When he was younger (far younger than he is now, no matter what Nyanko-sensei's skewed sense of time protests), being Natsume Takashi was a curse—a burden hunching his bird-boned spine. He has the burden of being (that odd, wrong woman, they say) Natsume Reiko's grandson. And that would be just fine, except he is just as odd and wrong as Natsume Reiko. He's the sort of odd and wrong that makes you want to shudder when he looks at you with those amber eyes. He's the sort of odd and wrong that makes you want to pretend that he and all those horrors he carries have never existed, never exist, nor will they ever exist (out of sight, out of mind is the sort of caregiving that Natsume's relatives frequently find solace in).
Natsume Takashi, you think, is the sort of boy who looks at a tilted world tangent to yours. When you look at Natsume Takashi, the world warps around him and you wonder. He makes you think, that he does. But the problem is that no, you don't want to think these thoughts that rile up your mind and make you feel a phantom breath on the nape of your neck. The type of breath that raises the hair, makes you shudder, and forces adrenaline to electrocute you into fight-or-flight.
So you find it easy to say that Natsume boy is an absolute liar. Your curtains rustle in the wind (from a closed window) and he claims it's the work of youkai—those lurking monsters in the closet that you no longer fear because you are an adult. And you say he's doing it for the attention, that orphan boy. You say he's a liar. And everyone around you (distant and near relatives) agrees and shares their own stories. They shake their heads in disgust and pity, feeling superior in all of Natsume Takashi's lowly moments. They like to pat themselves on their backs for enduring Natsume Takashi, like he's just a storm to weather through and not a boy with a heart that aches so much he can't feel lest he be consumed.
And when you're a kid, oh, when you're a kid, you initially think that Natsume Takashi is just a newcomer to your tightly-knit class. But you pride yourself on your kindness, so you and your friends introduce yourselves to Natsume Takashi. You all smile when he smiles (ignoring that feeling of insincerity). You have lunch together for a few days. You and your friends show off your simple and elaborate bentos that reek with love while Natsume just smiles and eats his school-bought meal. You and your friends show off your pristine bags and new school supplies while Natsume just smiles and you ignore his shoddy bag and bare minimum supplies. Natsume Takashi smiles a lot, you notice. He's quiet too. He's a good listener, you think.
Natsume Takashi still smiles that gentle curve of his when windows shatter (inward) around him. Still smiling as blood drips from a thin slice on the arch of a cheekbone. What a freak accident, everybody thinks. It stops being a freak accident when Natsume Takashi starts talking to and running away from things people can't hear or see. It's just plain weird when he freezes up in the middle of class with fear-blown pupils. It's even odder when he initially claims that it's all the work of youkai, ayakashi, monsters, but even those excuses start to die as the frequency of these freakish incidents and the frequency of people believing that it's his fault rise. Natsume Takashi is a liar. Eventually, he becomes a friendless liar who's odd and wrong.
In those days, Natsume Takashi found humans to be terrifying on a mental level while he found youkai to be terrifying on a physical level. Healing a body takes less work than it does for the mind. In a way, Natsume's interactions with the youkai have been easier to endure than his interactions with humans. He found youkai to be generally unsettling, violent, or a mixture thereof. Natsume can fight back against the youkai with his flailing limbs. When he fights back, the youkai eventually slink away in defeat and leave him alone.
What Natsume Takashi cannot fight back against is humans. There's nothing tangible to fight back against. Nobody strikes him. Nobody ever lays a hand on him (in all the right and wrong ways—he'd take any way). What they do is whisper in his ear and sneer at him. They forget his existence and all his bodily needs. What does a specter need food for? In times like those, Natsume feels subhuman. His existence feels like a wisp of cloud—translucent and intangible. It's a slow death in the cold, dark woods with only a sliver of the pale winter sun peeking through. And when his flesh goes cold, nobody notices, so his body just decays in the grass and dirt. Beaks pecking at him; snouts brushing up against him; and teeth tearing at his flesh. He's just a pile of bones masquerading as a human.
Natsume Takashi no longer cries. He used to cry until his tear ducts ran dry when he thought of his kind father and a garden he never got to see in full bloom. In those days, Natsume hid his photos in a book packed in a lone box he carried from house to house. After a while, family seems unreal and distant. He doesn't feel sad anymore. It's empty inside of him. His aching heart doesn't throb in his chest anymore. Frozen over and hidden from love's illumination.
There is a gentle serenity to being hollow and alone.
When Natsume Takashi arrives in a small town in rural Japan, he always has a serene smile on his face with glass bead eyes. By now, he has learned to close his heart and his mouth. He is distant and standoffish in a way that does not invite company. Yet bubbly Nishimura is stubborn enough to cling on and along with him comes Kitamoto. They're determined and friendly enough to make Natsume's prickly exterior slowly dissipate. They teach Natsume to ride a bike and to go fishing. They're smart enough to let Natsume explain away strange winds and even stranger voices. Natsume Takashi begins to let friends find him.
In the midst of all this, Natsume stumbles and breaks the seal on a colossal beast youkai masquerading in the form of a maneki neko. Natsume Takashi meets Madara, who becomes Nyanko-sensei and his new guard against youkai with the stipulation that the Yuujinchou is left to Madara upon his death. In his heart of hearts, he knows he's made a friend for life.
When Natsume goes back to his foster parents' home with an unexpected pet, he is uncertain and hesitant. But when he arrives, the Fujiwaras do not reprimand him. They welcome his new pet (they welcome him). Natsume Takashi begins to feel his heart thaw.
The Fujiwaras are unbearably nice. Sweet and gentle, a balm on his soul. He feels like he could be home with them. He certainly feels a soft hand on his brow when he is sick. Cared for physically and emotionally is a pleasing change in his life. He feels touched in all the right ways. When they speak to him, he can speak back. And when he speaks (oh, he feels like smiling a true smile), they listen. He is home.
If Nishimura and Kitamoto are his friends in his human bliss and problems, then Tanuma and eventually Taki become his friends in all his supernatural troubles and joys. He can talk to Tanuma and Taki about youkai without being called an attention-seeking liar. He can talk freely. For the first time in his life, Natsume Takashi feels free and his spine straightens up like a sapling blindly reaching for the sun. Every day feels sunny and balmy. Every night feels clear and luminous. Their friendship is gold filling in the cracks of his weathered soul.
Natori Shuuichi is a surprise of a man that he tripped over. Secretly in the unplumbed depths of his heart, Natsume feels like a little brother chasing after his older brother and being chased in turn. Natsume doesn't feel like he's yelling into a void and only encountering echoes of himself. Reciprocation is a delight.
Even Natsume's Dog's Circle thaws his heart out in the beams of lights slicing through the forest canopy. Being around youkai no longer inspires ugly fear and resentment in his bird's bones of a body. His plumage feels brighter than ever, no longer bedraggled in neglect and panic. With his youkai, he can fly. Soaring over mountain peaks and skimming across rivers. No matter what Matoba has said, Natsume Takashi does not have servants—he has friends.
Now, when he's with youkai, he runs through the whole gamut of emotions: joy, sympathy, regret, sorrow, embarrassment, pride, and so much more. He is resplendent in Houzuki's robes and mask. All he can see are showy peonies in full bloom. Natsume feels his petals uncurl in the sunshine.
These days, being Natsume Takashi is a blessing. He is the grandson of Natsume Reiko and he is proud of that. For all that he has never met her, he knows her soul intimately in all the memories he's experienced. She was fierce and headstrong, but she was kind and lonely. She was the type of person to insult you but still help you. She was the type of person to make a Book of Friends—a book of all the names of the youkai she encountered and defeated in battles on the violent, physical side and on the restrained, almost gentle side. The saddest thing about her was that she felt more like a natural phenomenon than a human. She swept in a flurry, turned your world upside down, forced you to acknowledge her, and abandoned you in one fell swoop. She left an indelible mark on your memory.
Today, when Natsume smiles, his eyes are joyful golden slits. When he smiles, his body loosens up. When he smiles, his voice sounds pleased. When he smiles, his friends smile back.
Being Natsume Takashi means living a tangible life full of excitement, friendship, family, love, and adventure.
He is alive.