Reminiscence

Flicker

The next day starts not unlike the last. Sweat gathers at the back of his neck, and the remnants of his nightmares cling onto him like a second skin.

His daily routine goes uninterrupted except for the second it takes him to reboot as he looks at the physical proof that yesterday's find was not, in fact, a hallucination cooked up by his hunger-addled mind.

He cuts one of the two remaining apples in half and wraps the other one back up. After his small breakfast, he decides to venture out deeper into the village, he takes one of the tangerines along, knowing that he might stay out late.

The park at this hour would be relatively quiet. He might even make some friends if he was discrete enough and avoided showing his face.

He's setting himself up for failure but he can't get himself to care.       

His clothes from the day before are still soaked, hanging from the shower pole where he left them to dry after washing them.

He's tempted to go out in his sleepwear but thinks better of it. With reluctant movements, he steps outside and follows the path down the stairs to the first floor. Maybe the old lady will help him, after all.

The door is large, engulfing his size a couple of times over. Standing before it feels daunting in all kinds of ways. Raising a trembling hand, he gathers whatever courage he has and puts on a wide smile. It stretches his face strangely, distorting his features into something he's wholly unfamiliar with. It feels fake and fragile but he musters the strength to keep it in place. He knocks once then another time after a beat for good measure. Now all the more subconscious of his ratty nightclothes and his ruffled hair.

A minute passes and he thinks that maybe this was a bad idea. The old lady was probably still sleeping and he wouldn't want to disturb her. He's turning back towards the hallway when the door finally opens.

A short, plump old woman greets him. Her eyes squinted in concentration as if the light is too bright. "Ah, hello dearie, what brings you to my humble doorstep?" She welcomes not unkindly. Her eyes still horribly squinted. "I'm sorry but I forgot my glasses inside, can I help you with something?"

He's suddenly all too grateful for his luck as he elects not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Ah, h-hello, Oba-san, I was wondering uhm- i-if-"

"Well, come on sonny, I won't bite." She coaxes gently, with a bit of mirth.

"Do you, maybe, have any clothes you want to get rid of, from your sons or grandsons?" The words spill out in a ramble and for a moment he's afraid he might have to repeat himself. However, to his shocked delight, the woman seems to understand him instantly.  He's barely finished speaking before she's already hobbling back inside. She comes back a moment later with a small brown box. He immediately goes to help her with the load, despite the relative lightness of the object in question.

"You're in luck, I was just about to get rid of these." She says as she hands them over. A small, wistful smile on her face as she stares out the railing into the streets beyond. "Is that all you needed, sonny?"

The endearment makes something inside of him clench and warm. Having never been addressed with such familiarity before. Her next words, however, make his blood freeze over.

"Do you live in the building? If I find any more items like these I could send them over with my son."

Torn between the urge to lie and the consequential guilt he'd feel, he resigns himself to his fate. "I- uh, yes, ma'am. I live upstairs."

"Oh, alright dear, off you go now." She shoos him away, with a flapping hand, the smile, astonishingly still decorating her face. "I have some cats to feed and lunch to make." She must not know who lives above her, he concludes with no small amount of relief.