Looking For You

She didn’t come back that day.

Hours fell away as Masaru fought to stay awake. Eventually, he couldn’t fight it anymore and knew he needed to rest, so he brought their clothes in from the balcony. Her clothes were placed on the shower curtain rod along with her numerous undergarments and bras, which he’d safely yet swiftly lifted from the hamper to the hangers.

Cheap lace fabric stretched thin from use. A stitch out of place. Loose threads. Fraying edges. Worn and in need of replacement.

All of her clothes were like that.

Whatever she did for a living, or however she engaged with the outside world, it seemed as though her presentation and clothing quality had little importance.

His eyes grew heavy as he began his pre-sleep tasks.

If she came by and woke him, it would have been okay with him. He was off the next day, so it would be fine to have his sleep partially interrupted.

Dreamless sleep soon overtook him. In the depths of subconscious rest, no imagery or wild visions appeared. Only an omnipresent, oppressive darkness. Masaru was somehow aware of its nothingness, as though it wasn’t a dream, but a full submersion into a void that felt like it was stitching itself to the walls of his psyche. The only things visible in the eternal abyss were two faint, blurry, glowing yellow orbs that lurked in the distance.

When he woke, her clothes were still there.

Concern snaked into his mind as Masaru slipped on his hallway sandals and exited his room.

Two gentle taps on her door sent out his call for her.

“Sayane? Are you there? It’s Masaru. I still have your clothing,” he said softly.

No one responded.

Masaru waited for another minute, then tried again.

Three slightly louder taps sounded out.

Again, no one answered.

She didn’t return all day.

Masaru’s life continued on, as he moved through his planned existence with intentional yet distracted efforts. Dishes were washed. Flooring was vacuumed. Groceries were purchased from the nearest grocery store. He had been waiting to check out a record store that had recently opened, but as he meandered the rows of vinyl presses, he couldn’t focus on scanning for new jazz or piano albums.

His thoughts were still on her absence.

The next day, she still wasn’t back.

Four taps sounded out on the door.

pick

“Sayane?” Masaru nervously called out in a regular volume.

Still no answer.

Her clothes stayed hanging in his home. By then, he’d moved them from his shower and into his closet for privacy and respect. It felt strange to fold them or haphazardly throw them back into the hamper. When he moved them into his closet, he made sure to remove most of his clothes so as not to touch hers. Thus, his shirts were now hanging in the living area.

Tomorrow he’d have to return to Warm Embraces.

Grating concern began to pull at Masaru’s will. This was a long time for her to be gone. Though they’d only barely begun to speak to one another, their time as neighbors in the cheaply insulated building had allowed him to become moderately familiar with her patterns of coming and going.

It wasn’t intentional, but he’d slowly learned that she did work nights mostly. Often, the hours were erratic. Sometimes she’d leave at midnight and be back in an hour. Sometimes she’d be gone from dusk to dawn. But she was rarely gone for a full day, much less multiple.

And she’d seemed very much set on returning soon to retrieve her clothes.

All of these aspects compounded in Masaru’s thoughts as he tried to calm himself enough to prepare to sleep through the sunlight.

Mist was sprayed onto his small snake plant and pothos. Clothes were ironed, and his faded suit was set out. Water was set on a bedside platform. The futon was unrolled. Alarms were set a few hours earlier than would have been the case, so that he had time to do what was in his mind if it came to it.

Masaru listened once more to see if he heard any sign of her next door.

Nothingness responded.

Thus, he closed his eyes. If she wasn’t there when he awoke, he’d go to the nearby police station to file a missing persons report.

To his great concern, his multiple nervous knocks were still unanswered the next morning.

pickatthescab

pickatthehealing

thereisnohealing

Muscles tensed, and Masaru’s head twitched ever so slightly as his mouth pulled to the right again.

Ointments were applied. Work clothes were thrown on with haste. Warm Embraces’s key ring was secured. A light lunch was packed. A last-second hesitation stopped him. His eye was drifting. He didn’t want it to distract from his plea. So the top drawer of his bathroom cabinet was opened, and a simple piece of black cloth was removed. The eyepatch was tied into place, hiding Masaru’s shame from the world. With that, Masaru rushed out the door.

Clouds were building overhead. Humidity rose from the warmed asphalt, sending waves of sticky dampness onto Masaru’s chest and thighs. It smelled of rain.

The police kōban was near the station. It was small, painted light grey, with large letters spelling out faded signs announcing the police presence. Inside, it felt administrative. A handful of attendees and officers were standing in wait.

Masaru entered in a rush, and none of the three officers looked up. Hats were placed lazily on the desk.

“How may we help you?” asked one of the officers as he continued reading his magazine.

“I-I need to report a missing person,” Masaru said.

A sigh escaped one man’s lips. Still no one looked up.

“Name?” the other asked.

“My name?”

“No, missing person’s name,” the man scowled.

Their tones were off-putting.

PICK.

He didn’t even know her full name.

“I, I uhhh, only know her given name. Sayane. She’s my neighbor.”

Annoyed fingers scratched at brows as another man sighed.

“I can give you her address. It’s-”

Masaru was cut off.

“Only family members, spouses, guardians, caretakers, employers, or close associates can file missing person reports,” said one of the officers as he finally looked up from his phone.

His gaze somehow went over and around Masaru, ignoring him completely and instead settling on the window’s view of the outside.

“Rain’s coming,” he muttered.

pick

All of this was infuriating Masaru. His collar was starting to pull at his neck. The teeth were starting to grind.

“We’re going to need to brace for traffic on our patrol,” the other replied.

“LOOK AT ME!!” Masaru shouted.

The three officers stopped talking. Only one bothered to finally look at Masaru.

“I’m telling you someone is missing, and you are being bureaucratic and indifferent?!” Masaru snarled in desperation.

PICK

“We’ve given you our answer. You have no authority to file a report. We will make a note to keep an eye out for your neighbor on our evening patrols,” the man jeered.

Masaru wanted to beat them unconscious with their own batons.

“You don’t know what she looks like. I haven’t told you…” he said in rage.

The man’s lips curled into a hateful smile as he slid an empty piece of paper across the desk.

“Want to write down a description, then?”

Raindrops were dotting onto the heated ground as Masaru left the station in absolute fury. His suit was too tight at the shoulders. He wasn’t as skinny as he once was. He shouldn’t have already put on his tie. The fPICKucking string on his eyepatch was already pulling into his brow and temple. Nails dug like claws and ripped the fabric away as tears began to bite at his eyes once more.

That engagement had dislodged him. Sayane was missing. They were not only indifferent, but it also felt, yet again, like he was partially invisible. They were making him that way. They were making her that way. Just like so many others that no one could be bothered to see. Now, he was about to head to a place where he truly was unnoticeable.

Commuting was easy enough in the late afternoon. Workers were not yet leaving their offices and no one was eating dinner yet, so much of the car was empty.

His walk towards his isolation was familiar. The elderly woman was still there in the apartment window, eyes locked towards the building he would soon be unlocking. Masaru wanted to wave to her, but she did not look to him this time. Soon, he reached his destination. 

Purple and brown clouds hung pregnant with rain as Warm Embraces loomed menacingly low, yet harsh. The mural of the lovers, forever reaching yet never touching, was somehow more unsettling today as Masaru approached.

Keys turned locks. The door opened. Warm Embraces inhaled, and Masaru said a quiet prayer to any deity that would listen that Sayane might be okay. He entered the realm of red and said goodbye to another sunset.