The Strings of Time / 時の糸

Sometime later, I was lying on my safe spot in the living room, the couch, watching TV. Waiting for a certain someone to arrive, so we could depart to our final destination of the day (excluding our eventual return home). My father had even left work earlier today to be here on time.

“I’m home!”

Once she arrived, the family was reunited and we were ready to leave. We hit the road, with my parents in the front and us both in the backseats.

“Natsuko, why did it take you so long to get home?”

“Well, the club members wanted me to stay for a bit longer, and I couldn't say no…”

As she finished that sentence, I recalled Naoto's “Yeah! The other members kept insisting for me to stay, guess I really had no choice”. Shameless. Taking advantage of people's kindness to drag them along. Anyhow, I continued.

“That's kind of selfish of them, to drag you along I mean. People have their own life.”

“No, it's fine. They needed some help solving some quizzes, that's all there is to it. Oh, and Junsei offered us some chicken katsu if we played one more game.”

“That's a low blow. Bribing people with food.”

“Not really, it was actually a kind move. They were going to eat it all alone but decided to share with us.”

“Hard to believe it when we're talking about the only student who ever beat Naoto in math grades. It was probably a strategy planned out to have you all play one more game.”

“You're overthinking this.”

“Yeah, you're probably right. Was the chicken good at least?”

“It was super tasty!”

There it was, the final nail in the coffin. If there was any more confirmation needed, this was it. "It was definitely a well-thought-out strategy," I spoke in an inner monologue.

I should mention that this trip’s purpose was to escort me to my first psychologist appointment. I should also mention my parents knew Natsuko was aware that I am transgender, hence why she was with us.

Roughly an hour later, we arrived at the clinic.

Now inside, we all introduced ourselves to the psychologist and sat in chairs next to each other, facing the desk where the health worker was.

“Yuki Ishida… I was told you are my new patient. What brings you here?”

“Uhhh I… am…”

I was overtaken by an immense nervousness, unable to finish the sentence.

“Take your time explaining if you’d like.”

“Y-Yes.”

Not seeing any progress, my father hurriedly intervened.

“He thinks he’s transgender.”

“Oh, that’s rather straightforward.”

Disappointed by his word choice, I quickly corrected my parental figure.

“I don’t think I am, I am transgender. And I… really want to do something about it.”

“Ok, I understand it. There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s first begin with when you first realized you were transgender.”

“It all started back in 2014.”

Yes. It happened back when I had just graduated from elementary school, on the last day of March. However, there was something else that defined that day far better. Something you only experience once each year. A special occasion worth celebrating.

It was my birthday.

On the previous day, my mother told me she had a special present prepared for the day I turned twelve. My excitement was going through the roof and I could barely sleep that night. Impatient, I pestered my parents all day about it. From the moment I woke up until that moment. What was it that they had in store for my birthday?

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours. How come time passes by so slowly when we want something so badly?

Eventually, the time came and we left home to embark on a journey to Nagasaki. That’s all I knew of. My gift was somehow related to that city.

As of our arrival, I followed my parents wherever they went, growing more and more curious about what exactly awaited me. After a few minutes of walking, a building could finally be spotted.

It was then that my parents revealed what my present was. Standing in front of us was Nagasaki Brick Hall. An event was about to begin inside. A violin concert, to be exact.

That’s right. I loved music concerts, especially ones featuring my favorite instrument, the violin. And that was because I myself was a violinist. I loved playing it. It’s what I liked the most back then. Therefore, it was only natural for me to be so hyped about it after being told what the content of my birthday gift was.

We entered the spacious main hall. By then, it had already reached half of its full occupancy. The expectation could be felt in the very air we breathed. Luckily for me, my parents got amazing seats, wherein one had one of the best views in the whole room.

Moments after we sat down, most of the lighting faded away as the spectacle began.

One after the other, violinists alike played different pieces, leaving the audience in awe for more with each passing performance.

The last chord of Beethoven’s ‘Kreutzer’ Sonata’s First Movement was played triumphantly, marking the end of another piece and spelling out “that’s your cue” for the next performer about to come up on stage. The piano accompanist and the violinist —a famous blonde girl with pale indigo-colored eyes—left after a round of applause, leaving behind a fragrant touch in the air.

The next performer—a stunning up-and-coming young violinist in an elegant light-grey dress—walked up to the middle of the stage and took a bow. She appeared to be around my age. Everyone applauded her arrival.

As the crowd went silent, she closed her eyes and swung her bow upwards, not having bothered to tune the instrument, implying she had already done so beforehand since she was going to perform alone. In a fast movement, the bow touched the strings, producing a sequence of high-pitched notes spiraling downwards, signaling the beginning of the song.

That was unmistakably Bach’s Prelude from Partita No. 3, I had played it myself before—yet it wasn’t just that for me. Something else was emanating from that never-ending frenzy of notes. I could feel the emotions bursting out violently, battling it out to see who would come out on top. More than that even. It was as if I connected to the harmony, deeply immersed in it, eventually becoming one with that girl and her violin. And that was when I imagined myself in her place.

That’s when I first realized I wasn’t happy.

Unlike when I normally played my own violin, something was different.

Unlike all my previous live performances, I could play anything, the stage was mine, and I wasn’t nervous anymore.

Unlike any other day, I could feel more like myself than I ever did.

Just a girl letting the notes slide through her violin.

Was that who I was all along? A girl and her violin, just like her?

The brown-haired girl fearlessly kept paving the way until the very end, never holding back. Up and down, throughout a rollercoaster, melody and rhythm kept moving forward side by side, always challenging each other to see who’d cross the finish line first. Nearing the end, the rhythm decelerated, preparing for a final sprint. As the piece demanded, the rhythm sharply increased back to usual for a triumphal finish.

And so, it ended with the same note with which it started—contrarily to me.

The artist took a bow again and everyone applauded once more, amazed.

As she left the stage, I wondered what her name was.

Who… are you?

After the concert came to a close, I wrote a message for that girl, intending to deliver it to her personally, but, amidst the crowd leaving the building, I let it slide through my hands, falling to the ground.

Months later, I dropped my violin classes and stopped playing it altogether. I could no longer find joy when picking up the violin. However, I never truly stopped playing, as I sometimes did it when my parents were away, hoping I could once again find that same joy. The joy that filled my heart on that night. I never succeeded.

Returning to the clinic, the psychologist remarked how I ended up derailing from the main point of the question, though still glad I answered it well enough.

“I’m sorry.”

After discussing for more than thirty minutes, we left the room. While my parents handled the payments associated with the appointment, Natsuko requested to talk with me alone, just us both.

She sported the look of someone who had just connected all the dots, who had unraveled an overarching mystery.

“Ishida, you were… that boy?”

“Huh?”

A lot of thoughts flooded my head that very moment, filling my face with shock.

“What… do you mean?”

“Five years ago, after a concert I participated in ended and nearly everyone had left, I found a ragged piece of paper lying on the floor that had written on it ‘Thank you very much. Your performance touched my heart and opened my eyes to who I am. By the way, what’s your name? For - Bach Prelude girl’.”

“…What?”

I started tearing up, unable to contain my emotion after finding out. Akira Natsuko was that girl from that day. Seeing me like that, she tried to comfort me, hugging me.

“So it was you, silly. Now you know my name.”

There I stood. Crying like a walking water fountain. Her hug whispering me in the ear, “It’s okay now. Let it all out”.

I can’t quite piece together what it is about hugs that make you feel so much at peace with your own self. Maybe it’s the position, maybe it’s the timing, maybe it’s the person that offers you a new home in between their loving arms. Does it really matter though? Growing older, you begin to realize some things are better left unanswered.

Not everything needs to be solved.

Not everything can be solved.

Not everything wants to be solved.

And that’s completely fine.

I’d rather stay like this. Wrapped in your velvety wings forever.