Every family’s home has a unique odor, and Itoha’s smelled like expired soy sauce. It was an old two-story building that no one would describe as clean, no matter how polite they were trying to be. Newspapers and flyers were scattered across the floor along with envelopes, postcards, printouts from Itoha’s school, pieces of fabric so filthy it was hard to tell if they were towels or dust cloths, unwashed laundry, various writing implements, tools—scissors, box cutters, screwdrivers, and the like—and so on.
The kitchen in particular was a disaster zone. The sink and counters were piled high with dirty dishes, knives, pots, pans, chopsticks, forks, and spoons. When Itoha got thirsty, she would drink straight from one of the plastic bottles in her fridge. Rukana got in the habit of bringing a bottle of barley or roasted green tea with her, which she’d slowly sip over the course of her visits.
A dark, narrow, and steep staircase led up to Itoha’s tiny room, which was so full of drawings and insect specimens it was hard to know where to step. As such, the two of them spent their time at the low table in the living room, which was set up near a very dusty couch. That corner of the house felt like their own little kingdom. They never sat on the couch—always on the floor. Rukana felt like she could watch Itoha forever as she used her colored pencils, crayons, and paintbrushes.
Sometimes the two of them would chat while Itoha drew. Not always, though. Sometimes Itoha had to focus too hard on her work to sustain a conversation, while at other times, she could talk as much as she pleased without issue. Rukana quickly learned to tell the difference. There were days when the two of them barely exchanged a word, but even then, Rukana wasn’t bored. Just watching Itoha slowly but surely bring her drawings closer and closer to completion was entertainment enough.
One day near the beginning of summer, when the two of them were in fourth grade, Itoha and Rukana were once again in Itoha’s living room. The windows were open, and Itoha had spread a sheet of paper out on the table. This time, however, she wasn’t drawing. She wrote a series of characters instead—characters that spelled out her own name, Itoha Hiiragi. The way she’d written her first name, however, was different than usual. Instead of writing it out in the characters her parents had chosen for her, she’d written it out using phonetic characters. The same sort of characters that were used to write Rukana’s first name.
“I thought I’d try writing my name like yours,” Itoha explained. Her handwriting was just like her art: precise, finely detailed, and incredibly well-ordered. Even so, Itoha seemed very bashful about showing it to Rukana. She turned away, unable to even look her in the eye. “I think you’re really great, Rukana. I want to be like you, so I tried copying you. I’ll stop if it bothers you, though! Just tell me, okay?”
Rukana hugged Itoha from behind. She smelled slightly musty, in a bittersweet sort of way. Itoha stiffened up, and Rukana could feel her faintly trembling.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Rukana whispered into Itoha’s ear. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I’m really happy.”
That was the moment when Rukana made her choice. She’d spent a long, long time hesitating, unsure whether or not she should tell Itoha her biggest secret. She’d always wanted to tell someone, but she’d never had anyone she could open up to. Now, though, she was certain. She believed from the bottom of her heart that Itoha was that person.
“I see things,” said Rukana.
“…Things?”
“They’re real. But only I can see them.”
“Only you…?”
Itoha glanced around the room, still in Rukana’s embrace. It was like she was searching for the invisible things that Rukana could see. Rukana didn’t let her go. She pulled Itoha closer, spinning both of them around to face the couch.
She pointed at it. “There’s one right there.”
Itoha furrowed her brow and rubbed her hole-like eyes. It was obvious that she couldn’t see it. Rukana had figured that out a long time ago. It would’ve been wonderful if she could, but Rukana had no such expectations. She’d more or less lost all hope that anyone ever would. Time after time, it had been made clear to her that only she could see them. She and she alone.
The thing she could see now was on top of the couch. If this was the first time Rukana had seen it, she probably would’ve been too stunned to speak.
“It looks like a baby,” Rukana said. “It doesn’t have any hair, and it’s not shaped like a person. People have arms and legs, but it doesn’t. It only has arms and not just two but four. It has extra arms instead of legs, and it walks on them. I guess that means it uses its arms as legs. So maybe it actually has four legs. It didn’t just wander in here. It followed me. It follows me everywhere. It’s always, always with me. Oh, and one more thing—it has four eyes. Not two. Four.”
Itoha clung to Rukana. Her teeth were chattering. If it wasn’t Rukana speaking, she probably would’ve thought this was just a scary story. Itoha would know that Rukana wasn’t just trying to scare her. She would believe her.
“It’s all right. Everything’s fine,” Rukana said, forcing herself to smile. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s not scary at all. It won’t do anything. All it ever does is follow me around. I don’t know when it started. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. No matter where I go, it’s always there. It never leaves my side even for a second. It’s always been that way, so to me, it’s just normal. But nobody else can see it. Only I can. There’s no point telling anyone about it—no one would believe me anyway. That’s how I think about it these days. It really is there, though. I can see it just fine.”
“Why can’t I see it?” Itoha asked. Suddenly, tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I wish I could. I want to see it, too…but I can’t. I want to tell you that I can see it, but that would be a lie. I can’t.”
“I know,” said Rukana. Without even realizing it, she’d begun to cry as well.
Rukana wished Itoha could see the things she did. She deeply, dearly wished it were so. On the other hand, she couldn’t blame Itoha for what she couldn’t do. Itoha was weird, and unique, and talented. She certainly wasn’t average. She was worthy of being Rukana’s friend. But she couldn’t see the things Rukana could.
Rukana was special, and Itoha wasn’t. That was all there was to it.