Episode 92: The Town Where Snow Falls

The cold bites at my skin. Drawing breath stings, numbing, painful — and I looked away from the fact that somewhere around my heart that pain had switched over to a different cause. The snow that fell early this morning hadn’t settled after all. If it had kept falling, deep enough to settle, maybe we could have stayed together just a little longer. But I can’t say something that weak to Shion. I want to be the reason she takes flight, not the weight that holds her down. So I let that weak part of myself go, as if releasing it into the sky — breathed out long and full. The breath turned white against the grey cityscape, and in that white I thought of Shion’s skin. The colour of her pure-white cheeks. As if embodying what was about to come, the breath rose, and then was gone.

And then, across the bare and cold city spread before me — from beyond it, that beautiful silver-white came running toward me, as if to redye the whole landscape as it came.

“Uta…!”

Her voice calling my name. And with that voice she came running toward me, headlong, like a chick that had found its parent. The penguin chick we saw at the aquarium. I’d thought its waddling little gait looked like Shion. If she really were a penguin chick, she’d never fly no matter how much she grew.

But the seasons have turned, and in a soft, bundled-up shape nothing like that summer, Shion throws herself into my arms as if sharing her warmth.

“Morning, Uta.”
“Morning, Shion.”

Oh — is this the last time we can say good morning face to face?

The thought arrived without warning and I nearly cried. I’ve never met anyone this precious in my whole life, and I don’t know what to do with this feeling. I’m supposed to be respecting the choice Shion made — why now, of all moments.

To press that feeling back down behind ordinary, I stroke Shion’s lustrous hair. And then I notice that ordinary has stopped being ordinary, and nearly cry again — so to stop Shion from seeing my face, I hold her tightly instead.

“Cold today, isn’t it.”
“Yeah. But being like this with you makes my heart race and warms me up.”

As if to confirm her words, at the corner of my vision the cheeks that are always pure white were flushed a soft rose.

Wrapped in those words, I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Two people exchanging body heat in the middle of the road — until a careful voice, half-hesitant, sounded from nearby.

“Um — Shion, Uta-chan. Don’t you think it’s about time?”

Anon-san, leaning against the car, murmured it with a mix of fond exasperation. At that I pulled away from Shion — and then peeled Shion off again when she immediately re-attached, and answered:

“Anon-san, good morning. I’m sorry to keep you waiting!”

I rushed the words out, and Anon-san smiled gently.

“It’s fine. There’s time to spare. More importantly — are you sure? That I don’t drive you both to the airport?”

To Anon-san’s question, Shion turned and answered on both our behalf:

“It’s fine. I want to take the train with Uta.”
“Right. Well then — save the cuddling for when it’s just the two of you, and get in for now.”
“Yes~”

Shion answered cheerfully, squeezed my hand, and led me toward the back seat. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Anon-san watching Shion go with a gentle expression on her face. It looked so calm — so unlike me, still unable to tame the loneliness — that I couldn’t help but wonder how she managed it.

The engine shook through the body of the car. A moment later it moved off.

Inside the car, as always, a song I’d introduced to Shion was playing. Hands still linked, fingers still laced. We leaned together, exchanging warmth, and watched the grey cityscape passing.

We’d get to the station, get on the train, get to the airport. Beyond that — Shion wouldn’t be there.

I resented the speed of the car. But of course it wasn’t Anon-san’s fault, and not knowing where to put that feeling, I aimed words at that composed profile in front of me:

“Anon-san — you’re staying in Japan.”

Beside me Shion’s expression went vaguely put out — probably less about the content and more about the fact that I was talking to Anon-san. Her grip tightened and she pressed herself against me, and I stroked her head to settle her.

Anon-san watched all of it through the rear-view mirror, let out a small smile, and answered:

“Yes. That’s the plan.”

Her voice had a lightness to it that was so unlike what I felt, it pulled something out of me before I could stop it — sharp, the same way it had been the first time Anon-san and I spoke, in that shopping centre food court.

“Anon-san — aren’t you lonely?”

Shion’s soft warmth beside me. Just thinking about this warmth going away is enough to make me want to cry — and yet Anon-san, who has accumulated so much more time with her than I have—

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. Of course — she’s my daughter, the only one in the world. However poor a parent I may have been, I’m lonely. Very lonely.”
“Then how are you strong enough to—”

The question slipped out before I could stop it. Anon-san took a long breath. And then the answer touched me gently.

“Because I want to be a place she can come home to. If Shion ever gets hurt, or finds herself at a loss — I want to be somewhere she can come back to easily, and feel safe. I want to be that kind of place.”

Anon-san looked straight ahead, as though slightly embarrassed. The feeling inside me overflowed past words, and I fell silent.

As if unable to bear the silence, Anon-san continued:

“I think for Shion, you’re that too, Uta-chan. You’re a place Shion can come home to—”

Music playing in the car, Anon-san’s words settling softly. Following them, Shion added:
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“Yeah. When I come back, I’ll come to you before I come to Mama.”
“Excuse me — you come to your mother first.”
“But Mama would be happier if I brought Uta with me, right?”
“Well — that’s…”

Tears blurred my vision. My voice wouldn’t come properly. But I want to be a place Shion can come home to — and if I’m nothing but tears and loneliness, Shion won’t be able to come home easily. So I struggled to hold back everything welling up.

And as if to cover my tears, Anon-san gathered more words:

“I haven’t told Shion this either, but — with that piano sitting empty at home, it seemed a waste. I thought I might open a piano school.”

The surprise dried my tears completely. And Shion seemed just as startled:

“Mama is cheating too…?”

Too — as if there’s already someone else cheating. At Shion’s words Anon-san laughed helplessly and said:

“I was always so happy, every time Shion won a prize. But back then I had no room in me, I couldn’t tell her properly — I couldn’t teach her the joy of music. Shion found that through you, Shiko-chan — but I don’t think every child is lucky enough to meet someone like you. So this time — I want to be the one who shares it. By sharing it, I want to learn it myself too. What it means to love sound.”

The landscape blurred again. As if to replace the reason, Anon-san pressed the accelerator and let the city smear with speed.

Anon-san’s kindness is always like this. Strong and gentle.

And even now — hiding the tenderness behind briskness:

“I’m sorry for taking up your time together with my own business. I’ll wait at the airport — there’s plenty of time, so take it slowly, you two.”
“Thank you.”

That much I managed to get out, in a voice barely there.