That’s the place I always go in my dreams.
It’s morning, and I’m in my room. As I lie in bed, it only takes a second for me to understand where I am. The chime outside my window is tinkling. A breeze that smells of the sea gently sways the lace curtains. Ah, it’s a little damp, I think, feeling the pillow against my cheek. The tingling lingers in my fingers and toes, a mix of loneliness and joy. Still wrapped in my sheets, wanting to be lazy just a little longer, I close my eyes, and—
“Suzume, are you up?”
I hear a voice, slightly irritated, shouting at me from downstairs. I sigh, heave myself out of bed, and yell back, “I’m up!” The ghost of my dream, there only a moment before, vanishes completely.
“A high-pressure system will be bringing beautiful blue skies all across Kyushu!”
The weather lady on TV Miyazaki is smiling cheerfully as she swirls what appears to be a magical girl’s colorful wand over a map of Kyushu.
“Thanks for the meal,” I say, bringing my hands together before plopping a large pat of butter onto my thick slice of white bread. She’s kind of nice, I think, gazing at the weather lady as I spread the butter. Judging from her pale skin, she must be from up north, somewhere with lots of snow. I crunch into the bread, inhaling its toasty smell. Delicious. The rich butter brings out the sweet doughiness of the part under the browned surface. We always use ingredients that are a little fancy at my house. Apparently, today’s high will be twenty-eight degrees Celsius, slightly lower than yesterday, making for lovely September weather. The lady on the screen has perfect intonation, without a hint of regional accent.
“Don’t forget your lunch again,” Tamaki says from the kitchen. She speaks with a Miyazaki accent, and maybe it’s my imagination, but she sounds like she’s scolding me a little. She makes lunch for me every morning, but sometimes I forget to bring it to school. I don’t do it on purpose; I really don’t. But on days that I forget my lunch, I do feel a tiny bit freer. “You’re hopeless,” she mutters, pursing her glossy red lips as she packs food into a lunch box. Under her apron she’s wearing a sleek beige pantsuit; she’s perfectly groomed as always, from her lustrous bowl cut to the makeup that brings out her big, round eyes.
“By the way, I’ll be home kind of late tonight. Can you find yourself something for dinner?”
“You’re going on a date?!” I ask, gulping down my mouthful of fried egg. “By all means, take your time! Stay out till midnight if you like! Go have some fun for once!”
“It’s not a date—it’s overtime!” she shoots back, nipping my excitement in the bud. “Gotta get ready for the fishing event. It’s right around the corner, so I’ve got loads to do. Hey, your lunch!”
She hands me my jumbo lunch box. It weighs a ton, as usual.
The sky is clear, just like the weather lady promised, and a few kites wheel around proudly overhead. I’m coasting down a hill next to the ocean on my bicycle, and the skirt of my school uniform flaps in and out with the wind, like it’s taking deep breaths. The sky and ocean are unbelievably blue, the plants covering the embankment are endlessly lush, and the flat line of clouds is as white as newborn lambs. It strikes me that a picture of me in my uniform riding through this scene would look amazing on social media. There I am, pedaling down the slope with the old port town sparkling in the morning sun below me. I envision the photograph: a high ponytail fluttering in the sea breeze, a pink bike, and a slender (I think?) teenage girl against the blue sky. I can imagine the comments. Damn, I bet that’d get a lot of likes. …Abruptly, a corner of my heart hardens. Part of me is fed up with myself. Look at you. Not a care in the world, gazing at the ocean and thinking about something like that.
Sighing softly, I peel my eyes off the water, which has suddenly lost its color. I turn to face straight ahead, and—
“!”
Someone is walking up the hill. This is slightly surprising, because almost no one walks here on the outskirts of town. Adults always drive, kids ride in adults’ cars, and teenagers like me ride bikes or mopeds.
I’m almost certain it’s a man. He’s tall and thin, and his long hair and oversize shirt are blowing in the wind. I squeeze the brake to slow down a little, and he gradually approaches. He’s young, but I don’t recognize him—a traveler, maybe? He has on what looks like a hiking backpack. His jeans are faded, and he moves with big strides. His long, slightly wavy hair hides his face as he looks at the sea. I squeeze the brake a little tighter, and the sea breeze suddenly blows harder. His hair dances, sunlight hits his eyes, and I gasp.
“He’s gorgeous…” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. The man’s skin is so pale it makes summer seem like a foreign concept. His profile is clear and graceful. His long lashes cast soft shadows on the cliff of his cheek. Below his left eye is a small mole so perfect it might have been placed there by divine will. For some reason, these details rush toward me at high resolution, like I’m seeing them up close. My heart pounds. We pass each other at a distance of about fifty centimeters. I, we—my heart says. Every sound slows. We’ve met somewhere before—
“’Scuse me.”
His voice is low and gentle. I stop and look back at him. In that moment, the whole world is incredibly bright. He’s standing right there. He looks me straight in the eye.
“You know of any ruins around here?”
“Ruins?” I’m so caught off guard I can’t even remember what the word means.
“I’m looking for a door.”
A door? Like a door in an abandoned house?
“…If you mean like a village where no one lives anymore, there’s one in those hills over there…,” I say uncertainly.
He grins. It’s a beautiful smile, the kind that softly tints the air around him.
“Thanks.”
He turns away from me and strides off toward the hills I pointed to. He doesn’t glance back even once.
“…Huh?” I say, despite myself. A kite calls out overhead. I mean, couldn’t we have talked for a little longer?
The railway crossing bell is ringing right above my head. My heart is still beating faster than normal as I wait for the train to pass. Who was that guy? I wonder as I watch the blinking red lights. Is that what it feels like to meet a celebrity or a model in person? Like they’re a little too beautiful for the ordinary world, and for a while after you see them, you can’t calm down? …No, that’s not right, not right at all. That guy was more like…
A snowy landscape lit up by streetlamps. A mountain when sunrise hits its peak. A pure-white cloud, unraveled by the wind beyond your reach. He wasn’t handsome so much as beautiful, like those scenes are beautiful. And I feel like he’s a scene I’ve encountered before. Yes, it’s that same peculiar nostalgia I feel in the field of weeds in my dream—
“Suuuzume!”
A hand thumps my shoulder.
“Morning!”
“Oh, hi, Aya. Morning.”
Aya must have run up to me, because she’s panting and her bobbed black hair is bouncing. A two-car train passes, shaking the bar of the crossing gate and my skirt with its wind. I finally notice I’m surrounded by other kids chatting on their way to school. “Did you see yesterday’s episode?” “I’m screwed—I hardly slept at all.” They all seem so happy.
“Hey, what’s up? You look kinda flushed,” Aya says.
“What, no way? Flushed?!” I squeeze my cheeks between my palms. They’re hot.
“Very. Something happen?”
Her suspicious eyes peer at me through her glasses. As I’m trying to decide what to say, the warning bell stops ringing as if signaling my time is up, and the crossing bar rises. The students start walking all at once.
“…Suzume? You okay?” Aya asks, a little worried, glancing back as I stand rooted to the spot. A person like a landscape. That feeling of déjà vu. I pick up the front wheel of my bike.