I really, really had a hard time conversing with other people. But I still felt compelled to find something to say here. As I walked behind them, I racked my brain for a topic I could bring to the table—but the more I tried to hone my internal focus, the more all of the external sounds and stimuli distracted me. Cars honking. People talking. Crows cawing. Streetcars passing. The wind blowing and the damp leaves it plucked loose crunching as they slipped under every footfall. It was only eleven in the morning on a weekday, yet Hakodate was alive with all manner of sounds. Each was small and easily tuned out when heard independently, yet together they formed a distracting cacophony that robbed my brain of all its processing faculties and resources. And once I’d opened my ears and started to listen, I couldn’t unhear it. Like there was a tiny praying mantis sharpening its scythes on my last nerve.
Ugh, I just can’t think straight right now…
As I struggled, I started fidgeting with my hair as a sort of nervous tic—an ineffective outlet for my frustration. My bangs were so long now that they covered my eyes, and I could feel them brush against my lashes whenever I turned my head. It got pretty irksome sometimes, having to deal with this constant vision impairment, but I so loathed getting my hair cut that I’d just let it grow out anyway.
We continued on our way to the station but eventually hit a red light. We had to stop and wait until the automated signal informed us it was safe to cross the street.
“Y’know, Mugino-kun…I gotta admit,” said Nagai, turning to face me. I looked back at him, determined to give a sociable reply this time, only for him to finish with, “I kinda can’t believe you came on the class trip at all.”
My disparate thoughts scattered to the wind. I could practically feel the blood draining from my head as Nagai’s words echoed through my vacant skull: “I kinda can’t believe you came on the class trip at all.”
“Oh, uh… Yeah, sorry… Ah ha ha…”
Unable to form a more coherent response, I fumbled out a dry, half-hearted chuckle. Nagai looked at me curiously, puzzled as to why I was laughing and apologizing at the same time. It only took a few more seconds for his furrowed brow to stretch back out into a mortified expression as he realized his mistake.
“Wait, no! I didn’t mean that in a bad way or anything!” he said. “I just meant that it must’ve taken some real courage for someone like you to sign up for the trip, especially with how little you actually come in to class and everything. Pretty sure I wouldn’t have the nerve to do that if I were in your shoes, so, um… Yeah, definitely could’ve phrased that better! Sorry about that!”
This attempt at reassuring me was not a very effective one; if anything, it only made me feel like even more of a social misfit. But I knew Nagai meant no offense. And in all fairness, I couldn’t really believe it either. I’d been asking myself over and over why in the world I’d agreed to this ever since we arrived in Hakodate—and on the plane ride before that, and the shuttle to the airport before that.
“Wait, wait. What are we apologizing for?” asked one of the other group members, turning to look at Nagai.
“What’s up?” said another. “Did something happen?”
I could feel a slight tension building in the air. This wasn’t right; regardless of his verbal blunder, Nagai had only been trying to include me in the conversation. The onus now fell on me to clear this up—and I had to do it fast, before the signal changed to green.
“Actually, um… Nagai didn’t do anything wrong. He just…worded something a little bit poorly, and I misunderstood. It’s really no big deal… So yeah.”
As soon as I finished speaking, I felt like letting out a cartoonishly heavy sigh. Just stringing three sentences together aloud was enough to make me feel exhausted. But when I saw a wave of relief wash over Nagai’s face, I knew it had been worth the effort. The other boys slackened their expressions in turn, apparently glad to know it hadn’t been anything more serious. Good—this was exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for.
“Well, that’s Nagai for ya,” said one of the boys. “Guy’s always runnin’ his mouth and sayin’ rude stuff without even realizing.”
“Yeah, he can be brutally honest sometimes,” said another.
“Feel free to give him a piece of your mind too, Mugino-kun,” said the third. “Lord knows he could use a taste of his own medicine every once in a while.”
The three boys started snickering among themselves.
“Aw, knock it off, you guys!” Nagai said crabbily, before playfully elbowing one of the guys in the ribs as if to show me it was all in good fun.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” said the other boy, raising both hands with a dramatic jerk backward.
And then all four of them were in on the joke, laughing and horsing around in such a carefree manner that you could probably use it as stock footage in a video explaining the concept of friendship. Man, these guys are really close, I found myself thinking. I was genuinely moved by the sight—but only in the same way one might be from watching a colony of penguins huddled together to conserve body heat out on the Antarctic ice. It was a heartwarming thing to behold, but so far removed from me and the world I knew that I could never even imagine inserting myself into that equation and laughing along as a member of the group. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered me so much, but right now it filled me with an uncharacteristic sense of melancholy. And so I asked myself yet again: Why the hell did I come all the way out here?
“Man, you guys just love roasting me, don’t you?” said Nagai. “That’s fine. I can just hang out with my new friend Mugino-kun here if that’s how you’re gonna be.”
Nagai reached an arm out to clasp my shoulder.
But the moment his fingers found their mark.
I shoved him away from me with both hands.
And he fell back on his ass into the pavement.
Immediately, the frigid air around us froze completely, as the bing-bong, bing-bong from the traffic signal overhead at last bade us cross. A few passing pedestrians cast suspicious glances in our direction, but all kept on walking without a word.