Chapter 7 Pizza for the Rising Star #6
“I want to be able to tell you that I understand, but I don’t have the same scars that you do. I’m so frustrated with myself for not being able to empathize with you.”
If only I could overwrite his memories.
If I couldn’t understand him, then the least I could do was to paint over his painful memories. I wanted to paint them in fun, vibrant colors.
“If you find it hard to say no when your mother is holding your hand, let me be the one who holds your hand. When a memory that scares you comes back to you, think of the time when I held your hand, and come to Amayadori straightaway. I’ll hold your hand for you.
If you’re too embarrassed for me to do that, then I’ll make up an excuse for it.
I know, how about we do a handshake event at Amayadori? ”
Another hand joined me. Iori’s squeeze was even stronger than mine.
“We could do a folk dance on the rooftop—how about the Oklahoma Mixer?” Iori said.
“Great idea! Let’s do that!”
Behind his glasses, Hozumi’s eyes flickered.
Was any of this actually comforting him in any way? Somewhere in the depths of my mind, a calm voice asked me. But this was the only way I knew.
Putting all my strength into my grip, I squeezed Hozumi’s hand again.
The ceiling light by the counter flickered as though it was trying to signal something.
“People say that I’m a certain kind of person…” Hozumi eventually muttered under his breath. It was as though the words had just fallen out of his mouth.
“They say that they can tell, just from looking at my face. They say that they can see it in my eyes. People make their own decisions about who I am. They decide that I am a certain somebody, somebody who isn’t me.” Hozumi spoke with downcast eyes.
“Even if I want to say to them that I’m not the person they think I am, I don’t have the confidence to do so, because I don’t know myself either. I don’t know what kind of person I should be. I don’t know what kind of person I need to be, in order to be forgiven. What should I do?”
I met his wistful gaze. Hozumi’s face contorted, as if pleading for help.
“What am I supposed to do? How can I be forgiven? I just want someone to tell me that it’s okay for me to be in this world, for me to stay here as the confused person that I am.”
“It’s okay!” I said in the loudest voice I’d used all day. I was aware of the stream of tears on my cheeks and the mucus running down from my nose, but I couldn’t care less.
“It’s most definitely okay for you to be you in this world.
Even if you’re scared of your father. Even if you can’t talk back at him.
You can analyze every little detail about everything.
You can be annoying. You can keep your sweet tooth.
You can even admire your muscles in the mirror at Amayadori. ”
“Wait, you’ve noticed that?”
“What I mean is that you’re fine the way you are!
” I bellowed. “You remember what you said to me when we first met, right? You told me that I was fighting the four and eight sufferings. That I was doing something extraordinary because I had faced life. You told me that I didn’t need to think that I was going around in circles like an idiot.
That I didn’t need to beat myself up like that. ”
As soon as I said those words, Hozumi’s dark brown pupils grew smaller.
“Why don’t we suffer together?” I said. “Let’s do the thing we call living life.
If rain reminds you of a bad memory, then we can paint over the rainy days with new memories.
Like you always say, it rains every time we have a Funeral Committee meeting, right?
We can do as many Funeral Committee meetings as you want.
We can do dozens, no, hundreds of meetings! ”
People expect you to be a certain somebody. You find yourself trying to fit into a mold that someone else created, and the next thing you know, you don’t know who you are anymore.
“R-right…”
Don’t worry, the three of us can be confused people together.
Hozumi flipped over his big hand and squeezed our hands back.
“Thank you.”
One by one, drops of tears fell over the stack of three hands.
Click-clack-click-clack. The stairway reverberated with the sound of my heels against the steel surface of the steps.
Although it was already past two o’clock in the morning, my head was wide awake. Clutching a warm basket under my raincoat, I made my way up to the rooftop.
I turned my head toward the east to look at the sky. The rain hadn’t let up yet, but the clouds seemed to have moved aside, bringing the waning moon into full view.
“Knock, knock!”
“Welcome, Momo-chan. Hey, Hozumi, scoot over a bit.”
“There’s no more space! Are we seriously going to do it here?”
Twisting my body, I squeezed myself into the tent—the same tent that looked after our umeboshi so well. We were cramped, for sure, but for me, it felt just right. The cozy little space was kind of exciting, as if we were in a secret hideaway.
“Now, the moment of truth…”
I opened the basket suspensefully. The tent filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked pizza dough, tomatoes, and juicy pepperoni.
“Looks so good!” Iori said.
“What do you think, Hozumi?”
It seemed that Hozumi couldn’t quite believe that the sight before him was real. Adjusting his glasses, he gently picked up the basket and stared at it pensively.
“The star-shaped pizza,” he said.
The pointy crust, made by folding over the dough, was baked to a crispy golden brown. I was a little worried that I hadn’t given the dough enough time to rise, but it had turned out beautifully.
“Come on, Hozumi. Try some.”
Hozumi gingerly reached out. Hesitantly, he moved his hand toward the smallest piece.
I turned the plate around and gave him a look that said Take this one.
He finally seemed to summon up his resolve and tore off the biggest slice.
The pizza drooped with the weight of the melted cheese and the topping started to slide off.
“It’s gonna fall!” I said.
Hozumi quickly lowered himself, letting the pizza fall into his mouth.
“Excellent!” Iori said approvingly, popping the cap off his beer bottle.
Once Hozumi swallowed his mouthful, he widened his eyes and said, “It’s…delicious. It really is.”
“Sorry, it probably doesn’t taste like your mother’s pizza.”
This time, I knew so little about the original recipe that I’d pretty much invented my own. Hozumi smiled sheepishly and shook his head. “Now that I’ve eaten this one, I’ve forgotten how the original one tasted.”
“Right.”
Still sitting in awkward positions, we munched on the pizza. The two kinds of cheeses, mozzarella and cheddar, melded together and softened on my tongue.
Nothing hits the spot like a late-night pizza.
I unzipped the tent to find the night adorned with stars.
“Oh, has it stopped raining?” I jumped out of the tent in delight. “Ah, that’s cold!”
I felt a single drop of rain just above my right eyebrow.
“Someone got carried away,” Hozumi said.
“I really thought it had stopped! Take the hint, sky!”
“Are you seriously talking to the sky?”
Actually, the rain wasn’t so bad—not the kind of rain that called for an umbrella. Pulling up the hood of my raincoat, I leaned my body against the rooftop railing as I chewed my pizza and gazed up at the night sky.
“Hey, is that the Orion?”
“Really? Where?”
Iori and I were having a great time trying to spot constellations when Hozumi suddenly spoke.
“I’m going to call Mother tomorrow. I’m going to tell her that I’m sorry but I won’t be coming home for a while yet.”
Hozumi’s breath showed white next to his profile as he looked up at the starry night.
“If I went home now, and if Father told me to become a politician, I don’t think I could say no. I know it’s cowardly.”
“It’s not cowardly. When you’re afraid, you’re afraid. It’s completely normal.” Lifting my chin, I followed Hozumi’s gaze as I spoke. “You don’t need to go home. You can be the unfilial son.”
“…Okay.”
Hozumi let out a little laugh as he rubbed at his nose, which seemed to have turned red in the cold air.
I guess that means that Hozumi will be in Tokyo at the end of the year. How fun will it be if we all spend New Year’s Eve at Amayadori?
“I know. I’ll cook osechi for New Year’s! Iori, you don’t have any plans, do you? Let’s spend New Year’s Eve together.” Suddenly, I was brimming with festive energy.
“Wait, why are you assuming that I have no plans?” Iori objected.
“Do you have plans?”
“I’m going to watch the New Year Ekiden.”
“Watching a relay race on TV isn’t a real plan.”
“My plans involve staying inside the kotatsu blanket.”
“You know, customers would love it if you wore a kimono for the three days of New Year, Iori. I’m sure sales will go through the roof.”
“You’re not serious.”
Iori seemed genuinely unimpressed by my suggestions, but I didn’t really care.
The café had been practically empty all day every day since October, which obviously meant that sales were bad.
Iori knew well that we were barely making enough to pay the rent these past two months.
There was no way that we could afford to miss out on an opportunity that guaranteed good sales.
“Fine, fine. I’ll do it.”
“You’ll help us out, won’t you, Hozumi?” I asked.
Chuckling, he replied, “All right. I shall sell a hundred glasses of ice cream soda.” There was a confident expression on his face.
“Oh, God, it’s raining harder again.”
“Retreat!” Iori shouted.
We jumped back into the tent and took our raincoats off.
“Maybe you’re jinxed!” I said to Hozumi.
“I don’t appreciate the accusatory tone!” he retorted.
“Children, no shouting in the tent!” Iori scolded us.
We joked and laughed out loud, and ate more pizza.
Someday…
Someday, when I’m about to die, I’ll remember this day, I’ll remember these moments.