(5 Centimeters) cubed
By Kaj-Nrig

Chapter 2: Shopping for Sympathy

Oh, I hope you'll forgive the coarse language, but he was the type of person you just wanted to slap and ask, "Are you blind!?"

I remember the first time they came into the store. Hah! Pretty good for an old woman, no?

They picked up their drinks, came and went, and I continued on without thinking anything. After all, this store's one of the few in town, so I get a lot of students. If you believe in omens and stuff, though, I suppose you could say that I should've seen it coming.

On my way home that night, I passed by an old barn – the one you passed on your way here, actually – and was suddenly reminded of this boy I used to know when I was younger. He was a quiet, mild-mannered boy, just like the boy in the store.

We were close friends through high school, but when it came time for college, we pursued different interests; I stayed here in Tanegashima and he went to study in Kyoto. We tried to keep in touch through letters and such, but... well, this is an island. We eventually lost touch with each other.

In any case, a few days later, those two kids came back again, and they bought their drinks again. It never seemed like they were a couple or anything – the boy was always too polite – but any fool with half a brain could tell that the girl was completely infatuated with him. Why she hadn't told him by then, I'll never know, but regardless, they came and went, like they normally did, and I went home like I normally did.

That night was strange.

I passed by that same barn again, which got me thinking about my friend again. I thought about him along the way home, and I found myself wondering what had happened to him, whether he was alright, if I could find him again, little things such as that. It's one of those things you don't want to dwell on too much, you know, because there's often more harm than good that comes out of reminiscing about the past. Nostalgia has never been something I liked very much.

Nevertheless, I found myself later that night sifting through boxes that had been shabbily tossed together during my move. It's a strange thing, boxes like those. As I opened each one and browsed through their contents, I was filled with memories I hadn't even known I had forgotten; such was their nonexistence. I picked out a stapler and remembered how I had once stapled my blouse and skirt together, thinking it was a great idea at the time. I brought out a small mirror and felt the handle that had been worn smooth during college. In one of the boxes, I saw a picture of a cherry blossom tree a friend of mine had taken on a trip to Washington, D.C. during high school, and I remembered how some strange man had told me, "I've calculated it. Those things fall at five centimeters per second." For heaven's sake, I found a red paper clip and was instantly reminded of the history essay that it had bound, and the "C" I had received for it and how I had been so utterly shattered when I saw it.

They are all things whose significances are lost on you until you completely forget them and open up a box to look for something else entirely. It makes you wonder what else you had forgotten, and what little trinkets you had thrown away that were all you had to remind yourself of them.

But now I'm prattling on.

I found the yearbook, with a corner peeling off, and opened it until I found the friend I had lost. His picture was still the same as ever, yet when I looked at him this time, I felt like I saw not what he was in the picture, but what he was then, what he was in the now. I pictured a slightly graying head of hair, a face marked with creases that only served to lend more weight to his already quiet and dignified personality, and I pictured him with a gaunt and lanky body, just as it had been as a child.

I spent the next few days thinking about him. I don't know why. He seemed to occupy more and more of my time until I was no longer surprised by his presence inside my conscience.

They came to the store every now and then, and sometimes I saw them as they passed outside, but for the most part, there was nothing to indicate that their relationship had progressed any. Until one day near the end of the school season, I thought for sure that they really were just good friends.

I suppose, then, that my prediction came true. But it is still never a comforting thought when your prediction is that a girl will experience the heartache that she did.

Of course, she didn't confess her feelings to him in the store or any such thing. So how do I know? Well, there was a feeling about her the day after, when they came again to the store, a feeling of resignation or defeat. Or maybe futility. Yes, futility.

When I saw her, I thought about taking her aside and telling her what had happened to me the night before. I thought about it, but I never bothered. And after they left, I completely forgot about it. Well, at least until now. You see? Another example of what I was just talking about.

What happened the night before?

I came home, as usual, and I passed the barn, as usual, and my thoughts returned to that boy, as usual. When I opened the mailbox for my apartment, though, I realized that I had been thinking of him for a very special reason.

In the mailbox, mixed in with all the usual advertisements and bills and such, was a singularly peculiar letter, its corners slightly bent and worn down. I could have imagined him tapping it nervously on the mailbox, on his palm, on his desk. It had always been a habit of his, tapping anything against anything whenever he was nervous.

This is what the back of the envelope said:

To Takahashi Fumiko-san

That was all. But I knew, before opening it, that it had come from the very same man about whom I had been reminiscing, the very same man who had disappeared ages ago.

...no, I'm not going to tell you what it said. Even someone as old as me deserves some privacy, young 'un! Hah!

Oh, I'm just teasing you. Have a good day.

Oh, and I hope you can find whatever it is you're looking for.

Chapter 2: Shopping for Sympathy END

Notes:

Tanegashima is an island on the southernmost tip of Japan, whereas Kyoto lies more to the center of the main island of Honshu. The distance separating them is roughly 400 miles (or close to 700 kilometers).

Takahashi Fumiko – One of the most popular manga artists, creator of Ranma ½, Inu-Yasha, and Maison Ikkoku, is named Takahashi Rumiko.