Punctual

Punctual (Part Nine)

Today starts off like any other.

“Yoshiharu-san.”

“Hmm?”

“Are... You okay?”

He looks at me, blinks once, then nods, turning his head back to stare blankly at the partially-finished charcoal sketch propped up on his easel. He’s been scowling at the thing for a good half-hour. It’s a little worrying.

I glance at my watch and make a sound of disapproval once I realize I’ve only got twenty minutes before my speech and debate competition - not something I feel like putting up with right now. My eyes travel back to the despondent boy slouching in in his seat.

There must be something to make him feel better.

“Hey, Yoshiharu-san,” I call. “Wanna go for a walk?” After I destroy my debate opponent, I add mentally.

He only looks up at me, then nods as he gets up and tumbles headfirst over his easel.

I just pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.

-----

“So did you win?” He’s asking about my debate meeting.

I look up from my cup, feigning offense. “Of course I won! I always win.” I take another sip of my soda. “Always.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Yoshiharu smiles - not a big one, but it’s there.

We just look at each other in silence as the waitress comes over with our food. We’ve ordered pancakes, with powdered sugar and whipped cream and strawberries and loads of syrup. For some reason, Yoshiharu insisted on eating at a restaurant that serves breakfast all day long.

“Sayako-chan,” I hear him say. I only look up in reply, since my mouth is full of syrup and powdered sugar. I wait for Yoshiharu to continue.

“You’ve changed, I think.”

I wipe my mouth, leaving strawberry pink stains across my napkin. “You think?”

Yoshiharu frowns for a moment, looking thoughtful.

“Well, maybe,” he says. “Maybe you have changed, but I guess it would make more sense to say that you were actually always like this, but...”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

I can’t help but laugh for a moment. “Yoshiharu-kun. As serious as I seem in school, I’m not like that all the time.”

“So the perfectionist thing - it’s all an act?”

I cock my head to the side and twitch my nose slightly. “No. It’s not an act. That’s who I am. But this,” and I gesture to myself, with a piece of pancake smothered with jam and sugar speared on my fork, “this is who I am as well. I just don’t show it. Not usually.”

“Oh,” the boy says in response. A pause. “How come?”

I finish chewing before I answer. “I don’t have time to.”

“Oh.”

Yoshiharu starts eating too. After a while, I decide to start delve into more dangerous territory and try to make the next question sound as nonchalant as possible.

“So what’s his name?

He doesn’t answer me right away, instead keeping his eyes on his drink, swirling the straw around as I hear the ice cubes clinking together.

“Shunsuke,” he says faintly.

I nod in reply.

“He’s twenty-two years old, I think. Somewhere around there. Five years before me.”

His face is impossible to read, blank as a landscape of snow. I look back down at the fruit and whipped cream on my fork.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to see him?” I inquire, still not sure of a better question to ask.

And in response, Yoshiharu only smiles falteringly, the kind of smile that looks as if he simply forced it upon his countenance because he doesn’t know what else to do with his expression. He’s dragging his fork through the white, melty icing left on his dish, neat rows of porcelain plate showing through the cream.

“Maybe,” he says finally. “He lives in the States, though. So we’ll see.”

“Does he... Live by himself?”

“With his father.”

Now I look up. The same smile is still painted on Yoshiharu’s face, but this time it’s not just uncertain, it’s unknowing, unthinking. Fake.

"Oh." I say.

“My parents married twenty-seven years ago. My sister is twenty-four.”

Yoshiharu is the same age as me. With Shunsuke caught in the middle. I only feel my cheeks heat up slightly, knowing that anything I say isn’t going to help, because how can I possibly make this better I have no idea how to deal with the sort of pain he’s going through and -

I jerk up as Yoshiharu drops his fork right in the middle of his plate, clattering as the porcelain rings and only ending when he touches the dish to stop the vibrations. He holds his hand out to me, clambering out of the diner chair.

“Come on,” is all he says.

-----

It’s a little cold, but at least there’s still a bit of sunlight left. I trap a wood chip beneath my soft leather school shoes, grinding it into the pillowy soil beneath us. There are no children here today.

I can already see Yoshiharu at the very top of the jungle gym, his slackened tie flying around as he hangs upside down into the wind, school crest flickering back and forth.

My eyes move down to my school clothes, over the perfect pleats of my uniform skirt that come up exactly five centimeters above the knee. I head for the swings instead as I hear Yoshiharu leap down and take the one next to me, standing on the seat. Neither of us is moving.

“Ever feel like you’re choking?”

I shoot the boy a look.

“Not like that. More like... You can breathe but that’s the only thing you can do, and barely, because you feel as if there’s just so much that you have to get done, but there’s just not enough time, and you don’t even have any idea where you’re going next or how to get there, the only thing that you can manage is sucking in quick sips of oxygen (okay, okay, and nitrogen and water vapor, whatever), and just... Right?”

The boy (no, maybe not a boy anymore) looks at me, a desperate expression flitting across his features as he searches for the understanding on my face.

“Yeah,” I say, turning away to stare at my feet. “Right.”

And then Yoshiharu looks away too, before he leaps off his swing and takes the chains of mine while gently pushing my seat back and forth. I start to gather speed, and he moves behind me, shoving me higher and higher with each turn.

I have to suppress a grin when I feel my chest catch as I reach the apex of my flight, tucking a pleat of my skirt between my legs.

“You don’t have to push me, you know,” I shout backwards through the wind. “I’m not a little kid!”

Yoshiharu doesn’t stop. I hear his laughter swirl around, mixing in with the air and ringing out through the fading sunlight.

“Who doesn’t want to feel like a kid again?” Is his only response as he pushes me higher and higher until I can’t hear his voice anymore and I’m blinded by the sun and I have to squint in order to see the rest of the sky.

It’s beautiful.

-----