Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Ever since my mother was sent to the hospital, I've skipped school. I doubt it's a good excuse, but I strongly felt like not going. So, I've missed three days. After I skipped class on Friday, my homeroom teacher, Ms. Shiraishi, called. I told her my mother was in the hospital and that I'd be absent from school for a while. "She gets sick sometimes," was as much detail as I gave. Ms. Shiraishi's voice was solemn as she expressed her condolences and understanding.
My mother is physically stable now. Keyword: physically. I visited her on Friday morning, after getting a call that she had woken up.
When I stepped into the hospital room, exchanging places with the nurse, my mother was sitting in the bed, staring out of the window. Her bandaged wrists laid in her lap. As I came up to her, she turned to me, then looked away without greeting.
I sat down on the stool beside the bed and asked, "Why did you do this?" with as much acquittance as possible. She remained quiet. "How long are you going to be here?"
I wasn't wondering when the doctors would let her go because they'd told me she was physically fine. It was her mental stability we all worried about. But the hospital can't keep people like my mother when they need the beds for the physically ill. Still, my mother said nothing.
With a sigh, I continued anyway. "Then... are you going to go to the psychiatric hospital again?" It seemed my mother was fixed on ignoring me. "Then... I'll get you transferred," I told her with finality, standing up.
"I'll do it."
She'd finally spoken but her words were cold. "Okay. Then, I'll get going." As I left, she didn't say goodbye.
Saturday, she was transferred, still mute towards me. Sunday has passed. Monday has passed. Much of Tuesday has passed, and I haven't visited her. I've just been lying around the house reading. Unproductive. Still filled with resentment. Still filled with guilt.
It's late afternoon, and I'm lying on the sofa with a book. As I turn the page, the area on my hand that had been cut Thursday catches my eye. I've always been a fast healer, but I've healed extraordinarily fast this time. Inhumanly so. There's not a single trace of the wound. Seriously, is something becoming wrong with my body?
As I ponder how bizarre it is, something else bizarre happens: the doorbell rings. Is there a delivery? No, we don't order things. Did something happen to my mother? No, they'd call. I can't imagine anything good can come out of answering, so I ignore it.
Then again, the fact that the doorbell which never rings is ringing... I should probably at least find out who it is.
At the genkan, I peek through the window beside the door. Through the textured glass, I make out a small figure walking back towards the gate. It seems they've given up, even after only ringing once, so it must not be important. Just as I turn away, the small stature of the person flashes through my memory and I swing open the door.
Startled, Hiramoto freezes in closing the gate while flinching in surprise. For a moment, he stands there just staring. With several blinks, he snaps out of whatever stupor he was in and darts his gaze around to finally land it on the manila envelope pressed against his chest.
"Ah... Um..." After glancing up at me, he opens the gate with an unsteady hand and steps back inside the small yard. One foot forward, then he halts. "Um..." He takes a deep breath, then makes his way to me, stopping about a meter away. "Um... Katana-senpai's homeroom teacher... Ah... H-homework..." He holds the envelope out to me with both hands, bowing his head.
As always, he's a little too polite. With one hand, I take the envelope from him. On the front of it is a sticky note with my address. "Thanks." He's still standing there. Maybe he has something else to say. I wait patiently.
Looking at the ground, he asks, "W-when will you be back at school?" Suddenly, his shoulders jerk up. At the same time, he blinks several times again, shifting his eyes. "Ah! T-the teacher wanted to know..."
"Hm..." When I feel like it. "I don't know."
"Oh..." After trailing off, he bobs his head then bows. There's some hesitation before he turns around to leave.
I don't know what compels me, but again I say, "Thanks."
His eyes widen as he turns back to look at me. A small smile creeps upon his lips, then he bites the bottom one as if to stop himself, and says, "Yes." When he walks towards the gate, there's more certainty in his steps.
I go back inside the house and close the door. How did he end up talking to my homeroom teacher? How did he even find out who my homeroom teacher is? With the way he is, it must have required a lot of effort and courage. Maybe saying thanks a second time wasn't misguided.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
The doorbell rings in the afternoon, just like yesterday. Hiramoto again? After looking through the glass, I find my guess is correct. When I open the door, he's staring at the ground, lips fidgeting. He's always so unsure of himself. It makes me feel... Is it annoyance? Maybe it's pity. Or is it simply confusion?
"I-I'm very sorry," he says out of nowhere, bowing.
What is he sorry for? Yeah, that feeling is probably confusion.
After shooting a glance towards me, he stands upright. "Ho-Home...work... Katana-senpai's... Um..." Glaring at the ground, he furrows his brow deeply and tightens his grip on the straps of his schoolbag.
Startled by his expression, I find myself asking, "Are you here to get the homework from yesterday?"
His features soften. "Ah... Yes, but... Um... well..."
"Wait." I turn back into the house to retrieve it.
"Wa— Ex—"
Having been stopped, I look back at him. He digs into his bag and pulls out another manila envelope. At first, he holds it out to me, but then he brings it back to his chest like he's changed his mind. "But!" he starts, frowning. "Well..."
"What?" I face him, growing impatient. "Hey... If you want to say something, you should say it."
"Are you mad?" he asks, the thin brows above his naïve eyes tilting.
I stare at him blankly. Out of all the things he says fluently, that's what he chooses? "I'm not mad. But..." Trailing off, I try to find the right words. "You should clearly just say what you want to say. I won't get mad."
Eyes still dove-like, he nods. "Study..." He takes a deep breath. "Can Katana-senpai help... m-m-mnnn..." Body beginning to shake, he blurts, "I'm very sorry," and winces.
After seeing the expression on his face and his nice attempt but failure, a chuckle escapes. Realizing what I've done, I momentarily cover my mouth with the back of my hand and look away. I really shouldn't let him in. I shouldn't. But... my mother isn't here. "Sure."
He blinks and covers the bottom half of his face with the envelope, then sighs deeply in relief, dramatically relaxing his shoulders.
I step aside to let him in. After he takes off his shoes, he steps over the genkan step, then bends down to arrange them neatly, facing the door. I lead him to the living room.
"Sit down," I tell him, going into the kitchen.
"Wh-where shall I sit?"
His question is unexpected. "At the chabudai."
He goes to sit down on the floor at the short table in the living room while I fetch tea. I've never done this before—this standard ritual of Japanese hospitality. Never has anyone visited my mother and me. But I've seen enough TV and read enough books to know how it works. Our tea set came with a proper tray, I know. But I wonder where it is. Whatever, there's no need to be formal. I take the cup of tea to the living room and set it on the chabudai.
Hiramoto is sitting at the table in traditional Japanese seiza. Why is he always so formal? I sit down across from him. "You can sit comfortably."
"Ah... Yes." He removes his legs from under him. "Um... the picture on that table..." He glances at the framed photograph sitting beside the TV. "Can I look at it?"
There's no harm in it. "Yeah."
After crawling over to get a closer look, another small smile forms on his lips. "It's little Katana-senpai. Is this your mother?"
"Yeah." The photograph of my mother and 5-year-old me smiling is the only family photo we have. Any containing my father were gotten rid of a long time ago.
"She's pretty. Especially her eyes."
"Mhm. She's Zainichi Korean," I say.
"Then, do you know Korean?"
"Not a lick."
He gives a small nod and looks back at the picture. "Katana-senpai doesn't smile anymore?"
I freeze, and he glances back at me innocently.
Honestly, I have no clue how to answer that question, especially when it's asked with such pure intentions. It isn't until I purse my lips and glance away that he changes the subject. "Katana-senpai's father..." But this subject isn't any better.
"Not here."
He nods again. "Me too. It's just my father and me."
So we have something in common. But I wonder if his mother abandoned them like my father abandoned us.
"Um... Senpai's father... Japanese?" His lips are pursed together like he's afraid he's crossed the line.
I nod. "Half white."
His face relaxes and eyes widen. "I knew it!"
I'm not sure what he means by that. Is it because my hair and eyes are lighter brown than most? Because my hair is wavy? But there are plenty of Asians with curly or brown hair. Whatever, it's not the first time someone's puzzled me with references to my looks. And in any case, I still only consider myself Asian. "Let's get started." I pull my work out of the envelope.
"Yes." He takes out his books.
"Do you have any graded work?"
"Yes." After finding a worksheet, he hands it to me with both hands.
It's math. I look at the red checks across the paper and the number at the top: 40.
"I-I'm not stupid!" he blurts.
Haha. "I didn't say anything."
"Ah, yes. Um... well, I'm not stupid, but," he fidgets, "a little..."
The corner of my lip twitches. "It's fine. I'll teach you."
Deviating from his usual behavior, he smiles smoothly and, in the same manner, says, "Thank you."
Thursday, April 26, 2007
I'm helping Hiramoto study again when he glances at the clock. With a start, he jumps up. "Ah, I have to go." He snatches up his books and papers, not bothering about neatness, and crams them into his bag. I watch silently. "Ouch!" He hisses and looks at his finger. Blood slowly seeps out of the fresh paper cut.
"Ah, wait a second." I stand up to fetch a band-aid.
"No, it's fine. I have to go." He stands up with his bag and puts his finger in his mouth.
"Why are you in such a hurry?" I don't care if he leaves, but his urgency is strange.
He tenses and blinks. "M-my father is coming home early." He uses the formal term for father, but I guess that's consistent with his habits.
"Oh." Maybe he wants to eat dinner with him or something.
"Then, please excuse me." He bows and leaves the room. I follow him to the genkan where he shoves on his shoes. He bows again, opens the door and leaves. I look through the glass and can see his blurry figure running down the street.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Today, when I open the door for Hiramoto, he doesn't come inside. Instead, he extends his arms and bows, holding another envelope out to me. "I'm sorry. But I have to go home. Thank you for your help up to now."
I'm surprised by how easily the words come out of his mouth. Is this the same person? "Oh," I say, realizing I haven't taken the envelope. When I remove it from his hands, I notice a Band-Aid on the finger he cut yesterday. He bows again then leaves. His pace is normal, but he doesn't look back.
Monday, April 30, 2007
The only one to greet me when I come back to school Monday morning is Mori. There are still times when he tries to chat with me, asking things like:
"What grade did you get?" I show him my papers silently. No one knows that everything comes incredibly easy to me, but I purposefully stay around 90 since I'm not allowed to do any better.
"Did you see that new movie?" The answer is always no. Back in middle school, I would go by myself to see the movies other kids were talking about. I couldn't come back and join in the conversations, but I could at least respond in my head. As time passed, I cared less and less about keeping up.
"Do you still not have a cell phone?" I have never needed one and still don't.
So, when I return this morning, Mori leans on my desk and says, "Katana-kun! You were out for so long. Ms. Shira wouldn't tell me why." He scrunches his nose. "So, Katana-kun, why?"
Ms. Shiraishi is smart. It's none of anyone's business why I was out—or the extent of the 'why' I told her, at least. I stare at him without expression and answer, "Secret."
"Oooh," he says, impressed. "Cool, aren't you?" Then he grins. "That's. Why. We should be friends. Though, I'm cooler," he jokes.
My eyes don't flicker as I find myself muttering, "I don't want to."
"Eh?"
Well, I already said it. Might as well go all the way. "I don't want to be your friend."
Mori's dumbfounded look turns serious.
A hand slams on my desk from the opposite side. "You," the voice snaps. It's Mori's friend Ke-whatever. "Who do you think you are?"
Deadpan, I gaze back at him.
"Bas—"
"What's going on?" Ms. Shiraishi enters the classroom. "Mori-kun? Yamato-kun?"
Mori sits down silently, looking grumpy. Yamato Ke-whatever sits too, but only after clicking his tongue.
Seems I'm breaking rules left and right.
When the lunch bell rings, I go outside to my usual spot. After a minute, Hiramoto comes around the corner with his sketchbook clutched to his chest.
When he spots me, his eyes grow larger. The pencil case in his hand slips from his grip and hits the ground, causing him to jump. Why is he that surprised to see me? After picking up the pencil case, he walks over and sits down, the sketchbook covering his face.
"I didn't know you'd come today," he tells me from behind it.
"I decided this morning."
He lowers the sketchbook as well as his head, but I can see his small smile. "I'm glad."