Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

Gateway

Onboard the bus, I am surprised by how empty it is. Maybe it's the time of day or this stop just happens to be the one after a major destination. The passengers had left for more important matters.

There are a few suits that catch my eye but they don't seem to be fully Processed Images. Most are keeping to themselves, without another glance at the new man and woman in suits. Our disguises are undoubtedly buying us time. We are just another one of them. Other than suits, there are six or seven school uniforms. One boy has bleached hair and two with their sleeves rolled up. They are buried in their cell phones and gadgets. None of them are reading books. I scan them for any sign of Shirayuki but I almost begin to forget what she looks like. I have to double check the female students, who start to look identical to me. It's a strange sensation, like something is missing, fading away before I can fully grasp its meaning. In the same way, the man with white rabbits had seemingly appeared from nowhere, for no reason but to speak to me. What we spoke about seems more like an advertisement that passes by, never to be remembered again.

We don't take a seat, but stand near the door, holding onto the rail above, in case we need to run. But Shizuka assures that it will be fine. There are only a few stops left that are off of the beaten road. There shouldn't be many passengers.

At the second stop, two men get on board. The door opens and a gust of cold air drafts in to tickle our scalps. They head to the back of the bus and take seats opposite from one another. Neither of them speak. But one looks at us. Outside, we see familiar figures. A woman and two men in trench coats. They're across the street from us. They seem to be walking by, gazes flicking left and right, entirely blank and emotionless but every movement lithe like vultures circling for carcasses. My muscles tense up and my skin crawls. We look the other way and hope we aren't seen. As far as we can tell, they don't seem to be fully Images either. Wouldn't they be able to detect our breaking of Etiquette? Or perhaps our suits are enough disguise.

I ask Shizuka if there are any Sounds around. She says none. But she looks like she's hiding something from me. Every now and then she would look around restlessly. She is quiet and there are faint traces of a scowl. When she scowls, her face begins to twist, a cross between a pout and a frown, like fluctuating temperatures in April, an uncertain phase between lovers. Her eyes are dimmer and more opaque, no spiralling whirlpool coax into another dimension. I've begun to catch these things, even the most minute and slight gestures or habits she had over the past month. Somehow the connection between us prospered in an extremely condensed period in time after we first had sex, as if it had been the bridge we needed. Yet, there's still so much I couldn't understand. I realize it is like being caught between two polarities, pulling this way and that. I understood so much, yet so little. As such, even if I couldn't read her mind entirely, I had a sense that something is beneath the surface.

Upon asking about it, she briefly mentions something about being unable to see the rabbits the man had with him. That either her perception is impaired or mine is being oddly excessive. But she isn't sure which it is anymore.

The door closes and the bus moves on. I let out the breath I had been holding. It seems almost too easy. The three figures disappear behind the bus and into the distance beyond. They appear for a second and then disappear. Such is the flow of time, and the flow of life.

"We're nearly there."

I nod. I am sure of where we are going. I had been there before. Just once. Before Shizuka disturbed my default state of being, before I had been queued to be deleted. As the man had said, wiped away or sucked up by a vacuum, as easy as breathing. I'm just another.

"But we can't let down our guard," she says, "it always comes at the end, when you are closest and least expecting it."

"What does?"