Episode 27 — “Nothingness”

In the brief interval between the end of the performance and going home, Shion is on my lap as a matter of course — today again, facing me this time. The arms around the back of my neck are slender and cool, and almost weightless. And yet they leave something of definite substance behind in me.

Like music, which leaves something real despite having no material form — the influence Shion exerts on the physical and the influence she exerts on the heart are not proportional. And as if to tip that scale further, Shion’s voice rang out from much too close a distance.

“Uta.”
“What is it?”
“I just wanted to call your name.”

Saying that, she leans into me further, affectionate and clinging, surrendering more weight my way. However light Shion is, the wooden chair groaned under two people’s worth — and my heartbeat groaned along with it. To disguise all of that, I retreated into words.

“…Shion, you really do have a very small sense of personal space.”
“That’s not true. My personal space is enormous.”

Saying this, she hugged me tighter. Personal and personal were pressed flush together. Space had gone past narrow or wide into zero. Mu — nothingness — opens into infinite possibility, so in that sense perhaps what Shion says isn’t entirely wrong. That was what I told myself inwardly — but the softness of Shion’s skin, the sweet scent, the lively flutter of her heartbeat were thoroughly, stubbornly real, and none of it would cooperate with that sort of reasoning.

“I still think you have very little personal space…”
“That’s not true. I hate being touched by people. It frightens me.”
“You said something like that before.”

I think she was sitting on my lap then too. Should I point out the blatant contradiction? While I was hesitating — Shion offered her own answer.

“But Uta is special.”
“Why…?”
“Because I have to keep a close watch on you.”
“Keep watch…?”
“I have to make sure your words don’t stray.”

Words straying. Another difficult concept. Before that, I wanted to establish the premise.

“So my words have become Shion’s property.”

I murmured it, half to myself. Well — something as cheap as that, she can have as much as she likes, but just to confirm.

“Yes. Because my sound is Uta’s. So Uta’s words are mine.”
“That’s like philosophical J—”
“Jaian…?”
“Never mind. But by that logic, my words haven’t strayed at all. I almost never talk to anyone at school besides you.”

And at home too, it had been a long time since I’d exchanged more than a word or two with my mother — so in that sense, my words existed almost entirely for Shion’s sake anyway.

But Shion shook her head, like a child refusing something.

“I want even more. I want it to be only me.”
“It’s already only you, as far as I can tell…”

As I murmured that in bewilderment, Shion added, almost dreamlike, in that cryptic way of hers:

“Because they were straying. It was only me, for such a long time — and then they strayed.”

Such a long time. That word snagged in me. Because the time between meeting and now seemed somewhat short for the word long.

And while I was caught again by Shion’s enigmatic words —

“So at least, when we’re together — I want to be closest of all to them. Your words, Uta.”
“I see.”

That flat, thin response was all I could manage.

Shion’s voice always has no temperature, no rise or fall. And yet — mu, nothingness, opens into infinite possibility. So into that blankness, I can’t help but read affection, feeling, something directed at me — which is inconvenient. It makes me want to expect something — which is also inconvenient.

What that something might be exactly. The not-knowing is frustrating — and yet, a little, a relief. I looked deliberately away from it and asked:

“By the way — is your lesson all right today?”
“Today I decided to make it a day for being with you.”

Another turn of phrase that’s bad for the heart. Probably this was her exercising the right she’d won from her mother — going out to play once a week — and today was that day.

“Shall we stay in the music room?”
“I want to go out somewhere. I want to try doing what friends do together. I researched what friends are supposed to do. I want to do all of it with you, Uta.”

Saying that, she lifted herself from my lap with a light, easy movement and stood. The lingering warmth of where she’d been — and then:

“I’m glad I became friends with you, Uta.”

Beyond where the warmth had been, Shion was still there. That fact made my heart, uncharacteristically, leap.