My Neighbor Totoro: The Edge of the Woods

Chapter 1: A Knock at the Door

[Satsuki]

I knew I was going to have a bad day before I even woke up.

That dull throb was resounding in my head again, gnawing at my thoughts and chasing away the remnants of my dream. By this time, I was no stranger to the feeling, and knew that I would be unable to get even few more minutes of sleep, no matter how hard I tried.

I massage my temples, and sit up in my plush bed. Hazy beams of sunlight stream in through the big bay window, permeating my room with a warm glow. I slip out to the kitchen on unsteady feet, and notice the rimmed saucer on my kitchen counter is empty again. I quickly fill it with fresh milk, knowing the stray neighbourhood tabby with those striking eyes will soon be pawing at my window.

Ever since my mom had been sent back to the hospital, I had always sensed a muted, foreboding pinprick of pain hinting towards some sort of hardship in my life- something that would change my life indefinitely. Last time, the throbbing sensation had gotten progressively worse as my mom grew weaker, until she had finally slipped away. When I was finally able to hold my head up straight again, I left home, knowing it wouldn't be the same, not without my mom.

Back at home, I had felt caged, unable to escape where my mother had spent so much time struggling and suffering. I just needed to escape, to end the suffocating feeling I couldn't seem to shake after spending years in hospital waiting rooms and attending one doctor appointment after the next.

Years later, I was still relieved to finally be free of it all, to finally lay in bed at night without wondering if I had just heard my mom's infectious laugh or seen her dazzling smile for the last time.

At least I could count on the fact that she wasn't suffering anymore.

I'm shaken from my thoughts by a sudden, tentative knock at the door. Pushing myself off the kitchen counter, I quickly slip on a well-worn hoodie and try to tame my waterfall of ebony hair in a hurried attempt to make myself more presentable.

I peek through the narrow window framing the panelled door, hoping to get a look at my unexpected visitor.

There is no one there.

I hesitantly take a few steps forward, holding my breath as I reach forward to open the locked door.

Still, there is no one outside.

The crisp morning breeze greets me, making goosebumps slither down the nape of my neck like the greedy tough of a ghost. The rest of my neighborhood sprawls out before me, glistening in the first rays of sunlight of the day. Rain drops cling to the the leafy ferns hanging from the porch, diffracting the glow of the sun into a mosaic of splintered light. A chorus of birds breaks the steady drone of city traffic, centring me once more.

I take a few steps past the threshold of the door, scanning the street for the source of the inexplicable knock. Still, I see nothing out of the ordinary, and slump my shoulders in defeat. At least the fresh air has subsided the steady throb in my head, and I stand up a little straighter, determined not to let that impending sense of doom drag me down.

I turn to step back inside when my bare toes brush against a smooth surface. I look down, surprised to find a sealed envelope on my doorstep.

I reach for it, running my fingers across the curious wax seal, imprinted with the figure of a sprawling, mighty camphor tree. I gently pry the envelope open, only to freeze in place as I am greeted by the familiar scent of jasmine and flourishing rice fields and a fresh harvest. It saturates the morning breeze, and I am overcome by bittersweet nostalgia. I am reminded of my childhood- not of the days I spent comforting my worried sister, or of nights I would spend making dinner when my dad had to work late. Instead, I am reminded of bike rides through the countryside, of crisp forest air, of laughter and love. I am reminded of home.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the smell dissipates, and I feel oddly cold and empty without it. The golden rays of molten sun that had previously illuminated the fine morning are absent, and the breeze no longer feels so invigorating. I frown for a moment, blinking at the envelope.

Finally, I slide a delicate letter from the envelope, raising it up to the light. The letter has been carefully folded, but the crease lines are evidently worn, as if someone folded and unfolded the letter several times before deciding to send it. The black ink has run slightly, making the loopy handwriting more exaggerated than it might otherwise have been.

Satsuki Kasakabe:

We are sorry to bear the sad news of of the passing of Ogaki-san. She lead a fulfilling and accomplished life, and she never faltered to safeguard her cause. As you may already know, Ogaki-san suffered the last few years, until she finally passed away peacefully with no further complications.

There will be a short memorial service at 3 p.m., next Thursday at the Mori Community Center with graveside services to follow. Your attendance is requested. In lieu of flowers, please make your contribution in the name of the deceased.

We are sorry for your loss.

I flip the letter over, scanning the paper for the rest. The backside of the sheet is agonizingly blank. There is no return address, no signature and certainly no further explanation. I quickly realize my mouth is hanging slightly agape, and I snap my jaw shut. I quickly step back inside, clutching the infernal letter.

I am unsure how to react. Salty tears brim my eyes, threatening to spill at the thought of losing someone else- especially Granny. When my mother was not around, she was a source of support for my sister and I. She bandaged up our scraped knees, offered us the best of her harvest, and cared for us as her own. My chin trembles, and I resist the urge to break down. I have been down that road too many times before.

Instead, my eyes read over the letter again, greedily searching for an explanation. The letter is beyond cryptic, and I struggle to understand its meaning.

She never faltered to safeguard her cause.

What cause? For as long as I had known Granny, she had never worked professionally. I hastily wipe a sudden tear from my cheek, trying to calm myself down. Perhaps she had held a job before I had met her.

Ogaki-san suffered the last few years.

I tilt my head to the side, processing the words over and over. I had long since left the small farming city I had grown up in, but I had never remembered Granny to have suffered any health-related issues. I can only hope my dad or my sister will have more answers, seeing how they had maintained the contact that I had lost.

Please make your contribution in the name of the diseased.

The last request seems to be the most curious of all. My contribution? What contribution? At my own mom's memorial service, we had requested that donations be made to funding research for spinal tuberculosis, the disease that had ultimately taken her life. Nevertheless, I can't imagine Granny's family requesting such a donation.

I furrow my eyebrow in frustration, cursing the damned letter. I've already lost so much. Sorrow and guilt consume me, roiling in the pit of my stomach. A dull static reverberates in my head, and I regret leaving my home. I left in an attempt to move past the mom that had left me behind, but in doing so, I had also move beyond those still with me. Raw, overwhelming grief threatens to overcome me once more, and I bite the inside of my cheek to ground myself.

There is no signature on the letter, no return address to trace back to its source. I can't fathom who would have left me such a letter, knowing very well my father or my sister would have called. I know I should contact them, ask for answers, uncover the real truth.

Nevertheless, I can't bring myself to put down the accursed letter. I can't bring myself to move at all. Instead, I stay rooted to the bare floor, staring blankly at the scrawling script. My head still throbs slightly, but it's nice to feel something besides guilt and grief and looming calamity.