Up On the Monolith

００４

Ｍｙ　ｒｏｏｍｍａｔｅ　ｗｉｔｈ　ｐｅｒｆｅｃｔ　ｈａｉｒ．

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I picked up on a couple of bad habits because of him.

My roommate with perfect hair.

Whenever I'd step into my room, I'd let my shoes scatter on the floor since I know his attention would be drawn to it as soon as I did.

He always loved shoes. And he'd notice it even quicker if I used my favorite pair.

I would let the clothes I'm currently wearing fall to the floor as I pleased, since I know he'd roll in them.

I would pull up my swivel chair up to the bedside, since I know how much he'd love it as sleep took hold of my consciousness.

Hell, I'd even pull up the metal folding chair and use it instead, just so he could have the comfy, cushioned swivel chair all to himself.

How my sister and I would make space for you at the top of the shelf.

I'd complain about how my coats and jackets would get covered in your hair when I go out, but deep down I didn't mind in the slightest.

My roommate with perfect hair once spilled an unidentifiable liquid on my keyboard and broke it.

I'd spent half a day trying to clean it up to see if it still had some life in it— but it was broken. 

The reason why I now look after my keyboard with more care, and use a plastic cover whenever possible— that habit was because of him.

I'd even picked up a couple of bad habits of his myself.

The way he'd scratch the back of my chair.

The way he'd create a scene on my desk to let me know he wanted to leave my room.

Even the way he'd pace in and out of my room for no apparent reason.

Habits become a part of you. Even if you don't like it.

"The last half of a man's life is comprised of habits he'd picked up during the first half," is a saying from somewhere but I can't remember where.

You see, I secretly looked forward to your new haircut, so I could see & feel it for myself.

But the day before you left us,

I noticed how you'd sit in a place very uncharacteristic of you—

In a place I thought you'd hated so much.

I always thought it was weird.

But perhaps if I was there the moment that you left us.

Maybe things could've been different.

There's a saying that cats tend to disappear right before they die.

Maybe you wanted to run away, and disappear before we noticed.

So instead, we'd say something like:

"Remember that roommate o' yours? He was quite the troublemaker, wasn't he? I wonder what he's doing right about now. I wonder what he's up to."

Maybe you wanted to move out. As silently as you could.

When your roommate wasn't around.

Even if you're gone now... I don't think I'll ever be able to stop those habits of mine.

Perhaps down the line, I won't even remember how these habits started.

I'd probably think myself sloppy, messy, a slob. 

Leaving out my shoes in their improper place, letting my clothes fall to the floor, pulling up the swivel chair up next to me at the bedside.

I probably won't even remember how these habits started. 

And I'll look back at my past self and think: "What the hell was I doing?"

But you see, I always loved you as a roommate.  

You weren't noisy.

You wouldn't cause trouble.

You'd try to stay out of the way and go out of your way for us.

You never asked for much.

It made me want to go out of my way to do something for you.

So I formed all of those habits, some bad, and some good, because of you.

Though I'll miss the hair on my coat sleeves that you'd always leave me, and the way I'd purposefully play around with the way I'd say your name, and I'd never say it correctly—

Now that you're gone, my room feels that much emptier.

Now that you're gone, my swivel chair feels that much colder.

Now that you're gone, I don't think I could ever break these habits of mine.

Even as I write this out, my shoes are plopped improperly on the floor, 

my clothes lay on the floor as they fell, 

and I'm sure that I'll pull up the chair up to the bedside as I go to sleep.

I don't think I want those habits to die out.

I'll continue to leave space for you, even if you're no longer here.

I don't care if people think I'm sloppy, or a boor.

I want to keep them alive in memory of you.

Because those memories is all I have of you now.

I'll keep my favorite shoes out.

I'll let my clothes scatter.

I'll pull up the chair up to the bedside.

We'll leave space for you on the top shelf.

Hachimitsu