“So you live around here, Hiura?”
Makoto took Toiro to a park, in an attempt to calm her down. He sat on one of the swings and tried to make casual conversation.
Toiro sat down on the swing next to him. She seemed to have calmed down considerably now. “No, I was thinking of picking up a few groceries on my way home. I just got off work and, you know, there’s a supermarket nearby. It’s about the only place still open at this hour.”
“Oh, so you have a part-time job too?” he asked. He kicked at the ground, and the swing began to sway.
Technically, their school forbade students from working part-time jobs. Since their school had a high ratio of students who went on to higher education, it was only natural to have such a rule. But since Makoto had to consider his household’s finances, he had gotten permission to work part time.
Although he had made good progress in the kendo club in junior high, because of his job he wasn’t able to join club activities anymore. It was just as well, he thought, he had been getting bored with it anyway.
However, he wasn’t sure Toiro’s situation was the same as his. There were many students who worked part time without the school’s permission. Plus, she was a modem high school girl. There were probably plenty of things she might want to buy. He decided not to stick his nose into her affairs.
Makoto continued to sway on the swing. For a while, it made the only sound heard throughout the park on this quiet evening. It was still early summer. The air was cool at this hour. Perhaps because they perspired from running, it almost felt chilly.
He envied Toiro for her long-sleeved summer uniform. Her skirt was short, but perhaps because she didn’t want to get a suntan, she wore a long-sleeved top, as many girls did.
So, thought Makoto, she’s one of those girls.
As if to tease the shivering Makoto, a breeze blew past the two. Toiro’s long hair wafted in the wind.
Ah… he thought, looking in awe at her. He gazed at the white nape of her neck and her flowing hair.
He suddenly felt like he was watching something erotic and began to feel naughty.
Then he noticed a “scar” on the nape of her neck. It was a small, red scar, right on the surface of her white skin. Thinking it was a hickey, he felt embarrassed and tried to avert his eyes. He was a bit disappointed.
Well, of course, she’s pretty, he said to himself. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine she has a boyfriend, or even two.
His thoughts surprised him. Was he expecting something? Perhaps he’d gotten his signals crossed when he had thought that she’d spoken to him suggestively earlier at school.
Just then, Toiro became aware of Makoto’s gaze.
“Oh…” she exclaimed. She seemed extremely troubled and hid the scar with her hand. “I got some hot oil splashed on me at work,” she explained. “It still kinda bums.”
She smiled shyly at him. Makoto felt she was trying too hard, and he had an uneasy feeling.
What’s this all about? he wondered. It seems strange, like something’s slightly off…
“I’m okay now,” Toiro said, disturbing Makoto’s train of thought, “so I guess I better get going.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay.” Makoto stopped swinging. “Then, could I walk you home?” he asked her.
He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but he felt anxious about her.
“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she told him hurriedly. “I’m fine now. Thank you, Makoto-kun.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll do something for you in return next time,” she promised.
“That’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
She shook her head and said, “I want to thank you properly.”
“All right.” He was quite happy with just feelings of gratitude, but perhaps she wouldn’t be satisfied with only those.
“Okay then, see you tomorrow,” she said, bidding him farewell.
“See ya.”
He waved and watched her leave. The weight of the contents of the plastic bag rocked her arm back and forth. In the bag were potatoes, onions and some curry paste that would shock even an Indian.
What the hell…? he thought, surprised. So it was curry too.
That reminded him… he was still hungry!
✦ ✦ ✦
His heart was fragile and easily broken.
Reflected in the eyes of the boy were a cold, dull-colored light and the warmth of someone’s cheeks.
Red, the color of blood.
Black, the shadow that would take away what was precious to him.
“Don’t go!” he pleaded. “It’s all my fault! Don’t go! Don’t take him away!”
The black shadow. Red blood. A cold voice, a trembling voice.
“Don’t go. It’s my fault.”
Eventually, he would be roused from his sleep. It was morning again. He would awaken as usual.
And it was terrible.
“Makoto, wake up. You’re gonna be late.”
It was his older brother’s voice. Today had arrived again.
But he could not escape his nightmares.