‘Dad gave me those for our anniversary, in a set with the tablecloth. They’re priceless.’
Mom wailed as she ran.
Just when they thought they’d lost her, they saw the girl at the next intersection, waiting for them on the corner.
‘She not an Earthling be! I’m positive that we’re the only actual Earthlings left!’
Dad was out of steam.
‘Are there unactual Earthlings? What would that involve?’
‘Quiet! This is no time for insubordination.’
‘Can’t you make more napkins with the replicator?’ asked Sis, keeping pace.
‘They have sentimental value! They’re the only ones in the entire universe!’
Mom was blowing things out of proportion.
This game of tag – running full speed and stopping short, then dashing off again – continued for some time.
‘If she’s hungry, we would’ve shared, but this is unforgivable.’
‘I bet she’s trying to lure us off somewhere.’
In which case, you would think they would’ve given up on chasing her, but the parents ran like mad. Junior and Sis chased the girl, too, though not without a modicum of glee.
They reached the edge of the city.
The girl atop a gentle hill stood she.
‘No one makes a fool outta this family. We’ll get you yet!’
‘Stop, dear, it’s too dangerous.’
The four of them stood their ground, eyes trained on the hilltop.
An elder appeared from the shade of a great tree and stood behind the girl.
‘Sorry for your trouble. I hoped to speak with you, but our kind, as a rule, cannot enter the city. Not because we are unable to, but because we hate it there. It’s made by human beings for human beings. No place for us.
The elder’s speech was stilted, though his voice was soft.
‘Give it back!’
Mom was frantic.
‘When we are finished, I will return your things. Long we have been watching you. Not with our eyes, but with our minds. Since this is something that you’re capable of too, I think you’ll understand?’
‘We have no clue who you are!’
Dad was flushed with anger.
‘Please, hear me out. Once upon a time, we lived in peace. We may not have manufactured or consumed, but our existences were rich. Alas, in any group, there will always be misfits. Some of us began to wonder why they were alive and where they came from. Their thoughts consumed their every moment. Eventually they set off for the city. The city made by denizens of another star, and then abandoned. Once there, they spent their days deliberating about time and history and origins.’
The elder didn’t sound the least bit elderly.
‘Are you talking about us? Well, you can quit while you’re ahead. We’re not like you. We were born in this city. Lived here our whole lives!’
Dad was livid.
‘So you don’t remember. The memory, however, has a tendency to reorganize itself rather conveniently. I figured it was time to set you straight. Which is why we’ve led you here. Why do you insist on role-playing as Earthlings – or whatever riffraff you purport to be? You can be free, without such pageantries of humankind. A calm existence, unplagued by these anxieties, is within reach.’
‘Asshole!’
Dad swelled with malice. His body literally swelled. Violent shockwaves daggered from his person. Foul electricity, filthy purple. The waves crested the hill and zapped the elder and the girl, killing them instantly.
The family had no idea what was going on. They had never suspected their rising tempers could physically kill someone.
‘Phew!’ Mom pointed. ‘Not human after all.’
Two blue-black monsters slumped at the top of the hill.
‘Man, what a surprise!’
Junior snickered. When he beheld the faces of his family, he saw three monsters.
A breeze swept the tranquil hillside. The monsters who had posed as a family stood stock still, overtaken with amazement. They could not wrap their heads around what had transpired or why. Feeling stupid, they remembered now that monsters (such as them) were able to take any form. Perhaps they had been so convinced that they were Earthlings they began to look the part.
The wind changed.
Disregarding one another, the monsters loped off, each heading its own way. Leisurely, with no particular place to go, stewards of a new anxiety.
THAT OLD SEASIDE CLUB
Sunlight floods the bay.
Boys and girls sit on benches beneath the canopy of trees lining the walkway, lapping at ice-cream cones. Others cut zigzagging paths down the walkway on their roller skates. Red and white parasols shelter hot dog stands.
I begin whistling, both hands shoved into the pockets of my denim skirt. The low notes blend together. If I try to whistle too hard, I veer off-key. I can’t properly separate the notes of fast songs like this, so they end up merging into each other.
Doesn’t match my mood, but I change to the blues. This way, you see, it doesn’t matter if the tune wobbles a bit – you can still make it to the end.
Oh, each day is such a gift.
I’m having so much fun that I can’t hold back my smile.
But what manner of idiot just stands there grinning all the time? So, I sing these songs all day. I’ve been like this ever since coming here.
A bus pulls up from behind, letting off Emi. She gives a big wave and runs up to me. ‘Where you off to?’ She smiles, and a warm breeze teases her curly hair. Then, the scent of the sea.
‘The Seaside Club.’
‘Oh, same here!’
The sign outside of this bar on the outskirts of Yokohama actually reads ‘Serenity’. Kind of sounds like somewhere you’d go to ‘die with dignity’, to be honest, so we’ve chosen our own name for it. And everyone here just calls this area ‘the seafront’. Some folk go for ‘coastal promenade’, but who knows what they’re on about.
Emi and I walk along by the pier, looking at the Hotel New Grand off to the side.
The melody in my head goes on, coming out as a hum now, not a whistle.
‘What’s that one called?’ Emi looks at me.
‘Can’t say. I’d have to get back around to the hook first.’ I’d stopped following the lead guitar to answer her, but I pick it up again straight away. Emi joins in with an organ-like tone. Our jam continues, on and on.
And there’s no stopping us, not even now we’ve reached the Seaside Club. The mood of the piece has become quite melancholy, or serious, but it’d be no fun to cut it off, so we stand there, carrying on. Finally, we find a chance to get back to the hook. She seems to know the song too, and we really get into it. And, like an avalanche (or so we think), we slide into the ending. The End. Or not – I decide it was a pause, and then add one last phrase. If I had a guitar, I’d be playing a trailing solo that lingers through a slow fade before disappearing, like a whistle in the darkness.
‘What was it, again?’ I ask, pushing open the glass door of the bar.
‘“I Can’t Keep from Cryin’ Sometimes”,’ Emi answers quietly.
Can’t help but cry. True that. But I wonder why a song with a title like that came to mind.
Anyway, we make for the bar stools as usual, without giving the song any further thought.
‘It’s just beautiful outside,’ I say to the bartender.
‘It’s always like that here. Everyone’s so content at first,’ he replies, coolly.
‘What’s that supposed to mean? You can live a life of absolute leisure here.’
I’d won my place in a lottery. The ticket came with some tissue paper I’d idly bought… I think. (My days here are like tissue paper too, I suppose – I float around, dazed, and any memories of the past are blurred and hard to pin down.)