"Maria?" I hear a voice from somewhere behind me.
"Yeah?" I respond, tucking my jersey into my sports bag; I see a shadow looming over me as I hover, knees halfway bent in front of the bench in the girl's locker room, when a realization comes to me. That couldn't be who I think it is. No, what could she possibly want with me?
"Do we know each other on a first-name basis, Otogawa-san?" I reply, and when I peek over my shoulder, Ms. Bob Cut is standing there behind me, hands on her hips, a thick braid of her black hair looped through a porcelain cherry-colored bead and swaying ever so slightly back and forth.
She doesn't seem to have heard me. I heard a rumor once that Otogawa was 'special'. At first, I thought that just meant she was considered to be the "quiet" type like myself, but as time moved on, it became more apparent that her mind was not built even remotely like the average person's. I had never been diagnosed with any mental disorders when I was a little girl; my doctor in elementary school was very old though, so maybe I just slipped through the cracks.
Apart from doing everything the adults told her to, including excelling in her studies, she's always followed her own designs, and doesn't care much for casual conversation except when it seems to benefit her in some way, shape or form. She likes her alone time, a bookish kind of girl who spends an hour or two in the library each day. But in spite of everything, she's not too quiet. In fact, she's quite popular, though it may just be because she's one of those good looking hafu.
"You mean to say that you don't remember me? After only a few years?" she replies with a stern, unfazed expression. As if she always knows what's going to happen next.
I'll admit that I had never really gotten a good look at Otogawa's face, but nothing really clicked for me the moment I turned around. Still, as I look at her, I can't help but feel that she's confusing me with someone else. Maybe she just wants to be friends, and this is just an elaborate popular girl thing to speedrun social boundaries: pretend like you know somebody from way back; it's an incredibly smart way to break the ice. Speaking of which, that was another thing that guaranteed her popularity: she was the local child prodigy--daughter of a rich, famous composer who works occasionally as the director for the Owari Opera City Concert Hall. The moment she was conceived, the dice seemed to fall in her favor in just about every way you could possibly think of. And that kind of person pisses me off.
"I'm sorry to say, but I don't. Is there something you need from me, Otogawa-san?"
She curls her lip before answering.
"Well, anyway, I see you walking home after school sometimes, and I figured you live on the same side of town, so I was wondering if you wanted to walk home together for once." she replies, glancing to the side and twiddling her thumbs.
Oh, is she being stalked? That must be it. I've heard that she lives on the very edge of town, towards the forest, in one of those really big houses or mansions. She joined the high school softball team only recently, so it makes sense that she would resort to befriending some poor loner for a modicum of safety until she can find someone higher up on the social ladder to accompany her.
"You live over near Moriyama street right? I'm headed in that direction." she continues.
Near Moriyama street? I live on Moriyama street, and it's the least memorable street you could find in Owari; nobody knows where Moriyama street is. Even my parents have a hard time remembering our own address. What a strange thing to say. It's almost like she doesn't want me to think that she knows where I live. But why would she care about something like that, about someone like me?
"...I'll walk you home. Let's not waste time, I have to be home for dinner soon." I say, hardly acknowledging her, though in the corner of my eye she looks overjoyed; for what reason, I don't know. As we exit the locker room she walks briskly beside me, holding what looks like a book in her arms.
"You stayed at school just to read? Practice ended over an hour ago." I mention as we pass by the gate, the GIDG, Genome Identity Gate, the gate that scans our faces as well as the proteins that float through our bloodstream, via a small chip that was inserted into our arms during middle school, following the passing of some law called the Safe Identification and Protection Act; it communicates our DNA profile to the resident AI, which is housed in a data center next to the computer labs. It automatically logs every person's attendance the moment they enter the school grounds, and when and where they exit at the end of the day.
"Yeah! I usually read at home, but the library recently got some new hardback copies in, and I couldn't resist checking them out! I have a hard time reading on a tablet or on my phone; too many distractions, so when I read I only buy physical books, and I couldn't believe my eyes! There it was, a rare copy of a book I've been looking for since I was just a little girl."
"And what book was that?" I ask half-heartedly.
"It's called 'The Sorrows of Young Werther'."
"Oh, and what is it about?" I sigh.
Thinking for a second, she smiles condescendingly, as if she's trying to think of explaining it in a way that only illiterate people can understand.
"It's about a guy who kills himself because the woman he loves is engaged to another man."
Did she really just spoil the ending like that? Well, I suppose I was never going to read it anyway. I'm hardly even interested in reading light novels, and I can't remember the last time I delved into a manga out of sheer curiosity. I'm still reading the same weekly and monthly mangas that I've been reading since I was in middle school.
"Really? Sounds pretty basic if you ask me."
"Basic? Do you mean to say boring? I guess it's an old book, but it's not boring, not at all. In fact, the writer is one of the greatest artists to have ever lived. You know, like Da Vinci, if he was a writer instead of a painter."
"Really? He's that good, is he?"
"Yeah," Otogawa affirms, her eyes lighting up with a fervor, "Those old books; they didn't have the kind of imagination back then that we have now," she says, "But the feelings, the words, they're filled with...color. You know, the sorts of details you only notice when you have a lot of time, and you live in a very small world."
"Like the world of a rich girl?" I snicker as we cross the street.
"Oh, I get it, you're trying to be smart with me aren't you?" she replies, "But I remember the days when you would come over to my house; I was the one who first taught you how to play the piano, remember? How many people do you know that have a grand piano sitting in their living room?"
There she goes. I had a feeling this would happen. The childhood friend topic would come up in conversation, and she'd use some false memory as leverage against me.
"I think you may have me mistaken for someone else, Otogawa-san. I don't recall ever having a childhood friend."
"Oh, but I remember you all too well, Abe-san." she retorts, "I know your birth date; August 15th, 2018. I know your favorite manga; Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. I know the names of your mother and father: Hikaru and Asuka. I know that your dad is a fan of French pop, and that, since you were at least eleven years old, you've had a crush on Serge Gainsbourg and you keep a picture of him in your phone case, even though he's been dead nearly three times as long as you've been alive!"
What?!? How does she know about that?!?
"I...I don't know what you're talking about!"
As we near the konbini a few blocks away from my house, I pull her to the side, and when I'm certain nobody's looking, I push her up against the wall; again, she seems unfazed, or rather, she seems to be enjoying it.
"You're not a stalker, are you? How do you know all of these things about me?" I demand, jolting her collar.
"I told you, we're childhood friends, remember? It has been quite a while though; maybe you just don't recognize me. Or maybe you have amnesia. Have you ever gotten hit really hard on the head?" she says, balling up her fist and bouncing it against my skull like she's testing a coconut.
"Hey...you've got some nerve, you know! You can't just go bonking strangers on the head like that."
"But I do know you, Marin!"
"You even came up with nickname for me? Give me a break..." I moan as we continue along the sidewalk
Our walk continues in silence for a few minutes, broken only by the occasional chatter of passersby and the distant hum of the city. I glance at Otogawa occasionally as we stroll, trying to piece together the puzzle. She sounds completely serious; it could just be that she's delusional or something, but if she's telling the truth, I can't remember a single thing about her, and I have no idea why.
"So, Otogawa-san," I start, trying to keep my voice steady, "if we were such good friends, why did we stop seeing each other? What happened?"
She stops walking and turns to face me, her expression unreadable. "In seventh grade, you switched schools, don't you remember?" she replies, "We were friends for seven long years; we even agreed to go to Kagayaki Girl's Middle School together, but one day you up and left; for what reason, I don't know. Our parents were well acquainted, but they never spoke after that either. I enrolled in a private school and then transferred here when I finished, but I thought you were gone from my life forever. I don't look like I did at the beginning of seventh grade; a lot of things have changed since then, but I get it; I don't expect you to be the same as you were back then either."
"You're lying," I say, but there's no conviction in my voice.
She looks hurt, and for a moment, I regret my bluntness. "I'm not," she whispers. "I wouldn't lie about something like that."
The silence between us is palpable, the only sound being the rhythmic tapping of our shoes against the pavement.
"If you don't believe me, then I have something to show you. It'll be living proof that I've known you, ever since that day you showed up at my house. You were five years old; you were walking through town with your parents one day and you wandered into my father's garden."
"You mean you want me to come over to your house?" I scoff at her.
"No, but I have a question for you."
Her gaze pierces my throat, preventing me from speaking. "What if I showed you a secret we shared? Something no one else knows about but us?"
Bewildered, I shake my head in response. "I don't remember any secret between us, Otogawa-san."
"That's so like you, Marin. But it's okay; if your memory's that bad, then I'm just going to have to jog it for you." she says, reaching into her bag and producing a small worn-out key. "This key," she starts, her voice steady, "opened a little box we buried under that carousel at Taiki Park. We said that one day, after you and I got married, we'd dig it up together. It's been there, waiting for us all this time."
"I'm sorry Otogawa-san, but I'm running late. I can't go anywhere with you right now."
She grabs my hand and places the key in my palm, folding my fingers over it.
"That's okay. You don't have to go anywhere with me. But if you could do me a favor, go and unlock that box, and take a look inside. I'm going to be there tonight, at 9 o'clock. If you don't show up, I won't be offended, but whether it's tomorrow, or...even if it's a year from now, I want you to go there eventually, and check what's inside. If you don't, I'll never forgive you for it...not for as long as I live."
We arrive at the corner of Moriyama street where the konbini's fluorescent glow fades into the warmth of yellow street lamps. With my back turned towards her, I wave her a tepid goodbye. My mind goes completely blank and the minute that it takes for me to traverse the distance between the corner of the street and my house compresses into a few seconds; my phone vibrates in my book bag, but I don't even have the will to check it. As I walk, the weight of the small key in my hand feels like a leaden promise, heavy with implications and unspoken words.
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