Chapter 2: Words Spoken In Anger

"You'll understand one of these days."

This statement is both undeniably true and completely useless for a kid. A desire for instant gratification is one of the foremost vices of the young, but wanting to be able to act on the advice one has been given in the moment is a legitimate desire. Equally legitimate is the frustration kids feel with adults over being seen as kids who can't understand what they're told; not all kids who disagree with adults feel this way merely because they don't let them do the things they want.

Then again, with age often comes wisdom, and it is at times easier to be dispassionate looking back on your experiences than it is when you're still experiencing them. So perhaps adults who say that are often correct, but I can't help but wonder if they could say things that would make sense to children while they're still young. Or perhaps adults are, while older and wiser, just as human as the kids are.

I do have many things I would like to say to my younger self; to tell myself to have better habits, to not make the mistakes I did, and to recognize good advice when I hear it. It's partly out of a regret over my decisions and attitudes back then, and partly out of a desire to not have to live with the consequences. But I also realize my mistakes defined me to an extent, and as painful as remembering them often is, forgetting them would mean also forgetting the lessons that came with them.

The next part of my story is the one that is most difficult for me to tell; only Grandma, Saori and a handful of other people have heard it. But it is one of the most defining moments of my life, and as much as I wish it had never happened, I will always remember it and live by the wisdom purchased at such a painful price.

One day after class in fourth grade, within a year of meeting Saori, I got my report card back, and perused it while sitting at my desk. I saw the same results as always- relatively good grades, but also comments that I, the student in question, was "not living up to her full potential".

"How did you do, Mako?" Saori said as she walked over, and we showed each other our report cards. "Better than I did, I guess. It's hard for me to get good grades, and I feel as though I have to work hard all the time to even get acceptable results." Her gaze then fell on the comment about my not putting in my full effort. "But isn't it worth finding out just how well you can do at school?"

"Worth all the trouble it would be?" I said, prompting Saori to sigh in exasperation.

"Well, it's kind of like eating your vegetables," Saori said. "You may not like it, but it's good for you, even if you have to take the grown-ups' word for it."

"Maybe," I said. "But to use your metaphor, do you always have to clean your plate? You do have to try, but do you have to put in your full effort?"

"I'm just saying... like I said earlier, you get out of it what you put into it, you know?" Saori said.

I couldn't think of anything to say in response to that, so I simply looked at her with a skeptical stare. As we both recognized that we were at an impasse, the conversation dried up until Saori restarted it by bringing up something that was a frivolous conversation subject, but an effective diversion.

From what I've heard, most children approach school with at least a measure of reluctance. Even those who enjoy it have days when they don't want to go. For me, the worst part was how rigid and inflexible it was. It always began early in the morning, forcing me out of bed, at the same times on the same days of the week every week. You had to stay for the entire duration, and put in at least a reasonable degree of participation; clearly I wasn't the only student who thought it might be a good time to sleep, and the teachers were no less aware of people like me thinking this.

People took everything so seriously. If you were a few moments past the bell, you were counted as tardy. You had to wear the same uniform to school every day. The students were graded and ranked on their performance. A single number, seemingly arbitrarily given, was considered either a mark of good or bad performance and was, by various people's standards, either acceptable or unacceptable. At my age, it was difficult to see how useful what I learned was.

So I had to wonder, what was the point in doing well and adhering to these guidelines? I found that most of the kids who valued doing well were parroting what the adults- the teachers and their parents- told them when they were asked about why they did what they did. Saori, who wasn't particularly fond of or good at studying, had once given a more honest answer- "It's a hassle, you know, but you've got to do it, and you might as well do as well as possible, right?"

I actually took that to heart, to an extent. I went with the flow, did my homework, and studied enough so that I could pass without being accused of shirking my responsibilities. Doing so was troublesome, especially forcing myself awake in the mornings after my mom dragged me out of bed, but for the most part, not as much as the consequences of not doing it. For some time, I thought this was good enough, and if I did everything I was asked, I would be able to get by without much fuss. As long as I was faced with nagging and other consequences, slacking off was not the path of least resistance.

But it turned out that those close to me had higher expectations than I did, and nothing less than my best would satisfy them.

At breakfast the morning after I got my report card, Mom and I were sitting at the table, eating, when the conversation shifted to my performance in school.

"Mako, your teachers say that you aren't realizing your full academic potential," Mom said.

"Isn't how I'm doing good enough? I'm passing, aren't I?" I said.

My question seemed innocent enough at the time. The school had its own set of standards, so wasn't it good enough to meet them without going for a self-imposed and more difficult to achieve goal? But my ignorance of the bigger picture struck a nerve with Mom, almost like a traveler to a new land asking a native just who the land's guardian deity was and why he was so important did.

"You're not doing as well as you could be," Mom said, anger seeping into her voice. "You would easily be at the top of the class if you'd just put some effort in!"

I couldn't help but take that personally, and reflect on the negative interpretation of that suggestion. So Mom perceived me as lazy, right? Her words certainly seemed to suggest this

"Easy for you to say, Mom!" I fired back. "You're not the one who has to drag yourself out of bed every day, study all day and do homework once you get home!"

At this point, the gloves were off, and this had devolved from what might be described a seemingly civilized verbal boxing match to an ugly brawl that included kicking, biting and blows below the belt. The argument had turned personal and utterly emotional, and we were now yelling at each other in our rage.

"It's for your own good, young lady!" Mom shouted. "Believe me, things only get harder from here on out, and you won't be prepared for them if you can't even get up in the morning and go to school on time!"

"Well, if it's so darn important that I get to school on time, I'd better get going then, right!?" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I then darted off as soon as I finished, having had enough of what my mom was saying.

I ran out of the house, not looking back, as Mom called out to me. In my haste, I left half my breakfast on the table, and only barely remembered to pick up my bag as I dashed by the door. If I hadn't been in my uniform at the moment, I might not have remembered to change. I never liked school, but it seemed, at this moment, to be a place where I could go to get away from my parents, much like a sailor diving overboard to escape a burning ship.

I seethed with anger as the argument replayed in my head. Wasn't anything I did good enough for Mom? Would she ever be satisfied with how I did? Would nothing short of working myself to exhaustion for academic perfection be satisfactory? In my mind, every time I jumped over the bar, it raised, and every time I fell short, I was criticized. There seemed to be nothing wrong with keeping it low enough that I could comfortably jump over it without putting in my full effort, especially when excelling seemed to increase expectations without increasing the rewards.

Of course, this all came from the foolish shortsightedness of a child. As I grew older, I began to see the value in being able to reach to great heights, and began to develop the patience to tolerate what I disliked as long as it was for my own good. In time, I would come to admit that my parents had a point and regret what I said, as well as the way I said it.

But I would never get the chance to say any of that to my parents. Little did I know, as I ran out of the house that morning, that it would be the last time I saw them alive.

Omake

I sat at the kitchen table, taking a deep breath, after Mako had stormed out of the house, unwilling to continue arguing with me any longer.

"Dear?" my husband said after I had calmed down for a few minutes, evidently having overheard the argument. "I think you were a little hard on Mako."

"I'm not trying to be mean," I said. "You know that Mako's smarter than both of us. She just needs the motivation to succeed when she heads off to middle school at sea in a few years. I just… I know I didn't do a very good job of communicating that. I lost my temper and took it personally."

"To be fair, so did she," my husband said. I let off a bitter chuckle. It was rather humiliating to be compared to a child, and I suspect my husband, who had a gift for being snarky when he felt like it, knew this. "You should talk with Mako when she gets home. By then, you and she will have calmed down."

"I know," I said. "I'm just worried I won't be able to find the words to say to her, to tell her I'm sorry while also convincing her to apply herself. I've always been this way, haven't I?"

"You remind me of my mother in that regard," my husband said. "The two of you have short tempers and difficulty with expressing yourselves to others, but limitless compassion towards the ones you love."

I then remembered the time I went before Hisako-san to ask for her son's hand in marriage. She had, after all her demanding to know that I would be good enough for her son, expressed a high standard for her son's happiness, which she said, in the end, that I had met. Praise that is not given out easily is among the most meaningful, and it was in my nature to set high standards for others that I believed they could meet.

"That's why Mother took a liking to you, you know," my husband continued. "And that's why I think you'll ultimately find a way to get through to Mako."

And now, for the sake of Hisako-san's faith in me, as well as for my daughter and her granddaughter, I was determined to find a better way to help Mako live up to her potential. I wanted to let her know that we thought she could do better, and that she had it in her to make the right decisions and live up to her potential, which would be its own reward.

"Thank you, dear," I said. "Shall we be going, then?"

We got into our car and left home, never to return again.

Author's Note

Arisa Le Creuset: Thank you for the review.

If you're familiar with Mako's backstory, you know what happens next, and this was largely to illustrate her general perspective on life and schoolwork at the time (It's not hard to imagine Mako slacking off), as well as her emotional state at the time of the argument. I decided to approximate when it happened, since the loss of her parents is only indicated as having taken place while Mako was in elementary school.

Saori often is the one who tries to get Maho to try harder, especially when she mentions that her grandmother will be mad if she gets held back. It's thus possible, based on the fact that Saori has to go to Mako for help in studying for a radio license, that she's not academically gifted, although she certainly seems to try harder than Mako (which admittedly isn't saying much).

Mako's mother was, according to Saori, quite like her mother-in-law, Mako's grandmother. I thus interpret that as her caring for Mako but being temperamental, which most likely caused the argument, along with Mako being less than fully motivated in spite of her intelligence.