The Stray

Part 12 - The River Shall Run Its Course, Let the Boat be Carried Where it Will.

I tilt my head in question.

"Take my wallet-- I need some more soba noodles."

If you take something of mine, you'll have to bring it back. The wallet is my assurance of your return.

Grinning brightly, I nod, fetching Shouta's wallet from a tiny wicker basket on the island in the kitchen. I was eager to do something to help Shouta.

Clutching the wallet to my chest, like a child who'd gotten a 100% on a test and was about to show it to their parents, I bounced out the door after putting on my ratty red sneakers.

I was happy to do things for the kind man. He'd done much for me:  he'd fed me, clothed me, allowed me to borrow his roof on a consistent basis, so much! Now he had just helped me get into UA. So I did every small thing I could to help my-- dare I say it-- friend.

Well, he was a bit more than just a friend-- friends don't feed you and clothe you, I didn't think.

I didn't have much experience to go off of, and making beneficial deals with other street rats didn't count, but I was pretty sure on this point. Friends didn't do the things Shouta did, they didn't care as much as Shouta did. Because that's what the kind man does:  care.

It was foreign and something new to navigate around, but I found myself being more receptive to this than I was comfortable with. Just a few months and he had me wrapped around his little finger. I tried to be honest with myself, though, even if it was painful to face it, I would do anything the kind man asked me to do.

And that was both dangerous and unnerving to realise the power he had over my psyche.

I shrugged it off as much as I could. What's done it done-- retracting these feelings would be nigh impossible so I would have to take it as it comes and be diligent as to where the river takes me.

And perhaps I can enjoy the view along the way.

There was a nearby drug store in Shouta's part of town. It looked like it had seen better days, with peeling paints and tired looking staff, but the food was always top quality, even if a bit pricey.

Of course, nothing exceptional or odd was sold here-- just common goods like milk, water, and soba noodles. It was a drug store after all, not a market. I was glad it carried what I wanted though, the nearest store what many more blacks away from here.

After practically skipping down the sidewalks (only my shyness kept me from actually proceeding to do so) I enter the drug store, the rusting silver bell giving a clunky and sad jiggle at my entrance. Thin wallet (to thin for it to belong to a hero, in my opinion) clutched to my chest, I went up and down the aisles methodically before I ran across the desired item. 

Grabbing the bag of soba noodles I headed to the counter with a bouncy step.

The worker behind the register reminded me of a sad sloth, one who couldn't reach the greenest patch of leaves, no matter how far he stretched or climbed, and ended up sitting despondently below them, gazing up with hopeless want.

"That all?" the worker asks as he checks out my one item, his voice slow and defeated. What on earth did they put this poor worker through here?

"Yes," I confirm.

The total is told to me and I take the wallet, opening up its mouth. There is only the single tongue of a paper banknote and a few silver and gold fillings of yen, barely enough to cover the cost asked of me. I was only given back two 5 yen coins when all was said and done.

I step out of the store and breathe and fresh air, face chilled by the oncoming winter air, but the sun negated the wind's effects and it left my back and shoulders pleasantly warmed.