OK then, she waved a hand, and he waved back.
‘I’m gonna get myself a beer on the way home today. In support of your theory. It’s the most fun version, right?’ he said.
She had been heading for the doors but she turned back towards him.
‘The next time we meet, we should have a drink. I prefer beer in a glass mug, rather than in a can.’
Hey, what’d she mean by ‘the next time’? Masashi thought, bewildered. They hadn’t even exchanged contact information.
As far as she was concerned, he was just a stranger she’d struck up a conversation with about some charming graffiti.
‘The central library. You go there a lot, don’t you? So then, next time we meet.’
He was speechless – at that moment the train stopped and the doors opened, and with a spring in her step, she alighted from the train.
She headed for the staircase, rather than use the escalator, that bag on her shoulder with the mouse, its mouth open in a gaping smile.
As Masashi watched it swaying awkwardly, his hands reflexively popped up to cover his mouth.
So she had noticed him after all, he thought, his cheeks uncharacteristically flushed.
The next time we meet.
Today’s Saturday. Nothing special lined up, just a regular old boring afternoon.
He’d thought that he was the only one aware of their chance encounters.
When? And where?
He had the sudden urge to run off the train to find out why she had been the one to home in on him.
If she wanted to drink beer out of a glass, then why not today?!
Masashi got up from his seat and leapt onto the platform.
The mouse with the full-face smile was only halfway up the long staircase. Masashi started up the stairs, taking them two at a time to catch up with her.
Takarazuka-Minamiguchi Station
Takarazuka-Minamiguchi is a run-down train station, in dire need of renovation.
Whereas its neighbouring stations on either side – Takarazuka and Sakasegawa, and for that matter all the other stations along the same line – have a bustling and lively vibe, Takarazuka-Minamiguchi seems to be the only one left behind in that wave of development.
There is a two-storey shopping mall that, up until some years ago, had still been sparsely populated by ramshackle shops, but after the few that were left had been evicted in advance of these renovation plans, no progress has been made.
The only attraction there is perhaps the Takarazuka Hotel. It’s said that, for fans of the Takarazuka Revue, an all-female musical theatre troupe, there’s an excellent chance of spotting one of their stars at this prestigious hotel.
As Shoko boarded the Nishi-Kita-bound train after it had slid into the platform, the clicking of her heels seemed to resonate intimidatingly. The train car wasn’t crowded but almost all the seats were taken, so, in her white dress, Shoko was hovering near the door. If she squeezed into one of the available seats, she would crease the skirt of her dress that had cost her a pretty yen.
Carelessly, she allowed a bag stamped with the emblem of the Takarazuka Hotel – no doubt containing a wedding favour – to drop by her feet. What did she care how fragile whatever was inside might be? After all, if she’d been happy to receive the favour, she wouldn’t have attended the occasion dressed all in white.
She would never forget the look on the bride’s face when she laid eyes on Shoko wearing what might as well have been a wedding dress. Yes, she would tuck that memory away in a corner of her heart.
White was the bride’s colour – guests knew better than to wear it. That was the most basic rule of the dress code for weddings. Shoko’s hair was even done up and adorned with white accessories. From the moment she arrived at the reception and signed the registry book, the other guests had been giving her looks and rolling their eyes.
She had to laugh, no?
Recalling the look on their faces, the corners of Shoko’s mouth turned up in a smile.
I can’t believe you’d do such a thing to me.
They had worked at the same company for five years. She had started to date the groom six months after they began working together. The company had sanctioned their relationship so they were publicly a couple, and once they were into their third year, everyone at the office had thought that it wouldn’t be long before Shoko and the groom got married.
The bride joined the company at the same time and had also been a friend. Past tense, of course – though there’s no way for Shoko to know just when that became so.
In contrast to Shoko with her striking features and brisk manner, the bride was a rather ordinary girl who seemed to have turned into an equally ordinary office worker.
They had been on the same team during training and the bride had become attached to Shoko, who was anything but shy and had made various friends and connections at the office. The bride was the quiet type who always seemed to stealthily insert herself into Shoko’s circle.
Why are you friends with the likes of her? You’re nothing like each other. Someone had once asked Shoko this, when the bride wasn’t around.
For the life of her, Shoko couldn’t recall why or how. During training, she had felt like the quiet-type bride was dependent on her, and then before Shoko knew it, she was already cosied up with her. Shoko didn’t find anything to dislike about being around her, and at work the bride neither sprinted ahead nor dragged anyone down, so they had remained friendly. Shoko hadn’t paid much attention to her, though the bride continued to stick close to Shoko.
Then, when Shoko started dating the groom, the bride must have heard about it through the grapevine, because she had asked Shoko, ‘You’re seeing X now?’
‘Yes, well,’ Shoko had replied, not wanting to publicize her personal life.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ the bride had asked, in a gently chiding tone.
‘We aren’t friends.’ Pressed to explain herself, for just a brief moment, Shoko had thought, Ugh, she’s so annoying.
In retrospect, that’s when Shoko ought to have distanced herself. But since they worked together and she did not want to spark any conflict, she had opted for prudence.
If only I had cut my ties back then … yet it was a waste of time to contemplate what was irreversible, so she wouldn’t bother thinking about it.
‘A curse?!’
She heard a woman in a nearby seat exclaim. Her tone of voice as well as the incongruity of the word made Shoko glance quickly over at the couple sitting there. They were both dressed casually but Shoko took them to be career types. What stood out about them was that they were both carrying bags that were full to bursting.
‘What gives you that idea?!’
‘Well, if you read it as the word for “life” …’
The young woman was consumed with curiosity, while the young man appeared to be more aware of his surroundings, so he had lowered his voice in an effort to mollify her. It worked quite well. Shoko could no longer hear their conversation from where she was standing.
A curse?
Shoko let out an involuntary snort.
Perhaps she too had engaged in a skirmish of sorts – using the white dress she was wearing to cast the spell of her own curse.
In the fifth year of their relationship, the subject of marriage increasingly came up in conversation. They both seemed to suffer from premarital anxiety – they argued more frequently and were often at odds with each other.
It won’t last, just hold out until the wedding, her married friend had advised, and Shoko had believed her.
However, that advice had been based upon the assumption that there wasn’t someone waiting in the wings, someone who would prey upon that premarital anxiety and use it to her own advantage.