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 childhood. It was the same nightmare that had vividly repeated itself each time my conscience felt that my life was headed in the wrong direction. From the time when I was just a little girl to the present day, that same dream showed itself to me, and I could do nothing but cling to my blankets as I watched the underworld's fire spew over the ash-covered surface that was my bed. Scarily punctual, the moment my dream self was shrouded in the flames of doomsday once again, that well-known 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 the 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. She knew firsthand how strict our father was when it came to wasting time on trivial nonsense like media; thus the only remark I could make as I tossed my pajama shorts into her face was,

"Not a single scratch on that disc, or I'll tell Papa about that boy you had over last night."

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. Since my earliest memories, I could always recall the look on my father's face as he left for work every morning. He was stern, stoic, and strict; his eyes and jawline were as sharp as his ego. He was a man of few words, and hated when his routines were interrupted. When I was a little girl, I once laughed much too loud at the breakfast table with Sayuri, ultimately spilling my miso soup onto his shirt and lap. The fury in both his eyes and voice shook me so deeply that I vowed to never laugh in his presence again, partially due to his lecture on ladylike manners, and partially due to messing up his morning routine that he abides by so intensely. My mother received the backlash of my actions later that night in the bedroom, and her whimpers and yelps still ring in my mind to this day whenever I make a mistake in front of my father.

Regardless of how much I detested his strict discipline to mold me into his perfect little jack of all trades, I still loved and admired him. There was nothing wrong with him having expectations of his daughter, and I understood clearly the reasons why he put so much faith in me as his last born.

On the other hand, my sister, Sayuri, was on the luckier side of things, if you could call it lucky; 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. Piano lessons, taekwondo classes on weekends, and cram school all summer long; I was truly living out every high schooler's definition of 'Hell.'

To be able to smoke a cigarette and hike my skirt up enough to attract the attention of unruly schoolboys was a secret fantasy of mine, though I would never be caught publicly admitting such a notion. School was already draining and humiliating without the attention of handsome boys.

Getting called ‘Sadako’ at school was enough punishment to prevent me from actually attempting to act out during class. Getting called ‘Sadako’ was also a bit of an exaggeration on behalf of my classmates, as the only real factor encouraging them to call me such a name was that I preferred quietly turning to my sketchbook in my free time rather than chatting with the popular kids in class, and that alone portrayed me as creepy. The only real similarity in appearances between myself and ‘Sadako’ was our long black hair and pale skin.

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 Koji Suzuki. There, in my new school in Tokyo, I, Akitomo Enki, was the school ghost.

* * *

Shortly after third-period classes ended, I made my way toward the long fences that separated prison from freedom: school and the outside world. Under the cherry blossom 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 identified as Ukiyo-e, or seventeenth-century woodblock prints. The kind of stuff you see in history books, typically portraying kabuki actors, sumo wrestlers, beautiful flora, and occasionally erotica.

The process of mastering traditional Ukiyo-e styles from artists like Hokusai and Hiroshige was something I had worked long and hard at during my youth. I was plenty proud of my abilities with a pencil, and had considered entering a few of my canvas paintings into real competitions, but the fear of my father finding out I was wasting my time on such things prevented me from ever dipping my toes deeper into that pool. Ukiyo-e isn't as appreciated as an art form as it once was. Lithography and photography stole the spotlight in the late 19th century, and soon Ukiyo-e became devalued as commercial art among art connoisseurs in its native country. Additionally, dangerous criminal organizations such as the Yakuza began to use Ukiyo-e inspirations with darker and edgier aspects for their elaborate irezumi tattoos, much like the images I draw in my sketchbooks. If not for my drawings having been printed on paper, some would mistake the designs intentions for vintage to modern-day Yakuza tattoo ideas.

* * *

Around the time that lunch was approaching its end, a faint rustling from outside the school gate piqued my interest. I sat elegantly with poised posture, 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 brutally heavy bag aside as none other than a girl my age comedically leapt like a bird in the sky and over my entire body, landing with a thud beside me.

She wore her messy strawberry 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 amber, even more beautiful than a dandelion blooming on a warm spring morning. Her skirt had been hiked a few centimeters too high, involuntarily flashing me; though I feared that 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, and most others, 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, huh?!”

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 girl of just five feet! It's almost hard to be mad when she looks so endearing at that size… and that absurdly funny entrance.

"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. I could feel the urge to laugh creeping through my very core.

"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! She's going to think I'm a total creep for laughing at her!

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.

“Haha! Hahaha!”

My lips refused to close, the gut wrenching fear of being unable to laugh around my father caused tears to escape from my eyelids, though I had not the experience to tell if they were joyous tears or upset tears.

"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 type. I thought for sure you would snitch."

She managed a giggle of her own, her sweet voice ringing like the soft melody of church bells.

I did my best to respond in an equally 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 say my name.

I gently shook my head.

"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, playing with my bangs to hide the creeping blush on my cheeks.

"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.

It was an odd feeling; watching a real friendship bloom before my very eyes. I was certain that 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. Sora: translating to sky, and Umeda: plum field. Sweet, like her personality. 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?”