The Departure

Sitting at her desk in her room, Natsuki could only sigh at the author’s note she typed up at the end of her most recent chapter on her adventure story. Nothing in there was a lie - she did receive some kind words and feedback in the form of several hundred views, a few comments, and a singular four-star rating. Those all felt really good to see - in the moment.

But once that moment passed, Natsuki couldn’t help but check her story again and again. However, very little changes when you constantly hover over a story like that. The feedback seemed far too little for the amount of time and effort she put into writing.

One hand on her mouse, she hovered over the publish button on Persepolis that would officially make her last chapter public and bring an end to the story. An abrupt end, too - she didn’t even have it in her anymore to end the story on something concrete. Instead, it would end mid-arc, just like that.

Once again, all those plans of long-term storylines, future battles, and plot twists wouldn’t be achieved since they were so far down the line and Natsuki had only made it through the first three arcs.

She wiped her forehead, feeling utterly worn-down. She had a fan running next to her at full-speed; the heat wave settled into Miyazawa and it gave off no signs of disappearing in the immediate future.

Natsuki gave her screen and author’s note one last look. Did I really enjoy writing that? Was that month-long grind worth it in the end?

She glanced at her phone to check the time and supposed she had bigger fish to fry at the moment. Almost reluctantly, almost relieved, Natsuki hit the publish button, and that was that for her story she spent all month writing.

….......

Natsuki wasn’t sure if the train ride to see Mitsuko off or the train ride back home would be sadder. She knew how much it would cost to take the bullet train up to Hokkaido - all along, she knew it would be too much, or at least too much money and time to make it a regular occurrence. For the first time, she looked up how much it would cost to go from Hokkaido back down to Miyazawa; the dollar signs and time tables weren’t too promising that way, either.

The earliest Natsuki and Mitsuko could see each other again would be Christmas break. That’s when the time was cheapest but the money was most expensive, but they could get it done then.

Five months until their next meeting. A lot would change in the meantime. Gray skies and early sunsets would replace the easy feeling of summer. The once-green grass would be covered by snowfall.

And who knows? Maybe they would be different people by then. Maybe things would be different between them.

But Natsuki's train arrived in Mitsuko’s station, and she departed with heavy feet. She left early on this Saturday morning, not wanting to leave anything to chance. She offered to help the Haradas move their belongings, but the moving company would be handling that. Their father had already gone up with the movers; Mitsuko and her mother remained behind until Mitsuko’s finals ended.

Natsuki sat on a bench outside the station, watching thousands of people walk past her. They moved along their routes, all the color of life draining away to gray once more. Mitsuko moving away was the biggest story in Natsuki’s current life - but wasn’t it just another anecdote in this city of millions? Nobody paid the sorry-looking girl losing her best friend any mind as she sat on that bench - but how could they have known?

As the clock ticked steadily away, Mitsuko and Ms. Harada arrived at the station. Despite their northern destination, both of them wore light clothes - the sun beat down relentlessly on Miyazawa, tightening its grip on the city, crushing it under a blanket of humidity.

“Mitsuko,” Natsuki greeted, standing up. “Mrs. Harada.”

“Thanks for seeing me off,” Mrs. Harada said with a small grin. “And Mitsuko too, I guess.”

Mitsuko and Natsuki laughed weakly at her joke. Mrs. Harada checked her watch. “We have a few minutes to spare. I’ll be right back, I have to use the restroom.”

She was, of course, just giving the two a moment of privacy to say their goodbyes. Natsuki and Mitsuko watched her go, then sighed in unison at the humidity.

“Did you prepare a farewell speech for me?” Mitsuko asked. She wasn’t happy, of course, but she already gave the situation a good crying - she merely had a sad smile on her face this time. Now that the moment was here, all the anxiety that had been building up was gone. You could no longer dread saying goodbye - all that was left was just to say it.

Natsuki probably displayed more dismay on her face than Mitsuko did. Natsuki never had a moment of brief catharsis by crying her heart out on a swing set. The feeling was all still inside her, so she still carried a melancholic air to her.

“Couldn’t find the words,” she supposed. She did, of course, try to plan out what she would say at Mitsuko’s departure, but she always came up empty.

A silence settled over them. The two watched a group of schoolgirls walk by, discussing their shopping plans for the day. Airplanes flew overhead.

“You know, we still have unfinished business,” Mitsuko said, watching the plane disappear behind buildings. “My character. I’ve read both of your stories - yet I don’t appear in either. Nor do I have a light-sword.”

Natsuki rubbed the back of her head. “Well, I guess I thought I had all the time in the world to make your character. But, as it turns out, there’s never enough time.”

Mitsuko sighed. “How it goes.”

“How it goes,” Natsuki repeated.

More silence. Weary tourists sat by a water fountain in a plaza near the station to escape the heat. Kids ate popsicles and teenagers ate ice cream. Cars drove by.

“Are you still afraid?” Natsuki finally asked. She wanted to say something, anything, at their last moment, but that was the best she could come up with.

Mitsuko looked at her for a moment, then shrugged as if to say well, that’s life.

“Still afraid,” Mitsuko confirmed. “But it’s alright. You’ll always be here for me, and I’ll always be there for you. We’re just a phone call or text away from each other. And who knows? One door closes and another door opens. This is the end of one thing, but the start of something new, too. One thing ending doesn’t mean everything ends. You've been thinking about being alive and time periods and all that jazz, right? Maybe being alive just means moving through time.”

Mitsuko saw her mother emerge from the restrooms and knew the time had come. “Let me know where you end up in the school rankings. Send me your next story, too. Maybe that can also include a farewell scene between friends. I give you permission to workshop my little speech for it.”

Natsuki grinned. “I’d like that.”

“Ready?” Mrs. Harada asked as she regrouped with them.

“Hokkaido’s not getting any younger,” Mitsuko supposed. She gave Natsuki one last look; her eyes were visible through her glasses. They weren’t sad - just bittersweet.

“Take care, Natsuki.”

Natsuki nodded, and then took a deep breath and pulled Mitsuko in a big hug. “You too, Mitsuko.”

“You’re not a doe or even a muskrat anymore,” Mitsuko said as Natsuki held her close. “You have a bear-like strength to you now, both in spirit, mind, and the current crushing of my windpipe. You’ve grown up before my very eyes, Natsuki.”

Natsuki sighed as Mitsuko wrapped her own arms around her in return. Compared to the day’s humidity, her warmth felt much more inviting and soft.

“Yeah, yeah...”