Punctual

Punctual (Part Eight)

This one was a toughie.

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“I have no idea what’s going on in that head of hers...”

“She’s an odd one, I suppose....”

“... not such a surprise, looking back at who her mother decided to marry -”

“Now really, you can’t go around condemning everyone just because they have poor taste!”

I jerk my head up as I feel my mother’s hand enveloping mine, gently coaxing me out of my daze. My father, tall, stately, slightly worn around the edges, smiles at me with his eyes. He keeps one hand on mom’s waist at all times, as if he’s afraid she’ll disappear.

My mom kneels down to fix the hem of my dress. “Come on, Sayako-chan,” she says softly, her eyes sad and grey. “Let’s get out of here.”

And we do. But the voices don’t die down and the people never leave even though we run as fast as we can, farther and farther until there’s a great big noise followed by silence, and then only two of us are left.

But it’s fine. I’m fine. Because I’m stronger now because of it.

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I should really stop sleeping. Before, it had seemed like such an easy thing to go nights, weeks, even, with a few scant hours of shut-eye, but now I find myself dozing off everywhere, all the time, and feeling exhausted even after I’ve already woken up. The last thing I want to do is spend more time in an uncontrollable unconsciousness, but I can’t seem to stop my eyelids from fluttering shut.

Resolute, I throw the covers off, even though I’m dead tired and feel as if I could climb back under for another couple of years. Opening the plastic blinds to the outside, I blearily rub at my eyes and welcome the yawning sun. I yawn back.

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I watch the bicycle fool struggle with the window’s locking mechanism; once he finally manages to get the thing open, he groans upon the realization that there’s still a mesh screen to get through.  

“... Yoshiharu-san.”

He looks at me askance, having already made short work of the screening and setting down the removed mesh before dusting off his hands. “Yes?” He answers, going back to his work.

I watch with barely-contained alarm. “Are... You okay?” I’m getting a little worried.

“Now what would make you think that I’m not okay?” He doesn’t bother even looking at me this time.

“Well,” I start, gently prying a slightly squished cylinder of butter-yellow from the boy’s fingers. “Maybe I’m just ignorant, but from what I know, most people who are ‘okay’ generally don’t start chucking tubes of paint out the window.” I drop the paint back into the art supplies bin. I hear Yoshiharu sigh and close the window, but not before surveying the courtyard outside. I grimace visibly.

“Maybe we ought to go and clean that up...” I hear the boy trail off.

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“So really,” I begin, picking up another tube of (expensive!) oil paint and chucking it over to Yoshiharu. “What’s up with you?” The idiot doesn’t see the paint flying over. It hits him square on the forehead.

“Oh,” I mutter. “Crap.” I suck in a quick breath through closed teeth, dashing over to make sure Yoshiharu’s all right. If getting pelted with a tube of paint is painful, it doesn’t show on his face; Yoshiharu doesn’t look as if he’s noticed anything yet.

I wave my hand in front of his face. “Y-Yoshiharu-san?”

He startles, focusing his eyes and slowly coercing an uncertain smile onto his face. It looks unnervingly unnatural.

“Yes?” He responds.

I'm not quite sure how to reply at first. "... Are you sure you're all right?"

"... Yes," he says finally. Yoshiharu clears his throat once and bends over to retrieve a tube of cerulean blue from a neatly trimmed hedge. "Hmmm...”

“What is it?”

Yoshiharu looks as if he’s about to cough again, but instead decides to finger the material of his collar, loosening his necktie slightly.

“I... talked to my older brother last night.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well that’s... good?” A pause. I take the time to awkwardly adjust the hem of my skirt. Conversation, make non-awkward conversation! “I, er... Didn’t know you had an older brother.”

Yoshiharu still looks rather uncomfortable. “Yeah,” he starts. “Um, I didn’t either.”

I feel my head jerk up his despondent answer, but for some reason have the hardest time forcing my jaw open.

“O-oh,” is the only thing that comes out.

Yoshiharu pulls at his collar again and then we go back to picking up paint tubes (I don’t try to throw any at him this time).

I never knew that it was possible to feel so helpless.

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