Punishment

I run into Tokiwa as I leave the hospital.

Well, we don't technically meet, at first. I just glimpse her as she whizzes by. Her small orange bicycle speeds past, leaving a lingering afterimage. We've known each other for so long that my brain identifies her instantly as Tokiwa, but I don't actually get a good look at her.

It seems like Tokiwa notices me, too.

She brakes abruptly about one hundred feet past the hospital, her back wheel lifting slightly from the momentum as she comes to a stop. She's still wearing her school uniform, miniskirt and all, but the garishly colored racing tights she sports underneath can hardly be described as sexy.

Tokiwa looks mature for her age, her delicate features making her popular among our underclassmen. She often wears a stern expression, offset by her unique sort of charm. She has the aura of an older, more experienced girl who might treat an inexperianced boy gently.

I know all too well that it's all a trap, like the alluring exterior of a carnivorous plant.

Hey, if it isn't Iku. What are you doing here?

She calls out as she turns, still atop her bike. The wheels glide, her feet never even touching the ground, as if she was born riding a bicycle. She approaches me, once again stopping cleanly without touching the ground.

The bicycle she rides has handlebars that curve forward at a right angle, the kind that look as though even a glancing blow would topple most people. I think it's called a bullhorn bar, or something like that. A small tote bag is hanging from those distinctive handles, swinging back and forth.

She scrutinizes me, then tilts her head.

. . . What's with the angry face? Been a while since I've seen that.

. . . I'm not angry.

I touch my face as if to confirm her statement, not that doing so would reveal anything. Tokiwa watches my gesture with amusement.

Sometimes you make a scary face for no reason at all.

. . . Seems like it.

I've been told that many times. I'm not aware of it myself, but apparently there are times when I make such a murderous face that people are too scared to even talk to me. I don't even know the reason I make such a face, so there's no way for anyone else to know, either.

It's never because I'm being insulted or made fun of. It's just that, out of the blue, for reasons I don't understand, I seem to make a face as if I'm about to kill someone.

You haven't pulled that one since we started high school. But it's still scary, no matter how many times I see it. You look like a mafia hit man. If you could pull that face on purpose, you could be a regular in Kitano movies, you know?

Mafia? Not Yakuza?

Nah, doesn't feel like Yakuza. More like a professional hit man. An Italian one, who'd slice his boss's neck open with a knife.

Like in the middle of a shave?

Exactly. Or maybe you'd beat him to a pulp with a baseball bat.

Who am I, De Niro?

Tokiwa doesn't answer, but gazes toward the hospital, as if noticing it for the first time. Then, she looks back at me.

. . . What are you doing at a hospital? Are you sick or something?

Well, something quite remarkable came out of my urethra.

How tragic. A virgin with an STD. That's movie material.

They're not necessarily transmitted through sex, you know.

That's what makes it so tragic.

I almost feel like she has a point.

Tokiwa wipes the sweat off her forehead on the back of her fingerless gloves. He short hair is tied back, messy and careless, like she couldn't care less about her hair style. She often wears her hair up at school, too. I could easily imagine her shaving her head if the whim struck her.

What are you doing hanging around a place like this, Tokiwa?

While this hospital is a reasonable distance by train, there's nothing fun to do around it. I expect her to say that she just ended up here while cycling around or something, but instead, Tokiwa points to the tote bag swinging from her handlebars.

Just on my way back from shopping.

. . . Your sphere of activity is way too wide.

If this is too wide for you, then we're in trouble.

Given Tokiwa's athletic abilities, this would indeed be nothing more than a leisurely stroll for her. Her legs are more toned than any of the boys on the soccer team.

What did you buy? There's nothing around here.

Well, there's a store that sells premium feminine hygiene products.

Seriously? So you do get periods and stuff, Tokiwa?

Yep, lots. Every week. It's like a bloody bargain sale.

Sounds like a medical condition.

It's my damn uterus. It's so eager to have a baby it's unbearable.

Enough about that. What did you buy?

. . . Hmm? Oh, this.

Tokiwa pulls a rectangular plastic case from her tote bag. Something resembling playing cards peek through the clear plastic casing, though whatever it seems a little large for that.

What's that?

Tarot cards.

. . . Why the sudden interest in fortune-telling?

Well, it's interesting, right? Everyone is freaking out about how accurate it is.

. . . Didn't think you were the type to believe in that stuff, Tokiwa.

There is a girl in our class who carries tarot cards around with her. She is famous for her accurate readings, and is treated like a professional fortune teller. Girls and boys alike flock to her, with some people even get a reading done every day.

I just want to verify whether it's Nanase's power or the tarot cards.

So, you came all this way just to buy them?

I had no choice. Nanase said she bought hers here.