This Is Not a Tragedy

5 | Breaking Rules

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Ever since my mother was sent to the hospital, I've skipped school. I doubt it's a good excuse, but I strongly felt like not going. So, I've missed three days. After I skipped class on Friday, my homeroom teacher, Ms. Shiraishi, called. I told her my mother was in the hospital and that I'd be absent from school for a while. "She gets sick sometimes," was as much detail as I gave. Ms. Shiraishi's voice was solemn as she expressed her condolences and understanding.

My mother is physically stable now. Keyword: physically. I visited her on Friday morning, after getting a call that she had woken up.

When I stepped into the hospital room, exchanging places with the nurse, my mother was sitting in the bed, staring out of the window. Her bandaged wrists laid in her lap. As I came up to her, she turned to me, then looked away without greeting.

I sat down on the stool beside the bed and asked, "Why did you do this?" with as much acquittance as possible. She remained quiet. "How long are you going to be here?"

I wasn't wondering when the doctors would let her go because they'd told me she was physically fine. It was her mental stability we all worried about. But the hospital can't keep people like my mother when they need the beds for the physically ill. Still, my mother said nothing.

With a sigh, I continued anyway. "Then... are you going to go to the psychiatric hospital again?" It seemed my mother was fixed on ignoring me. "Then... I'll get you transferred," I told her with finality, standing up.

"I'll do it."

She'd finally spoken but her words were cold. "Okay. Then, I'll get going." As I left, she didn't say goodbye.

Saturday, she was transferred, still mute towards me. Sunday has passed. Monday has passed. Much of Tuesday has passed, and I haven't visited her. I've just been lying around the house reading. Unproductive. Still filled with resentment. Still filled with guilt.

It's late afternoon, and I'm lying on the sofa with a book. As I turn the page, the area on my hand that had been cut Thursday catches my eye. I've always been a fast healer, but I've healed extraordinarily fast this time. Inhumanly so. There's not a single trace of the wound. Seriously, is something becoming wrong with my body?

As I ponder how bizarre it is, something else bizarre happens: the doorbell rings. Is there a delivery? No, we don't order things. Did something happen to my mother? No, they'd call. I can't imagine anything good can come out of answering, so I ignore it.

Then again, the fact that the doorbell which never rings is ringing... I should probably at least find out who it is.

At the genkan, I peek through the window beside the door. Through the textured glass, I make out a small figure walking back towards the gate. It seems they've given up, even after only ringing once, so it must not be important. Just as I turn away, the small stature of the person flashes through my memory and I swing open the door.

Startled, Hiramoto freezes in closing the gate while flinching in surprise. For a moment, he stands there just staring. With several blinks, he snaps out of whatever stupor he was in and darts his gaze around to finally land it on the manila envelope pressed against his chest.

"Ah... Um..." After glancing up at me, he opens the gate with an unsteady hand and steps back inside the small yard. One foot forward, then he halts. "Um..." He takes a deep breath, then makes his way to me, stopping about a meter away. "Um... Katana-senpai's homeroom teacher... Ah... H-homework..." He holds the envelope out to me with both hands, bowing his head.

As always, he's a little too polite. With one hand, I take the envelope from him. On the front of it is a sticky note with my address. "Thanks." He's still standing there. Maybe he has something else to say. I wait patiently.