The sound of her turning the page echoed through the dining room. She smiled as she read the passage before looking up at the clock. The time told her noon, no different from the sun shooting through her balcony doors. Capitalizing, she bent her paperback toward the light. A few paragraphs passed in silence, until restlessness saw her set it down. She flipped her phone open and hovered over the contacts.
Her eyes avoided the date by some compulsion she'd never express. Instead she scrolled through the names. Listlessness marked its touch in the vacancy of her stare; in the slouching of her mouth. The words Mother and Father were all she could choose from. They reflected in her eyes from the screen blindingly bright and terribly empty. She checked her recent calls to find them both absent. It was a tired wound that she'd traced a thousand times.
Standing, she set aside her phone and moved toward a pile of boxes. Each was labeled simply. Chinaware, clothes, stacks of books, well kept empty albums. She sorted through the mess with the wary urgency of keeping busy. Her hands passed over each item as though afraid to no longer hold something. She did not hum or sing. Her skin crawled. An energy bubbled to the surface, longing and blood curdling. Her eyes remained far away.
The clock read thirty minutes past when reluctantly she settled the last plate. A sigh left her. She tried to pick up her paperback but stopped. The restlessness stirred like a creeping infection. Before she knew it she dragged her broom over the spotless floors in a whirlwind. Her hands went raw from scrubbing.
But the itch persisted.
She slipped on her shoes and yanked her keys from the hook. Her jacket gave her protest, though relented. The moments of escaping down the stairs fled her memory. Abruptly she stood in the middle of the sidewalk beyond her apartment lobby.
But the itch bit deep.
Before she could think her eyes darted along the block. The hunger within them searched the laundromats, the bright supermarket, the scattered clothing stores. A plain cafe with an unremarkable awning was the only standout. A FamilyMart sat on one corner but that was mundane of it all compelled her as though she were sampling an amusement park. A mundane task filled the hands better than air. Her feet took her to the supermarket.
The aisles were normal for early June. Crowds congested the meat section, snaking near her the further she went. Clutching her basket, she navigated through with a forceful speed that surprised her. It was impulsive, a craving. Suddenly she fought her way to the front and loaded up an unreasonable pile. As she flit between the selections her basket grew laden. It's handle dug into her arm and sent a stab of pain shooting into her shoulder. Her eyes widened incredulously looking into the items packed so dense they gave her no names.
Names weren't needed, however, for she could taste their prepackaged and prepared slog by memory. It came from the shapes of the boxes, from their familiar colors. For a moment her rationale seized control, guiding her reluctant hand to return things to the shelves. The light weight of her wallet screamed louder than the siren call of restlessness. When she returned the basket and stepped outside, it pulsated and throbbed under her skin. The budget, she thought. It always came down to the budget. To what the words on her phone permitted.
Her feet saw her huddled on a park bench overlooking the lake. The sun pounded down fanning hot air. Sweat filmed over her face until she cursed under her breath and stripped her jacket. She set it on her lap then buried her chin on her hands. A breeze off the tide buzzed against her ears, but couldn't drown the chance of hearing her thoughts. She bolted up jacket in hand and began to walk. Her steps were patient and stalling, afraid of stopping. She tied her jacket around her waist.
The trees were a faceless blur passing into one another in parallel with nameless people. She sighted an elderly couple, the rare stroller attached to a new mother, high school students crowding in posses. Each time her curiosity rose, to be beaten whimpering by the urge to witness more lest there be nothing at all when they left. It made her forehead throb. Shaking her head, she sighed and returned to the streets. Just as she departed the gate the sound of children's laughter made her blood freeze.
A decently kept playground that'd seen more days withering than entertaining hosted children in a game of tag. Her eyes tracked their parents sitting not far away engaged in conversation. Some stole glances, cautious and protective as the young ones played. Her heart twinged at something so foreign yet longed for. She met the eyes of one mother glaring in disdain; a bear bristling before it bit. Without thinking she turned and ran.
Strangers stared frightened as she bolted down the avenue, until her lungs gave out. Her legs ground to a halt and she bent over, panting for breath. The restless need pulsated and yanked up her head by the hair. She looked to find the unremarkable, domestic blue lettering of the FamilyMart from earlier. The irony might've made her laugh on another day. Reaching for her wallet she entered. The pastries section greeted her almost immediately beside the magazine rack. She moved past the bored clerk hardly older than she was and began to browse.
Several cakes were packed in clear plastic containers and sat a row up from the slices. Several were identical with vanilla frosting, lacy whip cream, and upright strawberries stripped of their tops. A few coated in chocolate stood out with bright candies for garnish. She breathed in their manufactured scent and let it bleed into her mouth. Lifting a finger, she wiggled it back and forth judging her options. Unsurprisingly, the strawberries and cream beat it's chocolate competitor six to two. She lifted it and soon slid it onto the counter like a battle trophy. A thousand yen bill she pressed next with less consideration. The clerk managed a practiced smile, worked out her change, and saw her off with it as she left.
Her dining room had grown darker when she returned. Switching on the lights, she placed the cake on the table after removing her shoes. Her jacket she unwrapped, made to throw it onto a chair, then thought better and hung it. She resumed her paperback, not looking at her purchase with consideration. The cake waited in saintly patience while she loudly turned pages. The hands of the clock ticked and the shadows of the room grew. Suddenly she earmarked a passage to slam the book down. It rang painfully in her ears and made her chest leap. She stood without looking at the cake.
She balled her hands, pacing to the kitchenette and then her refrigerator. Opening it she reached in for a tall bottle of green tea. A part of her felt sleazy to hold it, much less to have included it among her raw teas. She unscrewed the cap and drank deeply. Not a moment later she pound it onto the plastic counter. Placing her hands onto the surface, she exhaled hard and lowered her head.
The restlessness congealed and swelled making her want to jump out her skin. Somewhere within it converted to steeled resolve. Lifting her face she stared at the cake the way the doomed faced biting a bullet. A familiar sickness claimed her as she felt the weight of being the only one present. It nearly folded her composure like tossing a stone onto paper; she retrieved worn number candles from a box.
Sticking in the candles was merely rote. Lighting them came easier. Not for the first time she stared watching the number increase another year; now it told her fifteen. It reminded her there were high school textbooks to check, a student handbook to skim. She shrugged her shoulders if only for herself. They could wait. Clearing her throat, she sung, tired.
"Happy birthday, happy birthday to me…"
The cake tasted sugary, light, and cheap. Carefully she chewed with vigor to resist the silence. As usual, it rang too loud.