Tobi Otogiri grasped the horizontal vaulting bar before him with one hand. He kicked lightly off the ground, pulling himself up into a one-armed back hip circle—but instead of following through with his swing, he planted a foot on top of the bar partway and heaved himself all the way up, standing atop it with his arms crossed.
“Oh, gimme a break, Tobi,” the backpack slung over his shoulder scoffed. “Just for the record, normal people don’t do crap like that! You’re making yourself look like a total freak right now, y’know?”
Tobi pretended not to hear his bag’s voice as he surveyed the playground. He saw the horizontal bar beneath his feet. A slide. Two trees and two benches. A water fountain. A streetlight. A two-seat swing set, currently occupied by a pair of younger boys—fifth or sixth graders, most likely. Judging by the looks on their faces, both of them were wondering why on earth a scary middle schooler was climbing all over the equipment.
“What’d I tell ya? Geh-heh-heh!” Tobi’s backpack let out a nasty, grating cackle.
Tobi clicked his tongue. Shut your trap, Baku, he thought. He would have said it out loud, if it weren’t for the grade schoolers nearby. They couldn’t hear Baku’s voice—nor, in fact, could anyone else. Tobi was the only one in the world who could speak with his backpack.
Tobi leaped off the bar.
“For real, though, how’d you even get that nimble? You’re like a damn monkey,” Baku jabbed.
Tobi ignored the bag’s incessant ribbing and made for the slide next, climbing on top of it. The other boys were no longer paying attention to him. They were so focused on their smartphones that they’d stopped bothering to swing.
Once he reached the top of the slide, Tobi squatted, half sitting on his heels. When he was those kids’ age, he reflected, he’d been about this tall standing.
The slide was made of metal, its unpainted, silvery surface dotted with a number of conspicuous dents. The yellow paint on its handrails was heavily weathered and peeling away in patches.
“…Hey, you think this is the place?” Baku asked in a whisper.
“Who knows?” Tobi whispered back.
He pulled up his left sleeve and glanced down at the digital watch he’d bought at a thrift store. Apparently, it was 4:59 in the afternoon. Tobi was in eighth grade, but he wasn’t in a club and didn’t attend cram school. The institute’s curfew was set at five thirty.
“’Bout time for you to head on home, eh? You’re running down the clock,” Baku commented with a mocking chuckle.
Shut up, Tobi thought as he hopped off the slide. He cut a strikingly elongated silhouette as he sailed through the air, thanks in part to the backpack slung over his shoulder.
Just then, a familiar tune began to play over the town’s PA system. It was an old children’s song, used as a signal to let the local youth know it was time to start home. It was a tune Tobi knew well—one he’d grown used to a long, long time ago.
Tobi looked up at the dusky expanse of the evening sky, still lit by lingering sunlight.
“…I was up on his shoulders.”
“Huh? Whuzzat?”
Tobi ignored Baku’s question and simply muttered the same words to himself once more.
“On his shoulders…”
That’s right. My brother brought me to this park. He was carrying me on his shoulders. I remember him humming some sort of tune.
“Hey, what’re you humming, Big Brother?” Tobi asked.
His brother just chuckled, dodging the question.
“Hey, what song is that?” Tobi asked again. “Tell me, please!”
Once again, his brother didn’t respond.
This time, Tobi leaned forward to lightly tug on his brother’s ears. “C’mon, tell me! What song is it?”
“I made it up,” said his brother.
“You did? Really?”
“Yeah. It came to me just a moment ago.”
The memories flooded back, vivid and distinct. They seemed so perfectly clear.
That slide—Tobi had played on it countless times before. His brother would settle on the nearby bench, watching over him. He’d sit cross-legged, slouching forward, a smile on his lips. They’d played on the swings, as well. Both of them, together, his brother swinging alongside him.
“…Oh, right,” Tobi muttered. He’d just remembered that his brother hadn’t carried him to the playground—he’d carried him back. Tobi played around until he exhausted himself, and his brother let him ride home on his shoulders. They made their way back, the town’s PA system playing that familiar evening tune while his brother hummed another, different song.
“Tobi,” Baku called. “Hey! Tobi!”
Tobi didn’t respond. He left the playground, walking until he found himself standing before a two-story building.
Did we take a right here? Or was it a left? Which way did he carry me that day? It’s not coming back to me. I just don’t remember.
For the time being, Tobi decided to turn right. He walked along a narrow road, just barely wide enough for a single car to pass through. None of the buildings lining the path looked like they’d been built in recent memory. Every one of them was conspicuously run-down.
Soon, Tobi passed by a barbershop, complete with a pole in red, blue, and white. The shop itself was painted a deep shade of green, and the sign read HATSUSHIMA BARBERS. It looked familiar to Tobi—but in the sort of way that could have easily been his imagination playing tricks on him.
“This it?” asked Baku.
Tobi shook his head without so much as slowing down. He was searching for an apartment building. He had no idea what its address was, but it had to be somewhere in this vicinity. He remembered it being two stories tall and painted a whitish beige, with an external staircase leading up to its second floor. Tobi had lived in one of those second-floor rooms once, along with his brother.
What number apartment did we stay in? Tobi remembered it being one of the corner units, and he could pretty much picture the layout. There was a black rail outside the windows, which his brother had helped him sit on from time to time. The image of his brother smoking a cigarette as he leaned against that railing was burned indelibly into his mind’s eye.
Tobi soon reached a T-junction, where he came to a stop. There was a manhole in the ground in front of him. It didn’t look familiar, and no matter which direction Tobi turned, none of the surrounding scenery rang any bells, either. About eight or nine years had passed since that day, and for all Tobi knew, any number of things might have changed in the intervening period.
“Whaddaya think, Tobi?” asked Baku.
Tobi snapped. “Just shut up already!”
He’d tried to hold back, but it was no use. He couldn’t stop himself from shouting.
“…Didn’t have to bite my head off about it. Sorry, okay?” Baku replied. He wasn’t usually the type to apologize.
Tobi heaved a sigh and spun around to retrace his steps…and that’s when he saw it. An old, blackened concrete wall happened to catch his eye. There was a curve in the road just beyond it. An old, blackened wall and a curve in the road.
For some reason, Tobi couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. He walked over to take a closer look. Beyond the curve lay an even narrower road, packed with a mixture of one- and two-story houses on either side. Potted plants lined the street, and the utility poles seemed unusually slender. The power lines suspended from them, on the other hand, were so dense they felt like a shroud covering the whole street.
Tobi could feel his heart begin to pound in his chest.
“This road—we went this way…”
On that fateful day, Tobi had run down that very same street. Not alone—his brother had been there, too, pulling him along by the hand.
We were rushing. Was something chasing us? That’s right—we were being pursued. We were running away. But why?
Why had someone been chasing Tobi and his brother? Why didn’t he know the reason? Did he just not have the time to consider it in the heat of the moment? He couldn’t say for certain. His memory wasn’t clear enough. Surely his brother had explained what was happening to him. Or maybe he hadn’t understood why, either. Nothing was clear. The only thing Tobi really knew was that they’d been fleeing something desperately.
We were the only ones on the street. It was dark…but I don’t think it was pitch-black. Had the sun just set? Or was it just starting to rise? One of the two, probably.
Before long, the narrow road came to an end when it intersected with a slightly larger one. Turning right, Tobi caught sight of a number of stores with cloth awnings shading their entrances—two on the right, one on the left. Tobi suspected that was most likely the direction he and his brother had run.
Back then, Tobi had been terribly out of breath. He wasn’t running now, but he felt a pain in his chest anyway. He’d probably whined bitterly. I can’t go on, Big Brother. It’s too much. I can’t breathe. I can’t run anymore. Just leave me behind.
His brother would’ve spurred him on, though. You can do it, Tobi, he’d have said. Just run. I know you can run a little farther.
And so he had. He’d done his best. His brother told him he could run, and so he had.
When the new road came to an end, it spilled out into a street paved with cobblestones rather than asphalt. Tobi found himself in an old shopping district. A lot of the stores’ shutters were lowered—most of them for good.
Tobi had no memory of this closed-down husk of a street. Had he taken a wrong turn? No—they’d continued into that alleyway. He and his brother had dashed right through this place, leaving it behind as quickly as they’d arrived.
“This has gotta be the place, right, Tobi?” Baku said. Tobi didn’t reply.
This is the place, isn’t it? It has to be. Or is it?
From what Tobi could tell, this was one of the city’s older districts. Nothing about it really stood out to him. It was the sort of street you could find anywhere. Could this really be the place he’d been searching for?
This was where Tobi’s brother had finally picked him up and carried him. Maybe Tobi had started bawling, or maybe he’d tripped and hadn’t had the strength to stand up again.
Right—that was it. I tripped here. I fell, so he picked me up and went on.