The girl said, “That was really fun. You should become a street performer, [Boy I’m Getting along With]-kun.”
“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? I could never do a job that involves dealing with so many strangers like that. That was the most impressive part of the whole act.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “Maybe I should, then. Oh wait, I forgot, I’m going to die soon.”
“Did you come up with this whole conversation just so you could say that? Look, you’ve got a year, right? Maybe you can’t get to his level in that time, but if you practice, I bet you could get pretty good.”
When she heard my advice, her face lit up with delight. It was the kind of smile that could make someone else happy, too.
“You’re right!” she said. “Maybe I’ll do just that.”
Excited by her idea, she found a magic store in the mall and bought several kits for practicing. She didn’t let me in the store with her. She explained she was going to perform the tricks for me one day, and picking them out with her would spoil it. Left behind, I stood in front of the store where a promo video featuring various magic tricks was playing. I watched the video alongside a group of grade school kids.
She came out with a shopping bag in hand and said, “And thus the legend was born—the magician who rose to sudden fame only to disappear as quickly as she came.”
“Sure, maybe. But only if you’re unbelievably talented.”
“The way I figure it,” she said, “one year to me is worth five to everyone else. It’ll work out. Just you see.”
I said, “I thought you said every day is worth the same value.”
She seemed serious, her expression filled with even more strength and life than usual. Having a goal—even a short-lived one—made people light up. I wondered how much more conspicuous her radiance was with me standing next to her for comparison.
Time passed quickly as the radiant girl and I walked around the shopping center. She bought some clothes; when she found something that interested her, maybe a cheerful T-shirt or a skirt, she held them out to me and asked what I thought. I didn’t know what was good or bad in women’s fashion, so I responded with a noncommittal, “It suits you.” Luckily, and mysteriously, that seemed to cheer her up. Since I wasn’t lying, I didn’t have to feel guilty.
At one point, we came across a store selling Ultraman goods. She bought me a vintage-style vinyl finger-puppet of a monster that looked like a dinosaur’s skeleton. I didn’t know why she’d chosen it for me, and when I asked, she said it suited me. I thought I’d get back at her by giving her an Ultraman one in return, but nothing I did could spoil her good mood.
With our hundred-yen plastic puppets on our fingers, we stopped to eat some ice cream before deciding to return to the train station.
We arrived exactly at noon. Seeing how we’d just had ice cream, we decided to hold off on lunch and instead shop for some local treats to bring home to her friend and her family. The train station had a large area filled with stalls dedicated to selling just such things. There was such a variety, she had trouble choosing.
She tasted several different samples before deciding on some candy and mentaiko—fish roe—for her family and another kind of candy for her friend. Since I was there, I bought myself a small box of pastries that had been awarded the Monde Selection gold medal several years running. I couldn’t take a present home to my parents, as I had told them I was staying at my friend’s house. I felt bad about it, but I didn’t see any other option.
We then ate ramen for lunch at a different restaurant from the day before. Afterward, we still had time to kill, so we got some tea at a café before boarding the bullet train. The trip’s end had me feeling fairly wistful, at least for me.
Unlike me, whose thoughts lingered on the past, she was already looking ahead.
“Let’s go on another trip together,” she said, gazing out the window beside her seat. “Maybe we’ll do winter next.”
I didn’t know how to answer right away, but I decided the least I could do at this point was be cooperative.
“That could be nice.”
“Look at you, all agreeable. Does that mean you had fun?”
“Yeah, this was fun.”
It had been, too. I really meant it. My parents were always busy with work and took a hands-off approach to parenting, and I didn’t have any friends to travel with. This rare excursion had been a lot more fun than I’d expected.
She looked at me with surprise, but then her usual smile quickly returned, and she seized me by the arm. I didn’t know what she was going to do, and I was frightened. Maybe she noticed my reaction, because she let me go, withdrawing her hand with an embarrassed, “Sorry.”
“What were you going to do?” I asked, “Try to take my pancreas by force?”
“No, I was just happy you were being honest with me for once. Anyway, I had so much fun. Thank you for coming with me. I wonder where we should go next. I think I might want to go north. I want to experience the cold.”
“Why would you torture yourself like that? I hate the cold. If our next trip is in the winter, I’d rather escape even farther south.”
“Our outlooks really don’t match up!”
While she puffed out her cheeks in mock displeasure, I opened the box containing my travel gift to myself. I shared one pastry with her and took a bite into another. The treat was round, buttery and cakelike, with a sweet bean filling.
When we arrived back in our hometown, the summer sky was beginning to take on a tinge of ultramarine. We changed over to a local train that took us to the station nearest our homes, and we rode our bikes together back to our school. Since we’d be seeing each other on Monday, our goodbyes were short before we went our separate ways.
When I got home, my parents were still out. I responsibly washed my hands and rinsed out my mouth before heading to my room. I rolled onto my bed and felt suddenly tired. I was trying to figure out if it was because of exhaustion or a lack of sleep, or both, when I fell asleep.
My mom woke me up at dinnertime, and we watched TV as we ate yakisoba noodles. People say a trip ends when you get home, but I learned that wasn’t true. My trip didn’t end until I was eating dinner at home as usual. Normalcy had returned.
I didn’t hear from her all weekend. Over those two days, I shut myself away in my bedroom to read as I always did. If I went out, it was alone, like to get an ice cream bar from the supermarket. Two days had passed without incident, when on Sunday night I realized something.
I was waiting to hear from her.
On Monday, when I got to school, everyone in class knew about our trip.
I found my school slippers in a trash can. I didn’t know if that was related, but I could be sure I hadn’t dropped them there myself.