Takumi
It was late, or no, it was so late that it was early. I could see the weird pale light of morning coming in through the window, but I was tired and still a little drunk. I was drifting off to sleep, and there weren’t many sounds that could have pulled me back into reality, but Alaska’s voice was one of them. She was outside the window, crying in an awful, broken way. This was not the crying that tells you that someone is sad, it was the crying that you hear and know that this is something huge and awful and wrong.
So I got up, even as the sound of her crying faded away, and found with not much surprise that I was still wearing my clothes from the day before. I walked outside, barefoot, and the cold woke me up. The grass was damp, but I ignored that because Alaska was walking across the soccer field, almost running really. I followed her, and even though I’m sure she heard me, I had to grab her arm before she stopped.
“Alaska. Alaska.”
She turned. “What, Takumi?” She sounded hysterical, and I wondered if there was any point in trying to help. I stared into her eyes, those green eyes that I couldn’t help but notice every day since I met her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her, and she cried more, her whole body shaking. I stood there and didn’t say anything, because I didn’t know what to say, and then she calmed down some. Alaska told me, “Today is January 10.”
I don’t think she realised, in that state, that it wasn’t really January 10 anymore, because it was the next morning.
I didn’t know why January 10 was important, so I waited, and she said, “My mother has been dead eight years today.” I tried to say something, anything, but she kept talking.
“I always put flowers on her grave. On the anniversary. But this year – I FORGOT, I FORGOT. God oh God oh God I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
I understood then what was going on in her head and why she was here. Her eyes were still flicking around the field.
Flowers. She was looking for flowers. But it was too early for that, too wintry.
I didn’t know how to explain to her that it was already too late, it was already the next day, because how could I tell her?
She kind of stepped forward and I hugged her, and I could smell the alcohol on her breath so strongly, more strongly than she could smell it on mine, I’m sure.
“I’m sorry, I have to go. I have to -” She broke off from me and started walking again, and I thought that she would go back to her room and cry herself to sleep. I thought that she would get up in the morning and drive to her mum’s grave, because there’s no way The Eagle would be able to stop Alaska when she wanted something.
But she didn’t go back to her room. She walked away while I stood there in the silvery light, barefoot.
I heard the car start, and for a moment I didn’t connect the sound with Alaska, but even when I did, I didn’t move.
I didn’t run after her through the wet grass.
I didn’t stop her.
I let her go, and I’m sorry and I’m sorry and I’m sorry.
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