One Of Those Moments When You Want To Moonwalk Yourself Into Oblivion

People always say things like 'time puts everything in its place.' To me it sounds not only like a self-help book cliché—which, by the way, if you read a self-help book, technically it’s not 'self' help because indirectly the author is helping you, not you yourself (unnecessary? Probably, but I needed to mention it).

If I looked back—not far—I could clearly see how 'everything had fallen into place,' though in a strange way, of course. That was the problem.

I didn’t take the initiative with Kiri. It was just a conversation that happened because I didn’t go buy cigarettes at the usual time—no matter how weird that sounds.

Yes, I did take the initiative for our first date—if you can even call that a date.

I wasn’t the one who asked to work with her. If she hadn’t suggested it, I probably never would have asked. All that organizing the store and dealing with the incredibly charismatic scammer (no, I’m not naming him) was just 'me going with the flow.'

Going with the flow of what? Of 'things' or—one thing, better said.

If I looked even further back, I think I rarely took the initiative in anything. Not that I regret it now—it wouldn’t make sense. Still, when I think about my old job, I can’t help remembering I only got it because an old friend (not really a friend) pulled a few strings.

When I got fired I just stalled. I let the days pass, told myself that’s how my life was going to be, and got used to it—no matter how miserable that sounds.

Up until now everything had happened through inertia or chance, except for a couple of situations, and I think the moment has come when everyone—without exception—has the obligation to decide not between inertia or chance, but a third option, one that’s pretty forgotten: 'do something about it.'

I made sure to wash the bento box thoroughly. To be precise, it was a plastic container with several compartments for different ingredients, and this time—probably because I had brain fog from lack of sleep (definitely)—I decided not to leave the box at the old lady’s door but to go personally.

Saying thank you is never too much (even for things that seem stupid), and I’m not just saying that to myself.

“Okay… 1… 2… 3… 1… 2… 3…” I muttered under my breath before knocking on the apartment door. I used the little peephole to check if my reflection screamed 'I didn’t sleep at all.'

“Good mor— Ah… Tanaka?”

“Uh… good morning… miss.” I said, extending the tray toward her. “Thanks for keeping me from starving to death.” Wait a second… “You just said ‘Tanaka’?”

“Shizue.” She said, taking the tray. “I suppose my granddaughter never even told you my name.”

Shizue?
Granddaughter?
Name?
Her name or my name?
I really should have slept. I really should have tried to sleep.

“Sorry… could you repeat that?”

“Shizue.”

“No, the next part.”

“I suppose my granddaughter never even told you my name.”

“That part.”

“What about it, Tanaka?”

“Your granddaughter…” Maximum mental effort. Maximum mental effort in vain—I don’t know any of the other neighbors.

“Kiri.”

“Ah… WHAT!?”

“The girl who—”

“The girl I work with, yes, yes, exactly, that one, let’s leave it there.” I said, turning around—though I probably looked like a spinning top.

“Come in for a moment.” She said, stepping aside and gesturing for me to enter her apartment.

“N-No thanks, I have to—”

“Come in.”

No way in hell was I going in—did she think I was an idiot? “Of course, miss.”

“Shizue.”

“Right.”

“You look a little… nervous…” She said, closing the door behind me after I entered.

“How couldn't I…” I muttered.

“Did you say something, Tanaka?”

“Nope, nothing, absolutely nothing.”

There wasn’t much to see in her apartment. By default, every apartment in the building was built the same way.
Nothing out of the ordinary—the opposite, really, old furniture but not valuable, lights that had needed changing for years but for obvious reasons hadn’t been.

“Sit down. I’ll make some tea.”

“No need, miss, I just—”

“It wasn’t a question. Sit.” She said, walking toward the kitchen. For an old lady she moved with surprising grace, and it already gave me an idea of where Kiri got that particular way of speaking.

I thank my brain fog infinitely—otherwise finding out this old lady was her grandma might have caused a stroke (at minimum).

“O-Okay…” I said, sinking into the couch. I could’ve fallen asleep—not necessarily from lack of sleep, but because after so long on a futon as padded as a sheet of paper, this felt like a five-star hotel bed.

“Are you going to ask me why I leave bentos at your door?” she asked while the kettle whistled.

“Actually I was thinking about whether the door was locked and how long it would take me to escape.” No, I wasn’t lying.

“I thought that would be the first thing you’d ask…” She said, returning after a while with two cups of tea.

“Haaa… I don’t care about the reasons, miss. Honestly I only care about the fact.” I answered, taking one of the cups. Shizue sat down slowly beside me.

“Shizue.”

“Right.”

“You’re strange…” She said, smiling a little. “Though not in a bad way.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I answered, scratching my head. “I suppose… Kiri has already talked about me…”

“Of course.”

“R-Really? What did she say?” I probably sounded more excited than I was (lie). Maybe I sounded exactly as excited as I was (true).

“Your name… and that you’re on the verge of homelessness.”

“Ah…”

“Almost touching marginality.”

“Yeah… I get it.”

“Basically at the bottom rung of poverty.”I

 nearly choked on the tea. “O-Okay… you don’t have to hammer it home so much.”

“Changing the subject…” She said, dropping two sugar cubes into her tea and offering me some. “What are you going to ask about my granddaughter?”“

No thanks, I like tea without sugar.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I can’t answer your question because I don’t have any questions about your granddaughter.”

“Ahh…” She murmured, taking a sip of tea. “Looks like you like verbal games.”

“Not at all.” Actually I love verbal games—I just don’t like them when I feel like I’m being interrogated by someone who looks like she stepped out of the yakuza.

“In that case allow me one more question, Tanaka. Why?”

“Why what?”

“It’s a general question.”

“Because.”

“Hm… good evasive…” She said with a laugh that—though the situation felt tense—was really more like a conversation between two people who either loved unnecessary tangents or didn’t know how to get to the point. “Can I ask another?”

“Something tells me you’re going to ask it regardless of what I say…” I answered, sipping tea that—by the way—was really, really good.

“What are you planning with my granddaughter?”

“So that’s what all this was leading to, huh?” I said, setting the cup on the table. “The bentos were what? Bribes? Am I a cat to be tamed?” Nyocery Store, no one understands you right now like I do.

“I repeat the question.”

“I don’t see the need to answer.” Honestly, I felt something twisting, and it wasn’t my back from the couch’s comfort.

“Sit.” She said, and—for some reason I hope never to understand and don’t want judged by—I sat. “I repeat again: What are you planning with my granddaughter?”

“Nothing bad, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Tanaka…” She said slowly, setting her own cup down. “My granddaughter is socially useless. She can’t be direct. She spends all day with that phone watching nonsense…”

“That’s not—”

“…Her stupid attempt at independence was moving across the street and living in the store. Which I have to keep afloat. What do you want from someone like that?” She finished.

“Wow… you…” I rubbed my eyes a little—more from exhaustion than anything else. “You’re like the shittiest grandma…”

“Could you repeat that?”

“What you just heard, miss. Shitty grandma, seriously.” I said, standing up again. “Of course, you’re probably locked up here all day (though until recently I was doing the same) and you have no idea what your granddaughter is really like.”

“So I’m wrong?” she asked, covering her mouth.

“More than you think, old hag.” I answered.

“Shizue.”

“Right.”

She just burst out laughing. At first she tried to stifle it with her hand, but it wasn’t enough. “You fell for the most classic cliché…”

“Huh?”

“It’s almost textbook—press someone with something they care about to see their reaction…”

“M-Miss—Shizue… you seriously…”

“Okay… sit down. I’ll bring some cookies…” She said, still laughing. “You reminded me of those soap opera guys… I should’ve recorded you.”

For a moment I felt that tingle in my face—the unmistakable sign that blood was rushing upward. Or more simply: I was turning red.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I asked, looking away.

“End of the hallway, second door on the left.” She said.

“Thanks…”

Like I said, there wasn’t much to see in her apartment—just old furniture that wasn’t valuable.
Shizue said something as I opened the bathroom door, but I didn’t catch it.

There wasn’t much to see in the apartment as a whole.
In the bathroom, though…

There was excessive heat.
Too much steam and a constant noise.

I discovered two things:
I wasn’t going to be able to wash my face.
Kiri had a mole three centimeters above her navel and a birthmark on the right side of her hip.