Rolling Girl

Much like the mornings past, another lashing from my father's belt roused me from that recurring nightmare that I had become all too familiar with since I was just a little girl. Scarily punctual, the moment my dream self was shrouded in the flames of doomsday once again, that heavy leather collided with my tender bottom in three perfect strikes.

"Scholars don't wait for their alarm clocks, Enki! Seize the day; put very little trust in tomorrow!"
my father shouted.

It was some bullshit quote from that famous Roman poet, Horace something-or-other. Groaning was useless, whimpering was futile; all I could do was nod my head and say the exact words he wanted to hear until he left my room.

"Yes, Papa."

Rising from my bed, I was met with yet another unfriendly reminder of who exactly I was living with. My older sister, Sayuri, was already in my bedroom sifting through my collection of CDs tucked deep into my panty drawer, rubbing those filthy paws all over my precious Yura Yura Teikoku album to load into her portable CD player on her belt.

"Hm? Why the sour pout? You know, I could tell Papa about these if you don't let me borrow them, Enki-chan."
Sayuri winked at me, using familiar blackmail to grind my gears into submission.

"Not a single scratch on that disc, or I'll tell Papa about that boy you had over last night."
I remarked, tossing my shorts in her face.

Blackmail goes both ways, dearest sister.

By the time I had brushed my hair and slipped into my school uniform, my mother and father had departed to their respective jobs, catching the early morning Tokyo train in order to beat rush hour. They were responsible, respected office workers, my father being the breadwinner in the family with the major title of COO of an automobile tech company. My mother worked as an insurance broker; not much to write home about. Regardless of how much I detested their strict discipline to mold me into their perfect little jack of all trades, I still loved and admired them. Sayuri was on the luckier side of things; having already been deemed a failure in my father's eyes for her delinquency records and excessive underage drinking she had dabbled in during high school, she had no limit to the kind of life she was expected to lead.

"A deadbeat NEET,"
my father would call her.

Perhaps it was envy I felt when Sayuri strutted out of the house every morning wearing a leather jacket and high-waisted jeans that showed off her curves, not having a care in the world as she lit a cigarette dangling from her perfectly soft lips. Envy would best describe the tight feeling in my chest when I wished I could do the same.

How desperately I wished I could dismiss my father's expectations of me. Getting called Sadako at school was punishment enough, as I preferred turning to my sketchbook in my free time rather than chatting with the popular kids in class. Piano lessons, taekwondo classes on weekends, and cram school all summer long; I was truly living out every high schooler's definition of 'Hell.'

School was all the same to me, no matter how many times I had transferred between cities and districts. Nobody would dare talk to the pale-faced, long-haired new girl drawing in her sketchbook during lunchtime or passing period. I didn't think I was all that scary looking; in fact, I would be so bold as to consider myself quite cute when it came to Japanese beauty standards, especially given my petite stature and ideal proportions. Yet the nickname Sadako followed me around like a curse, much like the real Sadako from 'Ring' by Nakata Hideo. There, in my new school in Tokyo, I, Akitomo Enki, was the school enigma.

* * *

Shortly after third-period classes ended, I made my way toward the long fences that separated freedom from prison: school and the outside world. Under the trees in full bloom, I would find that familiar quiet spot to plop down and begin work on my latest drawing. Lunchtime was my saving grace, no matter which school I was attending, as it left me with just enough time in the day to keep myself from going insane over how simple and boring the class lectures were.

My latest piece: a koi fish swimming upstream through a vast and beautiful flowing river. It was the kind of drawing that could very easily be mistaken for Ukiyo-e, or 17th-century woodblock prints. The kind of stuff you see in history books, typically portraying kabuki actors, sumo wrestlers, beautiful flora, and occasionally erotica. If not for my drawings having been printed on paper, some would mistake the designs for vintage to modern-day yakuza irezumi tattoos.

* * *

Around the time that lunch was approaching its end, a faint rustling from outside the school gate piqued my interest. I sat elegantly, looking up at the concrete barrier that hid the source of the mystery. Before I had the appropriate time to react, a school bag flew above the edge of the barrier, landing heavily on my face.

"Eek!"
I shrieked, immediately tossing the bag aside as none other than a girl my age leapt like a bird in the sky and over my entire body, landing with a thud beside me.

She wore her messy pink hair down, her bright, vibrant jewelry and accessories reflecting the sun overhead like freshly polished diamonds. Her eyes fluttered open, showing off a stunning shade of yellow, even more beautiful than a dandelion blooming on a warm spring morning. She wore her skirt a few centimeters too high, involuntarily flashing me; though I feared even if she was standing, the fabric would do very little to hide those silky smooth legs from anyone brave enough to ogle them.

A gyaru is the term I would use to describe her. Makeup bold and fierce like a magazine model, keychains and charms accessorizing every inch of open space available on her wrists and neck, and fuzzy leg warmers that loosely covered the lower half of her calves. She was undoubtedly a gyaru, whether it was her intention to appear as such or not.

"Ah, seriously?! I had no idea there was someone here! Talk about shitty timing!"
The girl darted to her feet, grabbing her school bag and offering me a deep bow of apology.

She was beyond small.

She's seriously tiny! That's coming from me, a four-foot-ten-inch girl! It's almost hard to be mad when she looks so endearing at that size...

"That hurt! Are you carrying textbooks or something?!"
I rubbed the top of my head, standing up to deliver an intense lecture to the tiny girl standing before me.

Immediately, the girl dropped to her knees, bowing her head repeatedly. I thought for certain she would pull a muscle, so I swiftly grabbed both of her shoulders to steady her.

"I'm sorry! Seriously, I'm sorry! Please, don't tell the faculty I was sneaking off to meet a boy during lunch!"
She returned to her bowing, despite my protests to halt her movements.

"Okay, okay! I'm not telling anybody what you were doing, even though I didn't know before you said anything. Just apologize for hitting me in the head and we'll call it even!"
I said, trying to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

"Deal! I apologize, seriously! Don't tell the faculty!"
She finally stood back up, her eyes full of worry and anxiety, frantically searching my own for signs of deception.

This was it; I couldn't take it anymore.

Those adorably pitiful eyes and her scared trembling voice. Not good, I think I'm about to laugh!

Quickly, I hid my mouth behind my hand, biting down hard on my lower lip to suppress the few stifled giggles that escaped.

"Ahaha!"
I belted out, surrendering to the absurdity of the situation as I let out the first real bit of laughter I had been bottling up since I was a child.

"What?! Why are you laughing?! Did I hit your head too hard?!"
The girl took a frightened step back, looking ready to dart to the nurse if I didn't compose myself.

"No, no! It's just that I had no idea you were meeting a boy until you outed yourself. You're acting like I'm a cop taking you in for felony charges."
I wiped the tear rolling down my cheek, softening my smile into a grateful grin as this girl managed a weak smile of her own.

"You just look like a student council president type. I thought for sure you would snitch."
She managed a giggle of her own, her sweet voice ringing like a soft melody on a crisp summer morning.

I did my best to respond in an equally as appealing voice.
"I can assure you I despise authority as much as you do, though I do try to keep that side of me under wraps."

"Oh, seriously?! We should be friends, then!"

"Friends?"
I tilted my head quizzically. It had been so long since I had the luxury of ever having been called somebody's friend that the word almost sounded like a foreign legend; a myth only spoken by the masses to cover up the crippling loneliness hidden beneath their masks.

"Yup, friends! I'm Umeda Sora, but most people call me Sora-chan!"

"Umeda... Sora,"
I whispered her name, testing it on my tongue a few times to commit this special girl to memory.

Umeda Sora. Umeda Sora.

"Sora... chan? I'm Akitomo. Akitomo Enki."
My voice came out sounding happier than usual. I found it extremely odd that somebody was asking about my real name rather than calling me Sadako. It was a surreal feeling, making a friend after having been shut out by the public for years.

"Inky?"
Umeda Sora tilted her own head this time, her lips pursing together as she tried to speak my name.

"No, it's Enki!"

"En...ki? Enki?"
Suddenly, Umeda Sora burst into laughter.

Why is she laughing?! Does she know about my reputation at the school's Sadako already?! I should have known better than to trust a gyaru!

"What a bizarre name, Enki-chan! Is that even Japanese?"
Umeda Sora galloped closer, her eyes seemingly full of wonder and curiosity.

I felt bad, having secretly cursed her in my mind over a false alarm. She truly wanted to be my friend, and she was curious enough to ask about my name's origin nonetheless.

"It's the name of a god in Sumerian mythology,"
I said.
"The god of wisdom and water. My father is a bit of a history nut, so I somehow ended up being named after a masculine god of intellect... It's kind of embarrassing."

"Still, it sounds cool to say! Enki! Enki!"
Umeda Sora began pathetically attempting to perform a tribal dance in a circle around me, chanting my name as she raised her imaginary spear to the heavens.

"It's not funny! I'm stuck with this name for life!"

"Enki! Enki! Enki!"

"Maybe I will tell the teachers about your disappearance during lunch after all! You've got some nerve, Umeda Sora!"
I dramatically huffed, crossing my arms as I watched her face fall from amusement to pure fear.

"Wait! I was just messing around! Please, Enki-chan, let's reject authority together!"
She begged in a high-pitched whine.

Once again, I simply couldn't stay mad at that face. It was practically adorable how her mood shifted so quickly, and her fear of being caught only added to the thrill of this teasing game we were partaking in.

This was what I had been missing in my boring monochrome life: a vibrant, colorful companion who could make me laugh over something as simple as breaking a rule. If I chose to befriend Umeda Sora, there was no doubt in my mind that my life would glow brighter than the saturated ink in my sketchbook.

I decided that day that I would stick by Umeda Sora's side. I would never let her go for as long as I had a breath in my lungs and a pulse in my heart. Even her name, Umeda Sora, was as beautiful as her dandelion eyes. With Sora, I felt that just maybe I could learn to live my life the way my hero- my sister, Sayuri- lived.

"Sora-chan,"
I said softly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes, Enki-chan?"

"We should probably get to class now, no?"