Zero
The day of Yamauchi Sakura’s funeral is dreary and cloudy, entirely at odds with the girl my classmate had been.
I imagine a great many tearful people are at her funeral, their numbers and tears proving her life meant something; but I’m not among them. I didn’t attend her wake last night, either. I’ve stayed home the entire time.
One classmate in particular could have forced me to go, but I guess I’m lucky she can’t, since she’s no longer in this world. Neither my teachers nor her parents possess the authority or the personal duty to ask me to come. I’ve been able make my own decision and stick to it.
Seeing as I’m still in high school, I have to go to class whether or not anyone asks me to. But she died during school break, leaving nothing to force me out of the house and into the gloomy weather.
It’s morning, and I see both my parents off to work. I scrounge together a lunch before holing up in my room. If you think I’m seeking solitude out of feelings of sadness or the emptiness of loss, you’re mistaken.
I’ve always been the type to stay in my room, unless I had to go to school, or my former classmate dragged me out into the world.
When I’m here, I’m mostly reading books. I don’t care for self-help or instructional stuff—novels are my escape of choice. I like to lie in bed with my head on my white pillow and read my books. Hardcovers are too heavy; I prefer pocket-sized paperbacks.
The book I’m reading right now is one I borrowed from her—the only book she treasured, as she was never much of a reader. It’s been sitting on my shelf for a while now. I’d intended to read and return it before she died, but I was too late.
I can’t change that now. I figure I’ll return the book to her family when I’m finished. I’ll hold off on paying my respects to her and her family until then.
By the time I finish the book, it’s evening. At some point, I closed the curtains and turned on my fluorescent ceiling light so I could still see. My phone rings, and only then do I notice the passage of time.
The call is nothing important; just my mother. I ignore her. She calls a second time, and I ignore her again. The third time, I guess it must have something to do with dinner, so I flip open the phone and put it to my ear. She wants me to get the rice ready before she comes home. I tell her I will and hang up.
Before I return the phone to my desk, I realize something: I haven’t so much as touched that device in two days. I don’t think I’ve been purposefully avoiding it, I just haven’t thought about picking it up. If that holds some deeper meaning, then I don’t know.
I open the flip phone and scroll to the texts, then to the incoming folder. Zero unread messages. That’s hardly a surprise. Next, I look at the sent folder. Aside from calls, I see evidence of the last time I used the device.
A text message I sent to the girl who had been my classmate.
Just one sentence.
I don’t know if she ever saw it.
I consider going to the kitchen but instead flop back into bed. All I can think about is what I wrote to her.
Did she ever see my message?
I want to eat your pancreas.
If she did see it, how did she take it?
I fall asleep, still trying to find an answer.
The rice doesn’t get made until my mom comes home.
I’m not sure, but I think I meet the girl in my dreams.