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You are not the main character of this story.
That honor (dishonor, really) belongs to Toji. You don’t mean this in a self-effacing way. You mean this as a fact of life, the way most people would agree salmon is a type of fish and that bookstores are nice.
However, he is also a bum. Evidence points this way for a few reasons. One: he sleeps on the street. Two: he does not own a wallet. Three: he is mean. You know this because you once told him good morning and in return he told you to shut up.
After being aware of each other’s existence for almost a year, he called you Sana, which would have been nice if that were actually your name. You’ll find out at a later date that it was the name of the girl he dated three years ago. This eventually leads you to believe that Toji is not a bum, but an idiot.
You would like to believe that you are not an idiot. Many friends have tried convincing you otherwise, but do not believe them. You are dependable, thoughtful, and give great birthday gifts. You also smell like scented body lotion and are nice to children. (Toji is not nice to children. You do not have any proof, but you are sure of it.)
If life is kind, you’ll leave the Zen’in compound and attend university and read books and retire in a cute little cottage on the outskirts of some no-name village. But because you do not wish to be jobless, you settle for staying. As the compound caretaker, you sweep the halls, make the beds, clean the rooms.
Maid would be more apt, but you are indifferent about the semantics.
-
You do not understand why Toji, an idiot, is the main character of this story. The truth is, you do not care. Life is a series of random events precipitated by entropy. The anger is misguided, you think. At the end of the day, he has been chosen; and you have not.
It has taken a good amount of self-reflection for you to get to this point, but you don’t want to toot your own horn.
-
The first time you meet, you find him standing next to a garbage can lit on fire. You are nine and already working and he is eleven and shorter than you.
“I know what you think this looks like, but it wasn’t me,” he’ll insist before you can even process what you’re seeing.
“That’s what people always say and it almost always is.” You are already tired of him.
You decide to leave. This gives him the impetus to chase you towards the door. When you see him running, you start running too. He is unfortunately very fast. You do not outrun him.
“It wasn’t me,” he says, tugging on your hand.
Puberty has not hit him yet. This will be the only time in your life where you have the size advantage. “You are small and I don’t like you,” you say, shoving him to the ground.
You immediately feel bad about it, so you offer him your hand. He tries to bite your finger off like a snapping turtle. He misses by the grace of you turning away at the wrong time. You roll your eyes and try to leave again. He follows you into the next room and says, “it wasn’t me.” You tell him you don’t care, and to go away. He will not.
He spends the rest of the day following you around through various rooms and watching you clean. The fight will eventually leave him as he sits on the ground and watches you scrub the floors with a wet rag. He does not ask you about your job because he does not understand what a job is.
He notices you have callouses all over your palms. You notice he has scars.
During your break, he will approach you and show you the hidden cut on his upper thigh. In return, you show him just how thick the skin of your hand is. “It feels like leather,” he says, right before pointing out the scar on his lower abdomen. You tell him you’ve seen worse. The two of you spend the rest of the day comparing injuries, new and old.
-
You do not understand how you became friends. You think he must’ve deceived you in some way. You try to wrack your brain for answers but come up empty. You know he’s tricked you; you just don’t know how.
You realize he is not only an idiot, but a genius. A genius and an idiot.
Amazing.
-
You call him bighead because of his giant bowling-ball-shaped head and he calls you Tweety Bird because you too have a giant bowling-ball-shaped head. Both of you will outgrow it. You will be eleven when you finish your growth spurt and he will be thirteen when he starts his.
He will ascend three meters during this time. You know that’s not humanly possible, but that’s what it feels like. You have to crane your neck to meet his gaze; he has to bend his back like a question mark to make sure he’s heard. His head stops looking so big. He still calls you Tweety anyway.
He will take on new responsibilities during this time and continue showing you the scars he’s accrued while away on mission. Shiny badges of honor. All you have are the same old callouses you’ve always had, and your only takeaway ends up being he gets to go outside the compound.
“I’m jealous,” you tell him one day while lounging around on the roof, which originally was his hiding spot, which means it is now your hiding spot. “I want to go outside too.”
He shrugs. “You’re not missing much.”
You wonder if that’s true. You would really like to believe him, but when the city skyline is sitting pretty right past the mountainscape where the compound hides, you can’t help but think otherwise.
“Hey bighead,” you say, scribbling down something quickly on a piece of paper. “Do me a favor and bring me back some snacks.”
“What do I get in return?”
“I don’t know. What do you want?”
He considers it a moment before pocketing the note. He promises you nothing and returns the next day with an assortment of chips and candies. You can barely carry them all in your arms, as they fall down one at a time like a domino stack. He continues stacking them this way and that until the mountain in your arms stops moving.
Among the gifts, a Tweety Bird figurine. It has manic eyes, pointing in two different directions. You wonder if this is what Tweety Bird is supposed to look like but decide not to question it. You thank him for the gifts and hide them away underneath the broken floorboard in your room.
“You’re like a squirrel,” he says, observing your room. It’s simply decorated, with things you’ve accrued from other people. Souvenirs and trinkets and postcards of Tokyo.
He wonders who gave them to you.
“My mom used to call me that too,” you tell him.
Oh. That answers it. He knows she’s been noticeably absent in your life but doesn’t know the details. He doesn’t think it’s prudent to ask. It would sour the mood. And you look like you’re in a good one today.
-
On your twelfth birthday, you muster the courage to ask if you can go on a day trip to Tokyo. The higher-ups are surprisingly agreeable, with the caveat that you find yourself a chaperone. You ask Toji if he’ll do it. He’ll seem annoyed about it but will eventually give in.
You go to Tokyo Tower, Ueno Park, and every conceivable tourist trap you can fit into one day. You’ll remember marveling at the view, and Toji saying something to the tune of it’s literally the same shit in reference to the compound roof. In between breaks, you’ll eat egg sandwiches and drink apple juice from the convenience store. It’s all you can afford, but it tastes like the best meal you’ve ever had.
You end your day in Akihabara. Video games in grayscale and CRT-TVs line the street in a syndicate of lights, buzzes, and dings. It’s overwhelming. You’ve never seen anything like it. Truthfully, you don’t know what to make of it—if you like it, if you hate it. You just know it’s new. You like new.
“What’s that?” You ask, gazing at the Walkman in the display window.
“A Walkman,” he says.
You nod, understanding.
The two of you continue perusing the street at your own leisure until you come to a stop at another display window. “Toji?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s a Walkman?”
“Something that plays music.”
“Oh. Like a radio.”
“No. Not like a radio,” he sighs.
Instead of explaining, he ushers you into the nearest music shop and has you put on a pair of headphones. He presses play on the CD sample, holding his palms against your ears. The world is muffled to silence and you feel like you’re underwater.
It’s Anri’s Windy Summer. You listen to the whole song. And then you listen to it again. Windy summer, isn’t the wind just like you thought it would be? Inside the walls of the music shop, you think you might just be at the beach.
But the truth is, you’ve never actually been to the beach. You’ve never even seen the sea, which is pretty much a miracle since you live in Japan. For some reason, the revelation makes your eyes water. You don’t know why you feel so sad about it.
“You should try another track,” Toji suggests when he catches you quietly wiping away your tears.
“I like this one,” you tell him.
You listen to it again and realize you don’t want to go home.
-
The train ride back is quiet. You kick your legs as you count the stops in your head. Five, four … You don’t get make it to three before falling asleep on Toji’s shoulder.
-
He piggybacks you all the way home and drops you off in your room, which you now share with three other girls. Your sleeping cot is already laid out. He puts you down and rearranges your limbs underneath the covers before turning to the crack in the floorboard where you hide all your snacks.
The sound wakes you up as you rub away the gunk in your eyes. “What are you doing?” You ask.
He presses a finger to his lips, effectively silencing you. The other girls continue snoring while he untucks a cassette tape from his jacket. It’s a copy of Anri’s Windy Summer, the song you were listening to in the music shop. It gets placed underneath the floorboard where all your other possessions are.
He pats you on the head. “Don’t forget where you bury your nuts, Tweety.”
-
He goes through his rebellious phase when he turns fifteen. Because you are a woman living in the Zen’in household, you cannot afford to be rebellious. You settle with an inoffensive hobby. You take art classes at a nearby studio and spend the rest of your week working and keeping him in line.
“You cannot nap in the gingko tree,” you tell him one morning before you head off to class. “That is bad luck.”
“It’s a free country and I can do whatever I want.”
“You will spend the rest of the week smelling like dog shit.”
He thinks you mean this in a karmic-retribution kind of way, so he tells you “bite me.” He does not realize you mean this in a literal way, that when the berries on the gingko tree are popped, they smell like actual dog shit.
So he spends the rest of the week smelling like dog shit.
-
He starts dating around during this time. It gives you a funny feeling, but because you are only thirteen, you don’t have much to say about it. You think a fifteen-year-old should have his life figured out, so you are supportive in the only way you can be, which is to listen to his problems and nod along accordingly.
You meet the lady he’s seeing after art class one day. This is after weeks of him telling you how much you’d like her, how swell she is.
She is very pretty. You think she might be the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen in your life—and that’s exactly what she is, after all. A woman. You can’t help but notice the differences between you and she. She is tall, wears makeup, and has a full figure. You are small, short; a girl.
She buys you bubble tea and asks if you’ve tried it before. You shake your head no and thank her for the gift. You learn she works as a venture capitalist, but you are scared to ask what that means. You think it must have something to do with adventure. You’re not sure. Aside from that, she is charming and affable, and you like her almost immediately.
Toji is quiet when she’s around. No snarky comments, no mean-spirited jabs. He’s almost like a normal person.
After she leaves, you tell him, “She’s really pretty.”
“I know.” He has already returned to his smug self. But when he sees you looking bored, he frowns. “What.”
“Nothing.”
“Just say what you want to say.”
You do not want to hurt his feelings, so you try to be as gentle as possible. “She can probably date anyone she wants.”
“Yeah, and?”
“I … if I were her, I’d be dating someone my age,” you say. You know he doesn’t look fifteen, but it’s still bizarre in ways you can’t explain. “Have you guys kissed?”
He flushes red, turning his gaze the other way. “No.”
You consider it for a moment. “Then maybe she’s using you for something.”
It detonates something awful in him as he rises from his seat, chair legs screeching against the floor. “Shut up and mind your own fucking business,” he hisses at you.
It’s admittedly a little hurtful, but you don’t process it as hurt. You process it as anger. So you pack up, leave, and never turn back.
-
Neither of you talk for months. He gets busy with missions and you keep yourself busy with art class. Eventually those months stretch to a span of a year and you’ve already moved on.
You make new friends, learn how to use the internet, and fall in love with your first boyfriend. It doesn’t last very long. He gifts you a portrait of yourself on your sixteenth birthday and tells you he likes you a lot but doesn’t love you, which you think is a very good reason not to be with someone. The two of you end on good terms and stay friends.
During this time, you ask the higher-ups if you can move to the city. You are told no, with zero caveats. They strip you of your weekend activities and move you back to occasional visits to the city. You realize you shouldn’t have asked.
“Maybe I should just sneak out,” you tell your roommate one night. “Not like they’d notice.”
“Naomi did that to see her boyfriend and,” she makes a clicking sound with her tongue that indicates a head being lopped off. You’d like to believe it’s a joke, but neither of you laugh at the punchline, which indicates it’s probably true.
-
You end up sulking around the compound and putting off your chores until Toji bumps into you in the courtyard.
“You were right,” he says, begrudgingly. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you in nearly a year.
“I know,” you tell him, sweeping up the fallen leaves with no resolve.
He doesn’t apologize. The admission is the apology. You decide not to accept it, thinking you’d rather just be sad forever. You would rather die sad. He is able to process your logic within the span of a second just with one look.
“Stop being mad at me,” he says.
“No. I was right and you are stupid. Also I hate you.”
You turn around to leave. He grabs you by the wrist and stops you in your tracks. You try to shove him onto the floor, but it is like pushing a mountain. Eventually you give up and flop down on the ground, crumpled in a heap. You have effectively done his job for him. He drags you through the compound like a mop and tells you you are stupid too. It earns you many strange stares. You do not care.
-
Both of you sit on the roof, watching the clouds pass idly by.
“I should just run away,” you tell him.
“The world isn’t as great as it seems,” he says. “Moving won’t fix anything. People out there have the same problems.”
“Yeah, but at least they’re out there,” you whisper, gazing at the forest underneath your feet. “I hate these stupid trees.” Your gaze turns towards the sky. “And I hate these stupid clouds.” And to the tiled roof. “And I hate this stupid compound.”
He doesn’t have much to say about that, staring at the city skyline past the forest. “Any more complaints?”
“Yeah.” Your eyes well up with tears. “I hate you the most.”
Without warning, you start crying. He doesn’t stop you this time when you run off.
-
In the morning, you wake up to the sound of shuffling.
Your roommates are all gathered at the door, speaking in hushed whispers. Where did it come from? Was it you? Do you think it was a yurei? You rub out the gunk from your eyes and get up from your sleeping cot. When you squeeze past them to see what the fuss is about, you find a Tweety Bird doll sitting on the floor outside.
“Oh,” you say, dumbly. “That’s mine.”
You don’t offer an explanation as you reach down to grab it. You know it’s a peace offering. You have decided to accept it.
-
For most of your life, you are convinced you are an old grandfather stuck in the body of a teenage girl. There are a few reasons for this. You have a bad back, you eat extremely slow, and you hoard all your belongings underneath a broken floorboard in your room. Everything you do speaks for itself.
“I think I was born three generations too early,” you tell Toji one day during a trip to the city.
“Shut up,” is his reply.
You ignore him and tell yourself he does not understand what it’s like to be in an awkward phase. You are convinced he has never had an awkward phase. He goes to the gym and eats healthy, which means he is growing horizontally, which you’d think would be a bad thing, but is actually a good thing. He looks like a marble statue. You think you could grate cheese on his six-pack. You hate him for it because he is an utter menace to society; but you are also happy for him because he looks happy.
That afternoon, he introduces you to his friend Makoto at a coffee shop. You learn he’s someone he met on a mission. He wears leather jackets, has long hair, and smokes cigarettes. He smells like pinecones.
You meet his gaze and are immediately convinced he is the one. It’s quick. You go from thinking he’s a handsome guy to thinking you want him to rail you in a dark alley and tell you what a good girl you are. You realize, only then, you are probably not an old grandfather stuck in the body of a teenage girl.
“Stop looking at him like that,” says Toji when Makoto leaves for the bathroom.
You listen, but do not hear him. “It’s a free country and I will look at him however I want.”
He rolls his eyes. “He has a wife.”
“That’s okay. I have a great imagination.”
The look of pity he gives you could not be more apparent.
-
“We’re going to the amusement park,” he says the next morning.
Your ears perk up. “We’re?”
“Yeah. We’re. Five of my friends, and us two.”
“Makoto’s going too?”
He grunts, which indicates a yes. You beam and leap out of bed, ready to put on a face full of makeup. He tells you there’s no time. You do not listen. He ends up waiting twenty minutes for you to put on your face.
When you step out in a pink skirt he doesn’t recognize, he asks you where you bought it. You ask him why it matters. When you start sounding defensive, he starts sounding defensive too. He starts harping on the skirt, saying he’s never seen it before, wondering who you bought it with, if it was a gift. It comes out like he’s judging you for wearing a short skirt. You end up taking it the wrong way and do not speak to him for the duration of the ride there.
-
No one else shows up at the park. “They all got sick last night,” he says.
“All five of them?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t look sorry about it.
You stare at him for a beat and decide to be dramatic about it. “You know, I used to think you were my best friend. But now I think you may be the worst friend ever. No. Let me rephrase. I think you may just be the worst person I’ve ever met. On this planet. In this universe. In every dimension.”
“Good for you,” he says, guiding you through the gates. “Now let’s go ride the rollercoaster.”
You end up having fun.
-
On the way out, you gesture towards the closest stall at the entrance, which prompts him to say “no.” You gesture again, this time pointing to the bunny ears on display. He says no again.
“Please,” you beg.
You never beg. It stirs up something weird in his stomach.
He takes one look at your face and grumbles something unintelligible under his breath before fishing out his wallet.
-
The two of you wear the matching bunny ears all the way to Shibuya Crossing, where you buy Takoyaki to-go and eat outside the train station.
“Do you actually like living in the compound?” You ask, suddenly.
He shrugs. “It’s whatever.”
“Wouldn’t you rather live in the city?”
“Maybe, yeah.”
“So why do you stay?”
He considers it a moment. “Probably because you’re there.”
You pause, letting the statement digest. It's so overwhelming it makes you want to puke. You start realizing the tidal wave of people around you is too uniform, too assembled, too concentric. You can’t stop staring at it. You feel like you might lose yourself in the pattern of their movements and disappear forever.
“I don’t like this place,” he says.
You notice there’s only one Takoyaki left. He sees you looking and rolls his eyes before offering it to you.
“I don’t like it either,” you tell him, munching away. “Can we come back again?”
-
The train cart fills up at rush hour and the two of you end up squished up against the door. You don’t mind, staring out the window, watching the stops pass you by. Five, four …
“You should just date me,” Toji says, suddenly.
One of the salarymen hovering nearby gives you both a look. Your face flushes red. “Do we have to do this here,” you mutter.
“Yes.” He does not elaborate.
You would not be opposed to dating Toji, but in the same way you would not be opposed to owning a succulent. Or wasting your day, staring at the clouds. There must be some reason to say no, but as soon as the words register, your heart starts doing a little funny flutter and you realize the only answer is yes.
So you tell him okay and suddenly he’s holding your hand where no one can see. Neither of you make eye contact. You don’t remember much else, but the progress with Makoto stops that day and you don’t have the energy to care anymore.
-
It’s awkward at first.
He still treats you like a friend, which is what you technically still are. You’re dating, but not really labeled. The only difference is your farewells get more awkward. He walks you to your room every night, pats you on the head, and tells you “well, whatever, bye.”
It takes you a few months to get past this. But once you move through the mishaps, new rituals start springing up and making themselves permanent. Like walking him out for a mission and waiting for him to come home. He gives you your first kiss at the train station when he’s saying goodbye and your second kiss on the way back.
You start loitering by the telephone in the kitchen at 3 a.m. in the morning, which is the only hour of the night he can find a payphone to call you. You tell him you miss him. He tells you he’ll bring home a gift for you. You roll your eyes and tell him the best gift you can get is a safe return trip. He tells you you ask for too little. When he arrives back, he holds you as tightly as he can and sniffs around your hairline like a dog. He says he recognizes you.
The two of you sneak onto the roof and stare at the moon that night. You bring your Walkman and your Anri album. He brings snacks from Tokyo. It’s a cordial exchange.
“I really love you,” you tell him, music blaring in your headset. “You don’t have to say it back, but I just thought you should know.”
“Yeah, well, I do too. So there you go.”
You pretend not to hear. The two of you sit around in your happy silence before you press rewind on the cassette tape. You understand why married couples say all the love songs ever written were written for them.
But they’re wrong. They were written for you.
-
You’re the one who brings up a love hotel first. Under the gingko tree, you lay out the reasons. A carefully curated list, like you’re a bigshot lawyer with a case to win. You have roommates, you don’t want your first time to be inside the compound, you want a change of scenery.
He just listens to you rattle them off, one-by-one, before taking your hand and dragging you to the train station. It’s a long ride. You have no idea where he’s taking you until you arrive at the entrance of a ryokan.
You spend the night eating expensive food and enjoying each other’s company. It’s a little jilting, having to share a bath, but he keeps his gaze turned whenever you’re naked. You get to watch the first snowfall of the season from the edge of the water. He takes this time to study the curve of your neck, the way your hair falls.
It’s peaceful for once.
“I wish I could know you forever, Toji,” you tell him quietly.
-
That night, he is gentle and slow and asks constantly if you’re okay, if it feels good. The questions throw you off at first, but you realize it’s because he’s afraid to hurt you.
You wonder if you can love him more than you already do.
-
It goes on like that, even after you return from the ryokan. You sneak into his room at night, when everyone else is asleep, and stay until sunrise. He loves the feeling of you in his arms; how soft you are, how right you feel. It’s the same comfort as coming home.
“Naobito told me something the other day,” you say, pressing your cheek against his chest. Listening to the sound of his heart, the way his lungs flood with air.
He frowns, feeling the moment escape him. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”
You ignore him and go on. “This world is full of people who need things and your only worth is in what you can provide. That made me realize something. … it made me realize you’re probably going to be really great, Toji.”
A snort. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you’re really strong," you tell him. "And you can be really strong, even outside this place."
He takes one look at your face and realizes something is wrong. “What.”
“You’re going to be really great and I—I’m … ” You cut yourself short; take a deep breath, sigh. The tears get wiped away before they can fall. “It’s nothing.” You put on a beaming smile. “I’m just really happy right now.”
“No you’re not. You’re crying.”
He falls silent, still studying your face as you try and wipe away the tears. Eventually you lean over, cupping your hand over his ear like you’re telling him a secret.
“Let’s run away,” you whisper quietly. “You and me. No one else has to know.”
You’re surprised when he says okay.
-
The two of you pick out a cheap apartment together and he signs his name on the lease. You tell him this will work, that they have no reason to suspect anything. He kisses you goodbye and says he’ll see you soon. You promise you’ll meet him at Shibuya Crossing and kiss him hello again.
You have this mapped out. Toji will let his departure coincide with a mission, and you’ll take your leave on your birthday two weeks after. He sets up the apartment in the meantime, nothing to his name but a mattress and a nightstand and a few other trinkets. A sketchpad because he figures you’ll have more time to draw; a notebook to keep track of finances; and a vinyl player so the two of you don’t have to share a Walkman.
Everything is a little incomplete, but it already feels like home.
But when your birthday arrives, and he's ready to meet you at Shibuya Crossing, you never show up. He waits until the next morning, people filtering in and out of the station like an assembly line of ants, but he never sees your face. He decides to wait one more day before realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.
-
When he returns to the apartment, he finds a letter waiting for him in the mail.
Toji,
If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it. But don’t be sad, okay? I thought about this long and hard and knew what I was getting myself into. Before you get mad at me, just know that I would’ve done it all over again.
The truth is … being the reason why you couldn’t leave … it was just too painful to bear ... I don’t know if that makes me a coward, or if that makes me selfish. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not important.
But I’m entrusting you with all my dreams, which are important, so please don’t come back. Your name’s already on the lease and there’s nothing left for you back in the compound.
So make sure you go see all the tourist sights for me. And make sure you live a happy life. Love a lot. Marry a lot. Have a bunch of kids.
I wanted to know you forever, but this is enough.
The letter cuts off here, and all that’s left are the belongings you enclosed.
The Tweety Bird figurines and the expired chips you never opened. The Walkman’s there too, along with the headset.
He picks up the cassette he got you in Akihabara and sees a note slotted into the case.
Also, I wanted to ask you something. The first time we visited Shibuya Crossing … did you feel overwhelmed? Because I did. All those faces I didn’t know. The lights and streets and loud voices and … everything. I felt so alone, even when you were there, but I also felt like I was free. Like I could disappear.
I really loved that feeling.
Love you bighead. - Tweety