bed with my eyes closed, Adachi came into view.
“Sounds like I’m buying a TV tomorrow,” I told her.
“You already have a TV,” she replied, pointing at the little screen.
“Well, I need a different one in this case.”
“You’re really going to play video games with someone else?” She narrowed her eyes reproachfully, and the guilt I felt was nostalgic indeed.
“You could play with us, you know.”
“Pass,” she spat, turning away sulkily. After a moment, she muttered, “I wish I could.”
“Me too.”
My agreement seemed to soothe her spirits, since she looked back at me. “So you need an older TV?”
“Yep. I guess you could say that the passage of time sometimes creates more problems than it solves.”
Adachi thought for a moment. As I waited for her reply, I noticed that she was wearing our high-school uniform. Then she raised her index finger to point hesitantly at herself. “Like with me?”
“Yep.”
She smiled faintly in response.
Now that I’d given Adachi the latest update, I switched gears and closed my eyes once more. For once, I actually had plans tomorrow, so I tasked myself with sleeping. In the past, that wouldn’t have taken much effort at all; as strange as it might sound, that was the aspect of life in which I most keenly felt my old age.