Chapter 25
I went back to work with joy. Anything to keep me busy and distracted was deemed okay by me. For those few hours I could chat with whoever shared my shift at the convenience store, I forgot that the world was screwed up. Even working at U-Con had become easier. Ohashi and Kuniko the Lesser had taken to avoiding me, something I did not mind at all. Katherine had also been coming by my desk to chat more often, and she started dragging me down to the studio for twenty or thirty minutes when we both had spare time, giving me dancing lessons and offering me encouraging words.
I went out with Kuniko and some other friends twice, but both times I was recognised by people in the club and was a bit put off because of it. One man insisted that he'd met me somewhere before. When he couldn't place it, he'd sat down in confusion and tried to figure it out. I had almost wanted to comfort him and tell him the whole story, but of course that would have been a preposterous thing to do.
Kuniko started dating the guy she'd met at the club. She was tight-lipped about details, though, although we had not had much time to talk. That was fine by me. I'd crack her soon enough. Besides, she promised she'd bring him along to the next gathering, so I waited patiently for that day.
Aya pulled through for me with the cooking course, and through a friend of hers, she got me enrolled free of charge in a cooking class that was held on Tuesday nights. I had never taken a lesson in cooking, and found it to be very strict. I had a feeling that I did everything wrong and angered everyone. However, after class, our teacher, a middle-aged man by the name of Arai, came and praised me for doing an excellent job on my first day when the class had started a month ago. I heard afterwards that he rarely paid any compliments to anyone, so part of me felt smug and proud. The other part felt like a compliment hadn't been necessary and I would have stayed in the class regardless.
I hadn't gone back to see Ochiai since our first meeting. I honestly felt a little too nervous going back to see that woman. She was nice and helpful, but her power scared me. She seemed to know too much about everything. Aya went to the café several times, but I made up excuses so that I wouldn't have to go.
And as for Aya... She tread softly around me for those two weeks, being quite a bit nicer than she usually was, especially on my birthday. I didn't get teased as much as before. I didn't have to do her many pointless favours that usually annoyed me (like getting the salt for her when she was sitting more closely to it). She smiled a lot, let me do what I wanted, and didn't complain.
I almost would have loved this new change in character, but there was something off about it. First, I couldn't help but think about why she was acting so nicely. It was obviously because she had offended me and was trying to make amends. Second, I didn't like being treated like I was a precious doll. I liked when I got teased or in trouble. It bothered me to hell and back, but I loved to get attention from her. Now I got a different kind of attention, and it seemed a little hollower than the kind I'd enjoyed before. I also couldn't help but feel inside that I'd disappointed her a little. I was following her own suggestion by taking a cooking course, but she must have wanted me to do something else. Something more glamorous. No matter how many times she reassured me that she just wanted me to be me and to be happy, a slight bitter taste lingered in my mouth from our previous confrontations. As a result, I spent a lot of time out.
And then one day I woke up and decided that I had to do something about it all. I was doing nothing but going about my life trying to avoid my problems and repress my worries, and they were starting to fester in my mind. I was second guessing everything I was doing and doubting all my decisions. Doubting everybody's words, whether of praise or not, to me.
I had nobody I could turn to, though. I couldn't talk to Aya about it because she was part of the problem. I couldn't talk to Kuniko about it because that would require me to explain that the "sci-fi metaphor" I'd used before was in fact reality. I couldn't talk to Shibata about it because she was first and foremost Aya's friend, not mine. That left only one person that I could go and see. One person I didn't really want to see.
"I have to go to this meeting at eleven, but why don't you join me and Shiba-chan for lunch afterwards? She just got back from Thailand," Aya called out from her bedroom, surprising me.
I was sitting at the computer and wasting time. It was Tuesday and I had no work because I'd worked all through weekend. I thought quickly.
"Oh, I can't," I replied as she walked out of the bedroom holding a pair of pyjamas to throw into the laundry basket. "I've got to meet someone at lunch."
She didn't ask who and didn't suspect that the person I intended to meet didn't know I was going to meet her. She went on to chat, telling me that she'd see me later, and then going on to talk about nail polish. I waited for her to leave the apartment before getting dressed.
At one-thirty, I left the apartment and wandered around outside. I was slowly gathering the courage to go to the café, but it was taking a lot of effort. An hour passed until I finally got up the nerve to get onto a train and head over. I walked slowly and reached the front door, taking a deep gulp of air and pushing it open.
Apart from two men sitting at the far end of the room, there were no other customers. The waitress greeted me and let me choose a place to sit. I ordered a hot coffee and waited. As I suspected, it didn't take long for Ochiai to become aware of my presence. She came out from the kitchen as though she had some sort of sixth sense that let her know a Miki was nearby. She walked over and sat across from me.
"Alone?" she asked.
I nodded.
"I see."
Doctor Ochiai had found her first piece of evidence that something was up.
"Aya-chan's busy," I filled her in.
"And you came here to enjoy our expensive coffee?"
I smiled at her particular sense of humour. She spoke with a completely serious tone, but she was far too smart to actually believe that I was there for the coffee.
"And to talk," I said before she could say it herself.
"What can I do for you?"
She'd just become my personal counsellor. My free psychiatrist.
"What should I do, Ochiai-san? Things are getting worse," I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth all of a sudden contrary to all the short, clipped sentences I'd practiced in my mind earlier. "Isn't there some way to reverse all of this? Go back in time and stop the world from getting so messed up?"
Ochiai kept her expression neutral.
"You realise that if you erased the past four and a half months, it would mean you would never have met Matsuura-san, don't you?"
The thought had occurred to me.
"I know," I rasped out, scared that by saying those words I'd somehow forsaken Aya. "But it's just not right. I'm not happy with the way my life is unfolding. I can't live with the pressure. It's like I have to continually be on alert for something that's going jump out at me from behind a piece of furniture."
Ochiai stayed quiet.
"And then there's Aya-chan. I mean, I'm not angry at her because I know she's a really good person, but I get into these situations where I feel so uncomfortable being myself because I don't want to disappoint her. And even though she says she's not disappointed, I think she is sometimes. There's nothing I'd like more than to just have a normal life with her in it, but it doesn't seem possible."
I quieted down, and we sat and looked at each other.
"I can't help you change things back to how they're supposed to be," Ochiai said.
That was it? That was all her advice?
"But what do I do? How do I get through this? I think I'm going crazy."
She shook her head.
"I have no clue."
If Ochiai had no clue, how was I supposed to have one?
"The thing is that you're absolutely right, Fujimoto-san. It shouldn't be like this. Maybe whatever set it off will get fixed. Maybe it won't. We can only sit and wait."
"Yeah," I said in an unconvinced voice.
I sipped my coffee with her sitting there and thinking.
If things were fixed, then would people stop recognising me? Would Aya stop comparing me to the other Miki? Would our histories all become one again? I just didn't see how that was possible. If things were fixed, I'd never see her again.
Maybe taking off in the middle of the night would be a good idea. Leave Tokyo. Leave everything I knew and try to find the source of all my problems. That would surely hurt less than the pain causes by what could potentially come.
I drained the last drops of my coffee and stood up.
"I have to go now," I said without any explanation.
Ochiai stood up quickly before I could rush off.
"If you just leave, she'll be upset, you know. Don't disappear on her. Don't just go back to your hometown or some other place. Give the world some time. A big place like this needs time."
I couldn't believe she'd read my mind like that.
"I won't leave. I'll give it time," I promised.
But I didn't know how much more time I could take.
I paid and left. I didn't want to go back to the apartment in case Aya was there, so I went to the convenience store. Kuniko and Koda were on duty. Before I walked in, I could see them through the glass door chattering away at the front and laughing.
I wondered what it must have been like those few weeks after they'd tried hooking up. It must have been awkward. But I looked more closely at them and re-thought my position. They got along so well that maybe there had been no awkwardness. Maybe just a lot of temporary disgust and then a heartfelt agreement never to look at each other like that again. I wanted to know if I was right. But as strong as that desire was, I respected Kuniko's wish to not speak of her experience.
I pushed the door open and they straightened up when they heard the little chime announced my arrival. Seeing it was me, they loosened up and greeted me.
"What are you doing here when you don't have to work?!" Kuniko cried out.
Koda nodded his head at me and then moved off to give us girls room to talk.
"I was bored and all my friends are busy," I declared in mock annoyance.
"Fine, then you can sit here and read out loud to me. I have to finish reading a three-hundred page book by tomorrow so I can start working on my paper."
I scrunched my nose up.
"When I dropped out of school, I swore not to read another dry book again. You're on your own."
Koda manoeuvred his way back to his previous position and into our conversation. The three of us started talking about the trials and tribulations of school. Customers came and went. After a very busy period, I took my leave. It was almost time to go to my cooking lesson.
I was the first to arrive at the kitchen that was our classroom. I put my apron on, took my notebook out, and washed my hands, wondering what we were going to work on.
Inevitably, my thoughts turned to Aya, Ochiai, and then the other two versions of me. One was a good girl. The other had done something stupid but had been forgiven. What was I compared to them? Did I fall on the good or the bad side of the Miki evaluation system?
Maybe good. I hadn't done anything too wrong besides my brief sleepwalking encounter. But I also didn't amount to that much. Maybe I could be a famous chef. Since I estimated I had about a one percent chance of achieving that, though, I went with the train of thought that assumed I wouldn't make it big in the culinary arts. That left me where? University dropout who worked in a convenience store and an office and who lived in someone else's apartment, ate someone else's food, and took free cooking lessons that normally would have cost any student a fortune. Nothing had changed from my life with my parents. I was still a moocher, only now I was mooching off of Aya and her contacts, not my parents. At least she was more fun to live with.
The first of the students started to filter in. The mediocre ones always came first. They were the ones obsessed with the need to improve their skills because they were right at the threshold where mediocre crossed into good, and they could taste the other side. They thought that coming in earlier than everyone else would somehow help them cook better. I wished someone would tell them that it didn't matter if you came two hours or two minutes before class. As long as your power of concentration in the kitchen was solid, you would be able to do well.
I greeted them and watched them get ready. They were like runners before a race, but instead of stretching and slapping their muscles to get the blood flowing, these folks were reviewing last week's lecture notes and trying to memorise obscure spice names with concentrated expressions.
Our teacher Arai walked in one minute before class started. He looked exhausted, and I knew by the expression on his face that it was going to be a tough lesson.
"Today we're going to learn about pasta," he announced.
Some students looked pleased. Some looked horrified. I didn't care either way. I liked pasta as much as I liked any other dish. Anything would have satisfied me.
Arai began explaining the intricacies of boiling the perfect fettuccini, making the perfect sauce, and, as usual, lecturing us for fifteen minutes about presentation alone.
"It's a bit of a backward method, but cook as if you're making plastic models for a store front," he told us.
That was backwards. They were supposed to copy us, the chefs. Not the other way around. We weren't trying to recreate plastic models.
We had to form groups, each group having a different kind of pasta and sauce. My group of four was saddled with a spicy eggplant tomato sauce. To start, our group leader (a girl who should not have been leader because she could barely speak above a shy whisper) assigned us tasks. I was in charge of the eggplant. Chopping, dicing, slicing, and frying.
We discussed our method and then began. I found my little space and started chopping, letting my mind wander as usual.
A few months ago, I'd been doing this in my hometown with Aya and Baachan. We'd cooked in very close quarters and then enjoyed our meal together. We usually talked when we cooked, but when I had to chop something, I disappeared from the world and let my mind drift.
What had I been thinking about those two months when I'd been at the cutting board? I continued to chop as I went back in time in my mind.
School. I'd been a bit worried about school. I never complained about school, but it could sometimes be tough. I understood the material, but there was so much to get through that sometimes I didn't think I could make it.
I'd also been thinking about Hiroshi. Back in the middle of November, he'd pulled this disappearing act on me. Not that I cared too much. I trusted him to be a good boy, but I had needed to talk to him about something that week, and he'd simply not been home.
I'd also been thinking about how nice it was to have Aya around. Ever since Nakanoko had moved to Asahikawa at the beginning of last spring, things had been quiet in my life in my little town. I had other friends, but none I liked to hang out with as much as I did with Nakanoko. Aya filled that void in my life quite nicely. I'd been able to show her around town and I'd realised that we could be best friends, too. We had the ability to create conversation from nothing. And if we had nothing to say to each other, it was okay. Our silence was not uncomfortable.
I picked up an uncut eggplant.
But what now? We lived together and everything went haywire. Now silence made me squirm. I felt that if I didn't fill that silence with something, everything would go wrong. It almost had several times.
I shouldn't think like that, I thought to myself logically. We're each doing the best we can under the circumstances. There are bound to be some points of misunderstanding and miscommunication, but we can get through those.
But the other side of me didn't want to.
It's too difficult, that side whined. I can't have my own life. Not one that isn't in the shadow of someone who had such fame.
Funny. Most people would have been worried about the Aya-type person in his or her life. About living in her shadow, she being a superstar. But no. I didn't care about that. I was concerned about living in the shadow of someone who never existed to me.
"Is there something distressing about that eggplant?" I heard Arai's voice drift into my ears.
I snapped out of my thoughts and realised I was standing at the counter still holding the uncut eggplant in my hand. I didn't know how long I'd been frozen like that, but probably longer than was normal. My group mates were staring at me, even Shy Girl the leader.
"No," I said quickly, putting the eggplant on the cutting board and starting to slice it up.
"Fujimoto-san, is there something bothering you?"
I put down my knife and stared down at the eggplant. His voice was tight and controlled. He was angry.
"No, Arai-sensei. Nothing," I said.
I'd sooner spend an entire afternoon trying to teach Shy Girl how to yell than tell Arai my problems.
"Then please concentrate on your task. A cooking group is only as good as its weakest member."
I kept my eyes down on the cutting board, and when he left, I was overwhelmed with humiliation. To be called the weakest link in the chain wasn't exactly heart-warming. I took my knife again and continued to chop, praying that everyone would stop staring at me.
They did, of course, and we managed to finish our eggplant and tomato sauce fettuccini dish within the given time.
Arai tried each of our dishes, but he wouldn't tell us which of the five groups' was the best. I was learning that he liked to keep us on our toes like that. We'd be so teeming with curiosity that we'd try harder and harder in hopes that we'd make something so delicious that Arai would simply have to comment on it to the entire class.
After finishing the tasting, we sat down for an hour lecture on our errors (and the few things we'd done correctly). I zoned out again, and was interrupted by Arai yelling at me. He had been asking a question about our eggplant technique. Trying not to flush red, I asked him to repeat the question. He did so irritably, and I pulled out an appropriate answer. I tried to pay attention for the last portion of the class.
When everyone was leaving, Arai called me back to him.
"Are you uninterested in being here?" he asked me bluntly.
"No, sir, that's not it," I said quickly, shaking my head.
"Then please leave your distracting personal problems at the door when you come to my class."
I nodded.
"I know what it's like to be your age and just starting."
His tone had changed from cross to nostalgic.
"My age?" I asked curiously.
"Well, it's not a secret," he sighed, "but I don't usually go around advertising that I majored in physics and didn't start taking cooking lessons until I was twenty-five. Some would say that's a bit late and too big of a jump of interests, but I think it's acceptable."
So he'd started late. But he must've cooked since a young age. I didn't want to ask, however, because I'd done enough to anger him. Prying into his personal life might offend him.
"I've cooked since I was five," he said, providing me with the information I had been too reluctant to ask him for. "With my family. So when I first started classes, I thought they were a load of - well, you know."
I nodded and smiled at his words.
"My teachers were always so dispassionate. No emotions allowed in the kitchen. I complied and never brought my personal problems into the kitchen."
So that was where it was leading to. Now he was going to lecture me about how he discovered it was a good idea to keep that detached attitude when cooking. It was a contradiction to me because that's what cooking was for me - a way to connect emotionally with friends and family. If I didn't have that, then what was the point?
"I learned amazing discipline at that school, but when I left to go into the real world of cooking, I realised I couldn't make it without feeling anything."
That was something I could agree with.
"What I'd learned in that class was that in order to gain that good discipline, I had to be logical. Reasonable. But to actually perfect the art side of it, I had to be passionate. Angry, happy, sad, and everything in between."
I nodded. I understood his story and his reasoning, but I wasn't sure what it had to do with me. I'd brought my worries to class and he'd scolded me.
"So my special advice to you," he said with a smile, "is to listen to me and to realise what you are doing, but not to repress it."
I looked at him, incomprehension showing in my eyes, I hoped.
"You are the top student in this class. I can tell after only three lessons. You're mature enough to be passionate in the kitchen and get good results. However, you must also learn how to manage your thoughts and worries so that they don't hinder you but help you. Learn to channel it in the right way so that you don't stand there with an eggplant for two minutes looking like a fool."
I flushed, but nodded my head in understanding.
"I understand, Arai-sensei. Thank you. Next time I'll make sure to keep a better check on my problems."
He smiled warmly at me.
"Good. Now get home. It's late and you need rest."
I thanked him again and ran off to the apartment focusing on his face and words. I could draw a lot of inspiration from this man.
When I got home, Aya had company over. It was Shibata, and they were playing some sort of video game on the TV. I frowned because it didn't fit the image I had of them. Aya spared me a brief glance when she heard me walk in and then looked right back at the screen.
"Hi! Good game," she said with alarming exactness as though she had allotted a certain amount of time and energy to greet me in order to return immediately to the important task of her game.
"Evening. How are you?" Shibata chimed in as a mere perfunctory courtesy.
She didn't really want an answer.
"Dandy," I murmured half-heartedly.
I stood there waiting for them to say something else - ask me how my day was or explain the game - but they focused all of their attention on the game. I went to Aya's room, dropped some of my things off, and then ventured back out into the living room. The two were still engrossed and didn't seem to notice me. Amused, I sat on the couch behind them and watched.
They each operated one character. One looked like a Super Mario mushroom, and the other looked like a triangular chunk of green cheese with arms, legs, and big eyes. They were going around shooting assorted animate and inanimate objects on the screen that would explode into multi-coloured stardust. That they had to collect this stardust. It looked fun to play. Too bad there was no third controller. Maybe if I expressed interest...
"It looks cool," I said.
Neither Aya nor Shibata made an attempt to respond. All that could be heard in the room was the silly background music of the game punctuated by "oh!"s, "ah!"s, and "get him get him get him!"s from the two players.
"Hey, Aya-chan. Are you the mushroom thingy or the deformed Sponge Bob?" I asked.
"It's a tree!" she snapped back, offended.
I pulled back in alarm and decided not to say anything more.
"It's a green piece of cheese," Shibata tossed out in a breathless voice.
They were far too into it. I rested back, crossed my arms, and watched. My last conscious thought was: That's not a tree. It's a mushroom. Definitely a mushroom.
I was pulled out of a dream by a voice calling my name. At first, the giant mushroom chasing me started to speak in a low tone.
"Miki... Miki..."
Then the green Sponge Bob accompanying him spoke in a much more highly pitched voice.
"Miki! Miki!"
Sponge Bob grabbed me by the legs and lifted me up.
The two voices melded into one very familiar one, and I opened my eyes, sucking in a deep breath of air. Aya's face filled my vision, and I choked on my air in surprise. I tried to jump up, and that's when I realised she was sitting on me. As a result, I couldn't move.
"Have a nice nap?" Aya snickered at me, not moving.
I turned my head to look at the TV. It was dark. I looked for Shibata. She wasn't in the room.
"Shiba-chan just went home," Aya informed me, reading the searching - perhaps nervous - look in my eyes.
"Oh," I said, my voice raspy with sleep.
I relaxed a bit.
"Did we bore you?"
I shook my head. It didn't hurt to be polite sometimes.
"Liar. I bet we did," she laughed. "Sorry, but Shiba-chan just bought the game in Thailand and we got hooked this afternoon."
"Were you playing all afternoon?" I asked.
"Since we got back from lunch," she confirmed sheepishly.
"Aya," I groaned. "You have no life."
"Yeah, but that's because you've been so distant the past few weeks," Aya said, starting off strongly defensive and ending quietly.
I sighed in exhaustion, fear, disappointment. She was right.
"Yeah, well," I mumbled. "It hasn't been easy for me."
The look on her face suggested she regretted having brought it up, and I tried to give her a reassuring look. I pushed her off me and stretched out on the couch, patting the space beside me so that she'd join me. She did.
"Sometimes I just feel lonely," I admitted, scared of what she'd think, what she'd say, and what she would only think and not say.
"Lonely?" she asked with a frown. "You're not alone. You've got me."
But that was exactly what the problem was.
"But still," I said, shifting uncomfortably. "When stuff like before happens, I've got nobody."
Aya knew I was talking about what happened after our meeting with Ochiai.
"Yeah, okay," she conceded. "But even when I'm acting like a superbitch from hell, you've got your other friends."
"That's still not enough. I can't tell them the truth. I've only really got you," I insisted.
First came the sympathetic look. Then the worried look. Then the guilty look.
"I haven't been very nice to you, have I."
"No no no!" I cried in horror. "You have. I mean, there've been times when I've wanted to smack you, but the rest of the time you've been so good to me."
Silence dominated. She closed her eyes.
"I'm just worried. You're obviously not completely happy," she said.
How could I sit there and agree? When I was in someone else's house, on someone else's couch. I'd sound ungrateful. Like I was incapable of looking on the bright side or showing a bit of respect.
"That's not true."
She opened an eye.
"It's not?" came her disbelieving reply.
I didn't try to lie again, and she closed her eye.
"Remember how much easier it was when we met?" I chuckled.
"Are you kidding me?" she muttered.
That's right. It was tougher for her. But still, it seemed that on the whole, it would have been easier to stay in Hokkaido.
"But if you want to go back, I won't stop you."
Frankly, to hear those words made me woozy. My ears rang, or so I thought they did. She'd let me go back. She either no longer believed in me and wouldn't mind getting rid of me, or she loved me so much that the only important thing to her was my happiness and she was willing to let me go so I could find it. It would have made everything easier if it had been the first one. It was the second one, though, and as long as that remained true, there was no way I could leave without regret.
I shook my head, and then realising that her eyes were closed and that she couldn't see, I spoke.
"I won't."
She opened her eyes.
"So what do you want?" she asked.
She didn't sound testy or rude, impatient or expectant. But she wanted to send me a message. A message to tell me to figure out the answer, because I was the only person who could answer it.
She closed her eyes again, and I mulled over the question. Five minutes passed. Her breathing became slow. She'd fallen asleep, probably mentally exhausted from playing that stupid game all afternoon.
"Aya?" I asked
No reply.
"Aya?" I asked a little more loudly.
Still no reply.
I sighed and closed my eyes.
"I don't know what I want," I said.
But, I'd sacrifice my own happiness for her, and she would do the same for me. I'd stay here for her and she'd willingly let me go if I wasn't happy in this place.
We had passed the final test.
I let myself fall asleep.
Topic: Restart (Love x ∞ Part II) (Read 83798 times)