The Ghost of Iwatobi High (Free! iwatobi swim club variousxOC)

What Was His Name?

"Sawako, are you all packed?" My mother's voice carried over from our medium sized kitchen as I came down the stairs. In my hands, I held my two carry-on bags, one a small suitcase and the other a new duffle that I had got specifically for this trip. Setting the bags down by the front door, I looked around my childhood home knowing that I probably wouldn't be seeing it again for at least a year. I was a bit sad thinking about it.

This had been my home for as long as I could remember. Each room was filled with memories; from the doorway where mom marked my height as I grew to the tropical aquarium where my clownfish, Tolkien, swam that I had gotten for my twelfth birthday. Our white Persian cat, Fatty, lounged idly on the tile floor by the stairs, sunbathing, and I leaned down to run my fingers over her soft fur.

"Morning, Fatty," I said scratching her behind the ears. She purred softly and leaned against my touch, stretching her body out and rolling on her back for a belly rub. "You're such a weird cat," I said patting her soft belly twice before standing up.

"Sawako." My mother called again.

My attention snapped to the kitchen doorway where my mother stood. Watabe Ume, or Ume Fairchild as she was now known, bared little to no resemblance to me. Growing up, I was told that I looked just like my dad which was true; I had his short stature, dark hair and eyes and both our faces seemed to be permanently frozen in what many would call a death glare. My mother, contrariwise, was tall –much taller than was normal for people from Japan – at 5'7 ft she really stood out in a crowd, she had light brown hair that was cut into a short pixie, and her eyes were a golden honey color. About the only thing we hand in common was our complete lack of figure.

"You're a bit distracted today," she observed smiling.

"Yeah," I nodded absently looking around the room.

Mom's smile dropped slightly as I did this, then as quickly as I looked back she was smiling again. She probably hoped I didn't see that. "Well, breakfast is ready so come eat." She said and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Following after her, I was immediately struck with the thought that this would be the last time we would have breakfast together. At least until December rolled around; which was nine months away and seemed like a lifetime. So much could happen in nine months. I sat myself down at the table and stared at the copious amount of food that sat there. From the looks of things, she had been cooking from early this morning because there was no way she would've been able to make that big of a fruit salad and fry that many eggs unless she had. "Mom," I sputtered, "you didn't have to make so much food. I would've been fine with poptarts."

At my words, she spun around wielding a metal spatula and a plate of unidentifiable breakfast food. "You're not going to eat poptarts on the day you're taking off to Japan," she said. "You need something more substantial and those things are only filled with sugar. I won't allow it!" Her eyes were firm and I knew there was no arguing with her.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied breaking eye contact and letting my hair fall forward.

"Aww—geez," she sighed as she turned off the skillet, setting the plate down on the table, then taking a seat next to me, "what's with this ma'am business? It makes me feel old. A thirty-two-year-old woman should not be called ma'am by her own daughter. I mean I was about your age when I had you..."

"–Sorry," I said, knowing how much my mother hated to be called ma'am.

There was a beat of silence, then as if a switch had been flipped, mom broke out into a fit of giggles. "I'm only teasing you, Zashiki Warashi. I'm a mom I get to do that," she smiled and pushed the plate of eggs towards me. I had to smile too at the familiar pet name.