A sleepy sunrise glowed over the little ward of Katsushika City, as the dew clinging to the canopy from last night's showers glinted in the yolk orange sun. Fog rolled across the quaint Naka River, masking the buildings that lay across the water. It was barely six in the morning, too early even for the songbirds. Only the whistle of the wind against the trees could be heard.
It was these kinds of mornings Monika Sehlke could never get enough of. It was the only time of the day she ever felt like she was back home in Torun, Poland. For a brief and fleeting moment the concrete alien jungles of Tokyo vanished and only the natural skyline of the Earth remained. Oh, how she missed the creek beds and forests and hillsides of the country and going exploring for hours, entranced by the beauty of the land. Playing war games with sticks and cardboard shields with her kolegas in the once-raging battlefields from decades past, under the shadows of long-abandoned scrap tanks and spent artillery shells. Fueled by the brave stories from her grandfather, once a proud member of the Polish Resistance against the Nazis through the war. The smell of Mama's gingerbread baking in the great woodfire ovens, a rich cinnamon scent that soaked deep into her clothes. It made her wonder how anyone would willingly give up an oasis like that for such a cold, unfeeling place like Tokyo where glass monstrosities twisted and leered above you and everyone was a stranger in this sterile, relentless city of the future.
From her balcony overlooking the river, Monika sipped her coffee.
It took her quite a few years to get over the family move to Japan, coming up on a decade ago. She grimaced at how she would stick her tongue out at her parents behind their back and snub them at the dinner table by not talking, only replying in yes or no terms. She didn't like the complexities of the Japanese language, which seemed to have at least a billion alternate names for just one word. She didn't have a single friend she could relate to, and all of the foreign students attended classes in Tokyo anyway. She felt so awkward at times, being the only European in a class of Asians. How some of the parents would sneak sneering looks at her when it came to get picked up from school. Her family's first apartment was so stuffy and bleak, and the parks that were scattered across the ward paled in comparison to the endless lush fields of Torun. There were many nights little Monika just sobbed to herself in her room, hugging her blankets and trying to grasp why her life would change so radically so quickly. But as her parents tried over and over to explain, there was no choice; Papa's job required it, and what Papa says goes.
As time grew on, she got the hang of things. She was confident in her Japanese but couldn't help but cringe when hearing it played back to her, it always sounded too high pitched. She did all kinds of reading on the history of the island nation, the great emperors that once ruled with iron fists to the transformation from war-ravaged land to a global cyberpunk superpower. She visited the temples, the shrines, the ruins and tried her best to adopt local customs where she knew of them (it took quite a while to get used to leaving her shoes at the door). Papa getting promoted twice in that time meant a bigger salary that moved them into an actual house, one he refurbished to have a more native motif. An academic by heart, she found herself at the libraries for hours on end trying to become better adjusted to life in Japan, from war accounts to ancient texts to droning biographies. It was there she got a nickname with the elderly librarians; Missy Honnomushi, lady bookworm.
Now, with graduation next year and university on the horizon, Monika felt somewhat at peace with her assimilation in Japan. She had no trouble ordering in the language with Sayori or whoever, she knew at least twenty different local recipes and regularly read up on national and local government news to keep in the know. She grew to deeply respect Japan and her people, a people who saw their civilization wiped out and their culture stripped just as her own nation had been during the Second World War. Monika spoke with many elders from that time and admired their stories of resilience, and 'till the day she died she would always be grateful for meeting someone like Sayori Asoka, a native, who taught her so much about dialect and pronunciations Monika never even knew about from her books. Sayori was really the first person to ever actually make her feel welcome and make her feel like a citizen.
But Poland would always be home to her. She was due to fly back this summer to visit her thirty-something member family and eagerly counted down the days to her trip. How she couldn't wait to take a swim in the lakes and touch the bricks and wood of her home and fall back in love again with the countryside. Her mind wandered back to a phrase of endearment back home, found in the first line of her nation's anthem; Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła. Poland is not yet lost.
Finishing her coffee, Monika stepped back into her bedroom. It was elegant but fairly simple; beige yellow paint, watercolors of castles and gardens and villages along the walls and a sizable canopy bed against the corner, with velvet red drapes and matching sheets. Against the wall was a long, cherry oak dresser with about a dozen lotions, brushes and perfumes sitting on top of school papers. A six-shelf cabinet filled with books, photos and plenty of awards from competitions and conventions past. A cute metal corner desk in the corner where Monika agonized over her computer programming assignments (she barely used computers as a kid, what the hell did she know about deleting files and writing lines of code?). Against the dresser was her long-neglected viola case, a gift from her mother that was more or less a push to get her into yet another extracurricular. As if the debate club, politics club, international relations club, orchestra, college algebra and now the literature club weren't enough for her picture-perfect resume. Ribbon-style Christmas lights wrapped around the ceiling, and a large flat-screen TV hung across from her bed. A silk split-curtain hung over the bathroom door.
She stepped into the bathroom and started to undress. She took a moment to look at her figure in the wide-glass mirror, sharpened from years of outdoor activity. Being this voluptuous came with it's negatives; she absolutely could not fucking stand the stares she always got in public from every other boy and man alike, especially those mouth-breathing greasy-haired salarymen on the trains that literally ogled her before she stared them down into humiliation. For all of its technological strengths and economic progress, Monika was astonished Japan was so ass-backwards about sexual misconduct; how even prominent women in business and industry were reluctant to report serious incidents, and how the police were nefarious for scorning the victim despite overwhelming evidence, literally making up anything to side with the sinful. In a town where everyone knew each other and didn't even lock their doors at night, the street justice solution to an assailant in Torun was to get all the townsmen together and beat them until they couldn't walk; it's kind of hard to be a creep when your legs have been snapped like pencils.
Monika angled her hips to the right, checking out her curves. She ran her hand along her waist down to her leg, sliding against her smooth skin. Damn near flawless, with some nice muscle tone from her usual cardio.
'I hate these damn stretch marks.'
Hot jets of water streamed down her body, the shower panes quickly fogging up with steam. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and started to think of everything on her to-do list today; Make breakfast for Mama and Papa, send off emails to some colleges about admission offers, draft up an outline for future Literature Club projects, workout, clean house, do a little bit of studying, make her itinerary for next week…it made her head spin. She stood and let the heavy streams of water pelt her head, drowning out her worries.
After a lengthy rinse, Monika stepped out and dried off. She grabbed a robe off the rack and got dressed. She stared at her own tired self in the mirror, flecked dirt out of her eyes and sighed.
"Get to it."
…
In the kitchen, Monika had a billion things going on at once. A pan was busy cooking eggs, a pot was busy boiling potatoes, and sausages were busy frying on the skillet. A kettle was busy boiling tea, the first whistles of steam searing through. She propped open the window looking out to the garden, letting the hot air billow through. It was now full morning, and from her perch Monika could hear the eastern warblers beginning their morning chorus. The kitchen was done in traditional European tones, heavy on wood and cloth furnishings with lots of racks and cabinets with spices, foodstuffs and bottles for cooking (and drinking). Behind her was a wall piling with framed photos, photos of parents and grandparents and babies and grandbabies of the huge Sehlke family back home. Monika was in every other picture, the crowning jewel of her family. It was her grandfather who jokingly said at their going-away party before they moved to Japan, "Don't let no boys near her till she's in office, Alek. She'll have too many headaches as is when she's Prime Minister over there."
From the hallway came a burly figure, nearly six foot three with arms like tree trunks, curly red hair and burly eyebrows. A hard jawline, with an unshaved face and weary eyes. Not the kind of person you'd want to share a bus seat with, let alone meet in a dark alley after the pub.
Monika smiled and kissed Papa on the cheek. "Dzień dobry, tato. Głodny?"
Papa chuckled and patted his stomach. "Czy naprawdę musisz zapytać?"
Aleksander Sehkle was the Japanese liaison officer for Euronations International, a brokerage firm that deals with investors and high-stakes trading all over the world. Alek was one of the leading brokers for the European branch through the 90s, but his previous overseas help with expanding firm software and training employees for the impending Y2K made him an ideal fit to help manage the Tokyo firm, which was preparing to expand trading into other Asian countries. He was initially wary of the career move (he felt like a giant among ants when riding the subway), but it was his wife and primary school friend Zofia who convinced him it was a smart choice. The only sale he didn't win easily was his little sunflower and only daughter, Monika.
Monika scooped the still-steaming kielbasa skillet onto plates and set them on the round dinner table. Papa took a deep sniff of the food and sighed. "It looks amazing, dear. Thank you." Monika rolled her eyes as she poured hot tea. "Oh hush, Papa. You'd say that about anything I cook."
Papa grabbed a hot sauce bottle on the table and started to shake it. "True, but I'd hate seeing you cry so early in the morning."
She playfully slapped her dad on the shoulder. With a hearty serving of hot sauce applied, he took a fork and started to eat.
From the staircase stepped her mother, Zofia Sehlke. A slim-figured, short and polite lady with streaks of gray in her brunette hair tied in a ponytail. Her pink nightgown hung baggy over her body, tied with a robe. Zofia was a teenage rebel growing up, a Warsaw native but moved with her family to Torun to take care of a dying grandmother. Life in the countryside humbled her, and it took three tries by the smooth-talking farmboy Alek to convince her into a date she never regretted. Zofia had an 'insistent' parenting style compared to the 'live and let grow' approach by Alek; she was the one who signed up Monika for all those clubs at her first year of Yamaku, and she was the one driving her standards for high marks. Alek had tried to get her to see differently, to just let Monika's natural smarts lead her destiny, but Zofia…
"Dzień dooobry, Mamo." Monika chirped from behind, stirring in more potatoes to the pot.
Mama smiled, rubbing her eyes. "Morning, baby." She took a seat at the table adjacent to her husband and took a sip from her tea glass. "Did you sleep well?", she asked Monika.
She nodded. "Those showers were pretty rough last night."
"Oh, I know. Least the vegetables outside got some love."
Serving her own plate, Monika joined her parents. Zofia swallowed a bite and pointed her fork at her husband. "Don't forget, you have to meet with Roscoe today about the water heater." Alek nodded, stuffing his mouth.
She turned to Monika. "And you need to call back that Edinburgh counselor about your essay topics."
Monika looked dejected, stirred her eggs around. "I know, Ma."
"He's been emailing me since Friday about it, have you been returning his calls?"
A lace of annoyance rung Monika's voice. "Not really, no. I've been caught up with Literature Club stuff."
"I've been telling you since-"
"Zofia." Alek broke in, still chewing. He waved his hand in a stop motion. "She'll get to it."
A stiff silence. Monika sipped her tea.
"It's just, it's important."
Monika rolled her eyes. "I know it is, Ma. That's why I'm doing it."
Another stiff pause.
Alek tried to change gears. "How is the club? How's Sayori been? She hasn't been around in a while."
Monika rubbed her wrist. "She's been fine. She was hesitant at first, but I think her meds are really helping her through things."
Zofia got up to go to the fridge. "Gosh, that's good. She deserves some peace of mind. And to think that boy saved her like that, ugh." Zofia did the sign of the cross quickly, while she was holding a bottle of ketchup. "Heaven forbid she–"
Monika's voice broke like ice. "Mom. I know."
Alek smiled politely. "Well, if you see her, tell her we said hello. You should bring her over sometime."
Monika nodded and stood up. "I should get to work already." She grabbed her bowl and went upstairs. "Love you guys."
Zofia leaned into the fridge. "Love you, hun. Remember, Edinburgh!"
…
Back in her bedroom, Monika sat down at her desk and turned on her computer. State-of-the-art, a dual screen workhorse built with help from Kazuma and loaded with game recommendations from Sayori. The LED edges gently glowed in rainbow colors, softly against the black furnish of the desk. Technology was both fascinating and annoying to her. Monika remembered the first time her family went into the Tokyo metro to visit Papa's offices, and almost broke her neck trying to stare up at the skyscrapers. They seemed like great big castles sent here by aliens, full of so much mystery back. Her view of them soured when she realized how much suffering could go on inside. The constant work crunch, the exhaustion, the isolation from your family just to satisfy the work loads. It made her uneasy; progress to be sure, but at the expense of what? Happiness? Your soul?
Monika glanced down.
Next to her computer was an antique photo frame. Inside was perhaps her favorite photo of the Literature Club, from that night on the rooftop drinking when the fireworks went off. Pouring shots, playing card games and singing together...the night ended with a selfie, Kazuma in the center with Yuri and herself on the left and Natsuki and Sayori on the right. Sloshed out of their minds, she wondered how they were able to take such a still photo (or how they managed to escape Yamaku after sleeping off the booze on the roof without anybody noticing, but that's a story for another time).
Her finger rubbed against Kazuma and Natsuki's faces, grinning like they won the lottery.
Honestly, she couldn't be happier for those two. They were such a perfect fit; they had a chemistry that was so electric, just bouncing off of each other. Monika thought of all the trashy boyfriends her friends back home had, chased by the cops and dealing dope. Ugh, God…But those two were just the sweetest couple she'd ever met. Natsuki kept Kazuma sharp and on his toes while Kazuma always found a way to break through her tough-girl front, either with a dumb joke or showering her with neck kisses. They were head-over-heels but never obnoxious about it, not in the clubroom at least. And, even though he was painfully dense sometimes, Kazuma was such a romantic; always holding her hand, making them lunches to share, carrying her bag between classes where they crossed paths. Natsuki gushed to her in the bathroom one time while they were doing their makeup about how he got her a deluxe collector set of her favorite manga (the Parakeet Girls?) for Christmas, and how they spent the whole night talking to each other in one of their little video games.
"You must really like him, huh?" Monika cooed, applying her eyeliner.
"He's just so, he's just, he-" Natsuki took a deep breath, closed her eyes and sighed dreamily. She put a hand to her cheek. "He's amazing."
Monika looked over at the cotton candy girl and laughed. "Sounds like someone's in loooove~".
Natsuki snapped open her eyes and glared at her president. "H-hey! Shut up! And so what?" She pointed an accusatory finger. "Let me have my crush, damn you!"
Monika shrugged. "Whatever you say…" she popped her lipstick open. "Cupcaaake~"
Natsuki pursed her lips.
She took a bite from her kielbasa bowl.
Monika couldn't be prouder of her. It's pretty easy to get a boyfriend at Yamaku, but it's pretty hard to get one that treats you like a princess among all the meatheads and redflags and losers. Unless Yuri ever caught on to her crush, she'd never date anyone here personally. Over time in the club and bonding over poems, she looked at Natsuki as like the baby sister she never had, and grew to be protective and defensive over her. While she admits she had some reservations about Kazuma early on, he's proven himself ten times over that he's a good guy and is like the missing puzzle piece for her. Monika loved to push Natsuki's buttons and get her into a fiery tailspin, just for the way her face gets all scrunchy and her ears start burning when she gets mad was just so…cute. The Natsuki of today was so different, so much more expressive and a lot more sociable than how she first got to know her, all those years ago.
It was the night of their first club meeting.
…
The moon's overcast shone down on the Yamaku student parking lot, a long winding asphalt strip against the gym building in the back of the campus. By this time most of the students had gone home, and only scattered teachers and janitors remained. Monika nodded to a janitor holding the door for her as she stepped out, in casual wear after working out in the weights room.
Monika was exuberant, and not just from the exercise; finally, new members! Well, it was just the one member, but humble beginnings always started somewhere! The meeting only lasted an hour, but Natsuki turned out to be quite the expert on manga and comics. Monika was a bit in the dark about it, but it was Sayori's topic to begin with. Monika just sat back for the most part while Sayori and Natsuki 'debated' different genres, themes and plot points. Sayori was more privy to sci-fi like Akira and Evangelion, while Natsuki ruled the world of slice-of-life and romance. By the end of it, both had found a title either would like to read.
As she got into the car, her mind was racing with ideas. What topics to cover now? Natsuki seemed like a sure bet to come back next week, and you could only go up from here.
She threw her gym bag into the backseat and got in. From Yamaku, only a twenty minute drive across the river and back home. As she pulled onto the access road and went past the bus stops, her mind was thinking back to European literature. That might be a fun one, maybe something more horror based? Old texts about vampires and mythos that once ruled medieval fairytales, and try to explain those legends with modern sciences. As she drove past the stops, a flash of pink caught her eye.
Monika frowned. That kind of looked like…
She put her car in gear and reversed back to the stop. The girl glanced up from her book at the noise of the car. Monika rolled down her passenger window.
"...Natsuki?"
The pink-haired girl looked embarrassed. She closed her book and set it on her lap. "Oh, um…hey Monika."
"What are you still doing out here? Did you miss your bus?"
"Oh, yeah haha." she laughed sheepishly. "I was studying in the library a-after the club meet and I just, um…" she threw her hands up. "Lost track of time."
Monika glanced at her radio clock. 8:12pm.
"Well, if you'd like, I can give you a ride home."
Natsuki's eyes flickered. "R-really?"
Monika pushed the unlock button. "It'd be pretty shitty if I didn't, club member number three.", she said with an earnest smile. Natsuki seemed to hesitate before she grabbed her bag and stepped off the bus bench. "Only if you're offering."
"Of course!" Monika leaned over and pushed the door open. "What are friends for?"
…
The car rolled to a stop on the street. Monika looked up at her house, done in pink tones and a picture-perfect lawn. On the patio, there was a man sitting in a rocking chair.
She couldn't explain it, but there was some kind of…energy, radiating from that patio. Like a cold breeze had blown through and sent a shiver up Monika's spine. The man barely reacted to the car pulling up, but seemed to tense up when it parked at the walk-up to the house. The man shifted in his chair and glared daggers at the car. He was burly, kind of like Papa, but Caucasian and more American-looking. A sour grapes expression, dressed in a black t-shirt, a fleece jacket and dark jeans. Messy gray hair combed back and to the side, with a bushy mustache.
Was that her dad?
"Thanks for the ride, Monika."
"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'll see you…tomorrow?"
Natsuki nodded, gripping her bookbag. She grabbed the handle to leave but paused. "What, um, what days are the club meets again?"
"Every Wednesday for now, if we ever get new members we might have more but for now just the one day."
Natsuki nodded. "And that's, uh, the same time as today?"
"Mhmm. In the seniors wing."
"Right, right…"
A pause.
"Alright, well, goodnight Monika. Thanks for the ride."
Monika waved. "Have a good night."
Natsuki exited the car. The man got up, went back inside the house and shut the door.
…
Her computer chimed. She set the picture frame back down. It was from Edinburgh, the admissions office.
She sighed. It never ends, does it?
Turning back to her keyboard, Monika started to type.