I don’t get it. I just don’t get it, I thought to myself over and over.
But at some point it must have slipped out, because Tsuzuki looked up at me as he stood hunched over his latest set piece. “What was that?”
“Huh?”
“Sounded like you said you ‘don’t get it.’ Get what?”
“Forget it.”
“Man, you’re so weird. Not that I didn’t already know that.”
“Keep your little comments to yourself, would you?”
He straightened up, clutching his lower back. “Ugh.”
“What are you, sixty?”
“I think I’m gonna end up with a hunchback…”
The two-week (or hell, two- to three-week) recovery period had long since come and gone. All the clay figurines were now painted (though more than half Tsuzuki handled himself), and there was no longer any work left that an amateur like me could handle. So instead, while Tsuzuki worked on his project, I sat around and watched TV, surfed the web, or read manga I brought from home—all things I easily could have done at my own house.
Tsuzuki had regained the use of his left hand, and yet he never sent me away; likewise, I kept showing up. He never outright stated whether I was invited; likewise, I never said whether I was coming. And so there we were, hanging out spontaneously a few times per week.
Frankly, it was an utter misuse of my time. I didn’t stand to gain anything from it. Each visit would inevitably throw my nightly schedule off by several hours, resulting in even less sleep, and I always found myself regretting my choice on the walk home. I’d think to myself, What am I doing, wasting my precious off-hours on this crap? Then I’d resolve to never go back there again…but a few days later, somehow I’d find myself making the trek once more.
Not only that, but Tsuzuki had given me (a total stranger, lest you forget) his spare key, since he supposedly wouldn’t be able to hear the doorbell ringing while he was hyper-focused. And worst of all, I actually took the damn thing.
So, was this ultimately impacting my work? The answer was a resounding no. Physically, I was feeling better than ever—hell, my director had even complimented me on my recent performance. Clearly all this slacking off was having a net positive effect on me…
Actually, maybe that was what kept bringing me to Tsuzuki’s place. Maybe I just wanted someone to cut me some slack for a change.
On some nights Tsuzuki was really chatty, and on others he spent the whole time silently engrossed in his work. There were even nights when we didn’t speak at all. He didn’t coddle me, just as I refused to coddle him. Sure, he sometimes asked questions that were a little too personal for my liking, but I was always free to ignore them. In terms of comfort, this place was second only to my own apartment. But on the other hand, hanging out here meant I had to admit to myself that I was carrying a lot of pent-up stress, and I was kind of scared to.
To distract myself, I picked up one of the storyboards Tsuzuki had left lying around and started flipping through it. The pages depicted an astronaut piloting a spaceship over the earth, gazing down at the crowds of people living their daily lives. Then the astronaut sheds a single tear, and…The End. A very short story, all told.
“So what’s the deal with the astronaut?”
I figured Tsuzuki might not hear me, since he was busy setting up the stage lighting and checking for shadows, but then he replied, “The astronaut is a time traveler from a future where the Earth is destroyed and all of humanity has moved on to other planets…and he’s the last descendant. So he travels back to the birthplace of his species and grieves over just how many humans there used to be.”
“Yikes, depressing much?”
“Yeah, well, a lot of creative people are depressed.”
You sure don’t seem depressed, I thought to myself. Tsuzuki had great posture and a voice that carried well, and he was always flashing a toothy grin. As a result, he’d quickly won over most of the interview crew. But then again, surely even he must have some hidden depths I wasn’t privy to.
“So what’s the overarching theme?” I asked.
“Huh? I don’t have one. Man, why does everyone always ask me that? ‘Oh, what’s the theme? What’s the message?’ Does it really matter?”
“Well…” Considering all the time and passion you invest into it, one would think you’d have an answer to that question.
“I think of something I want to make, and then I make it. Every time. End of story. There’s no deeper meaning behind it—I just want to create something. I mean, it’s possible I am working off of some kind of theme without realizing it, but it’s not intentional. I want to leave that kind of thing up to the viewer to decide for themselves.”
“So you just half-ass all your projects?”
“You know the word ‘animation’?” Tsuzuki continued. “The ‘anima’ part means soul. And I don’t think souls should be restricted to one singular form, y’know?”
Yeah, yeah. It’s Latin or whatever. I know. You already told me—or rather, “Kunieda Kei”—all about it last week, remember? And then “Kunieda Kei” acted all impressed and told you how “deep” he thought it was, and you flashed those pearly whites, like, “Look at me, I’m soooo smart!” I see right through you, dumbass! Is my external persona really that perfect, or are you just dense as a brick?
Tsuzuki peered at me. “Uh…hello? You listening?”
“Nope.”
“Damn it, man, you’re the one who started this conversation! Ugh, I can’t mess with this part since they’re gonna film it soon… What should I do…?”
“Conversation? More like a one-man monologue,” I retorted. “Isn’t it annoying, having to stop what you’re doing and put everything on hold just for some stupid cameras?”
“Not as annoying as it must be for them, having to lug those heavy things in and out every time.”
Other than that first day we showed up, Tsuzuki was nothing but nice to the entire crew. Normally, time has a way of warming people up to the point that they start pushing the envelope and wearing their emotions more openly on their sleeve…and yet Tsuzuki never complained about the script or questioned why we had to do things a certain way. Was it because he could relate to the struggle of production?
“Besides, I always enjoy having Kunieda-san over.”
Convenient, because I’m right here.
“I never thought of myself as a chatty guy, but whenever I’m talking to him, I can’t seem to stop myself. I don’t know if he’s a good listener or if he just knows how to ask all the right questions.”
“Hmmm.” You’d think I’d be feeling pretty smug about myself right now, and yet some part of me wasn’t entirely enthused. It was annoying how excited Tsuzuki got whenever he was talking about… Wait, what? So I get annoyed whenever he’s excited? What for? I don’t get it.
“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Tsuzuki said. “I’ve got dinner plans next week, so I won’t be around that night. You’re still free to come over, of course, but I can’t say for sure when I’ll get home.”
“Dinner plans? I guess you must not be too worried about that big deadline you’ve got coming up.”
“Oh, lay off. It’s a business dinner.”
“That’s what they all say, until you end up at a hostess club.”
“I guess we’ll see how it goes.”
What kind of response is that? So you’ll do whatever they want to do, is that it? Great, now I’m mad again. Feels like I’m really touchy these days… Weird.
“Have you ever been to a hostess club?” Tsuzuki asked.
“So what if I have?”
“Wait, seriously? You have?”
“I’ve been to my share of ‘business dinners,’ yeah.”
“Interesting.” Tsuzuki looked thoughtful. “Did you have fun?”
“Hell no. The drinks suck and the girls are shallow. Plus, they expect you to entertain them! ‘Tell me a funny story?’ How about I tell you to get lost, uggo?”
“What do you care whether the hostess entertains you? Knowing you, you probably wouldn’t even give her the time of day.”
“Damn right. Why the hell would I care about her tiny dog or whatever? I don’t even know her!”
“Sounds like it’s not her fault then,” he snickered. He followed this up with, “Do you have a girlfriend, Owari?” But a moment later, he seemed to think better of it. “On second thought, I doubt you’ll tell me.”
“Then don’t ask!”
“I’m just curious, man.”
“No, I don’t… Women are too much of a hassle.”
“A boyfriend, then?”
“Men are even worse.”
“Neither?! Let me guess: you’re too in love with yourself or something?”
“Screw you!”
Incensed, I grabbed one of the old, worn-out couch cushions and flung it at him. Unfortunately, he caught it with ease.
“Hey, watch it! Hit me if you have to, but be mindful of the set, all right?”
But I ignored his complaints and stormed out of the house.
“Hey! Wait!”
Then I proceeded to ignore him all the way home. Cram it, dumbass. You’re so stupid, you don’t even realize who I am.
As I stormed down the streets, I plunged my hands into my pockets so hard, the stitches threatened to give out.
In love with myself? Sure, whatever you say. Can you blame me? Everyone else is a goddamn moron and it pisses me off. They only ever let me down. There’s not one good thing about them.
But more than anything, what upset me was that Tsuzuki made it sound like I was wrong for feeling this way. What an asshole!
I didn’t spend my entire life “playing nice” because someone else told me to. Right from an early age, everyone called me “smart” and “kind,” and my kid brain decided, Ah, so this is what I’m supposed to do. Then I started doing it to impress them…and before I knew it, I was an adult.
My foul mouth and pessimistic personality were traits I was born with; no one was to blame for “causing” them. And since I wasn’t trying to point the finger at anyone else, surely I didn’t deserve to be criticized. Screw him and the high horse he rode in on.
And so I vowed I would never, ever go back to Tsuzuki’s again.