Chapter 4: Interactions
I stand frozen in the middle of my kitchen; caught off guard by his words and still in his arms. Finally, I feel his grip around me slack, and with my hands on his chest I carefully push him away. We stare at each other, and I try to make out what he is thinking or feeling; but his face is bare. At this moment I am bewildered. I play through the school days in homeroom and Japanese class in double time, and analyze our interactions with each other. I did not think he noticed me at all. Even when I would raise my hand to answer a question or volunteer to read when no one else would, he would not look at me as he called on me. He would avert his gaze back to the text and utter my name. "This is more than I can process at the moment. I'm over thinking things," I think to myself.
"Inutaisho-sensei, it's your first year teaching, right? You don't have to worry about losing a student in your first year. I would never become weak enough to take my own life," I say sitting down at the kitchen island and grabbing another assignment to look over, "Sensei, I have a history, but that doesn't make me more vulnerable than the rest of the students," I begin as I imagine a difficult life on the streets, "I got through it and came out stronger. I'll have my moments, but I'm only human; humans have their moments. You can actually stop being worried for me all together because no matter how hard it gets I will push through."
"You're writing suggests otherwise," he says taking a seat next to me, "I read everyone of your assignments for my class, some I read a couple times, and you have a naturally engaging way with words. However, most of your work conveys much fear, pain, and sadness."
I do not have an explanation I want to give to him, so I shrug, "It's just writing. Completely imaginative."
"Am I supposed to believe that you're imagining what it feels to be desolate and panicked? Surely, you couldn't describe what it's like unless you've felt it; or even are feeling it with how vividly you explain things."
"If you focus hard enough, you can imagine many different things. If you focus beyond that you can even believe and become a part of what you're imagining," I answer and turn away from the papers in my hand to look at him. He looks to be deep in thought, so I ask, "Are you trying it out for yourself, sensei?"
His gaze meets mine. Then he says, "No, I'm deciding weather I should order a session with your therapist or chalk it up as you're just another teenage girl stuck in a daydream. Even if it is the latter, I should be concerned that, unlike the other girls in class who are writing love poems and stories about animals, you're writing about loss, hopelessness, and being afraid."
"And laugh it off," I think and allow myself to crack up. He looks at me briefly wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
"What's so funny?" he asks me narrowing eyes, "I hardly think this is a subject to be laughing about."
"Nothing! Nothing, this is just the most I have ever heard you talk. In class you hardly even read from the text; always calling on a student to read."
"I, obviously, know how to read and no longer need the practice. I wish I could say the same for some of the students who stall at simple words and keep losing their place."
"It is shameful. We're at Shikon Academy and in the top class. If some of us can't read, what does that say about our school?"
After Inutaisho-sensei finishes passing messages to me about the assignments from all of my instructors, he repacks his suitcase and stands to leave. I open the door to let him out and watch him walk down the hall to the stairwell. I watch as silver hair disappears below the steps before I walk back into my apartment and shut the door. I bring all of the papers to my desk in the corner and begin working. It is not until midnight do I finally work out the last problem on my calculus homework. I organize the papers by subject and place them in order by class before neatly stacking them at the center of my desk. My bed is more than welcoming to my tired body, but my heavy eyes remain open as the day replays in my head from start to finish. Each time I see his silver hair fade below the steps I see him back in my doorway, and the memory plays again.
On Monday I find myself dragging through the day. Both Saturday and Sunday night I barely slept, but luckily the day is easy with assignments being reviewed and turned in. By sixth period all of the sleep I missed start to catch up with me. It is not until I feel someone gently shake me awake do I realize I slept through the entire class and cleaning duties. Inutaisho-sensei stands above me with the same blank stare looking back at me. I lift my body from my desk and look out the window. The sun is setting, and my mouth drops when I glance down at my watch. 1900 hours. School has been over for the day for four hours, and I have been sleeping here since sixth period! I start to panic gathering my stuff so we can leave as soon as possible.
"What happened? I'm so sorry, sensei! You can give me detention if you want…" I frantically ramble as he watches me struggle with jamming my things into my bag.
"You fell asleep during class. After spending the first half hour watching you struggle to keep yourself awake, I decided to just let you sleep. I didn't know you would nap for that long, or sleep through the clamor of the students cleaning," he finishes as I stand up with the strap of my bag around my fingers.
"I'm so sorry."
"I wonder if you would still be asleep on your desk tomorrow during homeroom if I didn't decide to wake you up," he teases and with a smirk.
I follow him out of the classroom and to the front of the school. He holds one of the double doors open for me after stepping out himself.
"How long does it usually take for you to make it home?" he asks as I pass him.
"About forty-five minutes," I reply and he looks into the distance.
"It's getting dark out, and you still look like you're going to fall asleep," he turns his gaze back to me, "come with me. I will drive you home."
"Inutaisho-sensei, thank you, but it's alright. I can make it home safely."
"Uematsu, you might fall asleep on the train and get lost or worse. Right now you're not alert, and you're an easy target," he says sternly, "I will drive you home."
Inutaisho-sensei gives me a look that dares me to defy him, and I submit. Begrudgingly, I follow him to his car; a sleek, black Subaru Legacy with all of the bells and whistles. It is from the most recent lineup, too. He opens the passenger side door for me, and I get in. The black leather is warm against my skin as he ignites the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. I feel hidden within the cabin of his car as the windows sport limousine tints making the inside dark save for the instrument lights. He drives onto the freeway and heads west to the other side of town. The car is immaculate, so I keep my hands folded on my lap to keep from touching anything with fear of leaving even a fingerprint. I look out the window as we pass the buildings in downtown Osaka and some cars. Even though he follows the speed limit, I feel like we are driving faster than everyone else.
In about twenty minutes we pull up in front of my apartment building. I carefully take off my seatbelt, grab my bag, and reach for the handle.
"Make sure to get enough sleep tonight. I can't let a second accident slide," he says to me before my fingers can touch the handle.
I turn to him and say, "Thank you, sensei, for giving me a ride home. I hope you won't have too far until you reach your place."
"I live in the neighborhood," my jaw drops at his answer. He places two fingers beneath my chin and closes my mouth for me. Then he brushes my hair behind my ear with the same fingers. "Get some rest, Uematsu."
I step into my apartment focused on the tingling feeling his fingers left on my chin and ear. "What a strange gesture from a teacher," I muse to myself. I go about my evening routine and wonder if getting a ride home from Inutaisho-sensei was the unexpected I was to face for falling out of routine. When everything is done I put on a movie and curl up on my couch. Secretly, I defy his orders to get some rest, but then I wonder if he can see me from wherever he lives. He said he lives in this neighborhood, so self-consciously I turn off the lamp next to me to darken the room. I look out my panoramic windows at the buildings nearby, and when I see no one looking out their windows I brush off my paranoia. I shut off the T.V. and climb into my bed. I decide to just go to sleep so I can avoid an incident of falling asleep tomorrow at school.
I close the door to my locker after switching shoes and head to homeroom. "I live in the neighborhood… Get some rest, Uematsu." I think about last night and finding out we live near the other. Now his presence at my grocery store makes sense. I sit down in my desk and wait for class to start while wondering if we will cross paths more outside of school. On one side, I hope we do not because whenever we do things get… strange. I evaluate his embrace the other night; and last night when he touched my chin and brushed my hair behind my ear. He acts less like a teacher with me outside of class. If I new anyone well enough in this classroom, I would ask them if he treats them the same. On the other side, I find our interactions with each other outside of the classroom intriguing. It also gives me more chances to investigate this mysterious man and defy him without being reprimanded like a delinquent student. I smile when my mind goes over the two of us in my kitchen: glaring him down (an act that would have earned me detention), hearing him talk more than usual, and grumbling his opinion about his students.
I vaguely pay attention to the morning announcements in homeroom, try my hardest to keep focus during my first couple classes, get knocked out in P.E. by a volleyball I was not paying attention to, spend fifth period in the nurses office, and now I sit in sixth period holding an icepack to my head.
"Don't worry about cleaning duties today, class. Uematsu will be staying after to take care of it," suddenly my headache is gone and the smell of Chrome fills my nose. I look up and Inutaisho-sensei is standing before me.
"Am I in trouble for having a headache in your class?"
"For falling asleep in class yesterday. You said you would serve detention," he smirks at me and walks away.
"That's cool. Make the girl with the concussion do all the work," I exaggerate.
"You can stay tomorrow as well."
The class erupts in cheers for getting out of cleaning duty for two days straight. I let my head fall on my desk in exasperation then grumpily plop on my ice pack.
"Thanks for cleaning the class for us, Uematsu-senpai!"
"Keep up with irritating, sensei! I never want to clean again."
"Yes! Keep at it, senpai!"
They all thank me as they step out of the room. Buttering me up like toast by calling me senpai. Once they're all out I start by lifting the chairs on to the desks. Then I grab the supplies from the closet and get to work. Surprisingly, to my disappointment the class is not all that dirty. I finish after only an hour, and no commentary from the stoic teacher sitting at the desk. I put the supplies away and look around the room to see if there is anything else I can do to hang around longer. I walk to the art supplies and decide to organize them by tools and into color-wheel order. Still no small talk. Next, I straighten out the desks to make them align perfectly with the lines between the tiles. Not a single word. Then I go to the bookshelf and put the books in order by genre, subject, and author.
"Are you purposely trying to keep us here late, Uematsu?
"Finally!" I cheer to myself before retracting all emotion and turning around.
"No, sensei. I just thought, since the actual cleaning didn't take me long, I would do some extra work," I innocently bat my eyelashes.
"Very well. You are excused now, Uematsu."
"That's it?! Grrrr…." I inwardly growl my disappointment, but calmly grab my things and exit the classroom.
The next day in detention is nearly the same as yesterday, except this time I did not bother to needlessly organize the desks, art supplies, and books. First of all, I did that yesterday, and no one really messed them up. Second of all, I want to get out of here. Unfortunately, that did not go unnoticed.
"I'm surprised you are not going to touch the books. You seemed to cringe when that boy placed one in the incorrect spot."
"Well, if they're just going to mess it up again, what's the point?" I try to be nonchalant as I remember Haru-kun carelessly sticking a book about martial arts into the shelf with all fictitious works. I sling the strap of my bag over my shoulder, and force myself to not look back at the bookshelf.
"If there is nothing else you would like to do then you are excused," he says to me with a smirk.
"Thank you, sensei. I will be going now," I bite out and slowly step to the door.
"I suppose that book will have to remain in the wrong spot until someone decides to move it," he sighs and I freeze letting out a small wince.
"Suppose someone needs to read it. What if they can't find it because it's misplaced?" he is doing this on purpose.
"Tough luck," I force out and trudge to the door. I finally step through and slide the door shut.
"Suppose that book ends up staying there for the rest of the term. Maybe, for the rest of the year," I hear him say through the door, and I can't take it anymore.
I quickly slide the door open and rush back into the classroom. I nearly run to the bookshelf, which is to the left of the chalkboard behind Inutaisho-sensei's desk. I frantically look in the fiction section I created for the book Haru-kun read. I finally find it and place it back into its rightful spot. I let out a relieved sigh that is met with a light chuckle coming from the man sitting at the desk. I glare at him from the corner of my eye as he stands from his desk. He steps close enough to me where I can smell his cologne, and suddenly his fingers are running through my hair.
"Uematsu, you never cease to amuse me."
Holler!
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