The war in my world showed no sign of stopping.
Perhaps because it had been summer vacation, or because they had mistaken me for someone who was usually very well behaved, the punishment I received after security camera footage identified me as the culprit wasn’t extreme: crafting a lengthy written apology, a week of house arrest, meeting with a school guidance counselor and an outside counselor as well. My father chewed me out thoroughly, and even my normally mild-mannered mother gave me a good slap. I worried that the slap might have some ill effect on Chika, but my mother’s hand hadn’t left a mark on me, so I figured it should be all right.
What I most regretted was that I could no longer go out shopping or running without being followed by the watchful eye of my family. My brother once caught me trying to sneak out in the middle of the night and stopped me, saying “You’ll make mom sad again.” As someone who had already brought shame upon my family, I was in no position to push my way through that.
Of course, it wasn’t going out for runs that I was concerned about. What I wanted was to see Chika.
In the aftermath of that night, we decided some things about the future. Or rather, we were at least able to establish that while the war was off, Chika would have limited opportunities to visit the safe house. Realistically speaking, we did not know when the siren would be restored, and when the war would come thundering back into her life. As such, it was probably best that she spend her days getting her fill of a life free of any need to visit the safe house. Even so, I was glad to hear her say that she would still come here, wanting to see me, even if it was out of nothing more than consideration for my feelings.
I intended to simply bide my time quietly at home as though nothing had happened, but at one point when I was alone with my mother, four days after she had first raged at me, her anger over what I had done suddenly boiled up once more. I had been in the kitchen at the time, drinking some milk.
“Kaya.”
The radio in the corner of the room, dramatically better-sounding than its predecessor, was crooning.
“Maybe I’m off the mark here, but it doesn’t seem like you’ve reflected on your actions at all.”
For supposedly being off the mark, that was a surprisingly straight pitch.
“I have been. I feel bad for causing you trouble.”
“But you haven’t reflected on breaking something of the school’s, have you?”
I really hadn’t. I did know that I’d done something bad, but if I had to do it all over again, I would do the same thing without fail. I didn’t suppose that really counted as reflection. Still, immediately shaking my head at this would worry my mother all the more. As I thought about how to answer, she let out a sigh.
“If you haven’t been reflecting on your actions, does that mean there’s something you were trying to protect by doing that?”
“Yeah…there is,” I answered honestly.
“I don’t know what it is, but you’re obviously certain of whatever you were doing.”
“I am.”
It seemed my mother understood me much better than I’d expected. Still, even genetics or blood did not connect us all the way down to our souls.
“You can’t let yourself have such strong convictions that you convince yourself it’s all right to hurt others over them.”
As I sat there, not replying, the DJ on the radio began playing a new song—as if to fill the silence that stretched between my mother and me.
“It might be impossible to avoid hurting others when you’ve really put your heart behind something, but if you go around intentionally causing people harm, someday you’re going to end up hurting the things that you treasure, the beliefs that you’re trying to protect. Those who can easily hurt strangers to help their family will one day hurt that same family to help themselves. And in the end, even they get hurt. I’m just worried you’re going to end up that way.”
“I see.” So, that was what she was getting at. “But that’s why I feel bad about causing trouble for you.”
“Listen…”
As she stood there, heaving a great sigh, I stood up to put the milk back in the refrigerator. I truly did feel bad about making trouble for her, but my mother knew nothing about Chika or her world. There was no way she could possibly understand why I had done what I’d done. Even if I told her that it was something worth even hurting people over, she wouldn’t understand me.
Plus, I had already hurt something important for my own goals, and I was learning from it, even without her trying to explain it to me. This lecture was dull and pointless.
“You realize, Kaya, I’m not going to live forever.”
Her words caught me from behind just as I moved to return to my room. That’s obvious, I thought. Everyone dies someday. That’s just natural.
That was the last time my mother and I spoke face-to-face.
The morning my week-long grounding ended, I flew out of the house like a racehorse out of the starting gate. It took me some time to get back into my jogging rhythm, but I thankfully hadn’t fallen out of shape at all. My body craved running as strongly as it did food.
Chika wouldn’t be around in the daytime, so it felt pointless to go to the bus stop. But I wasn’t interested in seeing anyone I knew and getting weird looks, so I headed off into the mountains. Hydrating myself as I ran, I soon reached my usual spot. I was relieved to see that the bus stop was there as always. It obviously wouldn’t up and vanish, but just seeing with my own eyes the place that put my heart at ease gave me the strength to pick up running once more.
By the time I got home, I was drenched with sweat, so I took a shower, changed my clothes, and ate some somen that my mother had made. The afternoon went roughly the same way, and before I knew it, it was nighttime. My family gave me dirty looks about going running after dinner, but they permitted me to leave under the conditions that I come home early, keep away from the school, and take my phone with me. At the very least, I didn’t intend to outright violate any of these.