This Is Not a Tragedy

1 | Start #550

This book contains some scenes that may be sensitive for some people dealing with mental illness or abuse.

Please respect the blurb and tags. I promise they are not worded to mislead you or bait representation.

Please respect Japanese people and culture as real entities; this book is unrelated to manga or anime.

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Saturday, February 10, 2007

As my mother gazes at our suburban Tokyo home, her smile is like it always is when we start over: nervous. "It's a new beginning," she says as I unload the last boxes off the rental truck.

I don't bother mentioning that this has to be about our five-hundred-and-fiftieth new beginning. With that smile, I think that deep down, she also knows nothing will change.

"Isn't it nice to live in a house? We won't have to deal with nosy neighbors."

I'll admit, that is one thing that's different this time around. A house instead of an apartment is probably for the best. When ambulances come and the wailing echoes, I won't have to encounter as many judging stares, and my mother won't have to deal with the gossip.

She tucks a strand of dull black hair behind her ear and digs into her satchel. "Now, where did I put that nameplate?" Small clouds of breath float into the winter air as my mother laughs weakly.

"It's in the truck."

Tensing, she slowly pulls her hands from her bag, flashing one of the scars on her wrist. "Oh."

"I'll get it." I take brisk steps. The sooner it's in her hands, the sooner she'll go back to pretending she's okay. 

Once I place it in her hands, she walks over to the short wall beside the small front gate. The Katanas officially live here, anyone passing by now knows. They'll probably do a double-take at the strange surname. I glare at the plate and not just because I'll have to once again stand through judgmental whispers from new classmates. But after everything that's happened, I don't know why we still keep the name of the asshole who abandoned us.

"Come inside, Natsu," my mother orders, stepping into the tiny front yard. "Bring the boxes, and then we'll drink some tea."

*

    As I sip my green tea at our chabudai, my mother stares at me. "You're angry, aren't you?" she finally asks.

As if I have the energy. "Why would I be angry?"

"It's not like you had friends in Osaka."

Who's the cause of that? I silently sip my tea. I always liked green tea; it's warm in my hands and pleasantly bitter on my tongue.

"Natsu... I'll be better this time. I promise."

I refuse to make contact with my mother's sad eyes and lips repeating words I've heard five-hundred and fifty times. "I know."

"I promise things will be better."

Warm and bitter.

"You remember the rules, right?"

We do this every single time. I know the rules better than I know myself, even if it's a mystery as to why they exist. "Don't get close to anyone, especially not girls. Don't make friends. Don't make enemies. Be polite but not too polite, kind but not too kind, distant but not enough to be a freak. Don't be a top student, or a trouble maker, or an ace." I pause then, maybe because I'm tired of the monotony, decide to add, "Don't be anything."