“Let’s just be quiet and finish this,” said my lab partner in biology class. Her hair fell in ringlets down to her waist, and she wore glasses that kept clicking against our microscope. “I don’t want to be in this lab any longer than I have to, okay?”
“I was just trying to show you,” I started. “You have to fit the Petri dish under the microscope like this. We won’t able to see the fungus otherwise.”
“Yeah?” she squeaked. “Well, I can see it fine from here.”
Throughout the class, she had been acting this way.
“What’s wrong with you?” I said. “You can’t see it from where you’re sitting. You have to look at it through the microscope, or you won’t be able to sketch it right.”
“What’s that?” Her gaze drilled holes in me. “I can’t understand you through your silly American accent.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. Did I hear her wrong? I was sure my cheeks were flushing, I was so embarrassed. So I hid my face in our lab equipment, pretending to copy the shape of whatever it was that we were supposed to be copying.
“That’s just unnecessary,” I said.
“I didn’t want to be racist when I first saw you,” she said. “But then you beat up that Ken’ichi kid. I always knew you’d be violent and I was right.”
When did I become the bully? Since when was I that monster? Everyone else cheered around me -- practically lifted me above their heads like I was a king -- when they heard about what I did to Ken’ichi. I tried to explain myself to her. But she ignored me. Instead, she tore my sketches away from me and muttered something about me being incapable.
For the next half of the lab session, I sat in silence. I picked pieces of cork from under the table and looking towards Kohei and Mai’s table longingly. It felt like I was back in public school, all by myself and wishing that I was anywhere (anywhere!) but here.
There was a horrible stirring sensation in the bottom of my stomach. It made me feel sick, like I was going to vomit all over the lab equipment. Trying to distract myself, I kept twirling my pencil around and around my fingers. With loud, obvious slams, my lab partner kept placing and replacing the Petri dishes under the microscope. They were about to break. It made me think of how funny it would be if one did.
“Do they not have labs back in America or something?” the girl asked suddenly. “Because you obviously have no idea what you’re doing.”
“You won’t let me touch anything,” I said softly. “And I’m not even from America.”
“But you are, aren’t you? I mean, your name’s Joey. That’s an American name.”
“Yeah, but I’m from Jukyuu City,” I said. Maybe I could get through to her. “Not America.”
“So, do they even have the same kind of labs in America that we have?”
“I dunno,” I said. “I told you, I’m not from there.”
“Probably not. Like, do they even take biology? You all probably just sit around eating cheeseburgers and talking about Elvis.”
She laughed like it was funny.
“Probably not,” I said.
“My father went there on a business trip,” she said. “And he said that one time, he paid 3,000 yen just for a bowl of rice. I don’t know what those people are thinking. But don’t worry, I’ll finish this lab for you.”
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Ishiki (Consciousness)
أدب المراهقينJoey Jyaki will kill, but he doesn't know it yet. How does an ordinary Japanese boy turn into a murderer? Guided by the mysterious spectre from his nightmares, Joey slowly descends into a place where dreams meet reality.
