Finally, to you.
Don’t worry, I won’t write your name.
You. You. You, who told me not to write your name.
So, what’s up?
Lately—and I’m writing this summer of sophomore year—I’ve had a lot more I want to tell you.
Let’s deal with the business stuff first.
This book is now yours, freely.
I’ve told my family as much. When you come to take it, they’re to give it to you.
By freely, I mean you can do whatever you want with this book.
Destroy it, hide it, give it away, whatever.
As you’ve probably already seen, I’ve written letters to other people in these pages, but it’s up to you whether or not you show them.
The moment you’re reading this, Living with Dying is now your possession. If you don’t want it, you can throw it away. (Grrrr)
I wish I had a better way to thank you for everything you’ve given me, but it’s the best I can do.
That watermelon you brought the other day was really good. [Why am I writing about something that just happened? I guess I can just rewrite this part later.]
Okay. I’m going to write down everything I want to tell you right now. These are my true feelings, as far as I understand them. If anything changes, I’ll rewrite this part. Although if I start hating you I won’t write about it. If that happens, I can just have Kyōko kill you, and I won’t need to bother. (Ha ha!)
It’s only been four months since we met in the hospital. That’s so weird. I feel like I’ve spent a much, much longer time with you. I’m sure the time seems fuller because of all the things you’ve taught me.
I already mentioned this in my journal, but the truth is I’d been curious about you for a long time. Do you know why? I’ve heard you say it often.
The answer: You and I are opposite people.
I’ve thought so myself.
I’d been wanting to learn more about you, but I never had an opportunity to get closer to you. And then you happened to pick up my book. I thought, well, now we’ll just have to get along. And we did. I’m glad we did.
Recently, I’ve been wondering every now and then if maybe we’ve been getting along a little too well.
This thing we’re doing—sometimes I think of it as playing at being in love—it makes my heart race. So far, all we’re doing is hugging, which is fine. But I wonder, at this rate, if we’ll soon be kissing as part of our game. And there goes my heart racing again.
Well, I guess I wouldn’t object. Does that shock you?
I really mean it. As long as it was still make believe, I’d
be fine.
I wasn’t sure if I’d admit this to you, but, well, if
you’re reading this, then I’m dead, so why not? I’ll be open with you.
So here goes. I don’t know how many times I’ve thought that I’m in love with you. Once was when you told me about your first crush. I felt a knot in my chest. When we were drinking in our hotel room was another. The first time I hugged you.
But I didn’t want to cross that line and become boyfriend and girlfriend. And I won’t ever want that. I think. Probably.
Maybe we could have worked out together, romantically. But we don’t have enough time to find out, do we?
I also don’t want to define our relationship with common words like those.
Love? Friendship? That’s not what we have, is it? If you were in love with me, maybe that would be different. I kind of wonder sometimes. But I wouldn’t know how to ask, even if I wanted to.
Oh, and since this has to do with the game of truth or dare I asked you to play in the hospital, I’ll tell you what I was trying to ask you. Since I can’t find out what your answer is, this won’t break any rules.
What I wanted to ask you was…
Why don’t you ever say my name?
Do you remember how you woke me on the bullet train? I do. You smacked me with a rubber band. You could have woken me by saying my name, but you didn’t. I’ve wondered about that ever since. I began noticing you never called me by my name. Not even once. It’s always “you.” You, you, you.
When I asked you to play that one round, I had been considering asking you. But part of me was afraid it was because you didn’t like me. That’s how I think sometimes. And if that had been your answer, I couldn’t have just shrugged it off. I’m not confident enough to not care. Unlike you, I can’t build myself as a person without relying on the people around me.
If I was ever going to ask you, I needed a push—the game of truth or dare.
But now I think there’s a different reason you never say my name.
What I’m about to say is just a guess. Forgive me if
I’m wrong.
Are you scared of defining who I am to you?
You told me that when people say your name, you like to speculate what you are to them. And you don’t care if you’re right or not, because it’s in your head.
Now, maybe this is just what I want to believe, but I think you do care about me.
And that’s why you’re afraid to speculate what I am
to you.
You don’t want to say my name, because you might attach a meaning to it.
You’re afraid to define someone you’re going to lose as a “friend” or “girlfriend.”
Well? How about it? If I’m right, I’ll accept an offering of plum liquor by my grave.
You don’t have to be afraid. No matter what happens, there should always be a way to get along with people. Just like you and me.
I keep saying you’re afraid of this or that, so maybe it sounds like I’m calling you a coward, but I’m not.
I think you’re an amazing person.
You’re an amazing person who is exactly my opposite.
While I’m at it, I’ll answer your question, too. What a lucky day for you!
You know which question I mean, right? You asked me what I think of you. Or maybe you don’t care. You can skip this part if you want.
I…
I wish I could be like you.
I’ve been thinking that for a little while now.
If I was like you, maybe I could take responsibility for my life and find what makes me uniquely special, just for myself, without inflicting sadness on you or my family, and without being such a burden on others.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m truly happy with my life as it is right now. But I admire you for being able to live as your own person, whether anyone else is around you or not.
My life is based upon someone always being there
with me.
At one point, I realized something.
Without anyone around me, I am nothing special.
I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I mean, everyone’s like that, right? People are who they are through their relationships with others. Take our classmates—without their friends and boyfriends and girlfriends, who would they be?
Being compared to others, comparing ourselves to others—that’s how we discover who we are.
That’s what living means to me.
But you, and you alone, are always on your own.
You found what makes yourself special outside of any social connections, by looking only at yourself.
I want to be able to do that for myself.
That’s why, after you went home that day, I cried.
That day, you genuinely worried for me. That day, you told me you wanted me to live.
You had decided you didn’t need any friend or anyone to love. But then you chose to need someone.
And not just someone. You chose me.
For the first time, I realized someone needed me for who I was.
For the first time, I realized I was unique.
Thank you.
I might have been waiting seventeen years for you to need me.
Like a sakura flower waiting for spring.
Maybe some part of me recognized that, so I chose to record my thoughts in this book, even though I hardly ever read books.
I made a choice, and I met you.
You really are incredible, you know that? To be able to make someone as happy as you make me. I wish everyone could see your charm.
I noticed it a long time ago.
What’s that old saying? Before I die, I want to make a potion from the dirt under your nails.
Now that I write that out, that seems too plain to describe us. Our connection is wasted on some cliché like that.
I think you know what I’m going to say.
Like it or not.
I want to eat your pancreas.
(I wrote the longest about you. I bet Kyōko will be mad about that, so I better fix that later.)
The end. [of the first draft]
I finish reading and return to a world in which she’s gone.
And I notice something…
I’m breaking.
I’m aware it’s happening, but I’m powerless to stop it.
Before I fall apart, there’s one thing I must know.
I say, “Do you have her—Sakura-san’s cell phone?”
“Her phone?”
Her mother stands and walks out of the room. Soon, she returns with a flip phone and says, “When she…left us, we kept her phone around, so we could answer it, but we’ve been keeping it turned off now.”
“Please, I want to see it.”
Without another word, her mother hands me the phone.
I flip the cell open and turn it on. After a moment, I open her incoming text folder.
There, among countless unopened messages, I find it.
The last message I sent to her.
The message had been opened.
She saw it.
I place her phone and her book on the tatami mat. I somehow manage to work my shaking lips to say one last thing before I break.
“Mrs…Yamauchi?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry, I know, this isn’t my place… But…”
She allows me to finish.
“Can I cry now?”
A tear rolls down her cheek, and she nods once.
I break down. But no, the truth is, I broke a long time ago.