“Go straight. All right?”
“All right, all right, I’ll play your silly game.” I knew Yashiro wasn’t a prankster, so I was willing to humor her on occasions like these. “Aren’t you coming to see this ‘fun place’ with me?”
“Oh, I have had lots of fun.”
Again, that wasn’t quite an answer…but some part of me didn’t mind. Maybe the disconnect in our conversation was my fault, not hers; I couldn’t prove that, but I could sense it.
Flower petals slowly filled the gap between us. I couldn’t feel anything here, not even the wind. Yet the petals were a sign that something was flowing. Something told me that I should keep moving too.
“Hey, Yashiro?”
“Yes?”
“Next time we meet, I’ll buy you more donuts, so…”
So come see me again. I knew that sugar was the perfect bait, but for some reason, I couldn’t voice the second half of my bargain. Fortunately, she seemed to intuit the unspoken part, because after a beat, she smiled.
“I will be there. You have my word.”
Oddly enough, I agreed, “Okay.”
She pulled off her helmet and tucked it safely into her onesie. Then she spread her “wings” as if they were real and took off running at a gallant clip, her braids bouncing like a butterfly flitting through the flowers. On a whim, I watched her tiny figure retreat into the distance at a brisk speed that almost made me feel…left behind.
“Oh, who am I kidding? I’m sure I’ll see her tomorrow.” Maybe the blossoms’ smell had just put me in a sentimental mood.
Once Yashiro had vanished from sight, I turned back to the bridge. I was apparently supposed to cross it and walk straight ahead, which didn’t sound hard. As for what awaited me in that direction—a hotel, as far as I could tell; mountains on the horizon; and an entire amusement park. So where was this “fun place” hidden?
With a sidelong glance at the river, I began to cross the bridge.
There were no cars or pedestrians. Only my shadow. Only my footsteps.
The petals began to fly in a wild flurry, blocking more and more of my vision. Each petal had a little cleft at the tip—what was the name of that flower again? I’d gotten so used to seeing them that I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It was a common flower that colored the city every spring… A flower that blossomed for those who entered our lives, and those who left… A pale pink flower…
The petals had nearly engulfed me now. I reached toward them, and they swallowed my fingertips, traveled along my skin, and slipped past—reminiscent of a school of fish swimming close together to form the image of a bigger fish, like in a picture book. As the petals parted, I tried to peek through to the other side…and the next thing I knew, I heard the screech of cicadas.
Cicadas in spring?
Instinctively, I stopped short. Between blinks, I could see a familiar set of stairs; as my gaze traced up the wall on their left side, I combed tentatively through my memories. The petals and the cicadas’ screeching mingled together, and it was so incongruous that my head spun.
When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that the river and bridge were nowhere to be seen. The hotel and mountains were gone too, leaving only the smell of dry earth from the athletic field. It was as though Yashiro had put me under a spell.
“Hmmm…”
Up the stairs… Yes, up the stairs and beyond the door…
The doorknob was so cold, it was as if springtime had ended abruptly. I twisted it, opened the door, and peered furtively at what lay beyond the cry of the cicadas. It was dim inside…and deserted.
“Wait a minute.” Wasn’t someone usually here?
Yes, that’s right. It was…er…
I ran my palm over the ping-pong table, which appeared to have been used recently. The faint stickiness prodded my memories until a handful stirred, like seeds sprouting up through the earth. Without waiting for them to finish growing, I reached out and touched them; they promptly withered and fell away.
My vision wavered as I hallucinated a pair of silhouettes sitting against the wall, as if hiding from the sun streaming through the window. Was I supposed to wait? I seemed to recall that someone used to come up here after me…or was I the one who came up after them? Either way, I was sure I used to meet someone here.
My skin recognized the pent-up heat and the feel of sweat dripping down my neck. The cicadas’ screaming weighed heavily on my skull. But…
“Go straight, she said. Straight forward.”
Directly ahead of me was a second, unused ping-pong table, then a wall. Would it end there, or…?
With small steps, I slowly worked my way forward, praying for something to happen as I approached the wall. If nothing changed, I would smack into it face-first, fall onto my back like a turtle and never be able to get up again. Come on! I inched closer and closer until the wall was an inch from my nose. Then I reached out and tried to give it a shove.
Suddenly, the wall disappeared, revealing new sights and sounds. The cicadas were now explosively loud; that noise was paired with the same bright-blue sky I’d seen in town. I’d arrived at my grandparents’ house in the countryside.
From a distance, I noticed a layer of flower petals on their roof. As far as I knew, I’d never been here in spring—only during summer and for New Year’s. My parents’ car wasn’t in the driveway, so I had a clear view of the dusty old doghouse with the little blue roof.