Kasumi Yoshizawa 24/03
Your therapist asks you what you would wish for, if you could have anything.
You tell him you would wish for your sister to still be alive.
A silence falls at that. Your skin prickles, and you slowly become aware of another presence in the room.
It's… it's not human.
It does not speak in human tongues, its words feel like it shakes you by the bones, as if your flesh is little more than jelly. When you stop feeling disoriented, you realize it asked you a question.
"And what would you give for it?"
"Whatever it takes." You answer.
"Acceptable." It rumbles.
The therapist's office gets brighter and brighter, and when you blink the light away, it is a rainy day. Your phone says it's March fifth.
You look up from it and find your sister. You angle your umbrella so you can give her a one armed hug.
"You looked like you needed it." You tell her, when she looks up in confusion. "Today was hard, wasn't it?"
Kasumi talks about how she feels inferior to you. Why isn't her body keeping pace with yours? Why are you perfect?
Truthfully for all Sumire loves gymnastics, all of her athletic talent is learned. You are naturally athletic. You know she will outpace you one day, and want to enjoy the sensation while it's here. The biggest thing stopping Sumire from improving at gymnastics is confidence.
It's like learning to do a flip. Some people stop halfway, too afraid to commit. Sumire can do a flip, but her lack of confidence holds her back from being all she could be, and hurts her performance, which lowers her self esteem in an ugly self feeding cycle.
She tries really hard to get it exactly right too, and can not live up to her critical standards. She's not having fun.
TV says that teenagers are supposed to be moody, but you worry about Sumire's moodiness. It doesn't seem to be getting better.
"You're not confident in yourself." You try telling her. "Your body knows what you are doing, so why can't you trust it?"
"I feel like ever since I got my growth spurt, my body doesn't know what it's doing anymore."
"Your eye level has changed. Don't worry, you can adjust! I did too!"
"You just don't get it." She declares, and storms off.
The crowd is thick, and you are not fast enough to catch up to her.
You stare into the bright lights of the red car that hit her, and when you blink it away, it is a rainy day.
You look around, and your sister is not too far from you.
She still has the same thoughts in her head that eat her from the inside.
You try something a little different.
"You try too hard to get it perfect, and that hurts your performance."
"You always get it perfect." She declares, and storms off.
This time the car is blue.
You try something different.
"Are you having fun with gymnastics lately? Or does it make you miserable now? Maybe we could take a break from it?"
"You don't believe in me anymore?"
"No! Sumire, that's not what I meant! Wait! Please!"
She doesn't wait!
The car that hits her is black.
You try something different
The car that hits her is green.
The car that hits her is purple.
The car that hits her is red again.
Why does she always run?
You try something different
You try something different
You try something different
"You aren't confident enough to pull it off. The audience loves confidence in a performer, Sumire!"
"Just shut up Kasumi."
The car that hits both of you is white.
There was less of a crowd this time. You wonder if the conditions change.
You try something different
This time you take her request at face value.
You shut up.
"You don't even care." Sumire accuses you, before running away. When she survives today you are going to engrave road safety into her head.
This time, it is a green van that hits her. You stare into the lights, drained. When you blink to clear your eyes it is a rainy day.
"Let's get ramen, and talk this over."
"Don't bother." She leaves, and you can't catch her.
The car is black.
"Let's talk about this at home."
"You just don't want to deal with me."
"Sumi wait!"
The car hits both of you this time.
You try to joke.
The car is yellow.
You try to cheer her up.
It's hard to stay cheerful when you have stopped counting the many times you have seen your sister die today.
Before the road safety, you might have to get her a therapist. And go back to therapy yourself. And have a long talk with your sister in a locked room, far away from cars.
You're telling her some amalgamation of things you said in past runs, more focused on trying to smile, and preparing your body to run in subtle ways.
When she runs, you are ready.
This time, you are fast enough. You push her out of the way.
"Let's go home."
—
You're in a therapist's office, when he asks you what you would wish.
"I wish I were Kasumi." You tell him.