Damn those cicadas!
I grumbled, burring my face into the pillow.
Every single day, since I moved into this apartment, I had to suffer at the relentless sobs of the cicadas that nestled comfortably in the trees that shaded my window. If you ever heard of crying cicadas, you know they're the alien size of a mosquito. Mine were abnormal even within alien realms. This was no crying, this was shouting at the top of their lungs.
I so don't need this at..., I checked the bed for my phone and looked at the time. Seven a.m. Jesus Christ.
I hugged my pillow at the memory of yesterday's almost date. Sparks, the size of Fourth of July fireworks, were frying in the air.
'Jesus,' I yelp, as my laptop, set on the stool beside my bed, rang at the top of its decibels.
The stars weren't looking kindly on me today. Apparently everything had grown a pair of newborn-lungs.
I hastily pulled it onto my legs. It was mom calling on skype. I quickly ran a hand through my hair, trying to make myself look presentable, a lousy attempt.
'Hey, mom!' I muttered into the speaker.
'Hello sweetheart! What time is it over there? Did I wake you up?'
'No mom, you haven't. I had been up for some time already. It's like seven a.m.' I smiled into the camera.
'Seven a.m. and you're up? Is something wrong? Do you have any problems because you know you can come back any-'
'Muuum!
'Any time honey,' she continued.
'Muuum!'
' Your father and I--'
'Mum!' I stopped her, 'everything is alright mom. And yes, I know that.'
'It's the cicadas mom, they're putting out a show every damn morning and —'
'No cursing, young lady. God is listening and trust me, you don't want to be the reason his ears fall off, ' she finished with a lousy impersonation of pastor Jones.
Pastor Jones was a saint, at least that's what my mother insisted on. And he must have been because he looked like he was a hundred years old. Yet he still bounced everywhere like a tennis ball during Wimbledon. Every Sunday he prepared a sermon, and God have mercy on your soul, if pastor Jones caught you stealing a nap. Obviously, I sinned more than once.
He will not let your foot slip — he who watches over you will not slumber, little Amy Taylor; so don't let God see you disrespecting him in his own house!
I crushed the laughter that built up in my chest and coughed out a complacent ' yes, mother!'.
'Ok, baby tell me how are you doing over there? Do you really not want to come home? Do they treat you right?'
'Mom, stop acting like I'm a child, everything is peachy. Nothing changed since we last talked and that is', I check the time again, 'fifty two hours, twenty minutes and—', I wait for it 'thirty seconds ago!'
'Alright sweetie, we're just worried about you! Me and dad want you to know that it is perfectly alright to come home whenever you want to.'
Her baby blue eyes melted into a motherly smile, you know, one those that made you feel safe.
'How is Miyu? Have you two been on any adventures lately?' she asked.
'Oh shoot, Miyu! '
I had forgotten about her.
'Mom can I call you back please, I need to talk to Miyu.'
'Is she—'
'And yes, she is alright. '
Oh mom you are so predictable and I love you so much for it.
'Did she —'
'And no, she has not found a boyfriend yet. '
I sent her my grossest, loudest, puckered kiss and she pretended to catch it and press it to her heart. It was our little thing we had going since I was like seven.
It was my first day at school and I avoided her kiss in front of the school gates. She assumed it was because I was too embarrassed to do it in front of everybody, but the truth is I was scared that I would start crying and not let go of her if she did. So she sent me a flying kiss, I caught it and pushed it into my pocket, holding it tight in my little fist. I blowed her a kiss back and she had pressed it to her heart.
You're always here, she said, you're always safe and never ever alone.
The laptop screen went blue, but not my mood. Talking to mom always made me feel better, even if it meant waking up at seven a.m. on a Saturday morning.
'Miyu! I have to call Miyu,' I cried out and reached for the phone.
Yesterday I felt guilty for being so happy while out with Shiro; today I felt like a total arse for not even calling to check up on her. Was it too early?
'Nah,' I quickly shook off the doubt away. Miyu was probably bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by now.
I dialed her number and waited for her to pick up. Twenty seconds later, I got redirected to voice mail.
Weird.
I tried again.
I was somewhere between worry and remorse, when she finally picked up.
'Hai, ' she whispered , 'ohayou Ami san'.
'Don't you san me, freckles! How are you? Is your aunt alright,' I asked.
'Oh yes, sorry, Amy chan, she is alright. Thank you for asking. She tripped and fractured her leg. Her husband is away on a business trip, and her sons are in college in Tokyo. So I drove mom to Kochi and she stayed behind to take care of her until she gets better. And..., ' Miyu's voice sounded rushed and funny, not the good kind of funny.
'I'm glad everything is alright. When are you coming back?'
'I'm home Amy chan, I drove back last night. I stopped by your place, but you weren't home and—', she stopped herself from finishing. Again.
'Is it true you went on a date with Shiro?' Her voice was barely audible.
I almost chocked at the word date. We weren't on a date, like it wasn't a date. It was a spontaneous thing but Miyu sounded upset at the very thought of it.
'Shiro said—'
Her husky voice brought up something in me. It was something I did not know existed , nonetheless it hurt when she spoke.
'It was not a date, ' I stated, interrupting her, 'he just stopped by to tell me you were in Kochi and decided to replace his little sister as my guide for the night, ' I laughed it off.
My laughter must not have convinced her because she didn't answer, but kept breathing softly into the phone.
'Un, ' she finally muttered back, 'it wasn't a date, right. '
I felt a pang in my chest. For some weird reason, shame was eating away at me. Was I lying to my friend now?
I don't want to...
'Do you want to come over for some quality girls' time? I have ice-cream. ' The words tasted bitter, twisting my face into a grimace.
Before she said no, and I knew she wanted to say no, I added 'A LOT of ice-cream! Strawberry, your favourite, freckles. '
She giggled in response and I took it as a yes.
'I'll be there around nine. I'll bring the spoons and some milk tea.'
'Royal, freckles, get the royal one, ' I yelp into the phone.
'Nothing less for her majesty, ' the last thing she said before hanging up.
Still unnerved after our short chat, I dragged myself into the bathroom and let the warm water wash away the dirty aftertaste of our talk. My forehead was clear, I couldn't feel any swelling anymore.
The mirror was fogged up when I stepped out of the shower. I must have been in the there for longer than I thought. I wiped the condensation away and watched myself as I pulled my hair into a bun.
I don't want to dry it. F*ck it.
***
I left the door open and texted Miyu about it so that she could come in just in case I was still in the shower when she got here. I knew she would be punctual to a fault, but I wasn't planning on being meticulous on a Saturday morning. The words she told me on my first day on the job were still ringing in my ears.
If you're on time, you're already late, Amy sensei!
She knew how to make a person feel like a six year old at the dentist's office. Intimidated.
This is what I liked about her, her stubbornness, her wilfulness whenever she needed to get something done. The Miyu I talked on the phone with today was not her regular self.
When I entered the living room, she was already there. She was early, forty minutes early. Something was wrong.
'Amy, ' she exclaimed.
Avoiding eye contact, she finished what she meant to say and added a soft 'chan'.
'Amy chan!'
It was a chewed up, shy chan. She probably did not mean for me to hear it. It was still difficult for her to say it openly. I moved up the ladder too fast perhaps; from Amy sensei and a regular colleague; to Amy san and earning her respect ; to the apogean Amy chan which meant I had become somebody who she truly cared about.
Wrapped in my towel, I reached out to hug her, 'Miyu, love, are you alright?' She still refused to look me in the eyes, but nodded in response.
Doing her signature twirl, she dodged my attempt to embrace her and headed to the makeshift kitchen.
'I got you your Royal Milk Tea....' she continued 'and meron pan.'
'Melon bread, how lovely! I'm so hungry. Let's eat!'
'S-Shiro wanted me to bring it to you' she stuttered. 'He was worried about you and asked me to tell you he can take you to the doctor if you would like him to.'
Miyu's face was distorted by some sort of sadness I couldn't understand.
Giggling, I approached her, took her hand in mine and lifted it to my forehead.
'I'm fine Miyu, Aito threw a ball at me yesterday, it was an accident. Plus the kid's hand is weaker than YOURS, ' I sneer at her.
Her hand was so small in mine, so soft. When she pulled it out, it left a void, a sort of loneliness I did not want to feel again.
Miyu was my only friend in these foreign lands. I didn't know what troubled her but I wanted to make it go away.
'Miyu, sit down, I will pamper you today, ' I said gingerly, lowering my now desolate hand onto her shoulder.
I got some ice cubes from the freezer and poured the milk tea into glasses. I had a couple of straws that I got at the conbini. Whenever you buy something at these little shops, they would thoughtfully pack you some chopsticks for your meal, a spoon for your yoghurt or straws for your drinks. And you always got wet napkins.
Since I didn't need a straw to drink my milk, I had a never ending stash stored away.
I set the tray with the bread, Shiro's bread, and the iced drinks on the magazine table in front of her.
'Kawaii, ' she exclaimed.
'Mecha kawaii, this tray, ' she pointed to the plastic board adorned with flower and cupcake print.
'Daiso, ' I shrugged it off.
It was this excitement of hers, that I erroneously labeled as fake when we started working together, this very innocence that maked her so special. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. She was this alienesque creature, something that wasn't supposed to be, yet is.
Her ebony hair fell in soft curls just below her boney shoulders, framing her small round nose and incredibly big brown eyes. I had never seen eyes as such, as a matter of fact I didn't know eyes can be this big and this pretty.
'Daisoooo, ' she pulled a surprised ooo.
She looked so cute and endearing, her little mouth gaping in amazement at the obvious fact .
'Un, daiso, you know, the 100 yen store.'
It was incredible how a little trinket from the analog of our One Dollar Tree, could make her genuinely happy. She breathed, smelled and emanated delight.
I grabbed the soft round bread and broke a little piece.
This was made by Shiro's hands. The same hands that touched me — worked this dough, kneaded it, shaped it and baked it with love.
'Shiro's bread is the best,' Miyu murmured from under her airy eyelashes.
I gulped the piece of bread and purred as it melted in my mouth.
Miyu's gaze glistened in the corner of my eye, but when I faced her, she was already chewing busily on her own share of melon bread.
I watched her as she ate in silence. I waited for her to say something; confront me about Shiro; tell me why she was so sad. Instead she just kept on burning out holes in the tatami floor. The usually cool and relaxing rice straw mats have become a trail of hot coals I had to walk on in order to get to her.
She felt distant. I hated that.
I didn't realize how, but my hand reached for her face. I gently nudged her chin and made her turn around to look at me.
'What's wrong Miyu, ' I asked hoarsely. Never have I heard myself speak like that before. Her abysmal eyes welled up with tears.
'Amy chan, do you like Shiro?'
The sight of a crying Miyu made me lose the ground under my feet. Did I make her cry?
I wanted to say yes, but something deep within strangled the words in my throat. A tear fell down my cheek. It stopped on my quivering lips.
So salty.
So bitter.