Playing in the leftover amounts of cleansed snow, I found myself laughing alongside my father. It had been two years since we escaped from Japan to the countryside of a land faraway, and instead of enrolling me in a school when I was old enough, Papa took his own time to teach me properly. We knew little people, and since I was home-schooled, Papa had become my only friend. I didn't know any of my family, having my mother died of pneumonia when I was four. I was too young to understand her death, and even at seven was unable to fully grasp the concept. It drove Papa to tears, and he often cried out for my mother during the night, where I'd sit alone in my bedroom in the dark trying to think of a way to cheer him up in the morning. Yet there was another person he seemed to long for just like my mother. I'd been told that that person had never existed by Papa or rather I'd heard him muttering something like that to himself when I woke up one day, but turned the corner when he looked like he was going to fall on his knees in front of the kitchen sink. He took me on his lap one night, and smiling at me he told me I had the prettiest blue eyes he'd seen. Apparently I'd taken these eyes from the ghost that haunted him in his dreams, that person he wanted to see the most, his reason for living. Papa had no one else but me.
My name is Koudou Sora, age seven.
"Why Sora?" I asked, after a neighbour of the apartment building we once lived in told me the meaning behind my name. Papa's eyes seemed lost for a moment, as if he'd thought all along that there was a perfect reason behind my name, but now was at a loss of words to describe the reason why my name was Sora. He thought intently but reluctantly, standing against the light beige walls that seemed plagued by our nothingness, so bare were they since Papa took down all the photos he'd hung on the poor walls. To me, they suffered the most, just like Papa. They longed for a comfort that no one could give them, like Papa. His sorrowful eyes so clouded, I wish I could be the rain that washed away his sadness, permanently.
"Well, that name means a lot to Papa," he explained, although it was in a tasteless, unsatisfied matter. His lips took on the form of a straight line, and I could tell he deeply wanted to cry out. Perhaps in my eagerness I'd managed to upset him, like the clouds crawling back to entrance him in their terror. He crossed his arms when his fingers started to tremble, and although he wanted to say something further, we remained silent for the rest of that day. Of course my name meant a lot to you Papa. It meant something to everyone else you knew once, didn't it?
We wanted to escape mama's presence that lingered behind in our lonely apartment room, where her smile could still be seen in my mind. I didn't know if it hurt Papa to leave her there, but he seemed so strong when we left for the airport. He didn't know I'd taken the family pocket photo of her from his wallet, and stuffed it into the sleeve of my jacket that morning. It was dark when we came to our destination, but when I awoke I didn't believe we'd actually left Japan.
The wilderness smelt so vibrant here, and somehow it felt colder than where we'd once lived. I enjoyed playing in the snow, just as much as Papa did. He'd joined me countless times instead of doing his work. He said that when he was young he'd had dreams of becoming a baseball player, but after marrying mama made up his mind to become a children's novelist. He told me to respect mama's love that she'd left behind, and just like I prayed for Papa's happiness, I prayed that she would be happy wherever she was, maybe even become friends with the ghost that shrouded Papa's past and whisk them away to a carousel I'd never be able to ride with her again, to let them live their own dreams out.
I watched Papa's breath become thick, white smoke from his mouth, like a dragon from a fairytale. He was smiling happily, but when he turned his head to look back at out cabin-sized home, he spoke back to me, exasperated, "I'll be right back, Sora-chan. I forget to check if we turned the stove off!"
As he glided up the steps and in the house, the silent yet cold world around me felt like foreign stone rubbing against my bare face and stinging my hidden ears. I stood watching the closed door with distraught eyes. Always I continued to watch, like it was the only thing in this world I could do. I was startled when something furry rubbed against my leg, a creature I'd had little time to become acquainted with in the best. I didn't look away from the door, but I was shaking so much for Papa to come it was beginning to embarrass me.
"Ah, Yoite, why is it now that you become so playful? You're an old cat, after all." a soft, nearly feminine voice spoke off to the side, but I still did not move my face to look at them. I held onto my intent gaze, wishing that he'd come out already. The soft voiced person picked up the strange animal from in front of my teetering legs, but did not make a sound until my Papa came back out, but froze when he saw the stranger, that half eaten smile of his vanished. I lunged forward and up the wooden stairs to plummet into Papa's stomach, quivering. Papa held onto my shoulders, but the tension in his body relaxes and instead, he addressed the stranger.
"Rokujou...Miharu?"
I turned my shy face to glance at the guest, who was slender yet not too tall and wore clothes too thin for such weather. I found myself quickly infatuated with this person's green glass eyes, like sweet delicacies any child would fight for just to have even one taste of. His indifferent yet lost eyes swept over my tiny body, until he returned them to look at Papa, stroking the neck of the large black cat that he held in his sticklike arms. He didn't appear menacing, the young man I mean. His long lashes casting shadows on his pale skin, he was like a fragile flower that you'd only witness once in your life time. Yet there was this sense of despair that overwhelmed him, completely consuming his lifeless soul. This wasn't a normal person, and his overwhelming yet unknown pain outdid my father's broken heart. He didn't seem surprised to see Papa, but he definitely hadn't expected to meet him out here.
"Koudou-san? Why are you out here?" he asked, his voice drowning out the noise left behind by silence.
"That's more my line than yours."
Miharu-san, as I'd come to address him, was welcomed inside by Papa, and looking up at his delicate face, I could see the lightest tinge of pink in his cheeks. He glanced over the entire downstairs of the house, but there was no sign of dislike on his face. He seemed out of it, and when he stood there in a trance, Papa came out and grabbed him by the wrist lightly, the black cat jumped down on all fours. I was amazed by this animal, how it followed its Japanese master all the way to a different country. Miharu-san sat down on one of the new chairs Papa had acquired three weeks ago, since out old ones were bought used. The house was quiet except for the buzz of the radio that played on Papa's laptop, which Miharu-san had taken an interest in and randomly plucked at the keys like a dumbstruck child, but in his case he showed about as much enthusiasm in the machine as someone might when they see a pair of white socks that had been unfortunately chewed up by the family dog, or a rock.
Papa seemed to keep a close eye on Miharu-san as he prepared lunch, while I sat at the other side of the marble tabletop, watching our guest like he was a peculiar being. Miharu-san didn't smile like a normal adult, and nor did he take much interest in talking to a young girl such as myself. He wasn't like Papa who asked regular things that most might, and from the looks of things he could barely pronounce a word of English. Papa returned to the table and presented a few ham sandwiches, which Miharu-san's thoughts become preoccupied with. Sighing, Papa sat down beside me across from Miharu-san, his cat Yoite suddenly jumping up onto the tabletop.
"Why are you in Canada?" Papa asked, fixing the collar of his shirt. He'd been wearing his thick jacket most of the morning outdoors with me. Miharu-san poured a glass of milk, and after taking a single sip allowed Yoite to drink the rest. He never looked Papa in the face, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Aizawa suddenly wanted to come out here." he said, his voice like a whisper. He didn't seem like the person to speak so lightly, but from his eyes it was easy to tell his circumstances differed greatly from either Papa or me.
Papa took one of the ham sandwiches and took a couple bites, looking back down just as Miharu-san would. "And Yukimi-san, how is he?"
"Still alive," Miharu-san answer, watching the ham sandwiches before him. "I still live with him, but he didn't want to come. "
"And Thobari-san?"
I saw a peculiar little grin appear on his face. "Unfortunately, he's alive. But bringing him along might cause him to go into shock." He snickered like a sly villain off of a TV show, which made me wonder who this man was exactly. Papa ignored that and continued to finish his lunch.
It was when I tried to grab one of the sandwiches did I notice his liquid eyes staring at me. It didn't matter that this was possibly just for a second that our eyes met, my curly black hair untidy around my shoulders hiding my pure blue eyes. How embarrassing it was to look him in the eyes, those dreamy, poison dripping eyes...
After an hour or so of sitting at the table, we realized he had no way of leaving. He didn't know how he'd gotten out here or why, and stood like a stiff board at one of the windows, the snowflakes drifting down from the clouds. I became flustered and bound myself to a corner of the large downstairs area, unable to take my thoughts off of him completely. I patted the sides of my puffy hair, closing my eyes to wish myself away, away to Papa. I must've fallen asleep, because when I awoke it was dark, yet Miharu-san still stood in front of the window.
"Miharu," Papa burst down the stairs, calling for our transcendent guest. His face barely budged, and he did not dare look at my Papa. "Miharu, have you seen my daughter?"
Miharu-san paused for a moment. Not a lengthy pause, nor had it any meaning. He let his face fall over, and simply replied back. "No, I haven't."
"Maybe she's sleeping. She still had her homework to finish though..." Papa muttered, heading back up the stairs. Miharu-san continued to stand there, his poisoned eyes watching the floor like it might vanish from underneath him and let him slip further and further away from humanity.
He fell, like those times I thought Papa might, collapsing to his knees. I was afraid, but inclined to stay in the farthest corner from him. Maybe, I thought, he was also haunted by the ghost of someone he once loved. I slid forward from the shadows on my knees, examining his frail features as he buried his face in his hands. So even a grown man like Papa could cry like this.
His eyes snapped open when he felt my fingers lightly brush against his shoulder, and his teary green eyes glared menacingly back at me. He immediately calmed when he saw it was me, and like Papa when he saw him, Miharu-san became less tense and welcomed me with his distant eyes.
"You're... What's your name?" he asked. "You're Tsukasa's daughter, ne?"
I nodded. "My name's Sora, Sora-chan."
"Sora-san..." his voice trailed off, and he began to make that face my father made when I asked about my name. He placed a finger to his soft looking lips, almost biting down on the tip of the pink nail.
I slid forward a bit more, clinging onto his shoulder. Those clouds in his eyes, even my rain could never make them disappear. I wanted to erase his fragile pain, and when he looked at me clearly in the eyes, I thought for a second his words vanished. He couldn't speak.
"Does a ghost haunt you, too?" I asked suddenly, but my voice also vanished. He looked back out the frosted window, the sky outside tinted dark blue.
"Something like that." he mumbled, looking at the palm of his hand before balling his fingers into a fist. No one liked to talk straightforwardly about the things that affected them.
"I'm sure mama will become friends with your ghost, Miharu-san." I quickly replied, but pondered afterwards if that had been an answer he'd of expected. Would I further those scars that had been invisible on his body and make them deeper?
He grinned again, looking out that window. I could see a single tear fall down his cheek. "Ah,"
The next day, he left. It was early morning when a knock came on our door, and we saw a peculiar man with silver hair standing there. Miharu-san had fallen asleep on the floor, with Yoite curled up at his side. Papa didn't know I'd sung him a lullaby to put him to sleep, and spent half the night beside him. The red eyed foreigner waved at me, but I found myself compelled to wave back.
I stood with Papa at the door watching him slip away, this saddened guest who felt no desire to live. He seemed to stagger into the distance, forgetting about me, forgetting about Papa, the cat trailing behind them. Biting my lip, I ran from Papa's side out to Miharu-san, my bare feet pounding against the bitter snow. He glanced back at me when I grabbed his hand, startling his friend. This little girl with messy black hair and deniably gentle blue eyes approaching a stranger she'd only been just acquainted with, dressed in her pyjamas and nothing else.
"Sora-san...?" Miharu-san whispered, but not running away from me. I could see Papa running towards me, calling my name. But Miharu-san was the most vivid of creatures in front of me.
"It's Sora-chan, Sora-chan!" I cried, seeming desperate. I didn't understand what I was doing. Neither did Miharu-san, but he didn't glare at me with hateful eyes, nor were they confused. I could see a tear in the corner of his eye before he turned again, running away. The man named Aizawa yelled for him to stop, the cat taking off as well.
I stood with Papa's arms around me, but I could only see my own tasteless tears. "Did... Did I hurt Miharu-san?"
Papa explained about Miharu-san's condition, how he had lived since long ago with the burden of having erased a person. It had driven him so crazy that overtime, that already indifferent person had become without a life. Like Papa, he probably cried through the night for long periods of time, which is why he still lived with an adult, even in his twenties, because he'd be lost without someone else to help stop those dreadful nightmares. So it was the same person that haunted their nightmares.
"I think... You reminded him of that person." Papa said sadly. He picked me up in his arms and carried me away.