COTE : Three days of happyness

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Here, my buffoonery really picked up the pace.

I told Horikita "Just making a call, I’ll be right back,” and purposefully went outside the apartment. My intent was to keep her from listening in to my calls, but sure enough, Horikita was hobbling right behind.

It had too long since I’d called someone myself rather than being called. I stared at the name “Chiaki” on the phone’s screen for a long time.

Summer insects made high-pitched noises from the thicket behind the apartment.
I was extremely nervous on the phone. Actually, it had always been that way since I was a child; I also never invited anyone over, nor started a conversation with someone out of the blue.

True, I missed a lot of opportunities thanks to that, but it also allowed me to avoid an equal amount of worry. I’m not particularly regretful nor content with it.

I stopped my train of thought and used those few thoughtless seconds to press the call button. I just had to make the call. The actual conversation would be what it would.
The dialtone added to my nerves. Once, twice, three times. At this point, I finally recalled the possibility that she might not answer. I hadn’t done this in so long, I’d come to think that people would always answer a call.

Four, five, six. It didn’t feel like she was going to “answer any moment now.” Part of me was relieved.

At the eighth dialtone, I gave up and pressed the end call button.

Chiaki was a girl from college, younger than me. I’d planned to invite her out to eat or something. And if things went well, I would have wanted to spend the rest of my short life with her.

At this point, I felt a sudden welling of loneliness. The first change I felt once the end of my life was made clear was an unfathomable longing to be with another person. I had a violent urge to at least talk to someone.

Chiaki was the only person at college who showed me any affection. I’d met her this spring, at that old bookstore, when she’d only just entered the school.

Seeing Chiaki poring through musty old books, I gave her a “move it, lady” look. But it seemed to trigger one of those common mistakes made when entering a new life - she thought “I don’t remember this guy who’s giving me that stern look, but maybe we met somewhere?”

“Um, excuse me… Have we met before?”, Chiaki timidly asked.

“No,” I answered. “Never seen you until now.”

“Oh, I see… Sorry to bother you,” Chiaki said, realizing her mistake and awkwardly turning away. But then she smiled, as if wanting to take a second try.

“So, essentially, we met in this bookstore?”

It was my turn to be a bother. “I think you’re right about that.”

“I think I’m right about that, too. That’s great,” said Chiaki, putting an old book back on the shelf.
A few days later, we reunited at college. After that, we had a few lunches together, having long conversations about books and music.

“I’ve never met someone in my generation who’s read more than me before,” Chiaki said with eyes sparkling.

“I’m only reading, though. I don’t get anything from it,” I replied. “I lack the ability to get the real value out of a book. All I’m doing is pouring soup from a pot to a little plate. It overflows from the sides, and it doesn’t make anything nutritious.”

“What are you talking about?”, Chiaki said with a head-tilt. “Even if it might not seem nutritious, and like you’ll forget it right away, I think the things you read always stay in your head and make themselves useful. Even if you don’t notice it yourself.”