First Meeting (Part 2)

2 hours.

Frizzy and I stood like statues, taking the brunt of Mr Watanabe’s lecture for 2 hours. In that span of time, the school bell had rung, and students had already finished their club activities. The staff room was empty aside from the three of us. It took all my willpower not to complain, but I was aware of the consequences that would come from my actions.

“Alright. I’ve chewed out your ears for long enough. You may leave.” At last, Mr Watanabe permitted us to leave.

“Thank you very much, Sensei! We promise to listen to your advice!” I replied. However, I did not remember a single word he had said.

“At least try to act apologetic.”

Frizzy and I left the staffroom and returned to our respective classrooms. The hallways were silent, almost abandoned. Not a single student was left on the premises other than Frizzy and me. It was as though we were the only survivors of an apocalypse.

I grabbed my bag and reached the front gate. In the back of my mind, I was preparing my next plan to attack (greet) Frizzy tomorrow. Today’s plan may have been a bust, but I was not going to give up. My story was not going to end before it even began. As I crossed the gate, I heard a purposeful cough to my right.

“Not going to finish your sentence?” A deep voice uttered beside me.

It was Frizzy.

“What are you doing here? Waiting for little old me? What a gentleman!” Though I spoke with sarcasm, I was genuinely shocked that he would be waiting.

“Yes, actually. What were you going to say before Mr Watanabe interrupted us?” Frizzy rested his shoulder on the gate and crossed his arms. It seems he was waiting for quite a while.

“So you’re willing to accept my deal?”

“Only if your reason is valid. So why do you need me as your protagonist, Chou Machida?”

He knew my name. Frizzy continued to surprise me.

“Let’s not talk here, Frizzy. I know a place we can have an uninterrupted discussion.”

***

“A playground. Really?” Frizzy was unimpressed, “Also, I have a name. It’s Tatsuo Miyagawa.”

“Frizzy rolls of the tongue more easily.”

“How rude!”

The evening sun painted over the miniature slides in front of us. It was late, so all the children had already left. Only Frizzy and I sat on the bench, sipping our cans of cold coffee. For some reason, the image before me felt melancholic. The days of children playing till late with their parents overseeing them had long passed, thanks to the digital age. It was a rare sight to see any physical activity from children nowadays—a moment from a bygone era.

“Ready to explain now?” Frizzy was getting impatient.

I nodded and began.

“I love stories. Being able to transport yourself to another world and face experiences you would never go through yourself was like a dream come true. I’m just a high school girl. Someone as ordinary as I was never going to fight demons or go on an adventure.”

A lump began to form in my throat. My heart began to feel heavy. As the words spilt out of my mouth, I began to feel my own mortality. I was no hero of a story, and I would never become one.

“As I continued to read books or watch movies, plots began to take form in my head. Images of scenes would take shape. And I was invested in them. The problem was that I would be the only one to experience them. To me, that wasn’t fair. I wanted to share them with the world. I wanted to express all these thoughts that have been stuck in my head. So I began writing.”

I took a sip of the canned coffee. The cool bitterness calmed my head.

“For a while, I couldn’t stop. The pencil in my hand would keep on scribbling. Whether it was good or not didn’t matter to me. As long as my thoughts were in physical form, I was satisfied. But for a while now, my mind has been blank. No stories. No images. Nothing.”

The emptiness from before began to take shape once more.

“It felt as though my purpose was gone. If I didn’t have my writing, what would I have then? I’m not good at sports or studies. I don’t have any special achievements. I would just be another speck in this world. Another microbe in a sea of mediocrity. I was a walking husk. A zombie. That was until I saw you, Frizzy.”

I let out a deep breath. It was time to come to the point.

“Seeing you sketch that sakura tree lit a spark in me. At once, I could feel the gears in my brain begin to turn. The writing machine in me was functioning after so long. The story of an artist reaching out for his dreams was formed in my mind. You are that artist, Frizzy! I want to write about your path to success!”

My body moved on its own. It stood in front of Frizzy, overlooking his expression. From that moment I saw him from the window, I knew he was special. He was an artist who truly understood the pain of the craft, and he was prepared for it. A creative person dedicated to his goals. If that wasn’t a protagonist, I don’t know what is.

Frizzy stared at the ground, frozen in place. He was thinking clearly about my proposal. 1 minute. 2 minutes. 5 minutes. He was as still as a statue for 5 minutes. But I didn't disturb him. I remained standing, waiting for his reply.

“Sure. I’ll do it.”

The young man’s words cracked through the chilling breeze. It warmed my heart more than a fireplace ever could. At last, my next story could finally begin. But I had to confirm his answer one more time. This wasn’t a simple request, after all. I was serious about this.

“You’re sure right? No take-backs.” I asked.

“Absolutely. I could tell how passionate you are about writing this story. It would be a sin to burn a creator’s dreams like that. I know I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

Frizzy got up from his seat and stretched out his hand.

“But this is a deal, not a request. In return for being the protagonist of your story, I want your help in my art. It could be modelling or finding locations. I want to be equals in this partnership. You get me?”

I expected this answer. Even if he did not ask for my help, I was willing to assist him in his art in any way I could. It wouldn’t be fair for him to help with my work if I did not help him equally. My respect for him grew even more.

“Right. We are equals. We are creators striving to be better.”

I grabbed his hand and shook it.

“It’s a deal then,” we both announced.

The frosty night breeze acted as a horn of agreement, celebrating our pact. Night’s dark curtain had overshadowed our surroundings, lighting them with specks of starlight. This moment would be etched into my mind forever.

“It’s getting late. I’ll walk you home.” Frizzy advised.

“You really are a gentleman! Any more and I really will fall in love with you.”

“Don’t even joke about that!”

We both laughed at our banter, lighting up the serious mood from before.

“It’s alright. My house is right there, actually.” I pointed at the street to the left of the playground. My house was just on the next block.

“If that’s the case, I’ll take my leave. Oh wait - “

Before he left, the two of us exchanged contact information. Frizzy was the first boy in my contacts, by the way.

“Good night, Machida. See you tomorrow.” Frizzy said. For someone with such a messy appearance, he was pretty respectful.

“Wait. Before you leave, I wanted to ask. Are you sure you want someone like me to model for your art? My appearance is painfully ordinary.”

“What are you talking about? You're beautiful,” Frizzy commented with a dry tone.

Suddenly, my brain stopped functioning. My face and hands became hotter despite it being so cold. Did he have a few screws loose? How could he complement me so nonchalantly?

I couldn't look him in the eyes. My body voluntarily turned 180 degrees towards my house.

“Night, Frizzy! Don’t trip on the way home!” I replied.

“My name’s Miyagawa!”

And so the day ended. I skipped my way to my house with pep in my steps. The tale of Miyagawa the artist would finally begin, and my dream would finally come true.