Driving in a Leaky Boat

Kira sat straight as a pencil, or as pencil-like as one could be whilst sitting: arms pinned to her side, hands folded in her lap, back held so straight it lifted away from the car’s passenger seat.

Pressure built in her lower back and muscles kept taut excessively were beginning to chafe, and the clothes her mother had chosen out were abrasive and too airy, too light, too ridiculously feminine, but small discomforts could be endured. Their costs were miniscule compared to the replacement of an entire vehicle at an errant touch, even provided by the automotive company as it had been.

She could survive wearing a skirt for a few more hours. One upside of the Don’s surprise visit was a shiny new thought to dwell on instead of the draft between her legs.

And the salarywoman shoes.

And itchy stockings.

And the collared blouse showing off her thin neck and collarbones like branches.

Business-casual, her mother had called it. More like casually wanting to shuck my skin off.

It wasn’t enough. Already her presence had begun to affect the vehicle, and emotional fluctuation while she replayed the Don’s threats over in her mind only exacerbated the breakdown. The passenger door’s lock had already popped, followed by an inoperative turn signal through several miles of traffic. An alert pinged on the dashboard screen about oil quality until her mother silenced the noise, turning on the radio soon after. That was beginning to go too, the car having decided absorbing the data of multiple stations simultaneously was now its new, premium function.

…soaring up on an eagle’s soul! Melting down the salt crystals, scouring my blade of tears and my desire to see this warrior’s life through…

… Analysts are now calling last night’s events a Shinjuku catastrophe, and investigations are now underway to determine the source of…

… Ding-Ding-Ring-A-Ding! Drop by our lair starring the Carni-Choc King!...

… warehouse worker out of Shinjuku was brought to a medical center in critical condition Tuesday night. Reports say a wedding ring had become buried in his spinal column. A still developing story on…

… we’ll be returning after these messages from our delectable sponsors, each a gem in our hearts and a sparkle in the eyes of our producers – and in our paychecks!…

Click.

Sighing heavily, her mother switched it off, and a thick silence reigned over the car once more. Not a word had been exchanged between them since they’d left. Had Kira her study materials in hand instead of inside the trunk where the backpack bounced about, she wouldn’t have minded too much. It felt like a game between them, the silence, and the first to speak would be the loser. Only no prize was there to win. Neither mother nor child had any use for bragging rights.

Heavy traffic had brought their ride now to a standstill, because, of course, this would be the day of all days for a delay. Tickets were in the process of being written to every employee for seeing into their supervisors’ hands in apology for the lateness. Someone, somewhere, would resign from their position out of guilt for their part in kneecapping the delicate economic balance. Overtime plans were already drafted out. Always in advance, they were.

A foreign interviewer across the ocean would not be so understanding. In their hand the ticket was equal worth to a handful of colorful plastic beads. The kind a child would string together with fishing wire to make a bracelet or necklace. Kira was twenty, hoping to show off the mental faculties of one who was also twenty, at least.

Something her mother had said nagged incessantly, and it was for that reason she had not yet kicked the car door open and sprinted the rest of the way, appearances be damned.

Fortunate for you, I’d thought to build allowance into this day…

“I’d spent time the other day researching your university.”

“Oh. Did you?”

“The website is surprisingly forthcoming with that information, going so far as to give estimates from year to year. Providing data over the previous decades. Keeping trends on record. You know costs and accounting are my area of expertise.”

“The same thing I’ve done then. Any news I should be aware of in the coming semester?”

“There are numerous scholarships on offer.” Her mother lifted a hand from the wheel to brush an onyx strand of hair from her eyes. “Student aid plans. Many specifically for incoming students.”

“A handful of dollars a semester won’t cover my costs. Housing will eat up most of my savings, then food, then tuition –”

“The essay materials are easily printed. If you spent time filling them out and the applications, I would be able to send them in on your behalf. Eliminate any concern of debt –”

“I’m already on that path –”

“– and you could drop this life of crime you’ve picked up. Or if you were willing to accept my help –”

“You’ve helped enough as it is. The rest is within my ability to handle –”

Her mother’s hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly her tendons popped out. “You gave me a false estimate, Kira. I filled out that application. I set up this meeting. The number you provided is nearly six times what the university demands.”

“Because I need lots of extra money. I can’t exactly hold a normal job like you.”

“Who was that man in my house?”

Kira turned her gaze to the window. Flurries of snow continued to fall, cocooning the city in all-consuming white. The only scraps of color were artificial and neon, wriggling in its embrace. “No one of concern to anyone except me.”

“Is your father aware of your activities?”

“He spends more time reading from his war books to neighborhood cats than keeping tabs on me. You need to wave threats in his face or he won’t bat an eye.”

Out of the wielder’s sight, her mother’s hand drifted downward towards Kira’s own, clenched in her lap, only to stop, as if considering, and returned to the steering wheel. Caught by the sticky, winter light, a bead of condensation formed in the shallow of her hand's metacarpals and fell like a tear.

---

They arrived at the automotive plant in the “nick of time” as her mother put it, though given her propensity for foisting the One True Clock she’d built herself on others, Kira had no concern that she could have opened the door, fallen into traffic, been whisked away to the hospital for invasive surgery preceding a several month stretch of rigorous physical therapy, and come back to the same plant with still an hour to spare. After a round of apologies for the scheduled imposition and thank-yous to her boss for understanding, they were allowed a private conference room to set up, free of any tech liable for ruin.

Sitting Kira and her backpack in a chair at one end far from the central table, her mother pulled out a laptop from her own bag in addition to an external webcam. Once running she zoomed into the wielder as close as the camera allowed, making her appear instead close by – albeit with a touch of unavoidable grain – and initiating a connection with the interviewer soon after.

A jingle started from computer. It reeked of corporate heavy-handedness and an obsession with the inherent drama of drumrolls. Kira took a deep breath. Blew out the anxieties for the day in a singular rush of air. Her mother took her own chair at the other end and drew out a book to pass the time. Neither of them knew how long it would take.

Kira leaned down to her backpack, taking the zippers in hand. She appeared on the computer screen from the waist up which allowed some space off-frame to keep materials within easy reach in case emergency referral was necessary. The events of the previous days had rattled most of the stored knowledge from her head, replacing them with anxieties over death of the violent and repugnant kinds at callous hands, crystalline specters, and unforgiven larceny. On a better day that was not this one, she would have had more confidence.

Unzipping the bag, she glimpsed the full contents inside.

A roll of notes fell from the top of the pile and rolled beside her foot. A red rubber band secured them together, partially obscuring the dour expression of Fukuzawa Yukichi.

The bag was bursting with notes in varying amounts and denominations, and it took Kira a moment to process what she was seeing. She had become accustomed to the orderly amounts in the Don’s own case, not the petty rewards she’d pulled in before that night over long months spent in the company of Arata in his free time and Allie’s delicate potion craft.

So long had it sat under the bed until laid out beside the other now containing her supplies. Twins, practically, in their appearance and weight, to an estranged but kind-hearted hand.

The computer dinged, a face appearing at the other end, and Kira’s head snapped up in fright.