𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 ₓ˚. ୭ ᵗᵒᵏʸᵒ ʳᵉᵛᵉⁿᵍᵉʳˢ

𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 | 𝟹 𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛

I was ignorant, not understanding the meaning behind the bandages that were always wrapped around his arms and neck.

But my [parent/guardian] knew. It's why they guided me inside of the safety of our home the moment his father came around my premises.

However, I was a curious four year old, and him being the only kid my age on my street, I was intrigued. 

He always played in the front garden of his home; white picket fence dividing his home and the road. So, on a particularly sunny saturday afternoon, I made an escape when no one was paying attention.

As predicted, he was sat alone in the somewhat kept grass, a small toy motorcycle in hand. In my expert opinion, it was a solid choice of toy.

I made my presence known to the oblivious boy, climbing up onto the wooden fence, using the lower rail as a stepping stool, "hey, you," I call, pointing my finger towards the toy in his hand.

The boy glanced up, gazing to where I stood on his fence.

"You have a pretty cool motorcycle, can I see?" I question, playful smile growing on my features.

He looked back down to the toy in his hand, and then back up at me, "aren't girls supposed to play with barbies and stuff?"

My eyebrows furrow at his response, "well you don't have any friends, so I guess I'm not the only weird one," I state in return.

The boy pursed his lips, "who said I didn't have any friends?" He questions me, squinting his eyes.

"You never have anyone over, and you're always alone out here," I state my observation over the past few weeks.

"Father never lets me have anyone over," he explains, voice hushed into a saddened whisper.

His quickly shifted mood made me bite the inside of my cheek, thinking of a way to raise back his spirits, "why don't you come over to my place," I offer, and in turn, he gives me his first smile.

And so, in the summer of 1994, myself and Kazutora Hanemiya found our first friends in each other.

As said, he never let me pass the white gates of his home. Instead, we spent almost everyday in and around my house, sometimes adventuring out to the beach with [parent/guardian] or to the local play ground.

Much to my disappointment, he always seemed to brush off my offers of sleepovers – saying that his mother didn't allow him to stay out at night. I never pressed him further, albeit hesitantly.

It was now a cooler day; unusual for summer in Japan.

Kazutora and I were situated on my bed, laying stomach down as he showed my the picture book of zoo animals he got as a christmas gift.

I glanced between the images of a giraffe and elephant, listening closely as he read what was written in the pages, before looking back up to the boy who laid flesh against my side.

My line of vision trained against his haphazardly bandaged neck, and I notice splotches of blood seeping through, "Kazutora! You're bleeding," I call out, reaching my hand out towards his shoulder.

At my statement, he unconsciously reached up to his bleeding neck, jumping off the bed in fright.

I wasn't sure of the proper words to say, frantically spilling out everything that came to mind, "are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?"