I never intended to tell her about my parents.
I was supposed to simply explain my ability, ask for her discretion, and then distance myself—and perhaps I wouldn’t even need to do the latter. Once she knew, she’d get creeped out and avoid me of her own volition.
So why didn’t she?
When those bells rang, an old thought surfaced anew. Maybe this time, it will be different. Maybe I’d find understanding, acceptance. But I’d been down that road before, had foolishly gotten my hopes up only to be disappointed—again and again.
So why was she different?
Not even my parents accepted me. Yet she didn’t try to deny or judge anything about me. She approached me with genuine curiosity and surprise, not fear or condemnation. That was a first for me, and I couldn’t help but wonder: why.
✦ ✦ ✦
I had a vivid memory from when I was young, in the courtyard of a hospital where my father had taken me for an examination. Those days were filled with endless tests and consults. I’d escaped from the sterile confines of the exam room and stumbled upon a young girl.
“I’m really good at finding four-leaf clovers,” she’d declared, her one good eye bright with excitement. She’d been admitted to the hospital for an injury, a bandage wrapped around her head such that she looked like a cyclops.
With an innocent lisp, she’d scampered up to me, saying, “Let’s play!” and handed me the four-leaf clover she’d found without so much as a second thought.
“Here! Now you’ll be lucky!” she said.
“Isn’t this yours?” I asked, my voice muted and downcast despite the thrill I’d felt at witnessing a real four-leaf clover for the first time.
“That’s okay! I found it, which means I’m already lucky, and now that I gave it to you, you’re lucky too!” She chattered on and on, telling me how she’d bestowed another clover on a small girl earlier.
Smaller even than you? I’d thought.
I hesitated, then blurted, “Four-leaf clovers grow when people step on them. They’re just deformities. It’s not like they chose to be four-leaf clovers. Just like how I didn’t choose to…”
…be able to see them.
I’d unleashed my anger on a tiny, innocent girl. I remembered how her eyes had rounded in shock.
I’d derided her fun, taken her proffered olive branch and thrown it right back in her face, and yet she didn’t cry.
Instead, her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Is that why?! There’s this big field next to my granny’s house. It has clovers all over, and I looked so hard but couldn’t find a single one!”
Perturbed by her enthusiasm, I took one step back, and she took one step forward. She seemed determined to close the gap between us.
“Y-Yeah?” I stuttered.
“I always wondered why, and now I know! There are no four-leaf clovers there because nobody plays there!” She puffed out her chest proudly as though she were a scientist who’d just made the discovery of the century.
Never in a million years had I expected her reaction.
“Okay…” I murmured, at a loss for words.
“Ah! Mom’s back! Bye-bye!” She spun on her heels, racing toward a voice calling her name. Standing alone in the suddenly silent courtyard, I clutched the four-leaf clover in my hand—the only tangible reminder that she’d been real. Until the nurse came looking for me, I’d stood there, unmoving.
✦ ✦ ✦
“NEVER thought she’d be the same age as me,” I mumbled to myself, reflecting on my unexpected realization.
My bike basket rustled as the goblin—or oatie, rather—turned to look at me. Its chest swelled as verbal glitter flew from its mouth. Ayakashi had no concept of time. The oatie had known all along that the girl at the hospital and Kitazawa were one and the same.
Oatie, huh? The term was fitting. Even my uncle had never thought to name the creatures. Then again, the girl had a way of catching me off guard; I shouldn’t have been surprised.
The oatie emitted another series of sparkling symbols.
“Yeah, yeah, you were right. No need to gloat.”
After learning about the ayakashi and my unique sight, she hadn’t pulled away from me. Did she not realize how much of a burden it could be? Or did it simply not matter to her?
I sighed deeply, confusion swirling inside me. What am I even doing?
“Sorry,” I whispered to no one in particular. I continued to pedal my way home, the road and all else fading into the background as my thoughts consumed me.