“Oh no! Ex-Princess!” Beaver’s voice trails off. In no time, Beaver is on the move, speeding through the mall on his skateboard. Ex-Princess and his team chase after him, shouting the whole way.
Before I know it, my pain is gone. As I slowly stand, I look at the spot where the girl had grabbed her phone. Another rectangular object had fallen there, mint and vanilla in color. Even from a distance, I can recognize it. It’s my phone.
As I go to pick it up, I see something white right next to the mint and vanilla. Ah, a mask.
I pick up my phone and put it in my pocket, staring at the mask left on the floor. She was so panicked, she probably didn’t even notice that her mask had fallen off.
Her braces were so shiny. Braces. Brac-es. Two syllables. I reach into my pocket for my phone, only to stop myself. There’s no way braces is a seasonal word, right?
As the automatic door slides open, I hear lively voices coming from inside Sunnyside. It’s the sound of elderly people enjoying conversation.
Sunnyside is housed in a rented space about the size of a small convenience store. The first thing you see when you walk through the entrance is the living space at the far end of the facility. There are two sets of tables for four people, and in one corner of the wall is a TV and a collection of magazines. There, a group of chatty folks are engaged in conversation. Mr. Sasaki, the most talkative of the men in the group, is looking stylish again today in his cowboy hat. Mr. Genda, a sly grin on his face, always wears sunglasses; I once heard him say that his cataracts make his eyes too light-sensitive. Ms. Miyahara, with her large earrings and fluffy perm, has a gentle, feminine laugh and often likes to give me candy for some reason.
A partitioned space near the entrance has some assistive devices set up. Nami and Akiko are in the process of helping some clients with them. Nami is assisting Mr. Hyoudou, who has trouble walking, with some ambulatory rehab; he’s using a set of parallel bars to toddle his way along. Nearby, along the wall, there’s a low platform with a handrail; Akiko is there spotting Mr. Souma, who has been suffering from knee problems recently, as he climbs up and down the step.
“We’re back.”
“Oh, thanks, Cherry. And welcome back, Fujiyama!”
Nami talks to everyone as if they were friends her age.
“Thanks for handling that all the time, Sakura.”
Ms. Tanaka, the head of the center, approaches me from her seat across from the assistive-care space, where the office computer is located. She has a calm demeanor, kind of serving as a mother figure to everyone. She’s also the one who arranges my part-time shifts.
“Not a problem,” I reply.
“Did you find the record, Fujiyama?” Nami asks as she leans against the parallel bars. Mr. Fujiyama turns to Nami and puts his hand over the mouth of the record jacket he held so carefully. He opens it, but there’s no record inside. He shakes his head slowly.
“Aww,” Nami says, sounding regretful.
Mr. Fujiyama starts walking toward the three-seater sofa by the common space where he usually sits. I follow him.
“Cherry?”
When I turn around, I see Nami pointing her index fingers at her ears.
“Not while on duty, okay?”
…Oh! I hurriedly remove my headphones. I had just been cautioned about that, too. It’s hard to converse with the seniors like that.
Catching up with Mr. Fujiyama, I help him sit down on the sofa. This kind of basic assistance is also part of my job. There’s no one else on the sofa, and Mr. Fujiyama is small enough that there is a lot of space on either side of him. Mr. Hashiguchi and Mr. Yamamoto are happily chatting at a nearby table, but Mr. Fujiyama is sitting still, uninterested in joining them.
“Guess he didn’t find it again, huh?” I hear Ms. Tanaka’s voice from a distance. Turning around, I see her talking to Nami on her way to the assistive-care space. “I’m sure he forgot where he put it…”
Ms. Tanaka’s expression darkens a little with Nami’s next question.
“What should we do about Fujiyama’s care plan, chief?”
“Let’s discuss it with his family.”
“Right, yeah…”
Nami is blunt, as usual, but her expression is serious. I’m not sure what a “care plan” is, but I think I know where this is going. The two of them must be concerned about Mr. Fujiyama’s wanderings—his little strolls.
“Emotions welling! As the young man rises up! Above the oceans!”
I cover my ears with my headphones at the sudden shout. Nami had just warned me about this, but Mr. Fujiyama can surprise you like that out of nowhere sometimes. He’s just so loud…
“Emotions welling, as the young man rises up, above the oceans…”
Now Mr. Fujiyama murmurs it softly, as if he’d read my mind. I know this. It’s a haiku.
“Um…”
Who wrote this one again…? Oh, I know!
“Settsu! Yukihiko Settsu.”
“Mmm, hmm-hmmmm.”
“Settsu’s haiku always have this strange sense of movement, don’t they?”
“Putting sound to scenery… What does it mean?”
“Sound…to scenery?” Huh? What’s he going on about? This is too advanced for me to understand.
“Um, Mr. Fujiyama, if you could lower your voice a bit from now on…”
“Whaaaa?!”
“…Your voice!”
“My what?!”
“…Never mind.”
I enjoy discussing haiku with Mr. Fujiyama, but when we get into high-level topics like this, it goes over my head. I have a lot to learn about haiku.
After that, I stay with Mr. Fujiyama for a while and chat about haiku with him, although it feels more like a Zen lecture than a discussion. It is pretty deflating.
“Hey, Cherry! You here?!”
I hear a gruff, angry voice echoing through the space. It’s coming from the entrance. I look over and see a guy wearing a baggy T-shirt, a backward baseball cap, and thick cargo shorts exposing his gangly legs and bowlegged stride.
Akiko smiles and waves.
“Ah, here comes Toughboy!”
“A-Akiko…”
The guy called “Toughboy” immediately drops his attitude.
“Um… Hey. Heh-heh!”
He scratches his reddening cheeks, suddenly acting shy. I don’t know how old he is, but he looks about twenty.
“Mr. Fujiyama,” calls out Ms. Tanaka, “your grandson is here to pick you up.” I help Mr. Fujiyama get up from the sofa and escort him over to Toughboy.