“Oh, Kaya! Welcome home!”
My mother was on the way out when I arrived at home. She was dressed all in black.
“Hey there.”
“Glad I caught you in time. I’m going out for a bit. I don’t think you ever met her, but your grandpa’s younger sister passed away. They’re having a wake for her. Could you let your brother know?”
“All right.”
“I’ll be home late, but I left some dinner for you in the fridge. Make sure you eat, okay? There’s some snacks too!”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be back before your birthday.”
“’Kay. Don’t get caught.”
After seeing my mother off, I climbed to the second floor of our very average house and dropped my bag off in my similarly average room. I changed out of my uniform and into some sweats, went back downstairs, and then opened the fridge to find a box of doughnuts. Won’t they be cold…? I wondered as I took the box out and opened it, selecting the doughnut that looked like it contained the most calories. I needed plenty of energy for running, after all.
I sat at the living room table in the middle of the quiet house and nibbled on the doughnut. Ours was the sort of household you’d find anywhere—right about now, my father was out working hard to put food on the table, and my older brother was giving his all to his university classes in the morning and a part-time job in the afternoon. With my mother gone, there was no soul here but me right now. The three of them lived average lives, all seeming to go about their days with some measure of happiness—all the while spouting to me, the youngest, about how your teenage years are the best time of your life as though they’d just resigned themselves to their lousy existences.
Something suddenly occurring to me, I stood up and turned on the radio in the corner of the living room. My mother usually had the radio playing while she was doing her housework, so it was normally on when I got home. Having been raised in such an environment, it was easier to ignore any unwanted noises with the radio on than while sitting in silence. When I turned it on, there was news about the war playing. There’d been a lot of that lately.
The doughnut had sucked up all the moisture from my mouth, so I went to the fridge, poured myself a glass of milk, and gulped it down. It was probably owing to my lifelong fondness for milk that I’d grown a little taller than average. Unfortunately, I had no interest in playing any sports for which my height would be beneficial.
Food was delicious because I was hungry. Eating was necessary to survive. There are likely those who believe that a boring life is not worth living. Death by suicide, however, was not currently an option even on my radar. I had the typical fear of death. But, more importantly, dying now would still be boring. If I ended myself, jerks like my seat neighbor Tanaka would just say “I knew he’d do it” before moving on with their dull lives.
It would be completely pointless.
After waiting thirty minutes for the food to digest, I turned off the radio, put on my running shoes, and headed out. First I did some stretching in front of the house, then I started walking, gradually picking up speed as I headed towards the mountains in my usual routine. I didn’t have a goal or any specific plans in mind. I was simply training my body in case anything ever happened. But I couldn’t say it wasn’t a little bit exhilarating.
As I ran, I alternated between periods of thinking and periods where there was not a thought in my brain. When I was thinking, my thoughts were primarily occupied with how I could escape from these days of doldrum. Ever since junior high, I would spend my runs imagining conducting myself like the delinquents did, or dropping in unannounced on club activities, or living my life to the sound of music. I would keep that up until I was disappointed in myself, thinking, “Is that all?” Then I would once again start running and think some more. Again and again. This time, surely, I would do something.
In the coldest days of winter, my runs felt as though I were putting myself through some sort of intense club training, but now that it was the latter half of February, more and more days were a comfortable temperature for running.
I supposed I would run for about an hour—down the usual back road, to the tower I used as a landmark, and then back. On the way back, already breathing heavily, I cut through a forest en route to my final stretch. The unpaved road eventually gave way to crumbling asphalt, at the end of which was a single lone bus stop. That was the actual goal of my run.
Affixed to the bus stop sign, which was browning and rusted from disuse, was a timetable for a bus that would never come no matter how long I waited for it. Beside it was a probably unnecessary prefab structure which served as a shelter, of which I would slide open the door and take a seat on the bench.
By the time my breath had steadied and my heart rate had settled, there were no sounds in the shelter besides the chirping of birds outside. Not a single car drove down the asphalt road before me, largely because some years back, a nice new road that circumnavigated this forest was paved, so no one used this route anymore.
The biggest reason that I used this spot as my goal was how abandoned it was. Even though I could not fully explain why, I hated seeing people when I’d just finished running. It just made me feel weird. There was nothing particularly off-putting about seeing someone mid-run, or when they were just setting out, but finishing a run was a moment that I wanted to keep to myself.