The Memories Our Bodies Tell [Part 1]

"I'll tell you everything that you wish to know, Mika-chan. From the beginning until the end."
Enki finally pulled back from me, sifting through her drawer of tools and pulling out an unusual tattoo instrument. She called it a sashibo, and referred to the many wooden needle tips as hari. She explained that this was the traditional Japanese way of irezumi, using the sashibo to poke tiny holes into the skin for the ink to seep into. It all sounded a bit scary, and I could tell she knew I was nervous.

Like a mother talking to her daughter, Enki asked,
"Tell me some of your favorite things, Mika-chan. Animals, hobbies, or whatever."

I removed both my blazer and shirt, fidgeting with the clasp of my bra before laying down on my stomach.
"My favorite things? I... suppose I really love dogs. I've always loved dogs since I was little, even going so far as to feed the strays in Sanya with the scraps I stole from the supermarket."

"Dogs?"
Enki giggled.
"I see, so you're a dog lover. Anything else?"

I finally unclamped my bra, allowing her to massage some bizarre-smelling oil into the skin of my back. The massage felt like heaven, and I caught myself making some strange noises as her hands kneaded my flesh.
"Ngh~ I... really love bubblegum and music~"
I said, half-moaning my words.

"Haha, I'm a music lover too! I really love Number Girl and The Pillows. Throw in some Yura Yura Teikoku and Asian Kung-fu Generation, and you've pretty much got my favorites."
Enki didn't comment on my noises, seemingly used to how her massages made her clients feel. I was grateful she concluded shortly after.

"I really love Yura Yura Teikoku too! Something about their sound puts my heart at ease when times are tough. I think their distorted, psychedelic rock has the power to block out my emotions in a crisis."
I relaxed further into the table, watching as Enki prepared her sashibo and hari needles with fresh ink.

"Okay, I think I've got a pretty good idea of what kind of person you are, Mika-chan. I'll incorporate dogs, music, and the sky into your irezumi. It'll be my best work yet, I'm sure of it."
Enki leaned over me, seemingly ready to freehand an entire portrait onto my back without using a stencil.

"The sky? I didn't mention a sky."
I responded with a quizzical tone.

"The sky because Sora means sky. It will serve as a memorial to your mother... my best friend in the entire world."
Enki firmly stuck the hari needles into my back, causing me to yelp loudly and writhe.

"Kya! Ow, ow, ow! What was that for?!"
I turned my head over my shoulder, my eyes widened in fear.

"Haha, come on, Mika-chan, seriously?! That's only the first poke. You'll have to endure at least a million more to have a full irezumi on your back."
Enki smiled devilishly, striking the wooden needles into my back even harder than before.

"A million?! N-no way! This is horrible!"
I groaned, gripping the pillow under my face tightly as I yelped a few more times.

"Relax, Mika-chan. I slip some painkillers into my water bottles. It's usually so the male clients feel tougher when I ink them. It gives them the illusion that they're naturally strong, and the pain doesn't bother them. If you want to stay conscious, I suggest you finish that bottle."
Enki relentlessly poked at my back, and in record time I chugged the remainder of the liquid in my bottle.

"Now, since you told me about you, I think it's time I tell you about your mother. Forgive me if I tear up a bit."

I nodded, already feeling the effects of the liquid drugs kick in.
"I want to know everything. I want to know what kind of woman my mother was."

* * *

"When I was fifteen, I went to school nearby. I had just transferred to Tokyo for my father's job, which meant I would have to adjust to making new friends in a new setting. It was atrocious, to say the least. Even at my old school, I favored solitude and peace, often turning to my sketchbook to avoid discussions with people my age. I'm not sure if you have similar thoughts at your age, Mika-chan, but teenagers are all so loud and obnoxious."
Enki spoke softly as she reminisced.

I nodded my head.
"I've never been to school, but whenever I saw students my age walking around, they always caused a big scene. They shouted and cursed, always trying to impress one another with a false personality that best suited their current friend group."

"That's exactly right, Mika-chan. Teenagers often adapt to their surroundings in the worst ways possible. They adopt slang into their vocabulary and change everything about themselves, down to the fluctuations in their voices, just to impress each other. Girls and boys alike change their wardrobes; some shorten their skirts while others unbutton their uniform shirts to show off designer clothes. Girls start wearing lacy panties while boys don expensive boxers on the off chance that they get to have sex with each other. Given Japan's declining birth rate, I'm sure most of them haven't experienced that pleasure even once, despite their attempts."
Enki paused for a moment, refilling the ink on her needles before continuing my irezumi.

"I hated that superficial behavior more than anything. It felt like I was surrounded by a simulation, like everyone around me was conforming to stereotypes. While the popular girls listened to Hikaru Utada, Ayumi Hamasaki, and Namie Amuro, I listened to The Pillows, Shina Ringo, and The Back Horn. It wasn't as if I hated pop or pop culture, but rather found comfort in the niche. Ah, I suppose those artists aren't exactly niche nowadays, but at the time I couldn't recall too many of my classmates actually listening to them."
Enki giggled.

"I kind of get it. Lately, I've only been able to enjoy such amazing music because of Kazuya. I'm sure even someone like him felt similarly, and now I'm experiencing that firsthand too."
I spoke against my pillow, succumbing to the feeling that the hari needles were now a bit pleasant, like a million itches being scratched all at once.

"It was around that time that I met a girl. She had bright, naturally pink hair and gorgeous yellow eyes. She reminded me of a dandelion swaying in the wind during a sunset. She had that gyaru vibe without being obnoxious about it, always accessorizing her school bag and wrists with keychains and bracelets from popular stores, and wore her skirt a few centimeters too high, often flashing people on a windy day whether she wanted to or not. Despite that carefree aura, she was the first and only person to truly befriend me when I had nobody. Her name was Umeda Sora, and she was my entire world."

"My mother... she was the exact kind of girl you hated though. Didn't you say you hated those girls who wore short skirts and listened to pop?"
I asked, very confused. I wasn't sure how somebody as alt and gloomy as Enki could ever appreciate a gyaru like my mother.

"Haha! Yeah, it's true that I hated her at first. You see, I was drawing in the courtyard on my lunch break, unaware that your mother, Sora, had just snuck off campus to meet up with some guy from another school. My favorite spot was always the edge of the school gate, and when a backpack suddenly landed on my head, and a girl leaped over me, I was furious beyond belief. She saw me sitting there, ready to yell at her, when she dropped to her knees and began apologizing. She screamed, 'I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, don't tell the faculty that I was sneaking away on my lunch!' Her eyes filled with regret. Of course, I couldn't stay mad at her. She was so hilarious on her hands and knees, begging for forgiveness like she had just committed a felony. Long story short, I forgave her, only to have the exact same scenario play out for an entire week afterward. It wasn't long before we started chatting during our encounters and I came to realize she was sneaking away to meet a boy at a nearby high school."

"So, my mother was a total rebel? I see. That must be why I have a natural urge to rebel myself."
I smiled, imagining the goofy scenario between friends play out. Thanks to the drugs in my system, my imagination ran rampant with color and vividness.

"Your mom was so annoying when she rambled, but I couldn't help putting in my two cents when she asked questions like, 'Do you think he's using me?' or, 'Do you think shaved heads are attractive?' She spoke to me like a totally normal schoolmate, and I respected her weird questions by answering honestly. Around the two-week mark, she dumped that guy she was seeing and began hanging out with me in the courtyard, often asking to see my sketches while we talked about which boys in our school we thought were the hottest. While I had a crush on Naota-kun, the quiet kid, Sora would list off a whole roster of delinquent characters in a nonstop ramble. It was comforting, honestly. I had never engaged in girl talk before, and Sora helped me feel like I was part of a real high school life."

I found myself laughing, imagining my mother chasing after a variety of bad boys just to claim that she had a tough boyfriend. Of course, I knew she was probably just a curious teenager with a high libido, but savored the idea that she could confide in Enki when things got dramatic.
"My mother sounded like quite the handful. I'm surprised you put up with her, Enki. You seem like the kind of girl who would tell her to buzz off and return to your drawings."

Enki let out a long laugh, nodding her head before wiping some blood from my back with a rag.
"To be honest, even if I did tell her to leave, she would have just kept rambling. She was just that kind of girl. She claimed me as her friend, and I was in no position to push her away. That was because... we both had been pushed away from the normal crowd ourselves. You see, I was known as the Sadako of the school; the quiet, creepy girl with long black hair who never socialized. Your mother was known as the outcast gyaru who stole people's boyfriends and only dated them to satisfy her own desires, which certainly wasn't true. Sora wasn't just a boyfriend stealer; she was a girl with standards, and it just so happened that said boyfriends were into her for her good looks and charming persona. She wasn't stealing them, but rather their hearts were being captured by her natural beauty, both inside and out."

"She sounds like a handful. I'm sure I would've thought she was a weirdo if I knew her back then."
I sighed, knowing deep down that my own mother must have been a problem child in her own way, much different from how I acted out or even how Harumi did.

"Though she may have been a weirdo, Mika-chan, she was my best friend. We started hanging out outside of school, often having sleepovers at her house on the weekends. My father was under the impression I was having study sessions with some academic genius, but all we were really doing was watching movies and sketching in her room. Her parents were away pretty often for work, so having her house as a secret base for mischief felt like a personal oasis from the pressure of society. That was... until he transferred to our school. I'm sure that if that man had never shown up, your mother would still be living. I won't do something as petty as wish I could change the past, because that would mean you would have never been born, Mika-chan, but I certainly hold a lifelong grudge against that evil man. His death was simply too merciful an outcome for what he put us through."
Enki's face turned sour in an instant, and her hands had stopped moving along my back as she gazed at the floor with a furrowed brow.

I gulped, tilting my head over my shoulder to examine her troubled expression.
"What man are you talking about, Enki?"

She snapped out of her trance, shaking her head a few times before continuing the punctures on my skin.
"Setagaya Saito... the soon-to-be successor of the Kawaguchi clan's sickly leader, Kawaguchi Harumi's bastard father... Kawaguchi Yasujiro; Yasu for short."

I felt my eyes grow wide once again. Suddenly, the punctures on my skin began to hurt again as I learned the name of Harumi's controlling father. My consciousness kicked back into overdrive as I realized the severity of what was about to come. Gulping the saliva in my mouth, I braced myself for the inevitable truth.