Seven
She reacted to her extended hospitalization with surprising indifference. The news had worried me, but seeing how she appeared to have expected the possibility reassured me a little. I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but I’d been alarmed.
I went to see her after classes on Tuesday afternoon. Summer school was almost over. “By the time I get out of here, summer vacation will be more than half over,” she said, as if that was all that bothered her—or she wanted me to think that was all that bothered her.
It was a sunny day. Her hospital room, nice and cool, provided us shelter from the hot summer’s daylight. Somehow, that shelter helped settle my nerves, even if the heat wasn’t what was on my mind.
She asked, “How are things with Kyōko?”
“Okay, I guess. She’s been glaring at me with a little more of a glint in her eye since last week. But whatever you said to her calmed her down, and she hasn’t pounced on me again.”
“Could you stop talking about my best friend like she’s a wild beast?”
“Easy for you to say. I bet she’s never looked at you like she does me. She’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Or more like a lion.”
I hadn’t told her about our run-in at the bookstore the week before.
I brought her some canned peaches for this visit. I poured the can’s contents into a bowl, and we pecked away at the fruit. The sweet syrup reminded me of being a little kid.
The girl gazed out the window as she nibbled at the unnaturally yellow fruit.
“Why are you in a hospital on a beautiful day like this?” she asked. “You should go out and play dodgeball or something.”
“First, you told me to come. Second, I haven’t played dodgeball since I was in grade school. Third, I wouldn’t have anyone to play it with. There’s three reasons—you can take your pick.”
“I’ll take them all.”
“Greedy, are you? I’ll let you have the last peach then.”
She gave me a childish grin, stabbed the last peach slice with her fork, and ate it in one bite. I carried the bowl, forks, and can to a sink in the corner of her room. Apparently, a nurse would come and clean up for us. Between not having to do our own dishes and the room service meals, if it weren’t for her sickness, this might have felt like a VIP suite.
As part of her VIP package, I taught her our class materials at no charge, and although she seemed to want to be doing anything else, she took her notes diligently. When I asked her why she needed to study—she wouldn’t be taking any college entrance exams, after all—she explained that if her grades suddenly plummeted, everyone around her would think that something was up. I realized why I never particularly cared about studying.
There was no magic show today. That was understandable; I wouldn’t have expected her to have another trick ready so soon. She told me she was practicing something special and that I should look forward to it.
“I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” I said.
“How do you bait your breath? Do you eat a worm or something?”
“Oh no, have you gotten too dumb to recognize common sayings? You have it bad enough already—now you’ve got a brain virus too.”
“If you call someone else dumb, that makes you the dumb one,” she said.
“It doesn’t work like that. If I say you’re sick, that doesn’t make me the sick one.”
“Sure it does. You should drop dead. Look, I’m going to die now. See? It works.”
“I thought I told you to stop dragging me down with you.”
I was glad to have our typical nonsense. Our little jokes felt like proof that everything was normal.
If I had more experience with other people, I might not have been so reassured by something so trivial.
I happened to glance at the corner of her room. The flooring had darkened at the edges along the wall, as if fragments of the previous patients’ illnesses had accumulated there and wouldn’t let go.
I slowly shifted my gaze from the corner back to the girl. She said my name, and my eyes landed on her a little faster.
“[???]-kun, do you have any plans for summer break?”
“Just coming here and reading books at home. And doing homework.”
“That’s all? C’mon, it’s vacation. Do something. Since I won’t be going on a trip with Kyōko, why don’t you go with her instead?”
“I don’t have a license to handle dangerous animals. How come you’re not going on a trip with her?”
“Now that I’m in here longer, the timing doesn’t work. The second half of break she’ll be busy with volleyball.” She smiled sadly. “I really wanted to go on another trip.”
My breath caught. The whole room seemed to darken, air and all, and some unwanted presence stirred in my chest. I nearly coughed. I was only able to hold it down by taking a quick drink of my bottled tea.
What did she say?
I replayed what she said in my mind, like I was some detective in a novel and she was the prime suspect.
I must have looked troubled. Her smile vanished, and she tilted her head at me quizzically.
But I was the one with the question, which tumbled out: “Why did you phrase that like you’re never going to be able to go on a trip again?”
She looked caught off guard, wide-eyed, like a pigeon shot by a peashooter.
Finally, she said, “Did I?”
“You did.”
“Oh. Well, I guess sometimes even I worry, that’s all.”
“Hey…” I said. I wondered what kind of face I was making. The waves of dread I’d hidden since my last visit now threatened to leap from my lips. I tried to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from talking, but my hand didn’t get there in time.
I said, “You’re not going to die, right?”
“Huh? Sure I am. I’m going to die, and so will you.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“If you’re talking about my pancreas, then yes, I am going to die from my disease.”
“That’s not what I mean!”
I pounded my fists on the edge of her bed and stood. I didn’t mean to—it just happened. My folding chair slid back, metal legs scraping on the floor with an awful screech. My eyes were locked on hers. She looked truly shocked. So was I. What was happening to me?
My throat had gone dry and scratchy, but I managed to squeeze out one more sentence, like the last drop from a bottle.
“You’re not going to die yet, right?”
Still in shock, she didn’t respond. The room filled with silence, a scary presence that compelled me to keep talking.
“You’ve been acting strange.”
Still no response.
“You’re hiding something from me,” I said. The words began tumbling out faster than I had ever spoken before. “But I see through it. The truth or dare game, you suddenly hugging me. When I asked you if something was going on, your response was weird, too. Did you think I wouldn’t notice how long you took to answer? You’re sick. You’re in a hospital. I worry about you, you know?”
When I finally finished, I was short of breath, and not just because I hadn’t paused to take any breaths. I was flustered; I didn’t know what to do anymore—about her, or about me intruding on her.
She was still dumbstruck, staring at me. Seeing that I wasn’t the most confused person in the room, I managed to get a small hold of myself, and I sat back in my chair and slackened my grip on her bedsheets.
I watched her face. Her eyes were wide open, and her lips were tight. I wondered if she would try to change the subject again. If she did, what would I do? Did I possess the courage to press her any further? If I did, would it even matter?
What did I even want to do?
I was lost in my thoughts when she gave me the answer.
Her expression always changed so rapidly. I didn’t know what look would replace her current one of blank surprise, but I expected that, when it happened, the change would come suddenly.