Chapter 11

I’d spent the night at the office—again. From four until seven in the morning, I slept with my face planted on my desk. That evening, during our presentation to our client, I mistakenly referred to them by the wrong name. Maybe it was because I’d been rushing to compile a report for a different client right up until we left, or maybe I was just sleep-deprived. Either way, the atmosphere in the room frosted over for a moment until the manager of the client company diffused the tension with an awkward smile, reassuring me that it was no big deal. He’d probably gone easy on me because I was young, and part of me felt frustrated by that idea. There was another part of me, however, that was relieved, and I felt so ashamed I almost cried. After we left the client’s building, my boss shot me an exasperated look. “You can go home now, Hayase,” he said with a sigh. “But I have to compile a report for a different company once I get back.” “You can deal with that tomorrow. There’s a fireworks display tonight, so the trains are going to be busy.” Then he added softly, “Go home and get some sleep.” Was he suggesting I put off my massive workload and pull an all-nighter the day after instead? I would have preferred to make a start on it as soon as possible. That way, I could leave work before the last train both that day and the next. My boss’s only job was to delegate the work. He had no grasp of how much I had to do. He always went home early. Unlike me, his complexion was positively glowing, which infuriated me to no end. “I still have work to do, so I’ll head back to the office.” “Not if you’re going to make mistakes like getting the client’s name wrong. Consider this an order from your boss.” I couldn’t argue with that. As I was standing there, my boss announced that he was off to entertain some clients in Shiodome. He raised his hand and got into a taxi. In the summer of my fourth year of college, I got a job offer from an event planning company. I must have been pretty good at job interviews, because I’d received offers from several other places, including manufacturers and IT companies. Since I’d always been fascinated by the more glamorous side of the business world, however, I decided to go with this one. I’d been working there for four years by that point, yet I didn’t really have any memories from that period of my life. All I could remember was spending all my time at the office. More than half my cohort had quit. They complained about the unreasonable workload and said they didn’t understand what they were working for and that they’d rather be dead than work there. Some of my remaining colleagues who were a few years older than me had started to adopt a more philosophical approach. They’d claim, “You’re not a true working adult until you start to question whether you’re working to live or living to work.” I, too, had lost sight of what I was working for. When I first joined, I’d put all of my effort into learning how to do the job. It was often tough, but I found it fulfilling to channel all of my efforts into something. Whenever someone needed me, I’d work my fingers to the bone trying to help them. That was probably just my nature. Recently, though, I’d stopped feeling any sense of accomplishment. I had no time to spare, and I just felt empty. The clients I was working for had their own families and children to think about, though, and promotional activities like what my company handled had a huge impact on the success of our clients. The reality of that had sunk in shortly after I’d joined the company. I couldn’t bring myself to quit or slack off, no matter how hard things got. Mom had also noticed I’d been getting home late every day, and she’d started to say, “What are you working so hard for?” I understood why she was asking that. I didn’t understand why I was working so hard, either. Still, it wasn’t like I could just throw in the towel or reduce my workload. Even if I did get my workload cut down, it was obvious that it would just get passed on to someone else. Thinking about these things made me anxious, so a year earlier, I’d ended up moving out of my parents’ house, declaring that “I’d make my own decisions.” I knew my mom was just worried about me, though. The apartment I’d rented functioned solely as a place to rest my head at night. The refrigerator was bare, and I only used the washing machine once a week. The room was empty—much like me. I’d sacrificed almost all of myself to the company. Why was I doing it? What did I think I’d achieve slaving away so hard? “I’m tired.” My future self could figure something out in the morning. I stopped thinking and decided to go home and rest. I just wanted to sleep. My legs were weak, and I was already breaking out in a cold sweat. Asakusa was crowded with people heading up the Sumida River. I pushed against the flood of people as I made my way to Asakusa Station. All of a sudden, I became unsteady on my feet, and I bumped into someone with a thud. “Sorry,” I said automatically. The person tsked at me. “Watch where you’re going. You blind or something?” they spat before walking away. For some reason, their comment triggered memories of my college days. Memories of one of my close friends. Koharu Fuyutsuki. Koharu was blind. Even though she couldn’t see, she’d never become pessimistic about her life. She’d gone to college, found a boyfriend, and always challenged herself to do whatever she wanted. “What would Koharu do in my position?” I first met Koharu at the entrance ceremony. There I was, surrounded by about five hundred new students in suits at an event hall in Hamamatsucho. It was the first time I’d ever worn a suit, and I suddenly felt like I was standing on the precipice of adulthood. It was nerve-racking. I wasn’t used to wearing my high-heeled shoes, and they made my toes hurt. Just as I was sitting there thinking how much I hated wearing a suit, I noticed the girl next to me—Koharu—was wearing a formal dress like a celebrity might wear. I was jealous. I never could have worn one myself, though, petrified as I was of standing out. When the entrance ceremony ended and everyone started leaving, Koharu stayed glued to her seat. I tried to speak to her, but the first time I tried calling out to her, she didn’t respond. I assumed she was ignoring me, but then she slowly rose to her feet, holding a white cane that had been leaning against her chair. “Are you…blind?” I asked hesitantly. “Oh. Yes, I am,” Koharu replied cheerfully. As I accompanied her out of the hall, I told her that my name was Hayase and that we were in the same course. I don’t remember how the conversation had ended up there, but I said, “Your dress really suits you.” It didn’t feel like I was just giving her a simple compliment, either; my words were loaded with a mixture of feelings, including how much I admired her for not caring what other people thought of her. “My mom said I should probably wear a suit, since that’s what everyone else would be wearing, but seeing as it’s a special occasion, I chose to wear what I liked. I can’t see it myself, but does it look nice?” Koharu smiled shyly and did a twirl for me. At that moment, I felt a shock run through my entire body. “You’re incredible,” I muttered. Looking back on it now, my lack of confidence had led me to give up on a lot of things in life. I never raised my hand in class, and I always stayed silent when they were assigning roles for the athletics meet or brainstorming ideas for our class project for the cultural festival. Although I was interested in joining the student council, I didn’t feel confident enough to put myself forward. I was even too timid to shorten my skirt. However, after that entrance ceremony, I decided to dye my hair. It wasn’t something I made up my mind to do, exactly, but an act driven by sheer embarrassment. When I realized I was jealous that Koharu was blind, I felt so ashamed that I ended up hating myself for it. I wanted to be as incredible as her. I looked up how to do makeup and tried to wear fancier clothes. For me, it was a form of armor. Having donned that armor, I decided to start pretending to be confident. I wanted to know more about Koharu. Then, one day, I spotted a poster asking for volunteers to become student guides. The more I got to know Koharu, the more incredible I thought she was. I almost idolized her. She was my best friend and my idol. What would Koharu do? She kept on smiling no matter how hopeless things seemed. She followed her heart. She wouldn’t waste time dwelling on how hard things were. She’d smile and look toward the future. It was impossible to picture Koharu without a smile on her face. “The only thing I’ve laughed at lately is myself,” I said, letting out another self-deprecating chuckle. “It’s not like work’s gonna kill me.” I wanted to smile like Koharu did. I wanted to live in a way that left a mark on somebody’s heart. Was it too late for that? Turning that question over in my mind, I made a call. The person on the other end picked up on the second ring, and I heard a kind, familiar voice. “Mom.” “What’s wrong?” When I heard her voice, I almost wanted to bite my tongue and forget everything I’d planned to tell her—but I knew that if I didn’t say it then, I might never find the courage to. “I’m sorry for springing this on you, Mom, but I’ve decided to quit my job. Can I move back home? It’d be a waste to keep paying rent.” I knew it was a selfish request. Having left home in such a defiant manner, I braced myself for a scolding. My palms had gotten sweaty as I spoke. But when I heard her react, she sounded happy. “Oh, that’s wonderful news! It’ll be wonderful to have someone who can help around the house again. Your dad doesn’t lift a finger, you know,” she said, before launching into a list of complaints about Dad. I didn’t know if it was relief or because I’d finally found the courage to quit, but my eyes were starting to sting. “Are you listening?” Mom’s gentle voice rang in my ear. As I stood in the middle of the crowded street teeming with fireworks festival attendees, I felt like I was going to cry. At that moment, there was a bang, and a massive firework exploded over the Sumida River. Bang, bang, bang. A succession of fireworks erupted up above me. In middle school and high school, I’d struggled to express my true self. It was only after meeting Koharu in college that I’d finally learned to go after the things I wanted. Once I’d entered the workforce, however, I had once again suppressed my personal ambitions. It had been of my own doing. I reminisced over my free-spirited college days. I’d worked as a volunteer, helped organize the student festivals, and planned the Children’s Fireworks event. The enthusiasm I’d felt came rushing back. “Sorry, Mom, the fireworks just started. I’ll call you again soon.” I hung up and turned back around, joining the throng of people making their way toward the site of the fireworks display. Strangely, my tiredness seemed to have evaporated. What kind of job should I try next? Maybe I should start my own company. I wanted to do something that would actually help people. As these thoughts raced through my mind, the fireworks exploded with resounding booms, shaking me to my core. My mind was overflowing with ideas. “I can’t wait to get started!” For the first time in a long while, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face. A large flower lit up the night sky above me.