“Koyomi?”
After a phone call, Dad called for me in an uncharacteristically grave voice. Part of me was annoyed that he was interrupting my video game, but he sounded so morose that I couldn’t possibly ignore it.
Sure enough, when I glanced over, he was standing there, looking devastated. I’d never seen him so sad before… What in the world was that phone call about?
“I’m told Yuno passed away.”
“…What?” I asked.
Yuno was the name of the dog that lived with Mom at my maternal grandparents’ house. She was a golden retriever, and despite being bigger than me, she was a total needy baby. Whenever I went over to their house, she’d jump up to greet me with her tail wagging up a storm.
But now…she’s dead?
It was so sudden that I couldn’t process it. I squished mosquitoes and flies without hesitation, I ate meat, and in video games I killed monsters all the time. But Yuno wasn’t a bug, or a monster, or food. How could she die? Though I was old enough to know better, some small part of me wondered if I could revive her with magic or an item.
“How did it happen?”
“A neighbor’s kid ran out into traffic and almost got hit by a car, but Yuno jumped out in front… She died a hero.”
I was the one who asked for this information, but I found myself rejecting it regardless. What was I supposed to do with it? How was I supposed to feel?
“I’m told that they dug a grave in the yard at your mom’s place. Wanna head over?”
“Uhhh… I’m in the middle of my game,” I answered reflexively, even though I knew this was way more important.
“…Okay. Some other time then.”
I thought he would yell at me for having my priorities wrong, but instead, he looked at me with sympathy.
Somehow, for me, that was a thousand times worse.
“On second thought, let’s go right now,” I said while shutting my game off. I got dressed, we hopped into Dad’s car, and together we drove to Mom’s house.
It wasn’t far from our place—only ten minutes by car, and close enough for me to bike over whenever I wanted. In fact, in the early days of their divorce, I used to go there all the time—partly to see Mom and Yuno, of course, but also my grandpa. He was a nice guy who gave me a piece of candy every time I visited. Over time, however, I started visiting less and less… In fact, this year, I hadn’t been over since New Year’s.
“Oh, Koyomi, you’re here. Come with Mommy.”
I hadn’t seen Mom in months, and she looked alarmingly distraught about the loss of Yuno. It was so alarming that I started to worry if I looked that distraught myself.
“You okay?” Dad asked her.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied with a small, relieved smile. I was happy to see the two of them getting along, circumstances notwithstanding.
Yuno’s grave was located in an empty corner of the backyard. There, the earth was raised only slightly, and it was hard to believe that the family dog was buried there. If anything, it seemed cruel to trap her down there all alone.
“You know, Grandpa adopted Yuno around the same time you were born, Koyomi.”
That was a story I’d heard countless times before, along with a famous poem that I could practically recite offhand.
When you have a child, get a dog.
In infancy, a guardian;
In childhood, a playmate;
In adolescence, a shoulder to cry on;
And in adulthood, with its death, the value of a life.
If this poem was true, then Yuno died way too early. I was only nine years old still. Maybe that was why I couldn’t feel “the value of a life” while staring down at this grave.
“Sweetheart, why don’t you go inside and say hello to Grandma and Grandpa?”
And so, at my mother’s prompting, I walked off into the house.
“Koyomi, my boy! Welcome. Thank you for coming.” In the months since I’d seen him, my grandpa appeared to have aged tenfold. He was the one who adopted Yuno, so maybe her death hit him the hardest.
He later invited me to spend the night, but I declined. Something in my gut told me I needed to actually grieve Yuno’s death before I could spend any more time with him.