Flashback…
I got the call while I was walking to school in the morning. I heard the familiar ringtone, and slipped my bag off my shoulders, to try to find my cell. On the last ring, I flipped it open, without checking the caller id, "Hello?"
"Kagome," I heard my mother say, and immediately noticed the distress lacing her tone. I paused on the sidewalk, holding the phone close to my ear as the anxiety started to kick in.
"Mom, what's wrong?"
"Kagome, it's your dad." Her voice was barely a whisper when she said, "He's dead."
I couldn't hear anything but the blood pounding in my ears. I couldn't form a coherent thought, other than the futility of the simple "no." I felt like I was outside of my body, and this was happening to someone else. "How—"
"There was an accident. He was on his way to work and someone ran a red light." She sounded lifeless, like she was reciting what the police had told her, and relaying it to me. There was silence on the other end of the line.
Without my noticing, the tears began pouring down my face and I was crying. "Come home, Kagome. Get your brother and come home. We need to tell him." Her words barely registered. "I called the school. He's waiting for you." I mumbled a reply and hung up the phone. I don't know how long I stood there, but I managed to snap out of my trance, wipe the tears from my face, and walk to my brother's classroom.
I waited outside as the door opened, and turned to see his teacher standing there, looking at me with pity. She knew. I couldn't meet her gaze without crying, so I looked down to see Sota walking forward. I held out my hand and he took it. I thought about his little hand, warm in mine, and my heart nearly broke. I allowed the feeling of his fingers clasped in mine to console me before I had to tell my brother that his father was gone.
"Why are we leaving school?" Sota asked, peering up at me. I couldn't even look at him.
"Mom needs us home," I told him. I hoped he wouldn't keep asking questions, but he was persistent.
"Why?" I looked down, and when his soft brown eyes met mine, I saw the joy in his young face. But there was also curiosity, and my resolve was weakening. I felt a tear falling down my face and quickly swiped it away before he could see. I took a deep breath to calm myself.
"But Haru and I were supposed to play chopsticks at lunch," he said, pleadingly. He was frowning, with his lower lip pouting out, and I almost smiled. It was the same expression he used with mom when he wanted something.
"Tomorrow Sota," I squeezed his hand gently. "Let's get home." He quieted, and we walked the rest of the way in silence.
When we got home, Sota let go of my hand and ran the rest of the way to the house, disappearing through the door. As I approached, I felt my chest tightening and it grew harder to breathe. I stepped through the threshold and heard Sota yell, "Mom, we're home!"
Our mother was sitting at the table. The phone was next to her coffee cup, the contents long since cooled. She was sitting erect in the chair, hands folded in her lap, and staring out the window with a vacant look in her eyes. My brother ran up to the her, vying for her attention. When she didn't glance down, I saw the smile fall from his face, "Mom?" he asked. Finally, she met his eyes and he stepped back from the table, worry crossing his features. "Kagome, what's wrong with mom?" he asked, looking to me. I tried to swallow past the dryness in my throat, but I still couldn't speak. Sota started to panic and glanced back and forth between us with wide eyes. I looked to my mother, but she was completely numb.
Taking a deep breath, I slipped my bag off my shoulders and walked to the kitchen table. "Sit down, Sota." He did. I sat next to my mother and placed my hand over hers, which seemed to bring her back. She blinked, looking at me, then at Sota, who was wringing his hands in his lap. She reached forward, grasping one of his hands, and turned the one I was holding over so she could squeeze my hand, too.
She looked at me with an almost apologetic look, then she turned to Sota. "Son, there's something you need to know." Sota sat quietly. His lower lip quivered as he tried to be brave. "Your sister already knows. Sota, I'm sorry, but your father—he's gone." I squeezed my mother's hand, trying to give her what little comfort I could offer. She kept staring at Sota, trying to gauge his reaction. He looked from her to me, not quite understanding.
"Where did he go?" he asked.
"There was an accident, and your father was rushed to the hospital, but he never made it. He died in the ambulance. He's dead, Sota." The dam broke, and the tears flowed free. I tightened my grip on my mother's hand and I placed my free one over my eyes.
"No!" Sota ripped his hand free and ran upstairs to his room. We heard him slam the door, and we looked at each other. Neither one of us strong enough to bear the loss alone. We stayed at the table for a long time, our hands still clasped and both suffering through the misery and pain.
Later that night, I was sitting in my room pondering the last few hours. After Sota left the kitchen and my mom and I cried ourselves to exhaustion, we both made our way to our rooms, without another word. There wasn't anything to say. I found myself wondering if we had done the right thing, telling Sota. But what is the right way to tell your brother that his father is gone?
There isn't one.
Suddenly, I heard loud noises coming from Sota's room. I went into the hall and gasped when I heard something clang against the opposite side of the door. I walked in to see Sota furiously throwing his toys from his toy chest across the room. "Sota, stop," I said, raising my arm to protect my face. But he wouldn't listen. I wasn't even sure he heard me.
I grabbed him from behind, wrapping my arms around his small torso and trapping his hands at his sides. He struggled against me until all the fight seeped out of him and he went limp in my arms. We both sunk to the floor and I held him until his tears dried and he fell asleep from exhaustion. I tucked him into bed and turned off his light. I shut his door quietly, and made my way back to my room, crawling under the sheets and pulling them up to my chin. It took me hours to fall asleep and even then, I was restless.
In my dreams, I came home and saw my dad in the kitchen, sitting at the table with mom and Sota, his head bent over his plate. I stood, staring in disbelief thinking he's here. Before I could move on my own, my father turned toward me, waving me over with his chopsticks. His beautiful smile brightening his face. I sat down and began to eat, the familiarity of the situation soothing me as I ate contentedly. My happiness was unparalleled, but the brightness of the moment was soon snuffed by what happened next.
I heard his chopsticks clatter onto his plate. Looking up, I noticed my father's hands had started to fade. They were slowly disappearing, and then his arms started to go, then his torso. Not again, I thought. I couldn't lose him again. I jumped from my seat, grasping for him and failing, as my hands went through thin air. "Dad!" I screamed. But he didn't seem to hear me. He just kept smiling, his deep brown eyes, which reminded me so much of Sota's, kept gazing at me like all was right in the world. And then he was gone.
I woke in a cold sweat and looked at the bedside clock, 5:30AM. I rolled over and knew I wouldn't be sleeping any more tonight. At some point, I felt Sota crawl into the bed. He snuggled close and I smoothed his hair back. I spent the night running my fingers though his hair. At least one of us would sleep tonight.
When my alarm went off at 6:30AM, I carried Sota to his own bed. Mom would probably let him stay home today, but if I stayed in this house any longer, I'd go crazy.
School went by in a blur, and at the end of the day I was leaving the parking lot—my arms full of books, thinking that the more homework I had, the busier I'd be—when my foot suddenly slipped on the curb and I fell face first onto the asphalt. My books were strewn in front of me and my knee scraped against the ground. I hissed at the sting and lifted myself to a sitting position on the ground. I turned at the sound of laughter. A group of kids to my right were laughing and pointing at me. "Forget how to walk?" one of them sneered.
I ignored them, stretching my leg out in front of me and inspecting my knee. There was a pretty big gash. I was going to need disinfectant and a bandage. I contemplated if it was okay to head home, or if I should go back into the school and head into the nurse's office. Before I could decide, I felt a pair of arms wrap around me, and then I was lifted up and placed on my feet. I turned to stare into an amber gaze. "You," I said, dumbfounded. I didn't know the boy in front of me. We never met before, but I had seen him around the school. I didn't even know his name.
He didn't speak, but I heard one of the kids mutter, "Inuyasha," and he turned to glare at them—their laughter stopping immediately. Inuyasha bent down to retrieve my things, but he didn't hand them to me. Instead, he slipped an arm around my shoulders and steered me out of the parking lot. He hugged me close and I could only walk beside him, trying my best not to stare.
We didn't go far. He walked me to the corner bus stop, and placed my books on the bench. "Sit down." He said, nodding towards the seat. I blinked once, uncomprehending. He frowned, "I need to look at your knee, sit." I complied.
He kneeled, and inspected the gash on my knee. It had continued bleeding as we walked and looked worse than before. He raised a tentative hand and lightly brushed my skin and I cringed at the sting. He took out a bottle of water from his bag, and wet a piece of cloth from his pocket, lightly dabbing the cut until it was clean. I noted how gentle he was, and soon, I barely felt the light pressure. When he was done, it looked a lot better.
"Feel better?" he asked, softly. He peered up at me, still kneeling on the ground.
"Much, thank you." I said, awkwardly swinging my legs back and forth.
He smirked a little, before grabbing my books again, "Which way to your house?" he asked.
I pointed, "That way." He waited for me to stand and we continued walking. Neither of us said anything, but I kept stealing glances at him from the corner of my eye. He stared straight ahead, and I was still too stunned to speak.
When we got to my front stoop, he handed my books back to me. I took them, noticing how much heavier they felt in my arms. I looked up at him and finally found my voice.
"Thank you for today," I said, sincerely.
"Don't worry about it," he replied, and stuffed his hands in his pockets before turning to walk away.
"Wait," I called after him. He glanced back at me. "Why—" I didn't know how I was supposed to end that question. This whole situation had been strange and completely mystifying. Why did he help me? Why did he walk me home? Though his actions left me puzzled, I couldn't ignore the way my heart had raced when, he put his arm around my shoulder. I waited for him to answer.
A slight frown appeared on his face, but the next words out of his mouth left me speechless. "Goodnight Kagome."
As I watched him retreat, I had only one thought. He knew my name.
I didn't sleep again that night, but it had less to do with the melancholy atmosphere in the house, than it did with my encounter with Inuyasha.