I traipsed toward the gate, my stoat friend contentedly wrapped around my shoulders. Towada loosed an audible sigh. “Do you plan on taking that home?” he asked, his voice tinged with dry amusement.
“It said it’d walk me back!” I smiled down at the creature, and its beady eyes gleamed with some secret understanding.
Towada’s brows shot up. “Since when can you communicate with it?”
“Since never—I just guessed.” And I suspected it was a pretty good guess. Regardless of how much—or how little, rather—Towada had to say concerning my swift camaraderie with the stoat, I just couldn’t see the little guy in a bad light—not when it seemed to like me so much.
As we passed through the front gate, a comfortable quiet enveloped us. Towada walked alongside me, the spokes of his bike clicking, while I led Koro. My eyes were firmly fixed on the plump Swiss roll of Koro’s tail as it bobbed from side to side in rhythm with his steps.
I was the one to break the silence, the words tumbling out as soon as they came to mind. “Have you always been able to see them?”
“Yeah, I was born with it. I know I said it was a family thing, but the only person who had the sight beside me was my uncle.”
It had been a simple yes-no question, and he’d shared more than I anticipated. “Really? So not your whole family can see them?”
“Nope, especially not my father—he doesn’t like to think they exist at all. Safe to say, he and my uncle didn’t exactly get along well. When I started showing signs of being one of ‘them,’ he really didn’t take it well. He was desperate to ‘fix’ me, taking me to all kinds of doctors—psychiatrists, neurologists, you name it. But when none of that worked, he finally just gave up and left me alone.”
His words flooded over me, heavy with unspoken emotion. Was he even aware of how deeply personal he was getting? “Wh-What about your mom?” I asked.
“My father never told anyone the truth about his lineage. She only found out when I started exhibiting signs that were too obvious to hide. They had a big fight over it.”
“They fought?”
“Think about it. If your son could see things that weren’t there, wouldn’t you feel disgusted?” His tone grew hushed, haunted. “Before I moved here permanently, they would drop me off for weekends and holidays—my mother’s idea. After my sister was born, she wanted me as far away as possible so that my sight wouldn’t somehow ‘transfer’ to her.”
“You have a sibling…?”
“She’s in her first year of elementary school. She lives overseas with my parents.”
We stopped at a red light, and even after it turned green, I remained frozen, the weight of his words pinning me in place.
“Let’s go?” His voice was gentle, urging me forward.
“I’m sorry,” I said after a beat.
“For what? Not like any of that was your fault.”
No, that’s not it. Guilt suffused me as I realized how tactless I’d been in forcing him to delve into painful memories. If I’d just paused to think, I would’ve recognized that his situation was more complex than it appeared. No matter how often his parents transferred for work or relocated overseas, that wasn’t reason enough to leave him behind with his aunt.
Shamed into silence, I stared at the ground, my feet moving almost without my command. Koro’s leash drooped at my side.
Towada’s quiet voice reached me from somewhere above, soft as a whisper of wind. “I like it better here anyway. My uncle was one of us, and Ayako’s…well, Ayako. I’m pretty okay with the way things are right now. Before he died, my uncle taught me a lot too.”
His words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of my conscience. Grateful for the change in topic, I ventured, “Ayako… She can cook, yeah?”
“Ayako’s home cooking is the only home cooking I’ve known. My father was always too busy to come home, and my mother is most definitely not a chef, so I don’t think I ever shared a meal with them.”
“I see…”
When we arrived at my house, I finally raised my head, my eyes catching the soft glow of the streetlamps. My stoat friend slipped from my neck, and I felt a chill in its absence. It looked downright grumpy as Towada placed it in his bike basket. I grabbed its tiny little paws and wiggled them in a goofy farewell.
“You really don’t have a name for them, not even just to get their attention?” I asked.
“I don’t,” he replied curtly.
“Then can I name them?”
His eyes widened behind his glasses.
Was what I said that weird? I wondered. “Wouldn’t it be convenient if they had a name? That way you wouldn’t have to keep saying ‘it’ or ‘you.’”
“Okay, then be my guest.”
Excitement bubbling, I pondered long and hard. Dozens of possibilities sifted through my mind, but none felt right. Naming the creatures wasn’t as easy as I’d thought.
Then it hit me. “How about ‘oatie’ ’cause they’re stoats? Oatie, stoatie, get it?”
“That’s certainly a…unique take…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes sparkled with mirth.
Hey, that was a bit uncalled for.
He looked like he was fighting a grin. “So what’s the plural—oaties?” he asked.
“I didn’t even think about that, but I guess it has to be… Ahhh! It’s too late. Now I can’t think of anything besides oatie!”
Towada finally laughed, his chuckle ringing into the quiet evening. “You know what? It works. Did you name Koro too?”
“Koro? No, that was my dad. ‘Dogs are either named Shiro, Kuro, or Koro!’ he said. And Koro here wasn’t white or black, so Koro it was.” I giggled, imagining Dad dubbing a cat something equally cliché like Tama or Mi-ke.
“Your dad seems fun.”
“Y-You think?” I asked, not entirely convinced, before leaning to study the stoat’s face. “What do you think of oatie?”
The little guy reached out with both paws and patted my cheeks. Ahhh, my heart! What an adorable way to express your approval!
“That settles it. See you later, oatie!” I said, then turned to Towada. “Thanks for walking me home again.”
“Yeah, no problem. Okay, well, you better get inside. And sorry—for dragging you into all this.” The laughter on his face had vanished, replaced by a somber expression.
I could only manage a quiet “huh?” before he murmured, “Bye,” and slowly backed into the night.
I looked down at Koro. “Towada’s strong, isn’t he?”
I thought about how kind and honest with me he’d been despite his difficult circumstances. He’d set his own concerns aside, seeming to care only about me, a complete outsider, and not himself. Towada and I were different people, and I could never claim to speak for him, but if I’d been in his shoes, I thought I’d be angry—angry and bitter.
“Do you think there’s anything I can do for him, Koro?”
Koro’s tail swished against my legs, his silence as poignant as any sentence.