The cram school is a five-story building. It is somewhat old and not very tall, but it covers a wide area. Several cars and bikes are parked in front of it. Mothers are milling around, looking at their watches. After a while, the children come running out. Some are smiling, and others hang their heads dejectedly. The mothers find their kids and begin chatting with them. Whether they smile affectionately or deliver a harsh scolding, it’s clear they all have their children’s best interests at heart. I can tell from the kind looks in their eyes.
Mommy… You and I were never like that, were we? You told me girls didn’t need to do any extra studying. But to tell you the truth, this is something I’ve always wanted to do.
While I’m thinking about you, the children disappear. I pull myself together. He’ll be here soon. I don’t look strange, do I? I go to the salon once a month, and I buy products there to use between visits. I’m wearing my new pleated maxi dress; the lady in the store said it looked good on me since I’m so tall. I’ve even got perfume on. It’s the kind you used to wear on dates with Daddy—not that I ever saw the two of you go out anywhere—the one that smells like mugwort. I think it’s a lovely scent, but what will he think? Will he like it?
You also told me that girls need to be pretty. I said you were being old-fashioned, but the truth is, I agree with you. An ugly woman will never find love. A lot of people these days say you shouldn’t discriminate based on looks or gender, so I’d probably get in trouble if I voiced that out loud. But that’s all just empty talk; it’s never going to change the way things really are.
Has anyone ever met a man who dislikes beautiful women? And even if they claim to take personality into account, let’s say it came down to a choice between two women with equally good personalities, one pretty, one ugly. The pretty one would win out every time.
I take a deep breath and straighten up. You used to tell me my forehead got wrinkled when I thought too hard. You said it was unseemly, that it made me look like a monkey. Since I’m seeing him today, I’ll try not to think about my other problems.
There he is. I recognize him even from this distance. I’d know that beautiful face anywhere. What was that thing Haruki Murakami said? That he was “attracted not by some quantifiable, external beauty, but by something deep down, something absolute”? When I first read that, I thought it sounded pretentious, but I get it now.
He’s perfect. Not like a doll or something artificial, though. His beauty is more natural—no, supernatural. I know it sounds cliché, but he looks like something out of a dream.
Several of the mothers turn in his direction. It’s obvious they’ve been waiting around in hopes of seeing him. There are less of them than there used to be. The school put out a notice on their website asking people not to congregate outside. Anyone with half a brain would take that as a cue to back off. I glare coldly at the women who are still here—the ones with less than half a brain.
Wait around all you want—he’s not going to be interested in any of you. Besides, you’re married with children; what are you even thinking? If you’ve found a man already, don’t go shopping around for more. As if any of you would catch his eye anyway. You’re so fawning, so disgusting. It’s women like you he hates most.
As I continue to glare at the vulgar women, one of them turns my way. Our eyes meet, and she fails to completely stifle a scream. She hurries away, clutching her son close to her. Not just vulgar, but rude, too. You ought to expect people to glare at you, the way you’ve been carrying on. Where do you get off playing the victim and staring at me like I’m some kind of monster?
Now I’m in a bad mood. I see my reflection in a nearby window, and my breath catches. My forehead is wrinkled. Like a monkey’s. I can’t meet him looking like this. I’m his one and only soulmate. I know I’ll never be as perfect as him, but I still have to be pretty enough that he won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me.
I’m not like the riffraff who flock around him shamelessly. I don’t approach him while chattering in a loud, uncouth voice. I just silently tiptoe forward and step into his shadow.