The Worst Reality

The new year began like the previous seven—lonely. Just as the orbs of memories inside the canoe began to file chronologically, we had hit a rock and fractured the hull. The lava started to flood the flotsam and we were sinking. For the rest of winter break, I tried to keep my head up high.

There was still a chance. A chance that was there until it came true or went. My coma lasted for four weeks; I knew no final verdict could be made until then. I hoped she'd wake up sooner and feared if it could be later. It was difficult for me to remain optimistic because my beleaguered mind had gone to a familiarly dark place.

I found myself in a web of fictional realities consisting of what ifs.

What if she didn't wake up?

What if she did, but was paralyzed?

What if she did, but didn't...

I always purged those realities, but the last one could never fully leave me.

When my final semester of high school started in mid-January, Hara did his best to keep me distracted by playing soccer or just talking with me. The time I spent with him was the highlight of my days, though I felt bad for being a lousy upperclassman. In class, I tortured myself by drawing realities where I spent middle and high school with her, just like elementary. My notebook quickly filled with page-wide sketches of presenting projects in class, working on a lab report, and even racing one another on track.

Alone, whether walking to or from school or in my bedroom, I reminisced about our time together. I was slowly starting to visualize a place to store all the orbs of memories. It wasn't an orchard field, but something I'd seen many times in my life before. There, in a pink room with a vinyl playing, I replayed my best memories: All the peer outings I went on with her. Could those be considered dates? It would depend on her feelings, which I was still determined to confirm. Was it weird to personally consider them as dates? If so, I did anyway.

I first believed I'd never enjoy the mandatory peer outing system, because I wasn't fond of being forced to do things with others. But in five months, they were becoming the catalysts to my content life. However, that wasn't enough time. Five months of gradually increasing happiness against six years of depression, not even my life before could challenge that.

My peer outings for January were on the twentieth and thirtieth with different orphans. It wasn't enjoyable, but I did find some semblance of fun when getting to know who I was with. The city's ground was freshly white and the skies were perpetually gray.

I visited her a few times but couldn't stay very long as she wasn't awake. The purpose of my visits was simply to leave a drawing by her bed; torture for one could transform into a gift for another. I could only gaze at her breath pressing against the oxygen mask and disappearing.
Don't get lost in your sanctuary.

After an eternity—or to most people, one month—after her accident, it was the start of February. During lunch, Hara gave me a bag of fruit gummies from a vending machine. I tore open the packet and blindly poured one onto my palm. I was surrounded by it, by her.

How could a common food be so connected to one specific person? I ate the apple gummy and looked out towards the field. My mind contemplated and debated with itself, until it finally agreed to take the next step.

I'm goin' to visit her today.

I didn't bring with me a new drawing this time, nor did I go for a conventional gift like balloons or flowers. When I entered the hospital and Doctor Itō led me to Ringomori's room, I placed a certain yellow apple on a metal trolley next to her bed.

There she laid. Her resting face was unchanged from the numerous other times I visited her, but I could only be reminded of the time I saw it for the first time in a different prefecture. Her long eyelashes didn't flutter to the air of the vents above, unable to allow her to see the apple of her eye. Her pursed lips softly exhaled, the same lips that spoke of her passions and desires but yet to receive a taste of passion themselves.

Before leaving, I looked at the apple I'd left for her, wondering if she'd ever consume it. No matter how many apples she had, she just couldn't keep the nest of doctors away from her. I left without saying a word; I'd save them for when she was awake.

I did my duties for the day and went to bed.

Four days later, while I was on the bus heading back to the orphanage, I received a call from Doctor Itō. She told me it had happened on the day that I visited: Ringomori had woken up.

The next stop wasn't my original stepping off point, but I leaped out anyways and bolted like an Olympian to the hospital. Air barely had a chance to enter my lungs by the time it was exhaled. The weight of my schoolbag and unpreparedness caused my limbs to cramp, but I forced them to move as I entered the hospital doors to the receptionist.

As I made my way to her room, I thought about what I should talk about with her.
There's the Sapporo Snow Festival happenin' soon. Valentine's Day is also comin' up. Higashimokoto Shibazakura Park looks great in the spring, but it depends on when she'll leave. Maybe—No, focus on makin' sure she's okay first.

Doctor Itō was waiting for me outside the room.

"Can I see her?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Is she okay?"

"Physically speaking, her body is fine. There's no sign of any illnesses developing, nor are there any major injuries from the accident. However, I do have to warn you about something."

I let her finish.

My eyes shifted from her to Ringomori's room and I slowly approached. There wasn't enough courage in me to enter right away so I took a small peek. She sat up on her bed eating an apple while looking out of the window. She didn't notice me, I needed to be known.

I tried to call out to her, but my throat strained before I could mutter the first kana. What Doctor Itō said left me wary. I needed to adjust as to not freak her out, from first names to last.

"Ri-Ringomori-san?" I said with a voice crack.

She turned towards me, dropping the apple to her lap. We stared into each other's eyes; I'd never seen her peaches look more relieved. A sudden smile appeared on her face, and she called out to me.

"Vieira...-san? You came...to see me?"

A tightening grip was around my heart, I needed to release it.

I pointed a finger at her and asked, "How are we [You] doin'?"

She looked down to my finger, then tilted her head to her left. Her hands cupped together over her chest.
"Did something happen to you as well?"

My heart was lacerated from my chest and thrown into a cauldron to be given a mix of emotions. She remembered me, but was using my family name. I used our inside joke, but it flew over her head. Her speech was formal and she seemed reserved again.

What Doctor Itō said before I entered the room must have been true:
"We ran a few tests during these several days she's been awake…"

Ringomori said "It has been so long...since I last saw you. I...I am very sorry that I stood you up...for the peer outing."

I was pretending the doctor was wrong.
"It's been a while, but I'm here with you now. Don't worry about the outing, it's not your fault."
I wanted to smile from relief, but it withered along with my thoughts for a future outing.

She said, "I was really looking forward...to going to Maruyama Mountain...with you."

"…and the conclusion we came to was that her memory has seemingly regressed."

I became blind, I became deaf, I became mute. My heart surely must have dropped to the floor, what else could explain the thud that just echoed in the room? Ah, it was my schoolbag.

I was stupid. Stupid for not being able to see the lack of passion in her eyes. The passion that was there when I visited her during her cold, or when we drew and baked together, or when we went to Aomori together. These eyes now were ones that hadn't experienced anything together with me, the eyes of last summer.

The Ringomori before me was convinced that I knew nothing about her. The reality I wanted to purge but could never rid of had come true. I wanted to ask more questions but couldn't. No sounds existed within me.

Doctor Itō entered the room from behind me. She made my hearing return.

"Excuse us, Yoru-chan, I'm going to borrow Vieira-san outside."

"Okay, Sakura-sensei."

She practically carried me outside so I could restart my breathing with fresh air. I had regained my senses, except for my sense of coping. The doctor leaned over a metal railing and let out a deep sigh.

"When Yoru-chan woke up, I told her about the bus accident. We couldn't tell if she was unscathed in the brain and had no choice but to put her in a coma so she didn't wake up in excruciating pain."

I knew that process painfully well.

"When we asked her if she could remember anything, she said her last solid memory was the last day of school before summer break; you and her parted ways from CLARIS. That was half a year ago."

Ringomori didn't forget me entirely but had forgotten everything we did for the six months we were together. In contrast to me, she had lost less overall time, but the experiences we both lost were equal.

I felt lightheaded, weak. My vision became filled with the stars, a whole galaxy before me. I wanted to faint, but Doctor Itō didn't let me. She forcefully grabbed my shoulders and turned me around.

"Focus, Vieira-san! It's not over yet!"

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"You," she murmured. "You are living proof that the state she's currently in right now isn't permanent! How did you do it? How did you get your memories back?"

I looked up at her and wondered the same question. My thoughts were like an unfinished puzzle, I couldn't answer until I completed it. The pieces were scattered and I had to rush to put them together. The peer outings unveiled the answer.

"Proust effect," I answered.

The aroma of the apple cake in my hospital room made me remember the accident. The taste of orange chicken at the mall reminded me of my favorite food. The sound of the vinyl that revealed the ponytail girl. The atmosphere that made me the hero of Sports Day and brought me back to her old home. The combination of all my senses that brought my entire life back in Aomori.

That was the Proust effect.

While I knew the methods that could bring her memories back, I didn't know how to do it. All of my instances were purely coincidence, which may be assisted in my case, but would it work too if I told her exactly what I was trying to achieve?

Whether I deliberately told her my plan to bring her memories back or not, there was still the problem with how. I planned to experiment with very little in my arsenal.

I visited her the next day with the only proof of our trip to Maruyama Mountain: My drawings. It wasn't enough for her to remember the entire day, so I then brought the peer outing logs from the orphanage office to see if that could work. Reading to her the experience we had didn't do the trick either; if anything, it had left her more dispirited.

The day after that, I moved on to our peer outing at the mall. I showed her the Tsukki-chan raccoon pin she bought, but using what she ordered at the food court would have been better. I read the logs and surfed my memories but couldn't remember what she ate. There was nothing to show for our Sports Day together, nor for the buildup to our big birthday trip.

Aomori was my best chance. I visited her for the third consecutive day with an array of souvenirs and bags. I showed her the cardboard cases for the wreath and candles, the Hirosaki Apple Park bag with the logo, and the RONselia collaboration items we bought.

"Yes...I can indistinctly remember going there with you. We...picked Toki apples...correct? I baked them with someone, did I not?"

A premature smile appeared on my face.

"However...I do not recall who that person was? You said we stayed at a hotel together? I...I do not remember that."

I said, "We had an argument. An argument caused by my memories of our childhood together comin' back to me. I remember everything before my accident."

She stared at me.
"I'm glad you remembered...but I can't."

The effects were similar to my first involuntary memory with the car accident; short and vague. Our greatest journey together was nothing more than a dark, hazy cloud, like the storm that rained on us that day.

"So there's nothing else we [You] can remember? Maybe if we [I] take us [You] to those place, we'll [You'll] remem—"

"Sorry to interrupt you, Vieira-san, but are you being confusing on purpose?"

The inside joke we created was foreign to her. She was confused like any other outsider. I had one final ace currently up my sleeve: Her most recent drawings created during our punishment phase. I brought them in on my fourth visiting day.

This was it.

This was the one to do the trick.

This was the climax everyone would applaud for.

This...didn't change anything.

She inspected the drawings as she sat up on the hospital bed.

"I...do remember drawing these...but you said I was teaching you how to bake? Was that during this same period?"

It didn't bring back her entire memories, nor did they reawaken the passion in her eyes.

I felt close to her, I loved her. Due to our childhood, she still felt close to me, but if she had developed any feelings for me during these past several months, they were lost too.

Chagrined, she said, "I...I am wholeheartedly sorry, Vieira-san."

"You don't have to force yourself to be formal with me. You've gradually gotten more casual as we hung out—"

"I cannot just drop it on a dime!" she screamed.
Anguish was prominent on her quivering lips and fallen eyes.
"There is a reason...why I talked to you like this. I can see that...you are trying your best, but I cannot...remember anything. The events you have been speaking of...they sounded fun...they sounded pleasant...but I am unable to remember my side."

I was doing it wrong.

She reached for her phone and showed me a text message I'd sent her.

"Here, you said 'We treasure our company.' What...does that mean? I… Does that have to do with that confusing thing you have been doing? I...I."
She masked herself. Her sniffling was poorly suppressed and her hiccups still escaped her lips.
Muffling, she said, "It...probably means something special...to us, correct?"

The Ringomori Yoru in front of me was a more sensitive version from the changed girl I saw during the winter. She was demurred, she was fragile, she was scared. I'd been doing it all wrong. I wasn't helping her; I was torturing her.

I locked myself in my room after dinner, falling to my knees and gripping my hair. It was a miracle none of the strands had been torn off as I pulled it over my face and ears. Once I tired from that, I began hitting my fists on the floorboards.

What more can I do?! My second-rate Proust effects weren't enough. She's another victim of retrograde amnesia.

She was gone, reverted back to the depressive and reserved girl that I only saw as an acquaintance. I'd been ingenuous, stuck in my little and innocent bubble with her thinking it couldn't be penetrated from the outside.

I hadn't been happy in my second life until I met her again, she hadn't a reason to be happy until I returned to her life. We'd both been greedy, desiring bliss to turn around our entire lives and find some cure for our depression. All we wanted was to find guidance in our lives after losing adults who were meant to show us.

That desire and our lack of experience left us vulnerable. The memories of the girl I loved had joined her parents, orchards withered from a nuclear winter. I could try to make her signature apple cake, but if I failed to make it as perfect as hers, what else would I have left to get her back?

My fists incessantly punched the floor, no one stopped me from continuing.

I wish… I wish we could've never met again. We could've avoided all of this if we just didn't meet again. Can I forget all of her and go back to the same mundane life I had before? I wish—

I had lost my sense of hearing; white ringing replaced my thoughts inside my head. My fists couldn't feel the floorboards anymore, either I was punching a cloud or my hand had gone numb. The smell of my room and the aftertaste of dinner were both gone too. With my other senses down, I'd already gone blind.

To remember the happiest moments of my life, I needed all my senses to see the memories, but why was it that losing those senses now made me feel happy? Was this ignorance? I had neglected ignorance many times before when it was blissful, there wasn't a reason to ignore it now. Reality could never compete with imagination.

I never got to know her summary of last year, but I could make something up—a placebo. Time stayed still as I was unable to move forward. My canoe nearly tipped over an edge, but the turbid lava froze it before it could fall. I could take the leap of faith and continue down the stream myself, but I couldn't go big nor could I go home.

I gave into recidivism. A boring and monotonous cycle I hadn't used in so long was ready to resume the next morning. February the eleventh, whilst everyone was celebrating their freedoms and desires, I failed to keep my word about always visiting her at the hospital and to keep in contact with her, thinking about the possibility of restarting our relationship.

After all of my changes, I was still rotten to the core.

"I hate to say it Chamaru-kun," said Doctor Shizuko, "but you seemed to have regressed in progress. Not only is your attitude very expressionless, but I've been told by your school counselors that you've been very incurious regarding universities. Entrance exams began in January, and you don't have many days left this month."

"..."

"If you don't want to start university immediately after graduating high school, that's completely okay, but you must realize that once you turn eighteen, you'll be out of a home. If you won't dorm in university, you can get a job or use your compensation money to rent a place, but you need to think of your future now."

"..."

"Is this because of Yoru-kun's situation?"

Fighting depression wasn't as simple as climbing a ladder out of a dark pit, it was more like walking up and down hills, each one with steeper inclines.

I asked, "What was the reason Proust experimented with memories in the first place?"

Doctor Shizuko gave me an attentive stare, maybe trying to read my intentions for asking this sort of question. He stood up and crossed his arms, then sluggardly paced around the room.

He said, "He created his novels based on a question he wanted to answer: 'Who am I?' The main character is trying to ascertain his identity, and instead of completely forgetting his past and reinventing himself in the present, he embraces the fact that his past is the foundation of his future self. The voice he speaks to us with is that of someone who is lost, trying to find the end of the road by first starting from the beginning. The important thing to note is that he's never going backwards, but rather walking forward to his past. It is principal to remember that failing to move forward will keep you still."

I'd failed, not because I was going backwards in progress, but because I didn't want to move forward. My mind was stuck in place, in denial, living off ignorance in a canoe frozen in doubt. She and I were the only two ever on the canoe and one of us had fallen out, frozen along with the river.

Doctor Shizuko said, "I can see that you're floundering with this situation. Ask yourself, why are our senses attached to our memories? Why did your memories come back when they did? One of Proust's biggest questions was whether positive emotions tied to memory are stronger than time. If you have something like that, can you answer it for him? For yourself?"

"Truths like that are low-hangin' fruits, sensei."

"Indeed, but low-hanging fruits aren't the finish line, they're the start line from the bottom. Follow the branches upwards and see if there's better fruit behind the trees' thicket of rottenness."

It was just like she said.

The truth was always hidden behind a mask, a mask full of red herrings that persuaded people into believing false pretenses. I'd given up, believing the pretense that there was nothing I could do to recover the Ringomori Yoru I knew before her accident. But that belief was cursory, because on the inside, I knew I could never believe that. I had an indebtedness towards her, for all she did to bring me back.

Reverting to my old life was tiresome. For three weeks I was like that, and during each day I knew it wasn't meant for me—or rather I wasn't meant for it—anymore. My senses were lost when I gave into gilded happiness. It took me three weeks to see the truth, to forsake a gray world and resort back to times when I could see with my senses—through memories.

As I laid in bed, I explored the memory orbs inside my sanctuary in hell. I revisited many parts of my past trying to find an answer for melting this river. A dream was then conjured.

I was with her, in her room of her old home. We were both eating an apple cake that I'd finally baked to her perfection. We took a video about it, and she spoke to me.

"We [I] can't wait for us [You] to see the edits we'll [I'll] make."

This dream wasn't something we'd already experienced. It wasn't a memory. It was a premonition, something that could come true if I tried.

This was my chance to save my Buddha in hell—no, that wasn't what she was. She was similar to me, but unique to everyone else. She wasn't some cliche idiom, she deserved more.

My eyes slightly opened as the sun was still rising. I could picture her next to me.

When we experience things in the present, that's when you plant seeds into my mind. As time goes on, as I catch myself thinkin' back to those moments, I see those seeds grow into memories. The fruits are the memories we share. How could I've ever asked to forget all of that? How could I ever want to forget you, the person from my earliest memory? The person I want to be with me for my last.

From the brink of despair, elation arose. I leaped out of bed and rushed down the hall. It was only the second time I entered her room, though it could have happened sooner if I was more brazen. There were hardly any changes to the interior from what I remembered. Her Aomori souvenirs were returned to their spots by the caregivers.

I didn't pry into anything too personal and scanned the room for the devices I desired. They were found on her desk, the modern versions of the Proust effect.

She needed to see her own videos about our peer outings, about how our lives were intertwined in the several months she'd lost.

Souvenirs of Apples was nothing more than a continued hobby inherited from her mom. She documented and compiled videos for parents' sake, maybe also to immortalize her life in case she also conceded to an illness. One could say she did die and joined her parents, but I intended to bring her back to life.

I sat on her chair and opened her laptop, feeling a sour taste in my mouth for not asking permission; I'd accept any punishment she'd give if this worked. As expected, there was a passcode. I didn't know if the answer was a sequence of numbers, words, or both. As a test, I put in our birthday using numbers. It was incorrect and a pop up appeared, stating a hint would be given upon the next mistake. I intentionally got it wrong to see the hint, and a tenderhearted smile appeared.

Our favorite dessert from second grade.

My fingers moved on their own to type out the answer. I'd never seen a password like that, but maybe it was effective since only two people in the world knew the meaning behind that dessert.

Her wallpaper was of an apple orchard stretching across multiple undulating hills; this was her memory sanctuary. There were two applications on the taskbar, I opened the one that had all of her camera's video files—spanning to the very first one. She must have remembered all the ones she's made herself up to our first peer outing. It was wrong of me, but I wanted to see the videos that pulled her through her life.

I only stumbled across her by accident, curiosity killed the cat. But then again, I chose to chase every opportunity with her, satisfaction could bring it back.