Common Circumstances

Despite the summer season, the forecast predicted cloudy weather with a chance of rain – classic Sapporo. The city had warmer days than the rest of Japan in mid-July, but the humidity wasn't as high.

I finished a morning session with my therapist at his home. I would have been able to return to school, where classes just finished final exams for first semester, but because it was the last day, I decided to use the doctor's note to excuse my absence and walk to my house. Well, it was a house, but not necessarily mine alone.

I plugged my earphones into my smartphone and listened to my favorite music group: An idol band from a rhythm game I played. I leisurely walked through neighborhoods and avenues, passing houses and convenience stores, with nimbus clouds spread across the sky uniformly. Passing a pie-themed shop I recently frequented, I figured I'd grab a quick bite due to missing breakfast at the house.

Upon entering, a male cashier took my order of a matcha latte and fluffy green key lime pie. The interior was a calm space, warm in lighting and atmosphere, with polished wood and amber brick walls. The window panes facing the main street allowed natural light inside without need for electricity. It didn't take long for my order to be prepared, and I sat down at a table with a watermelon seat cushion.

I opened my schoolbag and took out a small container.
Only four left, I thought. Doesn't really feel like three weeks have passed.
I opened the container and fished for a pill capsule, ingesting it with the tea.

As I ate my pie alone, I scrolled through the news on my phone. I was in the middle of a story about a bank robbery in this city when I noticed someone's shoes in my left peripherals. I looked up and saw a girl in a different high school uniform holding her own plate of pie; apple. I paused my music and took off my left earphone.

She asked, "M-May I…sit here?"

I, stiffly and awkwardly, nodded my assent.

She set down her tray and sat on the orange slice seat cushion opposite me. She frequented this shop as often as I did – if not, more. I wasn't opposed to her intruding on my solitary breakfast, because she, besides my therapist, was the only person I willingly spoke to.

Our awkwardness strung from the fact that we didn't necessarily know each other, but if I were anyone else, she wouldn't have asked to sit; I was specific for whatever reason. I rolled my earphones and tucked them away in my schoolbag.

She spoke like a mouse, "G-Good…morning…Vieira-kun."
Her pronunciation of my foreign family name was practiced and flawless.

I greeted her back in the same way, putting my phone in my pocket. To avoid being the only silent table in the shop, I initiated a conversation starter.
"C-Congrats on finishin' first semester of your third-year."

"You too… High school has been an experience."
She shifted her eyes to the tabletop and saw my container next to my plate.
"When're you due for a refill?"

It seemed like our awkward phase started and stopped with our greetings, since we became less uneasy with each other and our tones matched as the conversation grew. Though she adapted better than I did.

"W-Wednesday, Shizuko-sensei set an appointment for me then. Speakin' of, did you have a therapy appointment today, Ri-Ringomori-san? I don't remember your name on his sheet."

She intonated an, "uh-uh," as she shook her head.
"Today I have a doctor's appointment, not therapy. I'm eating beforehand."
She took a bite of her apple pie and washed it down with a drink.
"What're you doing for the peer outing?"

I groaned, "Ugh, a hike. I don't like how they changed peer outin's from optional to mandatory."

"They changed it because of us, and how little we participated in them before. Our lack of improvement was the issue."

"That's just the kind of person I am. I'm sure I've always been like that, even as a little kid."

"How could you know that if you don't remember your childhood?" she remarked.

My lips curved up in a grin and accepted her ridicule. It seemed we were comfortable enough to make those types of jokes to each other, granted, if we passed the greeting stage. We both continued to eat our pies with minimal conversation.

After ten minutes, we finished and left the shop. We were headed in different directions; she to where I just came from, and I to where she had come from. We exchanged a farewell that had always ended with the same phrase.

"Don't join the parents."

I continued with my commute to the house. North of the pie shop, I turned left into a street and realized my turn was actually three streets later. I had made a mistake…again. In the past few times coming from therapy, for some reason, I couldn't seem to remember the street name I was supposed to turn on.

There's somethin' about this street that just…entrances me.

Nevertheless, I arrived at the house.

"Welcome back, Chamaru-kun!"

"Hi, Chamaru!"

"Vieira-san, how was the session?"

I was met with numerous kids at the door, along with a caregiver.

"It was okay," I responded mundanely.

My room was on the second floor, furthest from the staircase leading up to it. For a few hours, I worked on my summer homework packet a random classmate had brought to my address. I wasn't the most studious student, nor did I excel in exams, but I knew enough to get me by without causing trouble for the adults.

Once I got bored of the homework, I played the rhythm game on my phone, trying to tier closer to the top100 spot of the current event. I forgot to activate Do Not Disturb and a LINE message filled the screen.

"There goes my combo… Oh, it's from Ringomori-san."

The message read:

Doctor said I'm fine. We set up another appointment for next month, but she highly doubts I'll need it, but I wanted to be sure.

I didn't think the message warranted a response, but then another followed:

I forgot to mention, but I'm joining you for hiking. Since it'll only be the two of us going, it should be quite a relaxed outing that shouldn't be too burdensome. See you Thursday.

My initial reaction was, she's more casual through messages. Then, I slouched in my chair and groaned again because of the mandatory outings. I was in no way displeased with her tagging along, and I decided to let her know that.

"Don't join the parents," she wrote.

I flopped on my bed and rolled around a few times until I got dizzy and faced the ceiling. The thin warping walls allowed the shouting of higher-pitched little kids to seep through as if they were inside my room. So many of us lived in the same building.

Ringomori lived her own life, and I did my own too, but a few things we did have in common – besides the pie shop – was that we were both diagnosed with depression as kids, and we lived in the same building because we were also orphans.