My shirt was soaked with sweat as the red summer sun beat down on my back, still as scorching as ever, even as evening began to fall.
I walked this same path every single day—back and forth, back and forth. How many times had I made the trek now, I wondered? How many more times would I have to before I could finally be put out of my misery? Simply imagining the sheer number of commutes I had left was enough to put me in an even worse mood, and I sighed for what had to be at least the dozenth time today.
My life was completely colorless.
Day in, day out, it was always the same. I led a painfully dull and mind-numbingly tedious existence in which nothing ever changed for the better—only for the worse. I couldn’t keep doing this. I was going to pull all my hair out sooner or later. I needed a way out. But what could I even do? How could I escape the monotony?
Finally, I came to a stop outside an old, run-down apartment building. Walking up the rusted-over metal staircase, I made my way to the last unit on the first floor and approached the dreary, dimly lit doorstep.
This was my home, the place I’d lived together with my mother since as far back as I could remember. I’d never known my father—never even known who he was. My mother had given birth to me at age twenty-one and had raised me as a single parent ever since.
Having been brought up in such an environment, I’d always gotten the impression that my peers viewed me as lesser somehow. Some of them looked at me sympathetically, as though I was a stray animal, while others treated me like a leper to be avoided at all costs. The worst were the ones who talked maliciously about me behind my back, saying I was a perfect example of why having a baby out of wedlock was never a good idea. “Just look how she turned out,” after all.
As I fumbled for my keys, I could hear the sound of cicadas crying behind my back, screaming like the world was about to end. There was a home with a massive backyard next door to the apartment building, with several giant trees they’d let grow completely out of control. A huge host of cicadas made it their summer retreat every year. I hated them with a passion—both the cicadas and the homeowners.
After finally finding my keys, I unlocked the door and quickly shuffled into the merciful quiet of our apartment. It was hot and humid inside, almost suffocatingly so. I opened the living room window and switched on the standing electric fan.
I switched the TV to an evening news broadcast. Not because I particularly wanted to watch it or anything; mostly just because it felt a bit too eerie hanging out at home in total silence, and random news stories I couldn’t care less about would make the perfect white noise for me to sprawl out on the floor and fall asleep to.
“Seventy years ago today, a kamikaze unit took off from this very spot, heading due south. Their planes were full of explosives and only carried enough fuel for a one-way trip…”
The narration sounded so overdramatic, I couldn’t help but cast a quick glance up at the TV, where a series of black-and-white images and soundless videos flashed across the screen. First, a massive fortress-looking iron warship floating at sea. Then, a few tiny black dots made a beeline toward it from high in the sky. Apparently, those were the planes. One such plane managed to find its way into the hull of the ship, bursting into a giant cloud of white light as it crashed, followed by a massive soundless explosion. The warship only listed slightly to one side, although it didn’t sink.
Right… We were talking about kamikaze units in history class today, I recalled.
The whole concept always seemed so stupid to me. With all the shock and horror the media seemed to show when reporting on terrorist attacks and suicide bombings overseas today, it felt crazy to think that there was a time less than a hundred years ago when our country considered something not too dissimilar an act of heroism.
Well, not that I care much either way, I thought to myself. Whatever might have happened over fifty years before I was born, or whatever might still be happening today in some faraway country overseas, none of it made any difference to me and my life.
Still, I wasn’t in the mood to listen to some somber newscaster go on and on about World War II, so I changed the channel and turned my back to the TV.
I could hear the curtains fluttering in the wind as a lukewarm breeze blew in through the open window, caressing the back of my neck as I gently nodded off to sleep.
“Hey! Wake up!”
I was stirred from my slumber by a smack on the head. Brow furrowed, I opened my eyes to see my mother’s face staring down at me in anger.
Great, guess I’m getting yelled at again… Ugh. Just what I needed.
Already anticipating the lecture that was to come, I begrudgingly lifted myself up. Through the window, I could see that it was already getting dark out.
“Honestly, Yuri…” said my mother. “Why are you like this?”
She grumbled a few more complaints as she sat down at the dresser with a stern expression. She began putting on her standard bright red lipstick and gaudy eye makeup to prepare for her upcoming night shift. She worked at the supermarket during the day, then came home briefly to redo her makeup before heading back out to her second job at a local dive bar.
“I swear…” she went on. “Falling asleep on the floor, and without changing out of your school uniform, no less… Have you even done your homework yet?”
I didn’t respond—I just gave her a dirty look.
“What, don’t like being told what to do?” said my mother. “Well, maybe if you learned to act like a responsible adult, I wouldn’t have to give you so many reminders!”
“I was already planning to do my homework later,” I said. “Give me a break… I’m allowed to take a nap, aren’t I?”
Just then, my mother’s cell phone started ringing. She checked to see who it was, then answered the call.
“Yes, hello?” she said, affecting a sweet, cordial voice. “This is Kano speaking.”
And just like that, her previous sour attitude was gone. Seeing her pull a total one-eighty like this, at the very moment she talked to someone other than me, only irritated me more. I flopped down on the floor again and covered my ears but couldn’t help hearing bits and pieces of her phone call regardless.
“Yes, she is… Oh, I see… Of course, of course… I’m so sorry for the trouble, really… Yes, thank you again for letting me know…”
I could already tell from context clues and her apologetic tone that it was probably the school on the other end. After finally hanging up the phone, my mother turned to face me again—she was right back to furious.
“That was your homeroom teacher!” she shouted. “Yuri! You get up right now, young lady!”
Annoyed, I lethargically pushed myself up.