“…Well,” I said, hanging my head, “I guess the biggest thing is that my high school’s a combined junior and senior high. So for every kid like me who tested in, there’s at least two more who’ve been there for several years already and got a free ride up through the escalator system. Which wouldn’t bother me so much if it didn’t feel like they’d already formed these little well-established cliques and stuff… So closed-off from the rest of us…”
“Oh? And why does that bother you?”
“…I guess it just feels a little unfair to the people like me, who actually put in the effort to study their way into the school only to be treated like outcasts.”
“Ah, I see! Yes, nepotism at its finest—and from such an early age!”
“It’s like, great, way to make me feel like I don’t belong before I even have a chance to put myself out there… God forbid any of them ever have to go out of their comfort zones. I’d love to see what would happen if they ever had to get by without their little social circles and friend groups to rely on…”
“That’s it, boy! You tell them!”
“Almost wish a meteorite would come crashing down directly on top of my school. Just turn the whole thing into a massive crater.”
“A meteorite! Ha! Now that would show those ingrates what for!”
Uncle Kurehiko cackled out an amused guffaw. I could feel my mood growing lighter as I vented my frustrations as well. But before we even had a chance to choose what topic we wanted to complain about next, a young man who appeared to be approximately college-aged walked over from one of the nearby tables.
“Um, would you mind lowering your voices a bit?” he said. “There are other people here trying to enjoy themselves too, you know.”
Uncle Kurehiko did a double take—then quickly lifted one corner of his mouth into a sheepish smile as he hunched over apologetically. “Ah, yes… Beg your pardon. We’ll try to keep it down…”
As my uncle mumbled out this apology, I found myself strangely taken aback; this was the first time I’d ever seen him go soft and submissive to another person like this. The young man returned to his table and rejoined his three other seemingly college-age friends, all of whom had similar hairstyles and wore a similar style of clothes.
“God,” said one of them. “Who the hell brings their kid to the bar, anyway?”
“Toxic parents, that’s who,” said another one. “Feel bad for anyone who has to sit around listening to their deadbeat dad gripe and moan like that.”
“No kidding,” said the third. “If I ever end up like that, I hope one of you guys’ll just beat me over the head with a shovel when I’m not looking and put me out of my misery.”
A peal of laughter broke out at the other table as the young men made merry at our expense. I pretended not to have heard it, and so did Uncle Kurehiko. But I could tell from his expression and some subtle shifts in his manner that he was feeling rather uncomfortable now. From that point on, he lowered his speaking voice about two full measures and awkwardly rambled on about utterly harmless, inoffensive subjects for the remainder of the evening. I knew deep down that this was not at all the sort of stuff he wanted to talk with me about, but I nodded along regardless.
After we paid our bill and stepped outside, I could see the first stars of the evening had poked their heads out from behind the clouds. Businesspeople on their way home from work bustled to and fro across the pedestrian thoroughfare. Uncle Kurehiko and I walked together back to the station—me to retrieve my bike from the bike rack and him to take the train back home. All the while, an uneasy silence hung over us.
“…Sucks that those college kids kinda killed the mood,” I said.
“Hmph,” my uncle grunted. “Just unruly teenagers out drinking on their parents’ dime, no doubt. That’s how spoiled brats from well-to-do families always turn out as they grow older—so quick to poke fun at others because they’ve never experienced it themselves. They’re about the least compassionate people on the face of the planet.”
“You could’ve stood up and said something, you know.”
I said this as though I was chastising him—and I was, but not because I was upset with him. I was just sad to see my uncle lie down and take it like that. Yes, it was natural to apologize when someone asked you politely not to do something, and yes, it was simply good manners to keep your voice down in a public setting. But that wasn’t the sort of person I wanted my uncle to be—it wasn’t his social etiquette that I liked him for.
“No, boy. I really couldn’t have,” said Uncle Kurehiko.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I recognized it was a fight I couldn’t win. Not with words, and not with my fists either, if it really came down to it. And so I simply ran away.”
“…Coward.”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
Hearing him so readily admit it left me at a bit of a loss for words—and made me feel surprisingly indignant, to be totally honest. Perhaps a part of me had been hoping he would deny it, since I knew deep down just how alike we truly were.
“…Then I guess I’ll just have to get stronger if I don’t want to end up a weak little coward like you,” I said mockingly, trying as hard as I could to get a rise out of him at this point. But much to my dismay, even this failed to elicit the repudiation I sought.
“Now you’re getting it, my boy,” said Uncle Kurehiko. “Yes, no amount of sympathy or commiseration between the weak can ever defeat the irrefutable argument of ‘might makes right’… But listen to me, Kayato.”
We arrived at the station and stood there facing each other for a moment.
“If there is no place in this world for anyone but the strong to survive,” he said, “then that is not indicative of any fault within me, but a sign that something is rotten in the world itself. I may be a weakling—but that alone does not make me wrong.”
And with that, Uncle Kurehiko turned on his heel and headed through the ticket gate, his crooked frame quickly vanishing into the sea of straight-backed office workers.