That Spring, When She Appeared In Thulian

I was resolute. In my decision to leave the comforts of home, and in a whirlwind of curses and threats no less. An overprotective parent, hellbent on fortifying the walls of the nest. So that my wings—meager as they were—could not hope to catch a passing breeze. So that I would remain safe, and wholly uninspired for all that remained of my days.

It started with a pamphlet thrust into my hand at a job fair, a simple idea to teach language in a land quite far from home. A chance was all it took for me to leap with enough fervent desire to sever any lingering connections to what was, in favor of what could finally be. My father did not take it in stride.

I did leave a letter, however, if one could call it that. An apologetic note of only a few words, it did little to soften the blow. “I’m sorry, but I need to do this.” Stoicism ran in the family, and neither of us were any good with saying the words we wanted to say, or knowing when to say them.

But through walls of colorless safety, I could never hope to discover the joys of humanity. What does it mean to live, to love? It was as foreign to me as any travel destination could be. The canvas that encompassed the world I lived in was a dismal tone of gray.

Why couldn’t my father understand my plight? It vexed every fiber of my being. And so, I took to the sky like a songbird. I was but a young man of twenty two years when I fled east to Japan, hoping for a newfound perspective.

My teaching assignment led me to a small town just outside the Japanese city of Nasu. It was the kind of place that felt far enough from the major hubs that my circumstances could not follow me. Though I half expected them to, to the ends of the world and back.

There was a loneliness, however, in that small town where I taught English that I could not explain with much certainty. I had arrived at the far end of the globe in search of myself, of color, and had yet to find a hint of it after months of quiet contemplation. It was then, at the local train station, that I saw her.

A visage of beauty personified, and draped in incarnadine splendor, the young Japanese woman stared out from the platform at the rolling hills extending in every perceivable direction.

She was by herself, much like I, but her aloneness felt deliberate and without gloom. She felt so far away, though she stood right next to me. Beautiful as she was, there was also a frailty, a weakness that I could just barely catch a glimpse of.

Moments passed by in relative silence as I remained entranced by her person until, despite my usual penchant for silence, I felt a strange urge to speak up. Lest my commuter train arrive to take me home, robbing me of the chance forevermore.

“Beautiful day we’re having, isn’t it?”

I said the first thing that came to mind. Of course—to me—everything was still the same muted gray it had always been. I just tried to simulate normal conversation.

Silence.

The young woman continued to absorb the spring scenery, oblivious to my question or the fact that it was directed towards her.

Maybe she’s wearing headphones?

I checked, she wasn’t.

Maybe she can’t speak English confidently?

The likelihood of that was somewhat high, I reasoned. Japan, generally speaking, had one of lowest percentages of fluent English speakers in the world. I could try to test my somewhat shaky Japanese, but ultimately opted against it. Just before I could perform a tactical retreat back into my shell, I heard a deep sigh beside me.

“You’re right, it is beautiful.”

I slowly glanced over at the source of the voice. The young woman was beaming, head tilted in my direction. The warmth of her smile stunned me speechless as I hadn’t fully processed that she provided the answer to my question, and in English no less.

“O-um… yeah.”

That was all I mustered in response. The wind picked up, carrying the obsidian hair from her pale shoulders, a wig upon closer inspection. My train arrived at virtually the same time, ending my first interaction with the woman.

It was bizarre, wholly unremarkable, and yet… I could swear I saw a flash of something bright and colorful, unusual hues, as the train carried me away from the platform where she stood waving gently. It was gone as quick as it appeared.

“Trick of the light, I suppose.”

That spring, when she appeared in thulian, I found myself scrambling. The springtime I had been searching for was nowhere to be found in distant lands. My father’s words about my own naivety rang true, as often as the 5:00 PM chime, blaring over the loudspeakers every evening in town. But lingering still was that second warm smile she shared and yet another fortuitous meeting.

– ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ –

I was late. I was dreadfully, and most embarrassingly late for my morning English lecture. It was not the first time I had missed my train on account of the faulty wiring in my small apartment. My phone battery depleted overnight, as I slept blissfully unaware that my wake-up alarm was rendered ineffective along with it.

The last thing I could afford was any unnecessary distractions on my commute to school, and so I skipped my morning coffee and breakfast, as one in a hurry tends to do.

As I fumbled through my pockets for my train ticket, I was hit by a strong gust of wind. That one squall was all it took to steal away my ride to work, and all I could do was stare up in disbelief at my ticket fluttering away in the breeze. I could have given chase, but the wind quickly carried it high into the air amongst the petals from the nearby cherry trees.

Well, that’s rather frustrating, but I can simply buy another ticket at the station.

Or, at least, that’s what I thought. I could scarcely believe my rotten luck when I arrived at the station. Not a soul was there to greet me behind the ticket counter, and the next train would soon be approaching to carry away the next crop of passengers and my chance at arriving for my lesson on time.

What is the principal going to say to me this time? What do I ‘want’ him to say? Tardiness is inexcusable, after all.

I briefly thought about sneaking aboard, but such a thing would be greatly frowned upon, and I didn’t want to cause a raucous. Being the only Caucasian person in this part of town, it would be easy to trace misbehavior back to me, putting my job—and work visa—at risk.

Just as I tilted my head upward to curse the kami above for the set of circumstances that led me here, I saw something fluttering against the branch of a cherry tree near the platform.

Wait, isn’t that…

“Why, that’s my ticket!”

I thought that perhaps my luck wasn’t so bad after all, considering my quarry had ended up in the very place I intended to use it. The problem, however, was that it was resting pretty high up in the tree and my athletic skills left much to be desired.

“Guess there’s no helping it.”

I sighed deeply before trying to inch my way up the base of the great cherry tree. A few other waiting passengers shot me puzzled glances, but there was no turning back from the shame now. Losing my position as a teacher and returning to my father’s house with my tail tucked firmly between my legs would be a far worse fate.

Looking up from the ground, it was quite an interesting sight. Everything I had read about in the pamphlets described sakura as the very symbol of spring in Japan. Though the colors were just as faded to me as the nearby cement on the platform.

I had somehow made some headway towards my objective when another squall dislodged it from its resting place on the branch, much to my exasperation. My grip also loosened at that moment, sending my gangly frame crashing into the dirt below.

I had no words. At least, none that I could verbalize within earshot of young children and seniors. My exhausted body peeled itself off the ground, and before my very eyes, I saw my ticket right in front of me….

Wait, my ticket!?

Yes, indeed it was. I rubbed my eyes with my dirt-smudged hands to make sure I wasn’t seeing things in my caffeine-deprived state. However, it wasn’t just the ticket I spied as I came to my senses.

“Bukiyōda ne?” A familiar-looking woman beamed down at me, holding out my ticket in her outstretched hand. “A clumsy one.”

My face flushed beet-red as I hopped to my feet with all the quickness of a man catching fire, and graciously took back my ticket from her outstretched hand.

“You—You’re the woman from the other day! Thank you for, um, retrieving my ticket. Uhhh… kippu, arigatou…” I pointed at the slip, spouting off a word I had only recently learned in Japanese.

“Iie, it was no problem,” she replied.

I noticed in her other hand she held an oversized shopping bag full of various goods. I had seen her last at the rural station nearest to the school where I worked, so I concluded she was a local of that area and had gone into the city to get groceries. Though it was awfully early in the day to do so.

It was also a peculiar coincidence to meet the same woman at two different stations, but it had saved me this time around. I noticed there was a lull in the conversation, and I wasn’t versed well enough in the conversational arts to think of what to say next.

“Going to work?” She did the honors of breaking the ice for me, gesturing to my filthy clothes, hands, and face. “Daijoubu?”

“Ah, that’s right…” I scanned myself as if I was surprised that nose diving into the dirt could leave one in a state of disrepair. “What will I do about all this?”

Without warning, the young woman placed the shopping bag on the ground next to her and started rummaging through her pockets for something. The smile never faded from her face as she did. Her hand emerged with a handkerchief which she quickly wetted with a bottle of water from the shopping bag.

“Hai, kore.” She handed me the cloth. “To clean.”

I was immobilized by her smile once again. Here this kind woman was saving me not once, but twice in the span of just a few moments. I had little choice but to oblige in her altruistic gesture, though I felt guilty about sullying her personal effects with my grime.

Our train arrived moments later, and we boarded along with the other morning commuters. The ride flew by as I made casual conversation with the young woman, whom I hadn’t bothered to exchange names with during either of our meetings thus far.

“I’ll wash and return this the next time I see you.” I promised without thinking about the implications of my words. “Since, you know, we take the same route.”

But perhaps it was simply that I wanted to see her again, though I couldn’t grasp that fact at the time.

“Next time…” She repeated those words, smiling a tad bit sadly before returning to her usual gleam and an enthusiastic nod. “See you then.”

A final look was shared between us and I ran off in the direction of the school where I worked, wearing the weirdest expression on my face. Another chance meeting, another flash of color returned to greet my eyes. My gray world had begun to experience spring for the very first time, and I smiled. Though I still hadn’t asked for her name.

That spring, when she appeared in thulian, I found a sliver of something grand. A sight I had never seen, a feeling I had never felt. A face that continued to visit me in the days to come, even though I hadn’t seen her since that day. In my dream, I would return what belonged to her, and ask for her name at last. I would be happy in knowing, but want for more as one finds themself doing. In my dream, in my dream, in my dream…

– ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ –

Vibrant. It was strange that I found myself describing the world as such these days. Weeks had passed since I met the woman at the station, and every day since had been somewhat brighter in comparison to the dreary springs of my formative years.

Although, I chanced to receive a letter one day from my father in apology. For his actions that led to my leaving, for his closed-off demeanor ever since the passing of my mother. I was shocked. He detailed that he loved me dearly as his only child and that he was proud of my newfound independence. And I cried.

“I wish I could thank her.”

One might scoff at the perceived insignificance of my chance meetings with the young woman at the station, but I could not very well deny that her smile had initiated a change in me. The first bit of kindness I had experienced in a lifetime of self-doubt, and endless gray skies.

Meanwhile, the cherry blossoms had all but fallen from the ends of their respective branches along the path to the station, a sign that summer was just around the corner. With its fabled humidity and fireworks festivals, I could taste the fried food at the festival stalls already.

It was my day off of work, and I found myself taking a light detour through the park to get some well-deserved vitamin D and perhaps to add some muscle definition to my wiry lower frame. As I parked myself on a bench for a quick breather, I saw something that made me light up.

“Beautiful weather we’re having, isn’t it?” I smiled.

“You’re right, it is beautiful.” The young woman who approached returned my statement with one of her own, sitting next to me on the bench.

I studied her face as our eyes met. She looked paper thin as if she could blow away with the next passing breeze. She no longer wore the wig that I had seen the last couple of times, opting instead for a headband with a bow that did little to cover her hair loss.

And yet, she was as beautiful as I had ever seen her.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask her. Like what had brought her all the way out to the middle of the city. Or perhaps how long she had been ill, tactless as such a thing may have sounded. I did neither, electing instead to ask what I most wished to find out.

“What is your name?” I scratched my chin, looking rather sheepish. “I never did ask…”

A look of surprise flashed across her face, but then she started laughing up a veritable storm. Her voice sounded like the sweetest melody, though I was a touch embarrassed at her sudden laughter, thinking I might have said something strange.

“Hana.” She smiled warmly, wiping a tear from her eye. “It’s Hana.”

“Hana…” I repeated to myself with a nod.

“Spring will end soon,” Hana said, casting her eyes forward to a grove of trees as they held onto the last of their blossoms, afraid to let them go whirling to the ground below.

That spring, when she appeared in thulian, there was something else in her voice. A double meaning I might have sensed. But I simply looked ahead, to the thulian pink blossoms and what I now knew they symbolized.

In all things beautiful, there is a fleeting moment.

Marked by a gray end, a new beginning always springs from what remains.

“Let’s see the flowers here when spring comes again.”