Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

A Bridge

- A Bridge -

I had the dream again that night. She was on top of me again, and the sky stretched out above. Each star was clear, crisply defined like they were actually tangible objects right next to us. Every night they seemed to grow closer. Such that they seemed to caress her back and her ears. I wished to touch her like the stars but I couldn't move very well yet. But I could see more of her this time. I could see her silhouette against the stars. I couldn't make out her face - she was a shadow hovering over me. It wasn't a frightening experience, to look up into the darkness of her body. She was warm and soft. Inside of me, there was a deep calm, a peace that moves like a lullaby coaxing me to succumb to sleep.

"There's a bridge," she said, "across the river. Three miles from here."

I was about to speak but she put a finger to my lips. As if she's sharing a secret and someone was trying to eavesdrop on us.

"After tonight, you may be able to cross the river."

"What's on the other side?"

"It's important to cross to the other side soon."

"Why?"

But she didn't respond.

It oddly didn't strike me as a strange way to put it at the time, as if someone was dying. As if I had to die. But it was the first time the conversation had moved onward from the myths and the sky and the universe above. She would dodge the questions I ask, if it treaded into territory too specific. I had learned the flow of our conversation and what kind of responses I should make to encourage her to speak on. Hearing her voice became my goal in the dream. It was comforting and the more she spoke the more aroused I became, until I could feel the need for release. If I could make her speak a lot maybe I would finish. But there was never any release. I would end up sweating profusely, wide awake in bed, never knowing the end. This time, however, she had given me a crucial piece of information.

It had occurred after I found Shizuka Kaneko's note in the yearbook. There had been no name to which it was written to. Just purple font on white paper. Neither did the yearbook seem to belong to anyone. I could conclude that Kozue Sato's yearbook had been donated to the school after her death, but that might be too hasty a guess. Of course Shirayuki gave no answer.

When I dug through the pages of the yearbook, I found Shizuka Kaneko's fifteen year old face framed in a photo for the junior high senior class. It came as a shock. Her features were largely the same but her hair was different. She was smiling, kindly, and her eyes had preserved a bright intensity. Even as a fifteen year-old she was stunning to look at. An exquisite little creature expertly crafted and refined. Her eyes were not as powerful as what I remembered, but still, it was better than nothing. After so long, I felt something kindling within, perhaps hope, or perhaps affection, for this fifteen year-old. What might be a drop of dew in a desert on parched lips. I had stood for a long time staring in desperation, soaking up that dew, trying to memorize the already fading image. Yet I grew in frustration as I realized my memory was insufficient to contain it. As soon as I turned away, her face would disappear, evaporate from my mind. While other images could remain, hers couldn't. Next I managed to take out my phone and take a picture, but it just wasn't enough. I needed her and to return the days we spent together. I tried to imagine her as a fifteen year-old, in a school uniform, hair up in a ponytail, books in her hands. She would be talking quietly to a teacher or lending her notes to a classmate. Perhaps she would be eating lunch alone, on the rooftop. Maybe she would be studying at home, or reading a book under a tree outside. On Wednesdays, she would put on her bathing suit for swimming classes and boys would watch her. On Friday, she had joined the tennis club and was a celebrated prodigy. Such thoughts overcame me like a sudden wave or a jolt of electricity. It finally dawned on me that she had gone to this same school Kozue Sato had. And the same school I had. Had I ever seen her? Spoken to her? Did I know her? What would it be like for Shizuka at school? How had she dealt with the ability to hear everyone's thoughts laid out bare? Had she known me all along? Had she met me a long time ago? Did she intentionally manipulate my lack of memory? Or had she lost her own memory too?