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I wish Christmas would just disappear.
Perhaps I muttered that because of the Christmas illuminations I saw in front of the station. Although Christmas was still over three weeks away, the city had already begun its preparations. The tree glittering in the center of the station's terminal was for Christmas. The main street was decorated with lights, shining brilliantly. I stood on the deck in front of the station, leaning against the railing as I took it all in.
I wondered where all the money for this came from. The breath I exhaled deeply turned white from the cold, gathering in front of my nose.
On Christmas Day, it would probably look even more beautiful. The city would be overflowing with lovers, Christmas songs would emerge from nowhere, and the world would be wrapped in happiness.
Damn it all, I thought to myself.
After all, I was supposed to be viewing this scene with my girlfriend.
You say you love me, but I'm sure it's not true. It's sad, but I understand.
That day, after being together for over a year, she had said that to me. Lying on the bed in just her underwear, she narrowed her eyes as she smoked a cigarette.
Thank you for everything.
Then she gave me a small smile.
I realized then that nothing I could say would matter anymore. Understanding that my path would no longer intersect with hers, I felt something close to despair, yet I couldn't bring myself to speak words of denial, only wishing fervently that it was all just a dream.
On that last day, even as she left the room, she gently stroked my head.
Let's just do our best, shall we?
I had pondered the meaning of those words ever since, unsure of what I should strive for and what lay ahead of me.
I wish Christmas would just disappear.
My muttering wasn't directed at anyone, just words that slipped out like a sigh. I never expected a response.
It's possible, you know. To erase Christmas.
It was a girl's voice, coming from behind. I turned around in a panic towards the source of the voice.
There stood a girl who seemed to be a high school student. Well, I couldn't be certain she was one. But she wore a navy blazer beneath a matching coat, with a white blouse and a tartan skirt. Her black hair was cut in a short bob just above her shoulders, and her features looked youthful. She held a school bag in both hands.
Apart from the fact that she was out at this hour and had approached someone like me, a college student, she really did seem like a high school girl.
I can make Christmas disappear.
Her voice was uninflected, almost flat.
What?
I must have looked incredibly foolish. Was this some kind of prank, targeting me, even though I wasn't a celebrity or anything? Or perhaps a setup for a scam?
I can erase Christmas.
Her claim was utterly outlandish.
Regardless, thinking it best to avoid any involvement, I pretended not to notice her and started to walk away.
Please wait, Mr. Criminal.
As I began to step down from the pedestrian bridge, I heard her words and stopped in my tracks.
Criminal. At that word, I felt the blood drain from my face. A chilling realization. I slowly turned around, my eyes widening in shock.
The girl in the uniform was holding a green notebook. An ordinary notebook, yet . . .
I've read this.
Indeed. Seeing her smug and distain-filled look, I was certain. That notebook was mine.
I moved to snatch it back.
Don't move, please.
Her voice was commanding.
If you try to take it by force, I'll scream that you're a pervert.
You have quite the personality, don't you?
Are you falling for me?
She was seemingly unfazed by my sarcasm. I sighed deeply and shook my head.
Sadly, I can't bring myself to like someone who peeks at others' belongings like a criminal.
What are you talking about? You're the criminal here.
She flipped through the notebook with a taunting air as she spoke.
Who do you think it would be interesting to give this to, Mr. Criminal?
The girl's voice was tinged with a sadistic pleasure as she spoke.
The police? Your parents? Or perhaps to your beloved girlfriend . . .
All right, all right.
I raised my hands in surrender.
What do you want? Just to let you know, I'm a heartbroken, washed-up college student. No money, no remarkable talents, just a pathetic man. Threatening me won't get you anything.
Doesn't it make you sad to say that?
The girl sighed as if exasperated.
Have I not been clear? My wish is to erase Christmas.
That again.
Are you out of your mind?
The girl silently moved closer as I questioned her, and before I could say anything else, she kicked my shin hard.
Ouch . . .
The impact was surprisingly strong, coming from her slender frame, and I crumpled to the ground. My leg was so numb from the kick that I couldn't stand up for a while.
Hey, Mr. Criminal. Whether you live or die is up to me, you know.
The girl crouched down in front of me and grabbed my hair.
Mind your words, okay?
She said with a smile and I thought to myself, this is quite the pickle, as if it were someone else's problem. Indeed, I would face many troubles until Christmas. I didn't yet know about the power she possessed.
Twenty-three days until Christmas Eve. That was only the beginning.
I think it was already too late.
Well, Mr. Criminal. We'll discuss the details of our cooperation later, but it's late today, so please take me home.
Cooperation? I couldn't help but ponder on what that could mean, but reluctantly, I nodded in agreement.
So, where do you live?
What are you talking about? Take me to your house.
What? My house? I'd rather not . . .
We're not discussing whether you want to or not.
Leaving me standing there, the girl marched towards the bus stop. I sighed, suppressing my irritation, and hurried to catch up with her.
Look, if you're out of money, I can lend you some. Why don't you take a taxi home or stay at an internet cafe?
I don't want to.
She shut me down firmly.
Wasn't it you who said we're not discussing what we want?
The girl glared at me fiercely. I couldn't help but shake my head. I wouldn't stand a chance if she kicked me again. Besides, she had something on me. It was wiser not to resist.
On the way to the apartment, I draped my coat over her. Walking with a girl in a school uniform could attract unwanted police attention.
I currently have some reasons why I can't go home.
Then why not stay at a friend's place?
Sadly, I don't have friends.
With that attitude, I can see why.
I felt her grip tighten on her school bag. She swung it at my stomach with the technique of a batter. The impact was too fast to react to, and a numbing shock ran through my upper body. Maybe there were books inside? The pain was so severe that I had no choice but to double over and crouch down on the spot.
After a while, I coughed violently and then apologized to her.
Okay, my bad.
Yes, your bad. Please reflect on that.
Her tone was flat, but I could sense a slight anger in it. I sighed quietly, making sure she couldn't hear.
We walked in silence for a while, and then stopped in front of an apartment.
Here we are.
I started climbing the stairs of the old, shabby apartment building.
Well, I wasn't expecting much anyway.
The girl sighed behind me.
Standing in front of the room, I fumbled in my pocket for the keys, my hands numb from the cold.
You better hurry up. Unless you want to be reported for letting me in.
I know.
I inserted the key and opened the door. The kitchen was visible from the entrance, littered with garbage. A strange odor wafted from who knows where. The bath had pink mold, and the room was overflowing with laundry, plastic bottles, and empty takeout boxes.
The bathroom was just as filthy.
I take back what I said earlier.
She sighed heavily.
The "please reflect" thing?
The part about my expectations being low anyway. I didn’t think it would be this dirty.
There's still time for the last train if you want to leave now.
No, it's fine. Shall we go to your beloved girlfriend's house with the notebook? I bet she's with her new boyfriend right now.
. . .
Seeing me fall silent, the girl snorted and took out a deodorizing spray from her school bag. After spraying it all around the room, she crawled into my bed before I could stop her.
Hey, that's my bed.
If you come any closer, it won't just be conspiracy to commit murder; you'll also be charged with assaulting a minor.
While I was stunned, the girl had already turned towards the wall and fallen asleep, as if there were no more words to be exchanged.
Left alone, I sat on the couch, unable to say anything. Staring at the girl lying still under the futon, I held my head wondering how things had come to this. I hadn’t even wanted to bring her up to my room. If that uniform wasn't just a cosplay, she was underage. Objectively speaking, what I was doing was practically abduction.
Yet, she had my notebook. Losing it was such a careless mistake. To now be threatened by a high school girl was just the tip of the iceberg of my foolishness.
I sighed and stood up, feeling hungry. I decided to eat anything just to try and fix my mood.
I went to the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat, but all I found were some condiments, a discolored onion, and a salad that had been opened more than three days ago. Even after checking the shelves, there was nothing that seemed to satisfy my hunger.
Just my luck. I sighed, for what felt like the umpteenth time today, and pulled out a can of beer that was rolling around at the back of the fridge. Since the girl was in the living room, I stood in front of the extractor fan and drank it. The beer somewhat distracted me from my hunger, but the alcohol on an empty stomach made me feel sick.
After finishing the drink, I used the can as an ashtray and smoked a cigarette. Blowing smoke towards the extractor fan, I found myself thinking back to an hour ago.
Erase Christmas, huh . . .
I snorted in self-derision. It was utterly ridiculous.
When I returned to the living room, the girl appeared to be asleep, clutching her school bag. I wondered if my notebook was inside it. As I considered whether I could take it back now, she stirred and our eyes met.
Don’t think you can take it back just because I'm asleep.
Sorry, I was thinking that.
Eventually, I gave up and lay down on the sofa. Once she saw I wasn’t going to do anything, the girl returned to her original position and closed her eyes again.
So, with nothing more I could do, I closed my eyes as well.
Soon, I felt a haze clouding my thoughts—it was sleepiness, which surprised me a bit. Ever since I broke up with my girlfriend, I had been forcing myself to sleep without ever feeling genuinely sleepy. It had been a long time since I felt true drowsiness.
It seemed the mere thought of someone reading that notebook had inflicted more damage on me than I imagined.
As I drifted off, I thought it had been the worst day ever.
And on days like this, even my dreams seemed to be the worst.
〇
It was less a dream and more a flashback, exactly as it happened that day.
My girlfriend was smoking a cigarette on the bed, her expression melancholy. Her slender body, which I had embraced so many times, was covered only by her underwear. She exhaled deeply. The smoke from her cigarette drew a thin line like a contrail, which disappeared almost immediately. She wasn't smiling anymore. That was when I finally realized that the relationship was over.
Back then, it was still summer. A shrine was right behind the 1DK apartment where my girlfriend lived, so we could always hear birds and insects, and that night, we listened to the cicadas as we ate chilled Chinese noodles. The dish was store-bought noodles topped with thinly sliced cucumbers, shredded omelet, and ham. She made it often, knowing it was something I could eat when my appetite waned in the summer.
She watched me finish everything.
You see, boys need to eat a lot.
She treated me like a kid. Indeed, from her perspective as a working adult, I, a university student, must have seemed like a child. During the year and a bit that we dated, I was painfully aware of this multiple times. She probably had far more life experience than I could compare, and that was true in love as well. The way she handled her wine calmly at restaurants, the gestures she made the first time we slept together, spoke volumes about her experience. The first time I visited her room, which didn't seem to match her tastes, there were magazines lying around. She never wanted to go to the red brick warehouse in Yokohama, and every time we visited a new place, she would reminisce.
Last time I came here was . . .
Every time she started a sentence like that, it was unbearable for me.
Thinking back, it was a year spent wondering how I could become her number one. How I could avoid being dumped by her. Those days filled with such worries were coming to an end.
As I touched her skin on the bed, she slowly shook her head and moved the blanket aside. After adjusting her displaced underwear, she sat on the edge of the bed and dangled her legs. She reminded me of a girl in a park at dusk, not wanting to go home, swinging on a swing. Seeing her about to cry, I imagined such a scene.
Are you okay?
I wondered why she looked so troubled. There were times she had rejected my advances, saying she felt unwell, but this felt distinctly different. I waited for her words. There was silence. Pointlessly, I threw an unused condom from my pocket into the trash can, and absent-mindedly surveyed the room. A bookshelf with foreign sci-fi novels and BUMP CDs, the ice cream cups we just ate left on the table, my backpack thrown in a corner, a small TV, a game console we'd bought together, and a small white sofa. This room, brimming with signs of our life together, was a place I had first visited over a year ago. More often than not, it was me visiting her room rather than her visiting mine.
Entering her place, I always felt more inclined to say I'm home rather than I'm here because her room had become such a familiar place to me.
She was quiet on the bed. It dawned on me then, this was the moment of our breakup, and she finally began to speak.
Tell me, when did you stop believing in Santa Claus?
Santa Claus?
Yes, Santa Claus. Don’t you remember?
As I remained silent, she seemed to intuit my answer.
Right.
She looked over at me.
I can’t quite remember those days either, but when I look back at my diary, it seems I believed in him until fourth grade. That’s kind of late, isn’t it?
I silently listened to her. I didn't wonder what she was talking about. Surely, she was sharing something very important right now. After being together for a little over a year, I could sense that much.
But you know, when I was in third grade, my uncle asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I really wanted a grand piano, but knowing that was out of reach, I said I wanted a small piano instead.
But back then, you still believed in Santa Claus, right?
Yes. I remember crying and arguing back when my friends told me Santa wasn’t real.
She shrugged her shoulders before continuing.
I guess I was a sad child who realized that while the real Santa Claus might exist, he just wouldn’t come to my place. No, not even just back then. Even now, I know there’s a Santa Claus in this world, but he won’t show up for me. He won’t make me happy.
That’s not . . .
That’s not true, I was about to say but stopped myself. After all, I hardly knew anything about her.
Then, she took a long breath, skillfully pinched her cigarette between her index and thumb, and flicked the ash with her middle finger.
Hey, we’ve been through a lot since we started dating, haven’t we?
Please stop.
To my own surprise, my voice came out more thorny than I expected. I was shaken, on the verge of tears.
Have you come to dislike me?
I haven’t come to dislike you. You know that. I’ve never really liked you that much to begin with.
Then why?
A deep sigh escaped her.
Why bring this up all of a sudden?
Even the act of just breathing in and out has become sad. It’s been like this for a while now.
Senior reached for her second cigarette and lit it with her silver lighter.
You might not admit it, but . . .
She looked away.
The reason you can say you love me is because I don’t love you back.
What . . .
What are you talking about? I almost vehemently protested. Do you know how much I’ve adored you since we met in that park? Just seeing gestures and expressions that might have belonged to someone you loved before makes me so bitterly jealous. But the words I wanted to say evaporated as I saw her expression.
She wasn’t smiling anymore.
I couldn't even remember the last time she smiled at me. She hadn’t been smiling for a long time, and I hadn’t realized it until now.
Finally, I understood that our relationship was coming to an end.
How long are you going to sleep, Mr. Criminal?
Along with the sound of the girl’s voice, I felt a dull pain in my flank and woke up from my dream. When I opened my eyes, the same girl from yesterday was in front of me, wearing the same uniform, and she was stepping on me. The pain I had been feeling in my flank was apparently caused by her right foot, clad in black knee-high socks. Being woken up by a high school girl stepping on me made for quite a punchy start to my day as I slowly recalled yesterday's events.
That's right, I'm being threatened, I realized as I took a closer look at the girl.
She appeared to be about seventeen, with her black hair cut just above the shoulders and an innocent face that might suggest she was even younger. She had sleepy eyes, a not-so-high nose bridge, and thin lips, making her overall face seem unremarkable. However, this also indicated a well-proportioned beauty. At a glance, she looked like a quietly unfortunate girl.
Because she was stepping on me while I lay on the sofa, I could see her slender, pale thighs peeking out from under her skirt.
Stop staring, you pervert.
With a tone filled with disdain, she said this and increased the pressure of her foot on me. The sensation of my bones creaking was unbearable, and I couldn't help coughing. Seeing me suffer, she seemed satisfied and then removed her foot.
I got up from the sofa and headed to the kitchen. I took two bottles of mineral water from the fridge, handed one to the girl, and then sat back down on the sofa. To my surprise, she obediently took the water, took a sip, and let out a sigh.
As I said yesterday, the messiness of this room was unexpected.
Thanks.
It'll be unbearable to spend a month in this room, so let's make today a cleaning day.
Yeah. Wait—what? A month? You're kidding, right?
I stared in disbelief.
Is there a problem?
She wore an annoyed expression. I continued regardless.
That's a terrible idea. A day is manageable, if not ideal, but hosting an underage girl for a month could turn me into a criminal.
Congratulations.
Yay, I'm not thrilled at all.
Looking at me clutching my head, the girl let out an exaggerated sigh.
My family wouldn't worry. If I disappeared for about a month, they'd probably just lament the absence of a tool to relieve their stress. No, rather, they might feel relieved that the nuisance is gone.
Tool? Nuisance?
Then, hesitating a bit, she rolled up her blouse. Her abdomen was as frail as a twig and as white as fresh snow, revealing itself. I was puzzled, but soon noticed a thorn-like scar running along the right side of her belly button. It was a painful-looking wound. Before I could say anything, she pulled down her uniform blouse, tucking it into her skirt while speaking in an indifferent tone as if it was nothing.
This bruise was from when my father hit me with an electric cord. There are others too. Would you like to see?
No, I'll pass.
There's no one left at home who hates me enough to regularly commit violence. No need for them to worry.
She spoke in a tone as if it were someone else's problem, which terrified me. Her indifferent manner of speaking and her cold eyes gave a chilling reality to her words. Ignoring my stunned expression, the girl walked towards the entrance.
So, please make sure you clean up by the time I get back.
Wait a minute, I still have—
I will be back in the evening.
She said that and left the room.
〇
As instructed by the girl, I cleaned the room and received a call from someone during that time. I was cleaning the bathroom and only noticed the call an hour later. When I called back, the person on the other end answered on the third ring.
Hello?
It was a male voice. Someone I knew well.
Hey. I saw a missed call from you and thought I’d call back. Did you need something?
Oh, no, nothing important. Just thought we could grab a drink, it's been a while.
Sounds good . . . ah, actually, no, sorry. I remembered I have plans.
You do? That's unusual.
The man's voice was filled with curiosity.
I could sum the person on the other end of the line up with just a simple two words: bad influence.
In our freshman spring, as we sat in the same class and bonded over our shared disdain for the professor, we quickly formed a sort of anti-social friendship. Our escapades were nothing but trivial—skipping classes to drink in the park from noon, skimming stones at the river until dusk, and aimlessly wandering the streets from the last train until the first light of morning.
He had a taste for alcohol, women, and Western movies, while detesting health, morals, and Japanese cinema. Despite his inevitable path to flunking out within a year, he was my only friend.
I had already told him about the notebook about a month ago.
That night, too, he had called me up while I was drinking in the park.
What are you up to right now?
When I told him I was drinking in the park, he showed up in no time.
We sat on the swings, engaging in the most pointless conversations. Talks about what we'd do if we knew the world was ending tomorrow, Janis Joplin's singing voice, or how my heart raced hearing a girl I liked read aloud during elementary school language class. We often had these kinds of talks. Once, my friend had summed up our relationship quite accurately.
We'd probably die of embarrassment if we ever had a meaningful conversation.
I generally agreed with the sentiment.
After emptying six cans of beer and nearly a pack of cigarettes each, a prolonged silence fell over us. It was as if we had exhausted every trivial topic in existence, leaving a sense of futile satisfaction. Flicking cigarette butts into the empty beer cans at our feet, as I was about to light another, my friend suddenly spoke up.
Speaking of which, you're still going to university, right?
His question made me laugh.
Of course. We’re university students. It’d be weirder if we weren’t going to university.
Not all university students actually go to university, you know.
And not all graduate.
Right.
He agreed with a shrug, laughing along.
Are you okay now?
He sounded moderately concerned.
Hmm.
I let out only an ambiguous response, cigarette dangling from my lips. I struck a match, inhaling the smoke deeply as I pondered.
About two months ago, I had been dumped by my girlfriend. For a while after that, I barely attended university, hardly leaving my house. I'd wake up and start drinking, eat instant noodles when hungry, smoke, and then sleep without doing anything else. If my friend hadn’t regularly brought food to my place, I might well have died.
You looked like a zombie.
He laughed heartily as we sat on the swings.
I flicked a cigarette butt into the empty can, watching it extinguish with a sizzle.
I spoke pensively.
You know, I think I was never really okay to begin with.
Oh?
Living a normal life was only possible because of my girlfriend. After we broke up, it’s not just the shock of the breakup that incapacitated me, but rather I just reverted to my original state. I guess I’m just as much, if not more, of a mess than you.
I’d prefer not to be compared with you in that regard. I don’t do breakups.
He half-smiled, shaking his head.
Fair enough.
I agreed. In matters of love, he always handled it better. After all, the specs were different. My friend was tall and muscular, with a well-structured face. He had a knack for keeping girls entertained with his conversation skills and considerateness far superior to mine. He was deft in his ways. Although he never seemed interested in having a girlfriend, he was always out with at least three girls on weekends and had physical relationships with two others. While I never envied him, I knew many people who did.
But hey.
He pointed at me as he began.
You’re out and about now, and going to university, right?
I'm just going through the motions. Haven't attended a single class. Looks like I'm about to flunk out.
Why's that?
My friend looked puzzled. I shook my head, hesitated a bit, and then handed him the notebook. He took it silently and started reading through it.
This is . . . ah, I see. So that's what you've been caught up with . . .
He muttered as he read.
So, today might very well be our last time drinking together.
I had already resigned myself to that fact.
Well, I don't know about that.
I couldn't believe my ears.
Why not?
If I stop being your friend now, I won't be able to say 'I saw it coming' in an interview someday, right?
I was so flabbergasted I was lost for words, watching me, he laughed. After a while, I couldn't help but laugh along.
Well then, shall we head back?
He stood up. Unbeknownst to us, the sky had begun to lighten. We left the park and walked home. Each time we passed a businessman heading for the first train, I felt strangely amused.
As we parted, my friend asked me.
Are you really going to kill her boyfriend?
I just ambiguously shook my head, unable to reply. I didn't quite understand it myself.
Because he already knew about the situation, when he called me I didn't hesitate to talk about the girl. When I told him that I was being threatened by some girl who got hold of my notebook, he laughed heartily.
Really, she saw the notebook?
This isn't a laughing matter.
It is a laughing matter. Being threatened by a high school girl?
He thought of it as someone else's problem. As I was about to hang up, my friend relented.
All right, I'm sorry.
He stopped laughing.
But still . . .
His tone became more calm.
Claiming to be able to erase Christmas is quite bold.
She must be out of her mind.
Well, maybe not.
I asked him what he meant.
Who knows.
He laughed.
Literally, she might really be able to erase Christmas.
Are you serious?
I'm not sure. But maybe you should just go along with what that girl says for a while. It might turn out to be quite interesting.
I can't see it that way.
It's the perfect remedy for a heartbroken, lovesick fool. There's nothing more wasteful than the time spent wallowing over a girl who dumped you and trying to hold back a sneeze that won’t come.
What's that supposed to mean?
Well, just do your best. Kidnapper.
My bad friend threw in one last dig before hanging up.
He didn't really care, because it was someone else's issue. I was dumbfounded when another call came in. Normally, this useless phone never rings even a peep, but today it was unusually lively. The caller ID was hidden. After a moment's hesitation, I answered the phone.
I failed.
The voice I heard from the other end of the phone was that of the girl. I wondered how she got my number, then remembered this morning’s incident with the paper. She likely didn't have a cell phone, so she was probably calling from a payphone.
So, what went wrong? Well, for starters, I responded to her.
That's the privilege of youth.
The girl clicked her tongue softly.
Enough with that. Please come to the location I'm about to tell you.
She irritably told me the name of a shopping mall. It was a place that could be reached in just ten minutes by car.
Please come as soon as you can . . . I'm begging you.
The voice on the other end of the phone line seemed utterly exhausted. Sensing this was no ordinary matter, I left home grabbing whatever I could. I rode my motorcycle from the apartment lot to the location the girl had mentioned.
On the way, I got caught by several traffic lights, which made the journey longer than I had anticipated.
I parked my motorcycle in the indoor parking lot of the shopping mall. As I headed to the designated spot, I noticed it was unusually crowded for a weekday. Even though it was evening, it was normally much quieter.
The girl was in the third-floor rest area. She was sitting on a bench, deeply bowed over, so at first, I didn't realize it was her.
Casual clothes? Did you change?
When I spoke to her, the girl jerked her shoulders and then looked up.
Oh, hello, Criminal.
Muttering, she casually lifted a shopping bag she had in addition to her school bag.
I just bought this . . .
I see. Are you all right, though? Your face is beyond pale; it's practically blue.
I'm not okay, that's why I have no choice but to rely on someone like you—a criminal.
She glared at me with resentment, yet her voice was feeble.
Let's rest here until you feel better.
The girl shook her head.
This isn't something that gets better by waiting. Besides, do you know any open, secluded place with few people around?
If outside is fine, there's a park nearby. Given the cold, there might be just a few kids playing at most.
The girl nodded.
That will do.
As I started walking towards the nearby elevator, the girl for some reason stopped me for a moment.
Please wait.
She grabbed the hem of my clothes.
What's wrong?
Just keep going now, please.
That explains nothing.
Having never experienced walking with someone holding onto my clothes before, I was at a loss. Still, standing and attracting more attention was also undesirable, so I reluctantly began to walk.
Until we left the shopping mall, I endured the curious stares of passersby. The girl seemed to be looking down all the while, her eyes barely open, watching around my heels.
I chose a path with the least amount of people and soon arrived at the park, which wasn't very big and felt somewhat old. The only other person was an elderly man walking his dog, resting on a bench.
We're here.
As I said this, the girl released the grip on my hem. She looked around and then walked towards the swings in the back of the park and sat down, bowing deeply again.
I watched the girl slumped over the swing from afar and sighed deeply, wondering what all that was about earlier. She had come at me with a school bag, stomped on me, and now seemed such a frail figure. I thought she was emotionally unstable. It seemed she didn't come from a happy home, not that it mattered.
Regardless, I couldn't defy her now. Not that I would take my mischievous friend's advice, but I thought I might as well try to cheer her up a bit, so I headed to a nearby vending machine. I got myself a black coffee and a warm tea for the girl.
I approached the still-bowed girl and offered her the tea.
. . .
She raised her eyes to look between my face and the warm tea, showed a moment of hesitation, then abruptly grabbed the coffee I was holding in my other hand. She brought the pale lips to the rim and drank the coffee.
Ugh, this is bitter.
She immediately grimaced.
Then why did you choose it?
I felt like you were trying to score points against me, and I got annoyed.
Oh come on, that's not the case.
As I shrugged my shoulders, the girl snorted and turned away, then fell silent.
I sat down on the swing next to me and took a sip of my drink. The tea was delicious.
So, what happened?
I spoke as casually as I could.
Nothing really . . .
I just sighed deeply in response.
Suddenly, I felt at a loss. While lightly swinging, I watched the fading park and the alley beyond. Streetlights started to light up one by one. Looking at the park clock, it wasn't even five o'clock yet. Sunset comes early, something that hadn't changed whether I was in my northern hometown or now here in Kanto. It was funny; I never knew such obvious things until I moved here.
It had been almost two years since I started living alone in a rented apartment in the city, after graduating high school and moving to a university in Saitama.
In the spring, right before the start of university, after unpacking my things and with a few days before classes began, I often went for walks. I discovered many things while wandering aimlessly in the warm spring air. The clear skies of Saitama, the distinct outline of clouds, the numerous hills, and a mix of high-rise buildings and forests. The differences and similarities to my hometown felt just right. Any more rural, and I would have been bored; any more urban, and I would have been exhausted.
About two hours into a walk one day, as the wind from the high skies grew colder, I either headed back the way I came or caught a bus towards a familiar place. Watching the sky dyed red by the sunset and the town dimming, I thought to myself, I'm going to live here for four years.
Even after university started, I took such walks occasionally. When I quit a club due to interpersonal issues, when I heard about my parents' divorce over the phone, when I was dumped by my girlfriend, those were usually the times I would go for a walk.
Having lived alone for nearly two years, I was unsure if that was a long or short time. I had experienced quite a bit, but I didn't feel like I had grown much from it. It was more like fatigue had just accumulated like dust.
I really wondered what I was doing. Skipping university because I was dumped by my girlfriend, and to top it off, being threatened by this young girl.
You must think I'm pathetic.
Uh . . .
I was surprised by the girl's voice from next to me. It took a few seconds to realize that she wasn't talking to me.
For all my brash and rough ways, I'm just a scared, emotionally unstable kid.
That's not true.
It's fine, really, you don't need to worry. I have your weaknesses in my grip, that's why you're saying that, right?
Maybe.
I shrugged my shoulders while casually juggling an empty bottle.
It's not unusual for someone your age to express these feelings. Better than cutting your wrists, I guess.
I think cutting my wrists would be better.
The girl laughed derisively at herself.
I struggle to pass people by.
Are you being poetic? It sounds nice.
As I said that, the girl looked at me coldly, expressionless.
No . . . I mean, physically.
I tilted my head, not understanding what she meant.
Well . . .
The girl took another sip of her coffee.
It's still bitter.
She grimaced again as if to say she didn't want any more and pushed the can towards me. After confirming that I had taken it, she started to speak.
You know how awkward it is when you're not sure which way to dodge someone coming towards you? I'm extremely bad at that. If I walk down a moderately busy street for about fifty meters, I'm confident I'd end up in such standoffs about ten times.
That's . . . quite a lot.
At first, it wasn't too much of a problem . . . but once I start being conscious of it, I can't remember how I used to pass by people, and I even forget how to walk. When I shrink back like this and end up face-to-face with someone, our eyes meet. Then, I feel as if they're blaming me, asking why I'm just standing there.
That sounds a bit exaggerated. No one really cares that much, you know.
Yes, they probably forget about it three seconds later. I know that. But . . . why can't I do such simple things? As I think about it, people keep coming towards me, and then I find myself unable to move a single step . . .
It sounds like obsessive-compulsive disorder or something.
Maybe it is.
The girl spoke in a low voice, then frustratedly clutched her head.
That was just me being careless earlier. I thought since it's a weekday at a rural shopping mall, it wouldn't be very crowded.
It was a sale day.
Yes . . . by the time I realized, it was crowded, and I couldn't walk at all.
I see . . .
I nodded in understanding.
But if it's that severe, everyday life must be a struggle. I’ve heard that people can recover from things like germophobia . . . aren’t you taking any medication?
Of course not. I can't talk about such ridiculous symptoms to anyone. They'll think I've lost my mind.
The girl laughed. Just moments ago, her face was pale, but now some color had returned. Watching her, I understood that what she was saying was not entirely false. This led me to wonder about something.
Then why share something you can't even discuss with a doctor, with someone like me?
To erase Christmas.
She looked straight at me and said that. It seemed it was now my turn to hold my head.
Again with that. It's about time you explain. What do you want to do? You threaten me, take over my bed, hit me, step on me, show tyrannical behavior, and then you expose your weaknesses like this. I'm totally lost.
You’re absolutely right. An explanation is due soon. We don’t have much time.
The girl continued in a matter-of-fact manner.
But the explanation will have to wait until we get back to your room. It’s cold here . . .
Fair enough.
When I mimicked her tone, the girl kicked my shin again.
