Remnants of Departed Days

Walls were familiar in their layout and structure, but foreign in their decoration and feel. Gone were the photos Hazuki had known. In their place were quaint photos of the Hayashi’s in various cities and with various groups of people. Posters from events long ago were occasionally mixed in with various eclectic paintings. Plants lined the corners in areas where light collected. Mid-century western-style furniture pieces sat in the rooms in welcoming colors of brown and green. It was a pleasant house.

Hazuki eyed all of the details in quiet observation as he limped into the world he’d been ripped away from.

“I’m Arthur,” said the man.

“I’m Sayane,” said the woman.

“You’re American? You spoke English.” asked Hazuki.

“I was born in Sendai but my parents moved to San Francisco when I was seven,” said Arthur.

“I’m from Gifu, but I went to school in the Los Angeles area. We met in Seattle where we both worked after college. We decided to move back to Japan a little over a year ago,” said Sayane.

“What brought you to Inabe City?” asked Hazuki in genuine curiosity.

“Career. I work for the city’s tourism agency. They had an opening, and I was doing something similar in Tacoma back when we lived in Seattle. I took a chance, got the job, and a month later we were living here,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I sold my programming group, so now I just do what I want,” said Arthur.

Hazuki’s fingers ran along the curved armbar of a well-appointed guest chair. It was nicer than any chair that had been in that house when he lived there.

“And you wound up at this house,” he said as he observed the chair.

The two of them nodded.

“It’s a beautiful house,” said Sayane.

“It is. Thank you for taking care of it. For filling it with new life. My grandparents would have been happy to know that.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get in touch with you sooner,” she said.

Hazuki shook his head in understanding disagreement.

“You probably wouldn’t have been able to speak to me even if you knew where I was. I’m not mad at you or upset,” he said quietly.

It seemed to offer them both some measure of relief, as though they were both waiting for the stranger in their living room to burst into a fit of rage at any moment.

“We held a ritual for your grandparents when we moved in. We offered them our gratitude for building the house and promised to tend to it,” said Arthur.

Hazuki nodded a small bow in appreciation.

Cool dusk light pierced the paper of the shoji door into a nearby room. Familiar scents of cedar and oak drifted along the hall. The lacquer stain was still the same. Everything was so familiar, yet in that moment Hazuki felt as though he was visiting a set that was built to mimic his childhood. Thoughts of his grandfather’s discussion about Mujo reached Hazuki and he wondered if this is part of what his grandfather was thinking of the night they had talked.

“I can go get your stuff if you’d like,” said Sayane.

Hazuki did not know what to think, but still accepted her offer with another silent nod. Sayane left the room and he was left with Arthur.

“Would… do you want to see your old room?” asked Arthur.

Hazuki glanced at him in a vulnerable debate.

“I don’t know which one it is, and I don’t have to join you, but if you’d like to go see it you may,” Arthur replied in kind encouragement.

Hazuki didn’t reply but did accept his offer. Wooden flooring creaked beneath his uneven gate as he made his way down the hall to the room that once was his. When he reached his old door, he was surprised to find his hand trembling as it slid it open. A weight pulled inside his chest and tugged his heart down towards his stomach as he entered the place where he once resided.

What had once been his room was now a library-like office. Shelves lined the walls with novels from different languages. Figures, art pieces, geodes and other random trinkets sat on the shelves in the midst of the books. A scroll hung on the main wall. In the center of the room was a desk with a modern computer and monitor. Hazuki assumed it was Arthur’s office. He slid the door closed behind him and slowly buried his face in his hands as he let the grief return. Tears didn’t form this time, but the weight in his chest now felt as though it might collapse all of his skeleton on itself and crush him from the inside.

Breaths came slow and intentional as Hazuki tried to clear his mind. Effort was made to focus on the opportunity that he was finally able to make peace with the severed relationship he had known with his home. This room had been his but it was not anymore, and the people that now lived there were not to blame. In fact, they seemed kind and gentle, and he was gracious for the moment they had allowed.

His fingers ran along the door frame once more to memorize their sensation once more, then he exited.

Back in the main room, Sayane had returned with four relatively large boxes.

“We didn’t want to be disrespectful to you, in case you ever came back. So it’s all still here. Everything that was in your room. And these are household items that seemed like they might be of value or sentimental.”

Contents had been wrapped with care and organized in strategic groupings. Thought had clearly been applied to the packing of storage of these items, and Hazuki found himself moved as he looked within the containers. Shirts were folded and sealed. Posters had been rolled and put into tubes. Drawings and notes had been packed into envelopes. Books had been set in a group. His past life was there before him, neatly preserved and fitted into a few small packages.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he whispered.

“No, but we wanted to,” she replied.

“Please take whatever you like, but we’re happy to store any of the rest of it, if that is easier,” replied Arthur.

Hazuki didn’t speak. His shaking hands continued to gently sift through his previous existence. A single photo caught his inquisition. Trembling fingers removed it from the pile and held it up for his eyes to see.

It was a photo his grandmother had taken of him when he was a child that she had kept framed in the living room. Plum blossoms had arrived early that year, so they had made a trip to the grove to celebrate. In the photo, child Hazuki was standing amid the explosions of pink and white, squinting in the sun and smiling a semi-toothless smile. He was seven. But to his current shock, Hazuki saw something strange in the background that he had never thought to see before.

Blurry yet defined, in the background but vibrant and commanding attention, was a young woman in a pink kimono who was sitting beneath one of the trees. Hazuki felt his heart rate jump at the sight of this girl who he had not thought of for a very long time. Even within the chemical tsunami that had kept him placated for years, memories now fought within him to unearth themselves from their long slumber.

“I… I know her…” he whispered to himself.

“Sorry?” asked Sayane.

Hazuki shook his head as the long repressed memories, dreams, desires and hopes came roaring back. Cracks within the dam of his mind had snapped, and the torrent of long hidden truth was now flooding his thoughts. Tears formed in his eyes as memories of her standing alone rushed into his mind. Memories of the last night he’d ever seen her.

“I saw you… standing there alone as I walked away,” he whimpered as he looked at the photo.

Arthur and Sayane met eyes and shook their heads in silent acceptance that they would not understand.

Now the tears were fully falling again.

“I forgot about her. I forgot about her. They made me forget. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to…” he cried.

Arthur held out an arm and to his surprise, Hazuki crumbled into his embrace. In that moment, he was a child once more. Arthur did not resist, instead wrapping his arms around the boy as he wept.

“I was supposed to see her the next day. None of this was supposed to happen,” he cried.

Arthur and Sayane smartly did not speak, instead letting Hazuki cry his feelings out fully.

Moments passed and soon Hazuki had no strength left to grieve. Arthur unwrapped his arms and stepped back

“I’m sorry,” whispered Hazuki in shame.

“Do not apologize,” said Sayane.

“Can I keep this?” Hazuki asked as he held up the photo.

“Of course! It’s yours,” she replied.

He nodded then gently placed the photo in his jacket pocket.

“I should go,” he said with a sniffle.

“Can you store this a little longer?” he asked.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Even for a night?” asked Arthur.

Hazuki shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

They did not press him and accepted his rejection. Arthur removed a business card from his wallet and handed it to Hazuki, who bowed and received it in habit.

“If you ever need anything Hazuki, please call us.”

Hazuki nodded once more then limped to the door. Sayane’s hand met Arthur’s back as they watched the boy leave his old house. Down the steps he went, and this time he looked down the street for incoming cars before stepping into the lane. Soon the house had vanished behind the curve of the hill.

Tears fell once more as Hazuki limped as quickly as possible towards another familiar yet forgotten location. Taps from his cane echoed along the walls of silent homes that stood empty as they waited for their families to return. Willow trees swayed in the autumn wind. His breathing was labored as he hurried to his destination. Soon the park appeared in the distance.

Rising up from the edge of the hill and crowned by distant mountains was the park where thousands of plum trees grew. They were bright yellow now, yet Hazuki still made his way towards them with fevered intent. Branches reached out in embrace as he clacked his way into their center, moving out of muscle memory towards a specific tree.

There it was. Still the same. Still as tall as ever and as full as ever. Yet she was not there. The girl from the photo. The girl from his dreams. The girl he had always met at the plum blossom tree who had never aged or changed in the years he had known her. It was Fall, and she was not there. Fractured memories made it hard to remember when she had always arrived and when she had left. So he resigned himself to wait.

"I used to know you..." he said to her in a prayer.

Hazuki slowly sat down and came to rest on the ground beneath the tree. Time had lost meaning to him, so the concept of seasons was something that was still lost in the haze of his medicated sleepwalking existence. Even as the winds began to cool and the leaves fell to the ground, there he stayed. In the grove of trees laid a single unkempt, quiet boy. No one spoke to him. No one bothered him. Many saw but carried on with their walks.

Through it all, he stayed at that tree every day and every night. Waiting for the girl from his memories. Waiting to ask her all the questions he now had, and to tell her all the things he had meant to say in the time after their first and only date.

Weeks passed. Snow soon arrived and few visitors came to the park anymore. Yet there was Hazuki, still at the tree.

“Please. Come back to me, Naoe,” Hazuki whispered to himself as he held the photo close and zipped his tent door closed.