Routines, Arrangements, And The Lingering Thoughts Of You

January passed with a steady routine of quiet as the world waited for its thaw to begin. Days were consistent, with group activities, chores, check-ins with the psychiatrist and staff, and personal activities. For Kaho and Shuhei, that meant more ikebana.

Once a week, they met with the others in the eastern sunroom to hold another lesson. Bit by bit, they learned how to efficiently prune and place, how to use less, what colors complemented or distracted, and when to stop.

Many times, Kaho had thought she had more left to add to her arrangements, but then would place a stem or adjust a petal and suddenly realize she was done. Shuhei found himself drawn to trimming pieces from things. Occasional petals would be plucked. Leaves would be cut away. His arrangements became studies in “less”.

The material options didn’t change. Both of them learned that the school rotated choices by month. So the prospect of February’s arrival meant they would soon have an entirely new selection of blooms and details to work with.

For now, Shuhei was still enjoying pine, and Kaho found herself prioritizing poinsettia and camellias.

Every morning, Shuhei would take a few minutes to observe a different arrangement in the low light of the pre-dawn world. Seeing the details in a lack of light reduced the compositions to the most basic shape language, and he found something appealing in that.

Each morning, he and Kaho would sit in silence together as they drank their morning coffee or matcha. Both came to enjoy the sensation of simultaneously being alone yet sharing someone’s company. She hadn’t had another panic attack since that day. No medication was prescribed, and after a few days of heightened staff attention, her routine had returned to normal. To her credit, Sayane had never pushed Kaho to talk about it with her. Speaking with the psychiatrist was plenty.

Routines became familiar, and eventually Kaho settled into a rhythm like everyone else. Healing wasn’t about massive milestones or specific revelations. It was measured by moments of tranquility that would occasionally appear between the noise.

When February arrived, the staff provided an exciting announcement: nearby, the Yunishigawa Kamakura Festival was upon them, and that would be the group trip for the month.

Kaho had never heard of the festival, so she picked up a nearby brochure that had been provided.

Images of snow-covered hills lined with thousands of candles showed her a winter wonderland of gentle light. It did actually look very pretty, and she found herself excited for the date to arrive.

Looking at the images elicited something different for Shuhei. February’s commencement also signaled that his time at the facility would be dwindling in the coming weeks. After fifty days of being in the mountains, he now had just a little over a month left in their welcoming isolation. It was up to him to extend his stay if he wanted, but by now Shuhei had accepted that he would not be “healing” in this place. At best, he would be recharging, and maybe even shifting. But healing was too much to ask for if he wasn’t creating any drastic changes in his life that awaited him.

Soon, he’d have to return to reality. His job awaited. Tokyo waited, jaws open, beckoning for him to reenter the neon purgatory of Kabukichō. There was still more to do, and he didn’t want to give up yet. All he could hope was that the cacophony of energy and desperation that lurked behind closed doors would not consume him this time. If his mind was calm enough when he returned, maybe he could survive and see his plan through to the end. Then he could leave all of this and never look back.

For now, he was here in Nikko, in this calm yet vacuous campus where time seemed intangible yet methodical. At least he’d discovered ikebana. Hours of focusing on the positions and spacing of nature's decor had given him a fulfilling calmness that he didn’t think existed in his spirit any longer. That alone justified his time in the mountains.

Those were the things that filled Shuhei’s head as he settled into the chair for his weekly one-on-one session with the facility’s psychiatrist.

“How are you feeling today, Shuhei?”

He appreciated that she’d always agreed to calling him by his given name.

“Better. I think the lithium is helping,” he replied in his breathy, rasping voice that always sounded like it was coming from the top of his mouth.

She wrote an unseen note in her book without breaking eye contact.

“I’m happy to hear it. Is your wrist giving you any more pain?”

Nervous embarrassment caused Shuhei to shift his jaw left to right as he glanced away and shook his head. Mercifully, no ligaments were damaged in the incident, so all motor skills remained intact.

“Still waking easily?”

“Same as always. No alarm needed.”

"Any more ideas why that is?" she asked.

His chest popped as he inhaled and leaned back slightly.

"I... I just think I like having a moment to myself. A moment of quiet. And I hate alarms. I hate loud noises. And sleep, like I said the other day, sleep was never restful. So I guess my body decided it didn't need much of it."

“The melatonin and magnesium didn’t help?” she asked.

“Nope. Had some… interesting dreams… but not more sleep.”

Once more, she jotted down an unseen note.

“You can stop taking them then, if you’d like. Regarding the lithium, do you want to continue at this dosage with the intention of staying on a prescription after you exit?”

Shuhei nodded.

“I think I’d like to feel like this for a little while longer. I think it will help me reintegrate with my real life.”

There was a small curl in her hair that caused it to angle out to the side of her face away from the rest of the straight black. His right foot was tapping on the ground. Cushioning was worn down in the chair, causing his hips to sink slightly. Sunlight was coming through the window beside them and casting a trapezoid of cold yellow on the floor that stopped just at the edge of her desk. Bristles from the cuff of his shirtsleeve caught on the edge of the bandaging. Noticing details never stopped.

He sensed she wanted to correct or question him on his word choice for calling the outside the real world, but she didn’t, which he appreciated. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel that this was not the real world. In fact, he was grateful it was. Sometimes, though, after having a job that involved being so analytical and precise with every word he chose, it was nice to be able to slip up and say the wrong thing or something that wasn’t exactly what he meant to convey.

“Since you are nearing thirty days remaining for your stay, I want you to start thinking about routine. Here, we are adamant about keeping you all in your routines. Out there, it will be up to you to maintain something similar. Routine helps calm the mind and gives you less to concern yourself with. Over the next week, I want you to think about routines you can form or improve. We will discuss them when we see each other again.”

Slow exhales drifted from Shuhei’s nose as he walked down the hall after the session. Again, the ikebana displays were there on their shelves. Kaho’s arrangement was beside his this time, causing Shuhei to stop and compare them.

In the most recent class, both of them had selected the exact same materials, but had gone in drastically different directions. Shuhei had plucked a few petals from one of the red bulbs, thinning it to a more concentrated shape, where Kaho had left hers untouched and instead snipped away the stem so that the bulb was at the very base of the composition. Shuhei’s arrangement felt minimalist and clinical, whereas hers was full and complex, especially on its lower third. It was as though Shuhei wanted to draw the focus onto single, specific points, but Kaho wanted to send an encompassing impression of something beyond the flowers.

When he was done looking at the flowers, Shuhei continued on down the hall. To his slight surprise, thoughts of Kaho lingered in his mind as the scents of the flowers lingered in his nose.