Chapter 2: Stalker Sunday
The weeks fly by pleasingly fast, and before I know it it's already June. The first term of the year is already halfway done. I pack my things into my bag as Inutaisho-sensei dismisses us, and I'm the first person out the door. With Saturdays being half days at school, I step out of the front doors with the sun directly overhead. I am in the middle of taking off my blazer as a group of girls from another third year class run up and greet their friend.
"Yuki! We missed you in class today," one of the girls says to the tall male with short red hair, "What gives?"
"I was excused for a mandatory physical examination at my doctor's office," the male nervously replies, "Sorry, sorry to have you all worried!"
"We'll forgive you if you pay for fro-yo this time!" another girl cheerfully suggests.
They depart together all gushing about their day or what flavors they are going to try at the parlor. The group triggers a memory I had suppressed to play in my head, and I force my mind to repaint those images. The play back in my head goes like this: three girls hang out on the steps at the front of the school. All wearing leather jackets and denim shorts. Two of the girls are wearing feminine biker boots as one girl is wearing stilettos. They watch as a male student throws one of the front doors open and rushes out looking irritated.
"Hey, Kyo!" I call out to him, "How did your meeting with the dean go?"
"Same shit he says to me on a different day. You got another cigarette Yumi?" he asks Yumi and, holding the one she is already smoking between two fingers on her right hand, she digs through her purse for the metal case she keeps her poison in.
"You really need to stop bumming these off of me."
"Well if Takako would finish up with the job Sakura gave her I would get my share and buy my own pack," he says as he lights up.
"Let's walk guys. Before we all get written up for the nasty habit you two can't quit," I say as I walk down the steps, "Takako, how is that assignment going?"
"I met up with the guy this morning, but he didn't have all of the money. I told him he better get it before 2100 hours, or I'll sell to the next bidder."
"How much is the next bidder offering?"
"100,000 yen."
"Hm, that's not bad… Just a little under my asking price. Find out if he has it. If he does, just sell to him instead. I'm not negotiating with people who are all talk. You either have the money, or you're a waste of my time."
I am yanked from my reverie as the door behind me opens and hits me on the back causing me to fall forward. I let go of my blazer so that I can brace my fall with my hands. I grumble a profanity, which in English would start with the letter F, as I feel someone's hands wrap around my shoulders to help me up. To my displeasure I come face to face with Inutaisho-sensei who is standing so close to me that I can make out the pattern in each of his gold irises. He lets go of my shoulders and bends down to pick up my blazer while I take a couple steps back. After shaking off what little dust got on it he jerks it in my direction.
"It's frowned upon to not be in full uniform while you're still on school property," he scolds me, "If the weather is hot then dress in the summer ensemble."
I take my blazer from him using my thumb and index finger so that I cannot accidentally touch his hand. Just then, the door opens again pushing me forward. Again. I fall once more (again!), but Inutaisho-sensei catches me in his arms.
"Sorry!" the offending student says while Inutaisho-sensei sets me up on my own feet. The student bows and walks away.
"And don't linger in front of doors," he irritably scolds me again.
I bow my apology then adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder. With one final glance at the young instructor I walk away and head for the train station. "Well, at least my mind-to-mouth filter is working," I think to myself, grateful that I did not blurt out anything snippy, "Wouldn't want another detention spending hours after school with that strange man." On the train I cannot stop replaying the recent interaction as I ride the half hour home. I wonder if no one showed him anything about personal space or keeping his hands to himself. Sure, the second time he touched me was to help me up, but even so offering his hand would suffice. Hand to hand contact is okay, but feeling his fingers through the thin cloth of my white button up shirt more than fulfilled the quota for appropriate bodily contact. I laugh to myself once my stop comes into view as the thought of pre-reformed Sakura grabs his hand and flips him over as punishment for laying a finger on her. "If I wasn't different now. I would have."
Finally in my apartment I head straight for the fridge to fix up lunch. "Hmm… only enough kale and dressing for one salad. And… oh, wait. That's all I have in here." My fridge is poorly stocked. Okay, it is not stocked. I realize I forgot to do my weekly shopping after Saturday school before coming home. I look at the front door in debate of going grocery shopping today. "I've come to far to turn back now." I check the freezer and the pantry. The nourishments I have in my apartment consist of 1 serving of kale, two spoons of dressing (yes, dressing counts), a protein bar, and 0.5L of strawberry cheesecake ice cream (in my book ice cream is a food group). I grab my wristlet and keys from my bag and turn towards the door. Just as I reach for the handle my amygdala activates the alarm that stuns me in place. "I made it home safely today. If I leave now I fall out of protocol by not staying home once I'm here until the next day. If I fall out of routine the unthinkable can happen," as if on auto-pilot, my subconscious takes hold, "Am I ready for the unthinkable? No. What's tomorrow? Sunday. Sunday is my free day, right? I can do whatever I please. Go shopping on Sunday." I square my shoulders and turn around. Carefully, I place my keys and wristlet back into my bag and step back into my "kitchen". Stiffly, I pull out the protein bar and cut it into two pieces; one being twice the size as the other. I wrap the smaller piece back in the wrapper and set it back in the pantry. I retrieve the dressing and kale then cautiously divide the leaves into two groups of equal size. I pour exactly half of the dressing over one group and put the rest away with the second group of kale. I gather my lunch and have a seat at the kitchen island. I eat robotically as I stare out the panoramic windows and set out an agenda for tomorrow. By dinnertime the heavy weight on my chest is gone. Six hours (and half a liter of ice cream) was good enough to recover from the spike of fear I felt going up my spine from earlier.
I wake up mid Sunday morning feeling much better than last night and refreshed after sleeping in. I feel particularly giddy today, so I decide to dress up with the whole shebang. I start by donning a tube-top white dress with black polka dots and a flared skirt that ends just above my knees. I pin the hair on the left side of my face back, line and wing the top lid of my eyes with black liner, and paint on red lipstick. Next, I hook in dangly earrings of three pearls in varying sizes connected by white gold segments. I step into black sandals with an 8 cm heel and grab my wristlet, keys, and sunglasses then head out the door.
I grab a smoothie for breakfast at a nearby café and sit on the patio with my white-rimmed sunglasses on. I watch the people go by and make up stories for them in my head (if one stays near me for long enough) as I pretend to read a magazine. I get so engulfed in making up lives for these strangers that I do not realize two hours pass. I take off my sunglasses and briefly scan the area. I look down at the white-gold watch on my right wrist, one of the only things I had when I moved into my apartment, and become mildly surprised at the time. 1100 hours. In somewhat of haste I put my sunglasses back on, close the magazine, and get out of my seat to place it back on the rack. I toss my empty cup into a trashcan and walk off; ignoring the feeling of someone watching me. "Perhaps they're creating a story for me, too."
To my relief I make it to the theaters in time for the movie I plan on seeing. It has been out for a while, so the viewing room I am in is empty save for three couples in the mid-section and one family who occupy the coveted back row closest to the entrance. I pick a seat near the front along the wall and wait patiently for the movie to start. I get swept off my feet as I watch an orphan boy with magical powers go on adventure after adventure; between escaping the awful place that was his home when school was not in session and plotting and conspiring with his close friends to finally taking down an evil that plagued him during the school year. It is not until credits begin rolling do I realize I have tears rolling down my face. Without a doubt, they developed when the boy had to return to bitter reality until the next school year.
I quickly wipe the tears away with my hands when the feeling of being watched pesters me once more. I move to get off the theater chair as the lights turn up, but I decide to sit there for a bit longer and reflect on the movie. Once I think everyone left I start to get up. The sound of someone moving just a couple rows behind me freezes me in motion. I prepare my keys between my fisted fingers and listen as their footsteps hastily exit the theater. I jerk around when the door shuts and scan the room before briskly making my exit.
With caution I step out of the theater looking around for anyone suspicious. Everyone seems normal so, with discretion, I leave the theater and make my way to my next destination: The Museum of Art and Science. Today, the science department has its renewable resources exhibition at center stage. A sustainable future that allows us to keep our machineries has always fascinated me, so my second to last and longest stop of the day becomes this museum. I purchase my entrance pass at the booth and walk in with bounces in my steps. Like a child at Disneyland, my eyes are wide and the corners of my lips curl up. I head straight for the renewable energy section where the wind turbines, hydro turbines, and solar panels are being exhibited. I make my rounds closely examining and reading the footnotes of each project then find myself standing before a model of a city powered solely by renewable energy encased in a glass box. The tour guide of a group pushes a button on his remote and a panel of the ceiling opens up letting the sunshine down through a window. I watch in amazement as the model comes to life with toy cars beginning to move, model buildings lighting up, and toy trains start to move on the toy railways.
"Of course, the amount of solar energy absorbed by each panel is enough to power this model town. It would take more than just solar energy to power our entire city of Osaka at 100%," the tour guide announces to his group. I linger in front of the model city longer after the tour group leaves and watch the toy cars drive around the city.
"Pretty neat, huh?" I turn to my left and see a little boy, no older than seven, standing on his toes to look closer.
"Yeah, it's really cool," I humor him, "Do you know how the cars manage to keep from crashing into each other?"
"My mom says that guardian angels keep them from hitting each other, but the big man with the clipboard says that they are programmed to turn at different points. They also have magnets in them that pushes them away form each other."
"Guardian angels, programming, and magnets, huh? You know you're a really smart kid," I swallow back tears and smile down to him.
"And you're a really pretty lady! Want to be my new babysitter?" he looks up at me with a toothless smile, "Oh, why do you look so sad?"
"I'm not sad. I'm smiling."
"So? Even if your mouth is smiling you can still feel sadness. I see it in your eyes. Is it because you're too old to be my girlfriend?"
"Hahaha! Okay, buddy. You caught me."
"See? I can make you not sad anymore. Too bad you're too old."
"Momiji! Stop bothering the young lady. We have to leave now because the place closes in ten minutes!" an older woman, possibly his mom, calls out to him.
"Bye, Miss! I hope that you find a reason to smile more!"
I wave goodbye as the little boy runs off to his mother, and they disappear down some stairs. "Ten minutes left…" I hurry down the hall so that I can see one last section before I go. The place is completely empty save for the janitor. I arrive at my target point; an exhibit on using steam vents around Mt. Fuji to supply energy to nearby towns. There have been many speculations on this proposal; both good and bad. I bend forward to take a look at eye level over the scale model of what the area would look like should this project come to life. Just as I place my hand on my knees I hear a recording of a voice talking about the exhibit just a few panels away from me.
"Hello? Is someone there?" I call out knowing full well that those recordings are motion activated. No one answers me, but I swear I can make out the shadow of someone hiding behind the wooden panel separating the sections. "This is getting beyond creepy," I think to myself. I ready my keys between my fisted fingers and hurry towards the main entrance of the museum. I listen carefully to my surroundings; looking behind myself every now and then.
Stepping into the late afternoon sun, I glance at my watch and put my sunglasses back on. It is 1700 hours, time for me to shop for groceries then head home. I board a bus back to my neighborhood and get off at the station in front of my grocery store. My hands pick up a shopping basket, and I make my way around the store collecting the things I'll need for the next few days like bags of salad, some apples, nuts, and crackers. "Almost done. Just need to grab the dressing then I can go home." I stride to the cooler with all of the organic dressings and scan the shelves for the one I want. They're out. I tentatively reach out and grab two bottles of my runner up choices (balsamic and Italian) to compare them.
"For the salad mix you are getting, I would go with the balsamic dressing," I smooth voice next to me says.
I look in the person's direction, and the smile on my face fades once my eyes fall on Inutaisho-sensei. "There he goes again. Telling me what to do and how to live my life." I defiantly put the bottle of balsamic back, gazing at him indignantly, as I turn and walk away. I reach out and grab a four pack of yogurt without stopping on my way to the checkout stands. "What was he doing in my grocery store?! He didn't even look like he was shopping!" I freak out in my mind, but remain calm on the surface as I walk the two blocks to my apartment building. The sun is setting as I open the door to my home, and it is almost completely dark out once I finish putting away the groceries and eating dinner. I fall asleep on my couch watching a foreign movie about two girls in junior high who misbehave, sell drugs, sneak out at night, and fall apart piece by piece.