Tuesdays were early days for Takashi; he didn't take the last class offered, and he spent it in the school field, sitting alone on the bench, just looking at the sky. That was what he did every week, and the teachers knew that, which was why Nakamura-sensei knew exactly where to find him.
The sky that day at that time was a shade of dusky blue. The sun had been hidden by clouds the whole day, and there was a brief shower in the afternoon. The grass beneath his feet was wet, but he had already changed into his street shoes, so it didn't bother him, as he sat back and relaxed, trying to ease the stress of school-life. In his head a guitar song played; he closed his eyes and just listened, not noticing when Nakamura-sensei walked all the way up and sat next to him on the bench.
"Kawamura-san."
Takashi jumped at the sudden voice coming from beside him, and opened his eyes, immediately sitting up straight when he realised it was his form teacher. "Nakamura-sensei... Kon'nichiwa..." His face was slightly puzzled, and he wondered to himself what he had done now.
"Kon'nichiwa. Kawamura-san, I need to discuss something with you..." He pulled a sheet of paper from the stack he was carrying, checking that it was indeed the one he was looking for, and set the rest of the stack down next to him on the bench. Kawamura recognised his own handwriting on the paper; it was his aspirations form.
"What would it be about, Nakamura-sensei?" He asked politely, although he already knew what his teacher would ask him.
"You put here as your first choice cooking school." The teacher looked at him questioningly, and when he was answered by a blank face, he continued. "With your grades, Kawamura-san, you can aim higher. You're the top of the class, and near the top of the standard. With your aptitude for academics you can even try for Todai - [1]"
His quiet voice was insistent and determined. "No, Nakamura-sensei, this is what I wish to do."
The sun had started to set without showing its face through the thick clouds. The locker area was shadowed, unlike the orange light that illuminated it just yesterday. She stood, quietly, as she heard the bell ring, and felt the bustle and hustle of the students as they packed up and changed their shoes, all eager to get home. Her long hair was in her customary braid; it tickled the back of her knees as she twisted slightly to look around her, trying to find the person she was supposed to meet that day. Seeing only faintly familiar faces in the crowd, she sunk even deeper into the wall, hiding her face in the long bangs that hung down. She clutched the handle of her bookbag tightly, and something sad flashed in her eyes, though there was none to see it.
"Takahiro-san!" She looked up at the voice, which seemed more familiar than the rest of the voices, blending into the hubbub. It was the guy from yesterday, flustered, his face red from flushing. Or was it blushing? She wondered silently to herself, remembering some of the events that occurred the day before. Iroi watched silently as he glanced at his watch, and looked at her, apparently very chagrined at being late. "Hontou ni gomen nasai! [2]" His bow was low, and she could smell his calming smell as his head went past her face.
"Daijoubu. [3]" She clutched her bookbag, attempting to smile at the guy in front of her. Her smile was a little bit rusty, but it still worked, and she observed through her clear eyes the signs of relief on Takashi's face. Balancing herself on her feet, and moving away from the wall, she walked past Takashi silently, heading out to the door. Expecting to have to ask him to follow her again, she turned around, a bit caught off-guard when her face came up close to his chest. He had followed her without a word, and stopped rather abruptly, just before he hit her.
They stayed in that position for a while, both a little stunned, before Takashi started to blush, and backed away, removing himself to a reasonable distance away from her. She turned around, blinked at nobody in general, and continued walking, her expression returning to the blank one she always had on her face.
Their walk brought them near the local marketplace, where the clouds parted a little, and Takashi could see the sun setting, the orange glow on his face calming and warm. Smiling, he let the evening breeze blow through his thick brown hair, and momentarily closed his eyes as he walked, breathing in the fresh night air. When he opened his eyes the setting sun was directly in front of them, and the dying rays shone past Iroi, her silhouette graceful, and yet, sad in a way, her long braid swinging slightly from side to side as she walked slowly down the road. The thoughts he had harboured on the way home yesterday came back to him; his curiosity was piqued by this strange girl.
Walking just a little bit faster, so that they were walking side by side, he studied her from the corner of his eye. She was small in size, her head barely above his shoulder, her hands and feet almost minute. Her long black hair offset her pale skin, and highlighted her black pupils, framed by delicate lashes. Her eyes were downcast as she walked, and her entire posture made you want to reach out and help her. And yet, another part of her warned you to stay away. Takashi studied her outright now, as if looking at her and noticing her physical features would aid him in understanding her. When she turned he had a view of something else beside her profile, and he sucked in a breath involuntarily. With the sun against the side of her face, casting shadows on only part of her face, her sadness was strikingly attractive.
"Kawamura-sempai?" Her head tilted slightly to her side, her expression puzzled.
He hurriedly shook his head and turned to the front, blushing. "It's nothing... just ignore me."
She almost rose an eyebrow before turning to the front too. He had been watching her, she knew, the feeling of someone staring at her was strong just before she turned to look at him. Faintly, she pondered why he would look at her. She was a stranger to him, a passing acquaintance, someone who was doing a job for him. There should be no reason why he would observe her. None whatsoever.
She turned to her left, hearing him follow her, noticing that he had fallen behind her again, silently, almost thoughtfully dogging her footsteps. The shop was almost directly after the turn, the quaint house looking nothing like a shopfront. But she knocked anyway, her small knuckles rapping the wooden door.
He was waiting beside her, his hands in his school pants pockets, looking around the shop, somewhat avoiding looking at her. The evening breeze blew, and the sound of the windchime hanging outside tinkling blended in with the deep orange light around them, as the sun finally set. Her eyes glanced curiously at the teenager beside her, even as she hid her sadness behind the curtain of hair.
The wooden door slid open with a hushed sound. The old man inside looked out curiously, and smiled. "Iroi-chan?" She smiled back, her face lighting up at the familiar wrinkled person.
"Ojiisan." Her greeting was hushed, like the man, and almost expressionless, but Takashi caught something else in it. A small jewel of emotion, some minute bit of happiness. He looked at her, her face closed, and then looked at the old man, his heart open. There was a disparity between the two he could not help but notice, and his heart ached involuntarily for the girl beside him.
The old man looked curiously from one face to another, and he met Takashi's eyes directly. The steely gaze of the old man's eyes did not match his outer genteel appearance, and Takashi was a little bit taken aback. The old man looked back to the girl beside him, on his face kind puzzlement. "Iroi-chan?"
"O-kyaku-san desu. [4]" Her quiet reply came, as she started to take off her street shoes. She could feel the weight of a thousand questions in the old man's gaze on her, but she ignored them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Takashi begin to take off his shoes too. She could see his shy face, his gentle disposition, and his politeness towards the old shopkeeper, and she hid the small smile that came to her.
"Aa... o-kyaku-san desu." The old man looked at Takashi up and down again with his piercing gaze, before he backed away from the small door and let them into his shop. Iroi walked in first, apparently extremely familiar with the area, and soon disappeared through a passageway right at the end of the corridor. The old man looked at her as she walked away, his eyes containing less of its normal severity, and more of an atypical tenderness. Looking back at the polite young man stepping into his shop, he smiled a gruff smile, his white beard moving slightly.
The inside of the shop was surprisingly spacious, well-lit and fresh-smelling. Takashi smiled at the open windows and the windchime that was chiming as the wind blew in. There was something extremely calming about hearing a summer breeze blowing at a windchime. Perhaps that is why she has one of them in her room too, he thought.
She herself is a bit like summer, he mused, his eyes absently glancing at the rows of bolts of cloth laid out neatly on the clean tatami floors. There's this sad aura about her, but it feels like there's so much more to her, waiting to be unlocked and pulled to the surface. It's like being in a small room, a bit musty, a bit old, but knowing that summer is just outside the windows, that all one needed to do was to pull open the shutters and let the light shine in.
The problem is opening the shutters.
The summer breeze blew through her hair, the individual strands dancing around the back of her head high above the ground, a mass of black thread in the state of turbulent waves. Her small hand looked pale against the ebony of her hair, as she tried to tuck it neatly behind her ear. In front of her stood an old tree, bent and knotted, the leaves a fresh green against the dull brown of the old bark. She never took her eyes off the tree, ignoring the flapping of the cloth lengths around her.
The backyard was a small garden, with long lengths of newly dyed cloths hanging out to dry. A purple length came off the pole, and landed on the short tree. She gazed somewhat surprised at the cloth, as if it had interrupted her thoughts. Her hand went naturally to finger the cloth; it was soft cotton, dyed in the traditional purple colour that faded with the years. It was her favourite colour.
"If you like it so much, you can just take it." The gruff voice came up silently behind her. Old wrinkled but still firm hands grabbed her shoulders, and the old man squeezed her affectionately, his eyes a little sad, like hers. "I just finished dying it today, and it's just about dry."
"Iie. I'm not going to the matsuri this year." The cloth was a thin cotton typically used to make summer kimonos. She knew what her grandfather was trying to tell her.
He gave an imperceptible sigh. "Take it." His hands loosened their grip on her tiny frame, and he turned around to walk back to the house, his old geta shuffling on the grassy floor. "You had better come in too. It's getting late."
She kept her back towards the old man, purposely, as her eyes closed momentarily. When they opened again she obediently took the cloth carefully from the top of the tree, and loosely gathered it around her arms. With one last look at the old tree, she turned around and walked back into the house. Beside the old sliding door, a windchime tinkled.
It was dark by the time they left the shop. The old man saw them to the door, and with a longing look at the girl, slowly slid the door close. Takashi held several bolts of cloth on his arms awkwardly, and Iroi was holding on to one bolt, the purple cloth from the backyard. Her steps were thoughtful, and she stared straight ahead as she walked, but her gaze seemed unfocused, like she was pondering something. He kept looking at her from the corner of his eye. Something had happened when she went to the back of the shop. He could sense it, her motions and her expressions seemed forced, a little more sad than usual.
The street lamps only illuminated the street partially, and the two were walking in semi-darkness, both caught up with their own thoughts. He had offered to carry the bolts to her apartment for her, and the way back was not a long one. Takashi looked down at the dark indigo striped cloth he had chosen and the black small patterned thick cloth that the old man had recommended as the cloth for the sash. His eyes curiously snaked around and observed the purple bolt in her hands. Momentarily he wondered whether she was making a yukata for herself too. Maybe she'd be at the matsuri. Some part of him hoped that she would.
Because I probably won't get to see her until then.
The moon behind them played peek-a-boo with the clouds, and another day had passed.
Glossary [1] - Tokyo University [2] - I'm truly sorry! [3] - It's okay. [4] - It's a customer.
. sensei --- teacher . Kon'nichiwa --- Good afternoon . sempai --- senior in school . ojiisan --- grandfather/ old man . aa --- yes . iie --- no . matsuri --- festival . kimono --- japanese clothing . geta --- wooden clogs
chiiyo's comments :
I actually stopped writing this story for a while, because I was stuck for inspiration, but when the annual National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) came around, I decided to continue this story. Based on a 2000+ word per chapter calculation, I would have needed around 25 chapters to make the word minimum count, and in the end I deserted NaNoWriMo because of my exams, but because of the impetus I did manage to write two more chapters of this story, and these two chapters (2 and 3) are the chapters, I feel, are better-written, because by then I had a better idea of what kind of Takashi and Iroi I wanted to portray. Although I intend to rework this story from scratch, there are sections of these two chapters I would probably retain and use in the new version...