Chapter 5: Ch. 5 Echoes of the Past

The comfortable routine guided me through every day, coddled me, letting me go through the motions, unthinking, reacting, reflecting the warms emotions shining from those around me.

If I had a moment to myself, I spent it working or studying. “I” had given up on university and would have already quit school to work if I hadn’t worried the school would want a meeting with my parents. Now, well, I already had a computer science degree and wanted the salary that went with it, so I had to go to university again. At least I didn’t have to study maths, skimming through the textbook enough to remind me of what I’d learned, sciences a bit more challenging, but working had given me a work ethic. What exactly Japanese universities looked for, I had no clue, maybe some volunteering or joining a “Computer Club”.

It was funny how different school looked when looking back.

Coasting through the days, it was Sunday again. Toyama arrived, I worked, the project coming together. Still technically behind, but I’d done in a week what had taken the old me over a month to do. Even without crunching, I would easily meet the next milestone, already thinking of what to get with the bonus. Himawari shouldn’t have to live with hand-me-downs.

So I joined Himawari and Toyama for lunch, much to my sister’s delight. Poor Toyama was practically forgotten. Afterwards, I told her she could leave.

“Really? You don’t have more work to do?” Toyama asked.

I smiled. “I’ll finish after Himawari goes to bed, not much left.”

She looked like she doubted me, but took me at my word. Once she was gone, Himawari asked, “Does she have something to do?”

“No, I thought we could clear up the storage,” I said.

She lit up at that, realising it meant an afternoon with me. But that didn’t last, my message only taking a minute to summon Sakura, Himawari scowling at her. “What are you doing here?”

Chuckling, I patted Himawari’s back. “Be nice, Hime-chan.”

Sakura didn’t look at all offended. In fact, she smiled sweetly and offered Himawari a small, cute pouch. “I baked some sweets last night.”

Himawari eyed it up, then hesitantly took it. I gave her back another pat and she understood, saying, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sakura said.

After an awkward second, Himawari looked up at me and I nodded, so she opened up the pouch and took out a sweet—it looked like a biscuit. Despite the one-sided rivalry between them, the tastiness showed in Himawari’s scrunched up smile.

The peace offering successful, Sakura joined us in the clearing up, helping me with the heavier boxes. We’d put a lot of stuff away after our parents left us, but there was more from when my mother died too. Like my father wanted to bury anything that could remind him of her. He’d probably thought about burying me with her.

Dark thoughts aside, it was my mother’s stuff I wanted to go through. We didn’t need to keep her clothes or her books or anything like that. Thankfully, we found photographs, so I could finally set up a shrine for her. That was a common thing for dead family members, but my father hadn’t done it. I had an intense sort of anxiety embedded in this body over it, like I was being kept from her, countless things I’d wanted to tell her over the years. Besides, after meeting a goddess, spirituality didn’t seem so silly to me.

After those things were what prompted the clearing up: an old VHS player and boxes of recorded programmes. “My” mother was maybe a decade older than the old me, so there was a decent overlap of what she had on tape and what my parents had watched. Old British comedy.

“How does this even work?” Sakura asked, turning a tape over in her hand.

Quite the generational divide. “I can explain, but wouldn’t you rather see it in action?” I said.

She quickly nodded.

Although Himawari was bored by now, the prospect of watching something perked her up and she suitably badgered me the whole time I fiddled behind the TV—thankfully, it wasn’t only HDMI slots. Then, looking through the tapes, I was happy to see one from both my and “my” childhood. Wallace and Gromit was a pure classic.

Sure enough, Himawari and Sakura were entranced by the podgy plasticine models. Well, they’d grown up on cartoons (anime), so there probably was something even more captivating about this style to them. Something real, but not real.

Anyway, I had planned to tutor Sakura while Himawari watched, yet I couldn’t bare to pull Sakura away. She looked so cute, staring with wide eyes, bursting into smiles at all the funny things that happened. You didn’t need to know English to enjoy most of Wallace and Gromit.

As nice as it would have been to watch them the whole time, I felt like a mother who’d found something to entertain her kids for an hour. Leaving them to it, I went to the master bedroom, a room that hadn’t been opened in months. It wasn’t much, but I took the photos out of my pocket and propped them up on top of the chest of drawers. A start.

And my body reacted almost violently, wave after wave of emotional pain churning inside me, memories flickering, eyes stinging. Heaving as if I was going to vomit, but it was words stuck in my throat. Empty pleas.

“Please come back.”

What “I” wanted more than anything, what “I” thought would fix everything. My father wouldn’t have left. My stepmother wouldn’t have—

Wouldn’t have what?

Like I was in the eye of the storm, everything stilled, mind suddenly empty. Painfully empty. The kind of emptiness that clawed at the edges, trying to drag anything and everything down with it. Carved into these bones, a fear both intense and numbing, even my heart afraid to beat.

Into that hole flooded my own darkness, an indescribable emotion of unchange. Mixing, blending, asking me if, even after coming to some strange heaven, I would still spend my life in front of a computer, giving away any part of me I could until there was nothing left.

So out of it, I didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear the footsteps, only heard Sakura when she spoke.

“She was always very kind to me.”

After a few blinks, I could see again and what I saw was Sakura bowing her head, eyes closed, hands together in prayer. Well, prayer wasn’t quite the right word, but I didn’t know what to call talking to a dead person in your head—in English or Japanese.

Eventually, her hands dropped and she opened her eyes. Only, seeing me, the smile left her and, the next moment, she was hugging me, holding me so tightly, like she was afraid I was about to float off.

I went to speak and realised why her mood swung, my throat closed up. A few more blinks cleared up the unshed tears. Instinctively, I hugged her back. One of those things ingrained into this body. It wanted to stifle the pain and hugging Sakura did that.

Mind and body so disjointed, I almost laughed, cuddling with the men I dated never feeling as comforting as this. I’d never really dated anyone to the point I was comfortable with them. It turned out I just needed a childhood friend, then I could feel safe even in the middle of a complete meltdown.

“It’s okay, you can cry. I know how strong you are for Himawari-chan,” Sakura whispered, rubbing my back.

I almost did, body trying to listen to her instead of me. But I kept control, breathed deep and slow, settling down. Against my body’s wishes, I pried myself off of her. “Thanks, I’m okay now,” I whispered, not trusting my voice.

She looked at me with a very worried smile. “Okay,” she said.

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For a moment, I just stared at her, feeling something I didn’t know. Probably, platonic love. A desire to be close to her. In the midst of that, I couldn’t help but say, “You’re so cute, how come you don’t have a boyfriend?”

She awkwardly laughed, no doubt shy. “I’m not… interested in boys,” she mumbled.

“Good, then I can keep you to myself a bit longer,” I said, taking her hand. “Let’s go back before Hime-chan notices.”

A thoughtless action I only realised when her hand squeezed mine. Well, she was a child to me, nothing strange about holding her hand.

Back in the lounge, I noticed Himawari glance at us with a pout, but she didn’t say anything. A good girl. I was reminded of something I’d heard once—so probably half-true and half-false—about how kids lashed out at people they felt were safe. It didn’t matter how rude she was to Sakura, Sakura always laughed it off.

Completely different to how she was when our parents were around.

Sat down, Sakura still held my hand. It didn’t bother me, and I guessed she was still worried, so I let it be. Another cute part of her. I never wanted children, but a niece like her would’ve been nice. Take her shopping, to the movies, listening to all her teen drama and gossip.

Lost in my silly thoughts, the afternoon passed quickly and Sakura left for dinner. We usually had leftovers on Sunday, but, since I was around, I helped Himawari cook, adding sautéed potato slices with relish as a side. Not much, but we didn’t want the leftovers to go to waste either.

However, our worry was proven unnecessary, a knock on the front door ringing out.

“It’s Kiko-sensei.”

For a moment, I wondered if she was really coming over to mooch a meal off two children, but dismissed that thought. Even if she wasn’t perfect, there was no way—

“Do you mind if I join you for dinner?”

There was a way.

Himawari was more than happy to accommodate Toyama, so I didn’t cause a fuss. Not that I wanted to, she’d still done a lot by keeping Himawari company in the morning, and we had enough food.

The meal ended up being Himawari jabbering between every mouthful, filling Toyama in on the afternoon. Slowly, I started to think Toyama had another reason to come for dinner, watching how much attention she earnestly paid Himawari.

Sure enough, she lingered afterwards and offered to put Himawari to bed.

“D’you mind?” I whispered to Himawari.

She shook her head.

Looking up at Toyama, I said, “Thanks.”

She smiled back, then the two disappeared, muffled voices coming through, gradually softening into silence until Toyama slipped out, closing the door quietly behind her.

I was looking at her, so, when she turned around, our eyes met. Apparently shy about something, she looked way.

“Tea?” I said.

“Please.”

There was a strange atmosphere in the kitchen. Comfortable silence, yet I felt urged to break it. My thoughts over dinner fermenting to the point they wanted to spill out.

“It’s funny…” I said.

“What is?” she asked, hiding behind her cup.

I weakly smiled, loosely gestured with a hand. “You care about Hime-chan so much, even though she’s not my mother’s daughter,” I said.

Her mouth still hidden, I couldn’t gauge her reaction well. “Your sister is so cute, I can’t help it,” she mumbled.

Again, I was seeing a side to her that the old me hadn’t and I couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re pretty cute too.”

“I am your teacher, give me some respect,” she said, the strict tone only coming off as sulky to me.

I held back from laughing again. Still, this side of her, my heart started to ache like looking in a mirror. “We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry so much. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself. It’s not easy being a teacher, is it?” I said.

But I should have known how I’d react to hearing that.

She reached over, grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze. “What are you saying? I’m an adult, of course I have to worry about you both,” she said, a hint of pain in her voice, a shimmer in her eye.

It was like she was squeezing my heart, lost in the mirrored feeling of wanting to comfort her and wanting her to comfort me. Because I did feel better hearing that, felt the weight on my shoulders lessen, like I wasn’t completely alone.

Whatever else I’d wanted to say died in my throat, painful to swallow it down. Staring into her eyes, I couldn’t think of anything, couldn’t look away.

But there was something I needed to say, so I forced it out, mumbling, “Thank you.”

She softly smiled, voice still strained as she said, “When you’re older, you’ll understand that I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

Wit winning out, I said, “Then, you’re welcome.”

Instantly, she burst into laughter, eyes pinched and mouth stretched, the quiet giggles adorable. I doubted I’d ever get bored of her laughter.

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