His story was heart-wrenching. A mother overwhelmed by guilt for feeling uneasy and fearful around her own child, for being unable to grasp his unique nature. A mother who couldn’t manifest love, whose heart was instead consumed by an engulfing dread she couldn’t name or understand.
A mother who wept, inconsolable, alone, while her son gazed at her in absolute silence, watching her with those horrible, horrible eyes.
“She never learned how to cook, so our meals were middling at best. But I think she did what she could. Once she learned the truth of my condition, she showed signs of improvement, though it was clear she still struggled in my presence.” Upon embracing the reality of her son’s inheritance, the burden on her heart lightened; neither she nor her son were at fault. Yet although she could box away past sorrows, the deep, deep chasm dredged by her years of pain would require time to refill. And his father, who’d lived in willful ignorance, became even more entrenched in his ways, deeply affected by his family’s suffering.
To deny an innate aspect of someone was akin to refuting their existence. All the more so for a young child incapable of distinguishing between himself and his abilities.
I was engrossed in Towada’s history. He’d never talked for so long before, and his tale weighed heavy on my heart. Though his gaze occasionally drifted, his voice remained steady.
“In third grade,” he said, “I told my best friend about it.”
“About your sight?”
He nodded. “My father had always told me that if I wanted to live a normal life, I should keep my head down and my mouth shut, to never give cause for suspicion. But I wanted to believe in my friend, believe that he was good at heart.”
“Right,” I said quietly.
“Turns out, my father was right. Fortunately, the rumors never spread, and my family moved soon after for my father’s job.”
Then Towada told me about a teacher he once trusted. After tentatively revealing a sliver of his true self and seeing the unmistakable fear in the teacher’s eyes, he brushed the admission off as merely a “story.” He told me about hospital nurses who listened to him in feigned sympathy, nodding and sighing, “That’s rough, dear,” only to label him a compulsive liar behind closed doors.
Eventually, with the birth of his “ordinary” sister acting as a sort of buffer, their family gained a semblance of normalcy. But that was short-lived, for his father’s work would soon take them overseas.
“I saw it as an opportunity to stay behind in Japan and distance myself. The decision was mutual. Ideally, I’d prefer not to see them. I have no fond memories of them and never really considered them family anyway.”
I noticed that Towada’s fist was clenched, his knuckles a stark white. For a fleeting instant, despite everything that he had just disclosed, I found myself thinking that he had to be cold without gloves.
On instinct, I reached out and took his hand. I gently uncurled his fingers one by one, until at last he looked down at the deep indentations his nails had left on his palm.
I didn’t expect the scars he bore to disappear overnight, yet I wanted to be his solace, even if just for a moment. Lightly resting my hand on his, I whispered, “But you managed to open up to me, didn’t you?”
“Because one of them invaded your house.”
Unable to bring myself to meet his eyes, I locked mine on our overlapping hands. “And you saved me from the one by the stairwell.”
“Because you looked like you were about to faint.”
His hand was warming as the tension drained from it. “And you walk me home every day.”
“That’s because…” His voice trailed off. Realizing something in the park had caught his attention, I followed his gaze. Past the group of boys chasing a ball in the dim twilight, perched on top of a hedge, was a massive bird.
Its beak was a deep, vibrant green. Its dull, blue-gray plumage seemed to melt into the surrounding evening, while its eyes were striking crimson, visible even from our distance. Staring straight at us, it silently unfurled an immense wing to reveal white feathers that shone with an almost otherworldly glow.
The rowdy shouts of the kids playing soccer, the hum of the cars on the street all dissolved into nothingness. The sensation was the same as that day at school, without the accompanying unease.
I blinked my eyes, trying to get a better glimpse, yet the bird faded into the darkness before I could. Towada squeezed my hands, reminding me that he was still beside me.
“W-Was that another ayakashi?”
“Well, that’s not one you see every day,” he murmured calmly, suggesting that that particular variety wasn’t a threat.
“That was one huge bird, wasn’t it? It kinda looked like a shoebill.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, do you not know what a shoebill is? Hm, but they like to stay still, and that one moved…”
The first time I’d seen a shoebill at a zoo, I’d been astonished—and mildly terrified. It had towered above me, so eerily motionless that it more resembled a lawn ornament than a living bird. I remembered standing slack-jawed in front of its pen for a long while.
Towada appeared momentarily shocked but was quick to recover. “That looked like a shoe-billed stork to you just now?”
Recalling how Towada perceived the oaties, I replied, “Its plumage was much prettier than the real thing, but yeah. Not the same for you?”
“You really do see them all as animals, huh?”
I seemed to have been right on the money. “I guess so.”
Before I could ask him what the shoebill had looked like from his perspective, he changed the subject. “You feeling all right?”
“My hearing faded again, but I’m good now. Yep, just peachy.” Indeed, the ambient sound—the rustle of leaves on the wind, the screech of tires on asphalt, the lively chatter from the park—had returned. And I hadn’t collapsed on the spot, my hands and feet hadn’t gone cold, and my heart wasn’t beating out of my chest.
Just kidding, it totally was.
Why? Well, Towada and I were still holding hands. At some point, I must have gripped his, hard.
Wait, but why hadn’t he let go?
“That’s good. The one just now wasn’t dangerous.”
“Great—that’s great, but, um, your hand—”
“And you can tell Takanori thanks, but I don’t need his help. I was just a little surprised by the news that day, but I’m fine.”
“T-Towada, y-your hand!”
“What about my hand?” His amusement was clear in his tone; there was no way he didn’t know what I was talking about! I was at fault for grabbing his hand in the first place, but still!
“Thanks for hearing me out. Let’s get going; it’s getting dark.”
I mumbled in acknowledgment, our hands naturally separating as we resumed walking.
Even when we parted, my hand remained inexplicably warm for the rest of the evening.