Old Favourite

A piece I worked on a while back, which I happened upon earlier today.

Mono-no-Aware

I never understood why Mother was so unfazed by her upcoming death, ‘Mono-no-aware,’ she would say as if that made everything remarkably better.

The weather today, much like her final days, is grey. The clouds are looking miserable, which should have reflected her mood, all things considered. Unlike with Mother, the sky matches my disposition perfectly.

I’m standing on the platform, trying to shield my face from view, watching as trains pass by but never a thought to board one. Hearing the sound of a church bell in the distance, I realise I need to drink my medicine, an ultimately pointless routine as it doesn’t seem to help much, though I can hear Mother nagging in the back of my mind. Not that she ever did. I open the cold bottle, bring it to my mouth and let my mind wander - to better things, different things, and nothing in particular. As I return the bottle to my pocket, I feel the button I had carefully placed inside that morning. Just the slightest touch makes my skin crawl. Longing surges through me, then a kind of discomfort.

The button wouldn’t draw the attention of others, it’s ugly and boring, but I can barely keep myself together at the sight of it. It was given to me by Tsukasa, the man I truly love and am currently abandoning. Memories sweep through me again, and I need someone to talk to, but there was no one to talk to here. The next train came rattling into view. Final stop – Hokkaido. Hokkaido is where Tsukasa was born, though we never did get a chance to go together. Frustration hit me with the final clang of the hourly bells and then a cruel thought, irony maybe, but also an ultimatum. That is where I’ll die.

I board the train and wade through the hordes to get to my seat. Watching the world pass by, I let my thoughts take comfort in the fact that I will soon be far away from Tsukasa, who wishes me well, but I do not want to show my impending unsightly demise. I regret that his affectionate intentions are wasted on me, and I picture how he will come to find me in the spring, perhaps frozen on Mt. Yotei or by Lake Toya like a beautiful structure of sparkling ice. Breaking free of my delusions of future grandeur, I notice the clock tower in the little town we are passing through. As if by some Shinigami’s grace, it is precisely on the hour once again. I remove the cursed medicine bottle from my pocket but rather than lifting it to my mouth, I place it quite precariously on the window sill, where it stands like a giant against the miniature buildings passing by behind it. The way mother’s grave had appeared larger than Togan-ji the day we buried her, though this bottle hardly compares to its magnitude. For the remainder of the journey, I leave it there, watching the condensation form, wondering if I, too, will be like that when they find me in spring.