- White Snow -
I reach the coffee shop next to Kinokuniya without much incident. The trees above indeed looked like they were budding and the air warming. The streets weren't too crowded and a hush fell over the city as school began to wind down - extracurriculars started and fatigue settled in. There weren't many people off work yet but some had an early leave for what should be holiday festivities. But I can no longer be sure of the flow of time and space.
There had been a tingling on the back of my neck the whole while, but if there was someone tailing me, they were thoroughly and rigorously careful. I had used the reflections in windows, car windshields and changed my pace but there was nothing to confirm my suspicion. It was just like it had been when I left the apartment in the morning. In fact, I was certain I was being watched, but I just couldn't tell who it was. It could entirely be my skewed perception, but as the Emoto man had prescribed, I had no disguise on now: I'm walking in broad daylight, in full view. If it had been proposed by someone else, it surely couldn't be only my imagination, could it?
The coffee shop is pretty much the same. It strikes me hard, like seeing an old friend after what must be many years, discovering that nothing had changed. The same rickety old antique furniture arranged haphazardly and the pungent aroma of industrial coffee in the air. A quiet track of Lisa Ono's rendition of "Volare". It isn't summer or Italy – just plain squashed up urban infrastructure – but she sings in the background. These sorts of old cafes are hard to find these days, replaced by newer speedy joints and places that focus more on WiFi than the drinks.
Giving the interior a scan, I see no one I recognize. Nor does anyone raise a hand in greeting. No one looks at me and I find a spot in the corner where I could see the rest of the room. No Shizuka. It couldn't have been Shizuka or any version of Shizuka. Memories of her begin to well up as if I had hit a water table below ground while I was digging. Digging for something. I can't restrain them now. They pool up at my feet and soak the dirt. Then they rise and rise, swallowing my feet and climbing up to my knees: towards my neck. I can see it. She would be walking over calmly, tap, tap, tap of her heels, plopping herself down on the chair in front of me, this table for two. Her cup of chai tea latte steaming in her hands. She has on a bright yellow blouse and a summer skirt, stockings underneath. Her cardigan hangs off her shoulders. I am worried about it falling off, but it doesn't. It's all at once precariously and perfectly balanced. Her hair brushed to the side, and stray strands breathe as she does. She stares at me through the mist and asks what I had ordered. All I do is stare and stare back, into her intense eyes. Like looking into the depths of a bottomless well. Maybe the well I had dug. Eventually I realize it's a tunnel of some sort, pulling me through space time into another dimension. A new world. It's too late to climb out. This time, hopefully a new world without men in black suits and disappearing acts. A world where we can live together in a little apartment in the suburbs, buy simple groceries and cook together, go out for coffee or a movie sometime.
I don't know when tears had sprung up. I blink a few times.
After I set down my backpack and hoodie, I order a cappuccino. I considered the chai tea latte but it didn't feel right to have it without her around. Back at my seat, I crack open a paperback I had brought along, reading for the third time, a Soseki from the viewpoint of a cat observing and commenting on human behaviour. Perhaps I had chosen it amongst the few I have with me because it reminds me of the tabby cat at the bus stop. Where is it now and what is it doing?
About twenty or so pages in, I reach for my cappuccino, only to realize it isn't where I had left it. I look up and set my book down.
"Is it April?"
She doesn't reply. She's gently sipping from my cup.
"Good cappuccino," she says. "Mmmm."
I push back my chair. She's leaning forward too much. She doesn't look at me. She's staring into the cup. But her hair covers her eyes. I can't see them at all.
I try again. "Is it April?"
"No. It's December. You really have a problem with dates?"
I look outside. The weather hasn't changed. It's overcast and there are no signs of trees in full bloom. I breathe out.
"How did you-" I stop. "Did you tell me to come here?"
She nods. It isn't much of a nod because she is resting her chin on one hand. She finally looks up at me. Her pale white, child-like face shatters my senses. I suppress a shudder.
"How did you get my number?"
"It's not too hard to do such a thing." She waves a hand nonchalantly as she sets down the cup. I can't fathom what that means.
"What do you want?"
"I'm bored, and I figured you might want some company."
"What do you know about my situation?"
"Everything; nothing at all," she smiles. Her uneven teeth are endearing, but at the same time, terrifying. Her canines are slightly pointed, which isn't uncommon for a Japanese girl, but all the same, it's chilling to recall the strange things that seem to happen around her.
"Look, I'm not here for games. I'm in a tight spot. I'm running low on money. I'm looking for a place to stay tonight. And there are people looking for me, that I'd rather not have to confront. Do you get what I'm saying?"
She nods again.
"So are you here to tell me something or looking for a playmate?"
She leans back and stretches out her arms. "Relax, tough guy." She looks around the room. "It's safe and sound here. No one's going to burst in gunning for you."
"Can I have my cappuccino back," I say.
She pushes it towards me. Half of it is gone. I drink the rest.
"You want to ask why I don't go get my own coffee."
"Why don't you?"
"I can't." She laughs somewhat tiredly.
I wait.
"Mr. Maeda, do you believe in ghosts?" she says.
I remain silent for a while. "Fundamentally, no. Theoretically, yes." She's tilting her head, encouraging me to go on. "Scientifically, most of the world remains in mystery. Ninety five percent of the ocean hasn't been discovered and in places, humans don't know how deep it really is. There are many forces at work in the world. Science is like a blind octopus reaching out to probe around in its environment, yet it will never be able to reach and explore every surface or space possible, and when it tries, it will lose touch of wherever it had been before. There's a limit in both the number of its appendages and length. For the most part, we tried to invest efforts into exploring and understanding space when the Earth hasn't even been conquered yet. We try to develop medicinal sciences and the chemicals used cause more long-term damage than good. We still don't know how some things on the most minuscule cellular levels or how psychological ailments work. We can't comprehend how things in ancient history took place or to what extent their technology had developed. We use carbon dating yet the readings are tremendously inaccurate. We collide particles in the LHC but it's all largely trial and error. We create cities and industries and destroy the environment. Nature repairs itself at times and takes lives with it, but who had told it to do so? Humanity tries to do everything, but truly succeeds at none of them. We believe we are the height of civilization and capable of the greatest feats. Yet, there must be greater forces beyond us. Theoretically, let's say there are beings that exist beyond our dimension. We are limited by three dimensional space and form, while we are locked into a linear path in the fourth dimension of time. If there are beings that exist beyond the third dimension, eternal beings that are not restrained by time or space, those will be what we consider the spirit. Just like in the third dimension, the Z-axis comes into play with x and y to create height and depth, the fourth dimension merely adds another axis onto the graph. And if these beings have access to all four coordinates, they can find the intersect with the third dimensional world, and be amongst us..." I stop and wonder what I've said.
She seems to consider it all for a bit. Her forehead creases in concentration, much like Shizuka's would. But it takes on a different form.
"Well, whatever you just said might actually exist."
I stare at her. I expect her to disappear or something.
"But I'm not a ghost then."
"Then? So what are you?"
She reaches out with a hand and puts it on mine. I feel her fingers. They are warm. I withdraw my hand. If someone sees this high school girl together with me, they might get the wrong idea.
"I don't think I'm a ghost."
Still, something tells me she isn't human.
"No, I'm not human." She traces a finger around her lip. "I guess I'm some sort of an idea, a concept, a memory, a projection, a program, something intangible. That's what I feel like if you ask me."
She goes on, "of course I can't entirely be sure, I'm not completely sure why I'm here. I just know it has to do with you. You made me exist. Because, no one else can see me. Only you can."
"So in a sense, you exist only within my mind."
"Hmmm, I can't say that either. I exist both within your mind and outside, but only you can perceive me. I exist somewhere else but your ability to realize my existence has given me form here."
I frown and feel my head throbbing.
"Take the reflecting telescope for example, you view a star through various lens and mirrors. What you're looking at, is simply a reflection, a projection from a mirror. The star exists outside, but also inside the telescope on the mirror on which you see."
"Okay, that makes sense. You are a reflection of something."
She looks at the barista for a second, as if she's checking if anyone is eavesdropping. "It's like Alice in Wonderland, it's supposed to be a hallucinatory dream but who's to say they don't actually exist somewhere and Alice just gained access to this world. Who knows what's real and what isn't? And what existing even means. Do you know that you exist for sure? What if you're just someone else's conceptualization?"
She is really into it now, her eyes wide and hands holding the edge of the table. "The only connection I can make is that you had come across someone or something who already had memories or presented an idea of me. Somehow you gained this knowledge of me and my life. You see the projection, the reflection. Which is no good, because a third party sharing in this, is unnatural, and quite a problem."
"This morning, I met a woman whose daughter had died. She was seventeen. It was six years ago."
She looks at me. "I don't really remember if I had died or not. I don't carry many memories. I just know I'm seventeen and there was a moment in time elsewhere when I was actually a tangible, real person. Maybe I died. I don't know. I'm some sort of projection or a concept now. So it's hard for me to find my memories. Kind of sad. You must be one special person to be able to see me." She takes a breath. "Anyway, it seems I have a purpose to be here now. That's what it feels like anyway. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing but I just know that you made me exist. Just like if a tree falls-"
"In the forest and no one is around to hear it, did it truly happen or exist at all?"
"Yes," she smiles. "Glad we are on the same page."