Days of Remedy

Part 5

"That new girl is so weird," classmates whisper as I leave the library. 

Gossip has already started, leaving a sour aftertaste, but I can't help myself not to listen behind the door. Their conversation about how arrogant I am, acting as if I am better by ignoring everyone, nails my feet to the ground, but I need to move, or my gasping for air will give away my presence. Running down the hall, I bump into someone, knocking paper supplies out of their hand. Wanting to avoid the inevitable judgmental look, I try to pull myself together, holding my breath; however, a familiar face startles me with a loud apology. The tall girl from the other day kneels down to pick up the things from the floor, asking if I am alright. I nod and rush to help her clean up the mess I caused. 

"I am going to the art class for some decorations and may need a hand. Would you like to come along?" her lighthearted approach and a creeping sense of guilt give me no excuse to refuse.

******

The room is being prepared for the art and photography exhibition, but most pieces are covered with white sheets, so no nosy passers-by spoil the grand opening. Searching for the decorations, I rummage through boxes on the shelf. "Pssst," the girl catches my attention. I look over my shoulder and see her tear down one of the sheets. A swarm of paper butterflies flutters toward a distorted mirror on the wall. My eyes widen as I do not quite understand what I am looking at. The butterflies are not made of regular origami paper; something is written all over them in small letters, only visible to those who look close enough.

You are the butterfly and
I the dreaming heart
Of Chuang-tzu

Haiku? "Matsuo Basho, I haven't heard this poem in a long time," I say. 

"It's pretty amazing, right? Our school has so many talented artists" her voice can't hide her admiration. 

Contemporary art is not my cup of tea, but this installation makes me reminisce the longer I look at it. How absurd, pieces of paper question the existence of reality and imply that our lives might be just a dream of somebody else. The mirror and the warped image of myself send a shiver down my spine, so I ask why it even is there. 

The girl proposes an idea: "Maybe it's a portal to another reality, like in Alice through the looking glass, or maybe it's just there to look cool, and I am looking too much into it. The president likes to mess with people by putting random things into his artworks, so I stopped trying to understand." 

I take a few steps closer as if the installation is hiding a secret and notice a tag, "Hirata Morine, class 3-A". In return, she asks me about my opinion. Honestly, people can only speculate about art. 

Still, the concept of reality and the other self kept me up for many nights when I read the work of Chuang-tzu, so I say the first thing that comes to mind: "I suppose it's there to make you think of who you are." 

She fixes her eyes on the installation, tilting her head slightly. After a short pause, she asks how she should know when she can't look at her reflection clearly. 

"That's the thing, you can't; you always change, the same as the mirror, but maybe we are really looking too much into it," I chuckle under my breath; this philosophical exchange between two high school students really sounds ridiculous. 

Speaking of identity, she still hadn't introduced herself, so I ask for her name. 

"Sara Fujino," she says, grabbing my hand, shaking it like a businessman just closing a deal, which makes me laugh, this time out loud.