Chapter Fifteen - Tadaima
Asami's first letter arrived on a November day laden with rain. Homura shivered beneath her umbrella as she made her way to the mailbox, her boots squelching in the mud. She retrieved a single white envelope and scurried back home, holding it clutched to her chest inside her jacket.
Once she had returned she slipped into the shed. The heavy wooden door thudded shut behind her as she pawed along the wall for the light switch.
A single dust covered bulb flickered to life overhead. Homura folded her umbrella and left it in the corner, alongside her mud caked boots. She pulled up a stool and sat, nestled between a work table and her mother's broom.
Homura broke the seal on the envelope and extracted its contents. Multiple pages, neatly folded in half, fell into her open palm.
Beneath the dense yellow light of the bulb she began to read.
Dear Homura,
I am sitting in a cafe writing this with the pen you gifted me. It is raining, and the sidewalk outside is a sea of black umbrellas and trench coats. Is the image in your mind metropolitan enough?
Doing this makes me realize I have no idea how to write a letter. There's so much I could say, but only so much I can write before my stupid hand cramps. I guess that is what makes letters romantic. You have to decide what is really worth saying.
I suppose I should start by saying I miss you, and think of home often. Though when I think of home, I never recall one place in particular. I imagine it must be different for you. What do you think of when you recall home?
Speaking of which, the city is completely different from our tiny little town. There are so many people, all packed together like sardines. Everyone is very much about their business, as if they're trying to pack two lives into one. Oh, and it is insufferably loud at night. It is impossible to get to sleep, and during the day you feel guilty for spending too much time inside.
I don't mean to say I hate this place, though. It is completely unlike any other city I've been to. Sometimes I feel like I've somehow gone to the future. Tokyo, if you've ever been there, feels almost rustic by comparison.
Anyways, how are you? How is the library? I imagine you've gone back to tending to the place all by yourself again. If you want to make some chamomile tea, the ones I used to buy can be found at the market by the station. They sell the same kind around here; it really helps when I'm on my period. Hmm, maybe that's not the kind of thing you put in a romantic letter. Oh, well. Your fault for giving me a pen and not a pencil.
What else should I say here? Have you read anything good lately? Are you not too lonely without me? Have you been to the beach yet? You're closer to it now than I am. Then again, you were never the type to go to the beach by yourself.
I will admit it's been a bit lonely since I arrived here. But that is to be expected when you move to a new place by yourself. For now, thinking of you reading alone in the library gives me comfort. I think I felt the same way when we first met, way back when.
Well, my hand hurts now and I am out of coffee. Can you believe one drink costs nearly six hundred yen? Today I had a cafe au lait; I'll leave a bit for you here. Proof of my six hundred yen experience.
Much love,
Asami
A small coffee stain marked the space beneath Asami's signature, wrinkling the paper ever so slightly. Homura brushed her finger against it and pressed it to her lips. In reality she tasted nothing, but in her mind she imagined the warm bitterness of the cafe au lait, and for a moment felt a bit closer to home.
"Tadaima," said the young boy on the television screen as he returned home.
They had a substitute teacher that afternoon who elected to put on a movie rather than teach. Homura held a book open behind her desk and did not pay attention, though her ears caught the occasional strain of dialogue.
It occurred to her later that she never said tadaima when she returned home. Not everyone said it anyways, but she could not recall having said it even once. Her parents too, had always been the type to enter the house with an almost unnerving silence.
Homura tried saying it when she crossed the threshold that evening. Tadaima, she murmured, ever so softly. Even doing that much felt too unnatural. She did not have the sense anyone was waiting for her to say it.
As her second fall semester progressed Homura threw herself devotedly into her studies. She harassed her teachers for supplementary materials and paid keen attention in lecture. In the library she no longer read for leisure and instead pored over her textbooks. She even stopped biking to school and began taking the bus instead, so she could sit in the back and flip through her notes.
It was perhaps the first time she ever truly applied herself. Her meaningless, meandering life was finally taking shape. Not that she was interested in improving herself for the sake of it. She just had something she wanted to pursue now, that was all.
When she was not studying she drafted her replies to Asami, editing them meticulously whenever the mood struck her. She was apprehensive of sending a reply that was too long winded, afraid to betray the depth of her emotion. Either texting or calling certainly would have been more practicable, but taking that route did not feel right to her, and she was certain Asami felt the same.
Asami's letters were always long and filled with details about her life in Mitakihara. Homura took great pleasure in reading them, but ultimately refrained from mentioning her decision in her initial replies. She did not wish to declare it prematurely only to fall short.
Waiting until her second year to start caring about her grades certainly did her no favors. But given time her work began to show results. Her fall results were strong, and the following spring her marks were stellar. The results themselves never held much meaning to her, however. When she received her grades she finally understood why Asami was so unimpressed about winning her last race.
It felt in a sense like Homura was slowly becoming the same person Asami had been when she left. The thought made her happy. At night she slept with the bookmark beneath her pillow. Occasionally she would wake abruptly from a fitful rest and place her hand over it, feeling its texture until she fell back asleep.
In retrospect, she had given up on salvaging anything from the place she came from. Asami had rejected the Homura who came from here, and so her current self was useless. Perhaps her upperclassman had felt the same about herself when she left. They had both decided they needed to change themselves.
On a gentle morning in March, Homura retrieved Asami's latest letter and found a picture alongside it.
Attached you will find a picture of my first cherry blossom viewing in the city, a portion of the letter read. The buildings here are so tall sometimes I forget the natural world exists beyond them. Spring reminds me that places like this will continue to exist long after you and I are both gone.
In the photo Asami flashed a toothy smile beneath the shade of a young cherry tree. A halo of petals hung in the air around her, as if painted in by an artist's brush. Homura wondered briefly about who had been the one to take the photo.
Asami's replies became increasingly sparse following the spring semester. Letters that used to come every two weeks now took over a month. Between May and August Homura received but two of these letters, both of which were much shorter than usual.
Her father also began to act strangely that summer. Typically by the time Homura rose in the morning her father was already gone for work. But lately she would come down and he would still be at the dining table, staring listlessly into his coffee. On his days off she often caught him sitting on the porch with an empty glass in his hands, gazing at the leaves scattered across the yard.
Homura was not sure how to approach the issue, assuming it ought to be approached at all. She supposed the man simply missed his wife, or perhaps had just now realized the enormity of his loss. He seemed incredibly restless despite the vacancy of his expression, always fidgeting and moving about the house in a manner that was atypical of him.
In spite of this restlessness, she never saw him leave the house. In fact the furthest he ever got when he wasn't working was the front porch. An invisible barrier seemed to bar him from stepping foot in the yard or the world beyond.
After observing this for a while, she decided to inform her father of her intention to apply for university in Mitakihara. Even if she was not accepted to her program of choice, Homura said, she still intended to leave their town one way or another. It was the very first time she spoke of her ambitions aloud.
His reaction, though outwardly unremarkable, was profound. He acknowledged Homura's plans and noted that he could not do much to help her financially. She remembered being surprised by the comment, having not counted on her father's support at all, and was taken aback that he had even considered it. He felt, he said, that Homura was making the right decision.
They spoke of more logistics before parting for the night. A couple weeks later Homura's father announced his intention to sell the house and move elsewhere upon her graduation. She did not ask where he intended to go. It was rather clear to them both that he did not yet know.
Despite this, her father appeared visibly relieved once everything had been decided. In the end it turned out the two of them were not so different after all. He too had come to hate who he was in this nondescript place. Homura may have been tying him down herself, with her own indecisiveness.
Part of her was comforted to know her own initiative could help someone other than herself. But mostly, she was glad to have finally understood someone before it was too late.
Her father's decision drove home the reality that her days in that house were numbered. For that reason, and because she could not bear the silence any longer, in her next letter Homura also revealed to Asami her intention to apply to Mitakihara University.
Fall had arrived before she received a response. As Homura watched the red leaves fluttering by outside, she thought perhaps Asami simply had better things to do. What was she besides a needy underclassman? It had now been months since their last correspondence. Maybe all of Asami's letters were merely written out of obligation.
Homura's motivation to study flagged, and she began to feel depressed and agitated. A heavy pallor hung over each day. Some mornings she had trouble even getting out of bed.
Just as she thought she might lose her mind, her phone rang.
She had decided to walk home that day to clear her mind. Leaves crunched beneath her shoes as she pressed the phone to her ear.
"Hey." Asami's voice was unexpected but immediately recognizable. "I read your letter. You're applying here?"
Homura came to a stop in the middle of the road. "...Asami?"
"Yes, it's me. Are you serious about coming here?"
There was something about the girl's voice. She sounded simultaneously distracted and desperate.
"Yes, I'm serious."
"With your grades?"
"I've been studying."
Asami was silent for a while.
"Okay," she said finally. "If you were here...that would make me really happy."
A caustic wind tugged at Homura's hair. Her happiness in the moment was muted by a feeling that was ironically familiar: fear of the unknown.
Homura sat for her entrance exams at the beginning of the following year. Asami contacted her with a surprising proactiveness compared to before, and they spoke on the phone often. It was very blissful, to be able to look forward to Asami's calls and the sound of her voice.
During this period Homura divulged her situation regarding her father and the house. Soon after Asami arranged for Homura to come live with her once she arrived in the city, should she be accepted. The thought of living with Asami set Homura's heart aflutter whenever it crossed her mind.
Waiting for her exam results proved to be nearly as difficult as preparing for it. A palpable anxiety consumed her from January to February. Having never thrown her entire being into something before, she was not prepared for the crushing disappointment she was bound to feel should she fail.
Ultimately she received a fairly competitive score that was astoundingly close to Asami's. And in March, on a snow covered day that felt out of place so late in the year, she was accepted to Mitakihara University on a full scholarship.
Homura gasped audibly when she read the letter, still standing on the ice covered road outside her house in a thick coat and scarf. Fumbling for her phone, she speed dialed Asami's number and held it to her ear, shivering in place from the cold or anticipation she could not say.
Asami made a relieved noise when she heard the news. In a soft murmur she congratulated Homura, and then said repeatedly that she was happy, so very happy. For just a moment she sounded just as far away as she was.
Homura arranged for the underclassman she was acquainted with to succeed her as librarian. She was a demure girl, but diligent, and accepted the proposal with honor. Homura was comforted to know her old sanctuary would be in good hands when she was gone.
In the final month of the semester she took a train to the mountain she had visited with Asami and scaled it herself, if only to get one last look at the stars before her night sky became too obscured by city lights. It was one of Asami's most repeated complaints about Mitakihara.
Her graduation came upon her with surprising suddenness. It was a cool spring day in May. Homura sat near the heart of the gym while the class representatives and student council members made their farewell speeches. This time they spoke with an emotional weight she understood.
After the ceremony her underclassman appeared from the crowd and embraced her fully, crying honest tears into Homura's collar. She smiled and held the girl, but did not shed tears herself.
Once they had parted she slipped away to the library. There she retrieved Asami's copy of Norwegian Wood and her own copy of The Glass Garden, slipping both into her school bag. After this she returned from the storage room and dusted the library one last time. She threw open the windows and played some Ravel as she cleaned, lingering over each corner like a doting mother. But every child reaches adulthood someday, and soon enough she was out of places to clean.
Homura tucked in all the chairs and paused by the door, taking the library in one final time.
Then she flicked off the light switch and shut the door, knocking on it twice before departing.
After this there was not much left for her to do. She returned home and packed her bags, which only amounted to two suitcases and a backpack. Her many books had already been donated to the school library. The following morning a cab waited for her outside the house, ready to take her to the station.
Her father helped her load her suitcases into the trunk. It was a brilliant spring day; it felt like her hometown was begging her not to leave. The tree that grew by the yard was laden with a coat of flowers, its shadow gentle across the road. Perhaps in another life, she would have stayed.
She surprised her father by embracing him before leaving. There was no particular motive behind it. She had yet to forget the sensation of her mother's head in her lap at the time, and simply wanted something similar from her father before their parting.
It was certainly the kindest of her many recent goodbyes.
The cab left the house and dropped her off by the station. When the train arrived she hopped on and dozed off until she reached her first stop, a connecting station at a large city to the north. She never stepped outside during the connection, but even inside the station she had the sense she had left all familiarity behind. She found the platform where the Shinkansen was waiting and boarded it hesitantly, intimidated by its futuristic appearance.
The subsequent ride was, of course, much faster than the first, and the scenery outside changed too quickly to keep up with. They passed through a few towns and at one point drew close to the sea. She opened The Glass Garden and reread her favorite passages to calm her jumpy nerves.
On a bullet train the journey took all but a few hours. Homura slipped in and out of consciousness, and was reminded of Asami's comment about moving forward in time.
In a moment of clarity the Shinkansen emerged from the darkness of a tunnel, and at long last they pulled to a smooth stop at Mitakihara Station.
Homura grabbed her things and hopped off the train as soon as she was allowed, stumbling onto the platform. It was incredibly crowded; she was taken aback by the sheer amount of humanity suddenly thrust before her. Men in suits and shirts, women in pencil skirts and blouses burgeoned about her like a multitude of fish. Homura pushed her way through the crowd, trying desperately not to lose her belongings in the process. The noise was deafening, the air tasted differently; Asami's letters had been brought to life.
After several suffocating minutes she broke free from the crowd and fell against the doors, pushing them aside and emerging into the open air.
Asami was waiting among a small flock of pigeons that milled about in front of the station. Their eyes met across the breadth of the courtyard, and for a moment Homura's breath caught in her throat.
She left her things and waded forward, scattering the pigeons in her wake. Asami opened her arms and pulled Homura into a gentle embrace as the flock flurried up around them. Within the maelstrom of feathers they held each other, swaying slowly in place.
"Hey," Asami said, squeezing her tightly. "Welcome back."
Homura closed her eyes. A smile stole her lips as they parted.
"Tadaima."
The entire house was still asleep when Madoka returned. It was still early morning, and the muted gray instilled in her the need to tread carefully. Her mother had the first half of the day off today, she knew; the woman must be sleeping in her study down the hall, separate from her husband and Tatsuya.
Madoka put on some tea to calm her nerves and took a seat at the dining table, in view of the door to the study. Under her breath she rehearsed the things she wanted to say, but part of her already knew it wouldn't turn out that way. Foresight had never been her strong suit.
The quiet peace in that house suddenly felt very fragile as she sat within it. In just a few short moments she would be willingly shattering that peace. Perhaps she was making a mistake; the desire to get up and leave the house ebbed and flowed in her mind, like a shameful memory she could not bring herself to forget.
But in the end she stayed where she was, clutching her tea mug like an anchor. Madoka could no longer bring herself to follow what she knew to be an illusion.
Besides, she thought, once an illusion was acknowledged, it was probably already broken.
Asami's apartment was a small one bedroom near the river, cozy enough for one but a bit cramped for two. It was a far cry from Homura's childhood home, which had always felt far too big for three. The interior was warm and welcoming; she detected a hint of chamomile.
They laid facing each other that night, fingers intertwined beneath the sheets. Homura had intended to take the couch, but Asami wordlessly took her hand and guided them both to the bed. She reached out and stroked Homura's face, a tired smile gracing her lips.
"You know," she said, "I'm really glad you're here."
The following morning Homura woke cradled in Asami's arms, her back pressed to the girl's chest. Slow breathing tickled her ear; sunlight streamed through the half open blinds beside the bed. When Homura shifted slightly, Asami murmured and pulled her closer.
If one could picture happiness, she thought, this must be it.
For a while she felt a long preserved shell of fear and anxiety melting away. But her complete liberation was interrupted by the reality of her new life in Mitakihara.
It was yet May, a full four months before the fall semester would begin. Asami was serving a summer internship at a law firm headquartered in the city, though she readily admitted no particular passion for law. But the alternative was doing nothing, Asami said, and to her that was unacceptable.
Asami had also divulged, well prior to Homura's arrival in Mitakihara, that she intended to spend the spring semester studying abroad in the United States. It was a bit strange to spend her final undergraduate semester in a foreign land, she knew, but she wanted to take the chance to see new things when she could.
"My lease here ends after the fall semester," she told Homura. "So we have until then to get you set up with a new roommate. Don't worry; I'll be helping you. Rent's pricey here, but you can still get good deals if you know where to look. And you're saving a lot by staying with me for now. Oh, don't make such a face! We won't be apart for long; it's just one semester."
Homura knew Asami's words were reasonable. In fact it was that very hunger for experience that made her admire her upperclassman so. But Asami's ambition had always separated the two of them in the past, and it seemed this remained unchanged.
During the weekdays Asami had work, which left Homura to her own devices until the evenings. She spent her first weeks simply roaming the city on her lonesome, taking care to avoid areas Asami advised her against. She toured the university campus, which was devoid of walls and open to all visitors. An old peach tree that grew on the lawn outside the literature department caught her fancy; she spent one leisurely afternoon reading beneath its shade.
Other places, like the towering skyscrapers in the financial district or the quiet pond that sat south of the university, retained their own unique character. But an air of impenetrability hung over it all. She felt displaced, like she was not really meant to be here; she had the sense the city would demand more from her than she could give.
After all, she was just a foolish girl who had chased the object of her affection halfway across the country. Once Asami was gone she would be completely alone, without even parents or a home to return to, trapped behind the impenetrable walls of Mitakihara.
Sitting alone on a bench by the pond, watching two old men play a game of chess, she suddenly could not help but wonder if she had done a very stupid thing.
On the weekends Asami was free, so they would often set out to tour more out of the way places Homura could not navigate on her own. Asami always offered to invite one of her many friends along for these expeditions, but Homura invariably refused.
One afternoon they walked along a stretch of undeveloped land alongside the river. It was a beautiful summer day; they both took off their shoes and waded through the knee length grass barefoot. When Homura momentarily lost her balance, Asami took her hand and guided them along the water.
"This is one of my favorite places in the city," she said. "It's so peaceful. There's petitions every year to preserve it, and the city council keeps promising not to bulldoze it for some dumb pier. But I don't believe them. Not for a second. I'm sure they'll find some excuse to go back on their word."
"Who knows?" Homura thought aloud. "Maybe they're telling the truth."
Asami considered this for a long while.
"Maybe," she allowed. "But I won't wait to find out. I'll walk through this place, while I still can."
After leaving the river they stopped by a water spout outside a park to clean their feet. Asami knelt next to where Homura was sitting and washed Homura's feet with her own hands, making sure to clean all the way up to the calves.
Homura leaned back and took in the world around them. A knot of children played in the park nearby. Swarms of boats darted intrepidly across the surface of the river; the water was cool against her legs. Yet Asami's expression was so forlorn and sad. Homura wished to ask her what was wrong, but could not bring herself to say the words. In retrospect it was because she too was unwilling to acknowledge the possibility that something was wrong.
Asami continued to exhibit such strange behaviors from time to time. During their expeditions there were certain places she seemed hell bent on avoiding; a nondescript restaurant here, an unassuming park there. Homura asked if they could go see the cherry blossoms pictured in the photo Asami had sent, but Asami simply told her it was better to wait until spring.
Other times, when they were sitting together in the apartment, Asami's expression would suddenly become very vacant. Occasionally it would happen in the middle of a conversation, albeit very briefly, but Homura was always watching her closely. She seemed to be thinking about something very far away, a distance so great Homura could not fathom it. At night the girl would sometimes toss and turn, murmuring softly under her breath.
Homura came to realize that Asami was not the same girl who had left their little town two years ago. She was older, the way she carried herself was different; perhaps the city had changed her, perhaps change was simply inevitable. The joy Homura had felt for becoming more like that old version of Asami felt stale now. After all this time, she was still chasing after her upperclassman. She could not guess what harrowed Asami, the same way she couldn't do it in the past. The thought left her lost and confused.
Perhaps it was naive of her, but because of this Homura never chose to inquire of Asami or seek out the truth at first. To acknowledge the illusion was to break it.
About halfway through the summer Homura began to volunteer at a local association that provided assistance to disabled writers. She served as a typist to a blind old woman who suffered from severe glaucoma; the old woman would speak aloud while Homura diligently typed down every word.
She was paid just a hundred yen per page, but it was volunteer work, and she was glad to have something to do with herself. It helped to keep the cacophony of her thoughts at bay. But she hadn't yet written a single thing since arriving in Mitakihara. Maybe she just wasn't ready to write anything yet. Or maybe she was afraid of what would come out if she did.
Asami's birthday came in June. Homura had intended to surprise the girl once she returned from work. She had already placed an order for a cake with their local bakery, and rented Asami's favorite movies for the night. While Homura waited she made her way through the apartment and made sure everything was neat and tidy, even putting on a pot of tea in anticipation of the girl's arrival.
But Asami never arrived. The tea was ready at six; Homura poured herself a cup and waited near the door, staring at the cake sitting on the dining table. By six thirty the tea was cold, and she was beginning to feel hungry. As she gnawed on some crackers to placate her stomach, the clock ticked six forty five.
Frowning, Homura retrieved her phone and dialed Asami's number. After ringing for a while it went to voicemail. She waited a few minutes and called again, but received the same result. By now it was nearly seven fifteen, and all the crackers were gone, replaced by a burgeoning concern.
The door creaked as Homura threw on her shoes and ran outside, into the heavy summer night. First she waited around the front of the building, walking in ever widening circles as Asami's absence extended itself. Several more phone calls went unanswered. In desperation Homura decided to walk all the way to Asami's preferred spot by the river, but it was empty, save for the grass and a few cattails swaying in the wind.
She stood by the dark surface of the water for a while, considering whether she ought to call the police. What if something terrible had happened? On her way back to the apartment Homura cut through the university campus, but it was desolate during summer this late in the night. When she returned home the lights in the window were still dark.
It was nearly nine now. As Homura pulled out her phone to call the police, a thought occurred to her. Rather than calling she made a quick Internet search. After thumbing through a few results, she left the apartment behind and headed for the station.
Homura didn't know exactly where she was going, but she knew the city well enough by then to guess. The train let her off at a station far uptown. Here the buildings were smaller and much more sparse. As she grew closer to the river they petered out and gave way to long fields of grass and trees, their silhouettes wild and foreign beneath the summer darkness. It took Homura some time to realize that they were in fact cherry trees; having shed their petals during the blooming season, their branches were now laden by dark green leaves.
The grove opened up and swallowed her in a living darkness. As she walked she discovered a narrow path that extended along the water, flanked on either side by aging cherry trees. A row of wooden benches split the path in half, nearly hidden beneath the shadows of the branches hanging overhead. It seemed like the abandoned remains of some ancient forest temple.
Asami occupied a bench halfway down the path. She faced away from Homura towards one of the trees, as if conversing with it. A family of crickets chirped somewhere nearby. The sound of Homura's shoes crushing the dry summer grass prompted her upperclassman to turn around.
The girl's cheeks were stained by dried tears. Her face was shrouded in darkness, and for a moment her eyes appeared completely black; Homura shivered when their gazes met.
A violent wind swept abruptly through the grove, whipping up their hair and the branches above them. As Asami rose from her bench she seemed no different than the shadows of the trees convulsing nearby. Indeed it seemed like she too had been growing here for the last twenty odd years. Perhaps this was where she really belonged; maybe she had come here to return herself to some place of origin.
But Homura could not bring herself to accept this. She approached Asami and pulled her into a tight embrace. As the wind roared around them Asami wept into Homura's shoulder. She apologized again and again, but Homura said nothing, because she did not really understand why Asami was apologizing. No, it was because she did not want there to be anything to apologize for. Everything was fine now, after all. Asami was home.
Homura took the girl's hand and led them both from the grove.
Asami was listless when they returned to the apartment. Homura set her down on the bed and removed the girl's work blazer. After this she rose to go prepare the bath, and ushered Asami inside.
As they laid together that night, Homura felt Asami's form meld with hers in the darkness. Fingertips brushed across the border of her mouth as if seeking permission. Homura closed her eyes as their lips met in the wake of a soft sigh, though from whom she could not recall.
It was her first time making love, but strangely she was not afraid. Asami was gentle and guided her with a confidence that betrayed experience. But Homura let the realization slip by like the spring that was already long gone. She was no longer interested in the past, and too afraid of the future. Only in the present moment, where she could feel Asami's flesh against hers, did Homura's illusion remain intact.
She nearly cried out then, but was quickly silenced by her lover's kiss. And soon the words were lost to the summer heat.
A/N
At long last, Homura has reached Mitakihara. Establishing a proper origin story for Homura, whose background has never really been explained at all in canon, has certainly been challenging. Any thoughts and feedback are greatly appreciated.
Thanks for reading.
-Banshee
