Finding You in the Thaw

Snow coated the rolling hills in a thin layer of sporadic white. Animals were silent. Nothing screamed sound except the cracking of frigid branches that swayed bare in the occasional gusts of early-February wind. The plum trees were dormant; gestating buds sat in waiting for their soon-to-come awakening. In the grove where thousands of them stood in waiting there was a single tent.

It was a simple tent. Blue tarp with a large white brand logo painted across its top. Four stakes at its corners. Enough room for two people. Yet within it was only one person: a solitary young man who had become quietly known as the “quiet boy” to the locals who frequented the park. Hazuki was his name, and for months now he had lived in that grove.

No one had ever called the authorities as he had never forced them to do so. Hazuki kept to himself. He never asked for money. He never harassed visitors or early-morning walkers. He never asked for money or food. He just laid at the foot of a specific tree. That is where he awoke that morning.

Zippers were undone and Hazuki peered out at the white world before him. His hair was longer now. A wool beanie from a shelter was hiding most of said hair. Matching gloves kept his hands warm. The air was crisp as Hazuki peered out from his tent like a nervous rodent scanning for threats.

After a moment Hazuki exited and stood awkwardly to stretch. Cold metal from his cane tapped into the snow as he found his balance. The snow was leftover from two days before, and the warmth of the direct sun told Hazuki that it would likely melt away throughout the day. Soon the plum blossoms would appear.

Hazuki packed his tent away into his makeshift cart then limped from his way from the tree towards the park exit. Not far away was a bus stop that could take him to a government services facility. This had become a routine for him since he had returned to Inabe City. There he could shower and receive a warm meal. Financial support and access to step houses were available, but Hazuki turned down every offer.

Antipsychotics had been recommended to him, but he was steadily tapering his dose after the repressed memories had broken through in his old home. Every once and a while he felt the chemicals of his body lurch in adjustment, and a rush of sickness would send him barrelling over. Still he wanted to continue tapering.

Showering alone was a welcome treat, and a simple bowl of rice was enough to set his stomach at ease. Hazuki had taken to journaling every day to pass the time. Forgotten memories were unearthed from his psyche and jotted down in shaky script. Much of the writing was focused on her.

Whenever Hazuki focused on her, the images were vivid but warped. He could remember her face as clear as day, but he could not remember her voice. He could remember the pattern of her pink kimono but not the sound of her laugh. Memories of the last time he saw her had restitched themselves to the fabric of his mind, but he could not recall how the met.

Still, he was sure that she existed. Or, he wanted to be sure. Years of medicated existence and social isolation had left him fractured. Things that felt certain were often not, and visions that he saw were sometimes skewed. Thus he set about scribing everything he could to help rebuild the story of who he once was and who the girl at the plum blossoms might have been.

Returning to the grove showed him his predictions were correct. Snow had turned to slush and now the formerly white plum branches were now dripping in anticipation for the upcoming flowering. Hazuki returned to his designated tree and set a tarp on the ground. Sunlight was a welcome charge so he did not immediately set to making his tent. Instead Hazuki reclined onto the tarp and focused on his mind.

As he meditated, he listened to the drops of water falling from branches around him. The occasional chirp let him know that a handful of birds had arrived. Soon the sun began to set and Hazuki decided to make his shelter for the night. By the time the sun had set, Hazuki was in his tent, bundled against the cold and eating a konbini dinner. Night came and went and he had passed another day without speaking up a single person. As he drifted to sleep, he wondered if he could even remember what his own laugh had once sounded like.

Dreams were violent most nights. Terrors from the years prior found ways to manifest themselves into whitened hands that reached from shadows and clawed at his throat. That night, his terrors were mercifully interrupted by distorted visions of her.

In his dream, it was dawn and she was part of a single enormous tree. Snow had thawed from her pale white skin and was dripping from her curves, down onto Hazuki below. Drops of water streamed down her body and pattered onto his face and chest. Both of them were asleep but in a single moment they awoke in unison.

Her body snapped and popped as it awoke. Limbs lowered her down to Hazuki as he extended his vine covered arms. A single flower bloomed in the space where his left eye was, and her hands met his.

He woke.

It was early morning. Golden sun glinted hints of warmth through the tent’s thin walls. Hazuki noticed a single figure was outside of his tent. Its silhouette was facing him as though observing his dwelling space. Fearing it might be a police officer set on removing him, or a concerned civil servant that might report him to an agency, Hazuki quickly decided it was best to leave for the morning.

He scrambled his things together and wrapped himself in a few layers of clothes before ripping open his tent flap in apology.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll go! I’ll go please just let me leave,” he pleaded without looking at his visitor as he awkwardly stood before them.

The visitor did not immediately speak. Hazuki continued to fumble with his tent and turned his back on them. His hair blew in the wind as he pulled the tent down in disassembly.

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded again.

As he spoke, his face turned to them slightly. He caught a glimpse of pink fabric. Then the visitor spoke.

“…Hazuki?… Hazuki is that you?” whimpered a heartbroken young woman.

The voice struck something in his being and Hazuki froze. It was almost so overwhelming that he nearly couldn’t turn to look at the voice. A hand reached out and touched his shoulder. Habit and terror caused him to yank away.

“Please don’t touch me!” he begged in a near-shout.

The hand recoiled in shock but did not lower.

“Hazuki, it’s me…”

Her voice. It was her. He used to know her. Slowly, Hazuki turned to face her. Doing so revealed a young woman in a pink kimono.

“Naoe?” said Hazuki as his voice trembled.

A single tear ran down her cheek as she nodded.

“It’s me. I’ve missed you,” said Naoe.

“I’ve missed you so much.”