My mom left us right after she gave birth to me. I heard she was a broke, struggling musician, and she ran. So when Dad ended up in prison, I was left all alone.
For a while, I was taken in by relatives I’d never met before. I could tell I wasn’t wanted there, and I had no intention of becoming a burden. So I told them I wanted to live alone in Dad’s house, and they immediately gave me permission.
The family had seemed well off, and in the end they said, “We’ll give you enough money for your living expenses. Just don’t cause any trouble,” and sent me on my way.
From then on, they deposited enough money in my bank account each month for me to live comfortably.
I didn’t feel lonely. Once I accepted that I’d lost everything, it was easier to live alone than with someone who pitied me.
I completely avoided the garage. Since my father was arrested, I’d lost the desire to play music.
In addition, graffiti appeared on the garage shutter every day. Words like “Murderer,” “Disappear,” and “Die” were spray-painted over and over, no matter how many times I cleaned them. Eventually, it was too much of a hassle, so I just left it.
I started to get threatening letters in the mail. To be honest, they were more like childish insults than threats. I felt nothing as I trashed them.
Honestly, I didn’t care. It didn’t seem like I was in danger, and even if I had been, I was so deep in despair at the time, I probably wouldn’t have even felt scared.
One day as I was robotically dealing with yet another hate letter, I opened a neatly addressed envelope and reached in to touch the paper.
“Ow!”
There was a razor inside. It sliced my finger open, and blood dripped out. As I gazed at the crimson liquid dripping from my fingertip, I thought, It was all a lie.
Yuugo Ichihara’s music, which once seemed so great, was now the target of petty harassment. That would be his legacy.
“…Ha-ha.”
I’d believed in it once. I’d thought his music would travel throughout the world, making it a better place. I’d convinced myself that was why he was making music.
Seeing what had become of it now made me laugh.
I peeled the razor off the paper inside the envelope, and then I cut my arm with it.
More blood gushed out than when I’d cut my finger, and it hurt. Even after the bleeding stopped, it still stung. I gazed at the cut, and for some reason, I felt relieved.
At least, this pain felt real.
✦ ✦ ✦
After that, I gave up everything related to the bass and quit music altogether.
Life after that was flat. Boring. Almost like a chore.
I went to school every day, attended classes, and aimlessly wandered around when they were over.
I got addicted to the pain of cutting and spent some of the money in my account on piercings. I wanted to scream in agony when I got my industrial piercing, but the long-term pain as my body got used to it was a perfect distraction. Pain made me appreciate the small things in life a little more than usual.
I strove to live self-indulgently. I spent my money and my free time however I wanted, and didn’t worry too much about exams. I still had to get into a decent school to keep up my relative’s reputation, though. I didn’t want to cause trouble, after all.
In high school, I became the manager of the soccer club as another way to kill time.
I guess you could say I was pretending. Even though my heart was empty now, I still had to live my life. So I lived pretending to be human. I thought I could keep going if I just kept up the deception.
But everyone kept knocking against my heart. Even when I said, “It’s empty in there,” they shook their heads and insisted, “No, you’re hiding your true feelings inside.”
It scared me.
I couldn’t risk having that part of myself exposed. The thought of facing music again after I’d turned my back on it filled me with fear.
When I saw how earnest Andou’s eyes were when he asked me to play, I was terrified.
I wondered how my music had made such an impression on him. I’d never thought that hard about playing the bass, it had just been part of my life. That was all there was to it.
I’d innocently worshipped Yuugo Ichihara and played the bass in an attempt to chase after him. And ultimately, the music I’d worshipped had plunged me into despair.
When people pinned expectations and dreams on you, you could betray them, and ruin their lives. I knew that from experience.
So I didn’t want anyone to believe in me.
My spirits lifted a little when I heard Asada playing drums in the garage. The sound was desperate, sincere…and cheerful. Of course, he was nowhere near Etsuko’s skill level, but somehow he reminded me of her.
I pretended not to care, but then I got greedy and tried to get closer to the sound. And little by little, he extracted the truth from me.
My actions were inconsistent.
I’d shut out my own heart, so I didn’t understand what I really wanted. Even though I said I didn’t want to, I was getting closer to music again.
Soon it would be time for the school festival. How would I feel when I saw them perform on stage at the after-party?