A Small Stumbling Block
WHEN I SPENT THE NIGHT at Shimamura’s house, I always turned into a square. Not literally, of course. But my shoulders and knees locked up, and anytime I sat down, I felt as stiff as a stale graham cracker.
I opened my bag restlessly, checking its contents for the umpteenth time. It was so packed with things I’d surely never need that my hand didn’t even fit inside. My luggage overflowed, like my love. And, even though I knew I wouldn’t offend Shimamura if I left some of it at home, I couldn’t help feeling insecure.
I looked up at my shelf to check the digital clock. Our meetup was still an eternity away.
Rising to my feet, I paced a few laps around my room. Whenever I sat back down on the bed, trying to recline, I inevitably sprang up again. Thus, I decided I’d fall back on my usual strategy: leave early and kill time riding around town on my bike. There simply wasn’t anything worth doing in this house.
Carrying my heavy backpack, I walked downstairs to the bathroom, where I checked my hair and makeup one last time. Before meeting Shimamura, I’d hardly used this mirror, but now that was part of my daily routine. Quickly adjusting my bangs, I headed for the front door.
As I passed the living room, I peered inside and felt my internal organs grow heavy. My mother sat on the sofa, staring down blankly at her cell phone.
“Hhh…” Hey, Mom, I wanted to say, but couldn’t quite get it out.
She turned and squinted at me in much the same way I’d squinted into the mirror. “What is it?”
Like her expression, her voice was similar to mine—tense and cautious. With that much in common, understanding each other should’ve been so easy, yet we couldn’t manage it for some reason.
“I’m…staying over somewhere tonight… So yeah.”
Who was I kidding? The reason was obvious: in all likelihood, we both had a distaste for people who resembled us.
“Where?”
“At a…friend’s house.”
“I see.”
With a small nod, she promptly averted her eyes. The conversation was over. As for me, I was both relieved to be free of her and frustrated by my own awkwardness.
“A friend, hmm…?”
Her muttered words clung to my ears as I left the house. Was she surprised to hear that I had one? Skeptical, maybe? I wheeled out my bicycle and unlocked the chain. As I reflected on my relationship with my mother, my breaths quickened, and I felt warm sweat bead on the back of my neck. To shake it off, I hopped on my bicycle and started pedaling hard.
I didn’t hate her. But she reminded me of myself, so I did hate her. Contradictory though it sounded, I felt both sentiments fully. After all, I couldn’t stand the person I was…with almost no exceptions. When I looked at Shimamura—when I saw her smile up close—only then could I dredge up the slightest affection for myself.
To me, interacting with people was like stumbling over an uneven sidewalk: embarrassing and exasperating. I didn’t want to fall and hurt myself, but if I just stood there, I’d never reach Shimamura. She was too sleepy to come all the way to me. Thus, it fell to me to make the effort, so I decided that I would.
However many times I tripped and fell, I’d continue running until I found my way to her at last.
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