‘What time?’
‘Just after noon.’ And he heads indoors before I can even nod my head.
I lean against the wall. ‘I wish he’d stop this.’
‘The fighting?’
‘No, no, that was me. That’s not what I mean.’
‘You’re shaking.’ Emi gives me a hug.
I open my mouth to say something, but close it again.
‘Let’s go.’ She leads us out, and as we approach the landing, the muscly boy is still there, staring dumbly at me.
Cloud covers the night sky.
We walk along, blown by a warm and balmy breeze.
Wide streets, dark buildings – now and then, a peaceful haze will soften the neon lights of the drive-ins and the nightclub doors.
‘Doesn’t this town make you feel all nostalgic?’ Emi voices what I’d been thinking. ‘You know, I’d always assumed I just wasn’t capable of seeing myself with real emotional clarity.’
‘Well, without that clarity, you’ll never make it to the big leagues. You’ll just spend your whole life stuck among the amateurs.’
We cross the bridge. Chains of boats line the river. The road by the edge seems to be part of some big construction project, with cranes overhead casting their dinosaur-shaped shadows. The lights of cars following the curves of a distant motorway are joined like a necklace.
A desolate scene, quite apart from the seafront. Yet I still feel a similar sense of nostalgia.
‘But recently, you know, I’ve been having these moments of shining coherence. I really mean it.’
‘So until now you’ve just been laying on emotion for show when you’re with other people?’
‘I suppose so. Hey, how about that place over there with the orange curtains?’
It’s an all-night cafe with poky windows, a cheap air and a sparse scattering of customers.
Emi and I sit at a table by the wall, and a waiter approaches with a lengthy menu. Can’t be bothered with that, so we just go for the set meal and drink.
‘What’ve you been seeing so clearly now, then? People say all sorts of things, don’t they, like: “I’m turning into my mother,” or “I’m really feeding the weak woman stereotype”.’
‘There’s not much difference really, is there?’ Emi’s mouth creases into a smile. ‘Everyone thinks they’re unique when they have these moments of clarity. Kind of like how you felt when you cried in Yokohama, perhaps. I don’t know. I find those moments allow me to forgive myself, even if it’s just a little bit… And I forgive my mother, too.’
‘Things gets easier once you acknowledge the situation.’
‘That’s right. Even if you don’t solve anything. It’s the same with my own illness, too. It might flare up again once I’ve gone back to my life on Earth. It might not. There’s no controlling that. It’s not a good habit, to want to solve everything.’ Emi gazes elsewhere as she speaks.
My meal arrives. There’s the main dish, a salad, and also a small glass of rosé.
‘Is this included? It wasn’t on the menu.’
Emi wraps her handkerchief round her finger. Before long, her order comes too. And, sure enough, another glass of wine.
‘They’re really testing me.’ The handkerchief, tied like a rope, turns her finger white.
‘Come on, it’s fine—’ I begin, only to be shocked by Emi’s intense glare, seething with energy. I thought her gaze would pierce right through the glass. She looks away and wraps the handkerchief tighter, until it hurts. Her hands are shaking.
‘Hang on, was that…’
She looks up. Resentment wells in her eyes and spills out with her tears. ‘That’s right. The stuff about my mum – that’s me. And no, I didn’t mean to lie about it. I just couldn’t acknowledge that part of myself. It was too painful, so it had to be smuggled in under the guise of my “mother.” They put us to sleep before we came to this planet, right? They must’ve manipulated our minds along the way, somehow.’
I stand up, shuffle round the table, and sit down next to Emi. Though they’re both types of addict, there’s a stark difference between an alcoholic and a dope fiend. The boozer clearly needs other people. They’re clingier than junkies. Now, if you’re hooked on tranquillisers or painkillers, you may be less bother because you become so passive, but you’ll inevitably be cold, distant and unfeeling.
But how do I know all this?
Emi continues sobbing.
‘You know, I’m not sad at all. I did just realize that this alcoholic mother of mine is me. But these tears, they aren’t because I’m sad.’
I grab my bag and pull out a handkerchief. Emi uses her own to blow her nose, then thanks me and reaches for the new one.
‘Do you mind?’
‘Not at all.’
Her tears subside. She dabs at her eyes and tries hard to smile. ‘Feels good to cry.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m going back to Earth tomorrow. That’s my illness: I’m an alcoholic. I think I’ll make it through.’
‘Wait, hold on! Tomorrow, that’s—’
‘The sooner the better. Let the Seaside Club barman know, will you? He’s been a great help.’
I’ve come to depend quite heavily on Emi, so I feel a bit dejected. She knows what I’m like. You end up completely hooked on people who indulge you. Naoshi, though – he hardly seems the dependable type.
‘We’ll meet again, I know it.’
I listen to her words, crestfallen. I stare at those glasses of wine, as if they harboured destiny itself.
I can’t have slept more than a few minutes before a faint knock wakes me up.
‘The sun’s barely up, you know,’ whispers CHAIR.
I go to the door in my pyjamas, barefoot. There’s no intercom.
And there stands Naoshi. He stretches his long neck, his hair covering his eyes. ‘I thought you might be out,’ he smiles faintly, with his big lips.
‘Why?’
‘’Cause it’s so early in the morning.’
I really don’t see his point. He smiles again. It’s a bit of a grimace, actually – he seems slightly unhinged. Exhausted, too.
‘Come in.’
He moves to the sofa.
‘How did you know where I live?’
‘I just ran into Emi. She had a suitcase with her. Pretty thing.’
‘Have you been up all night?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll go home soon.’
‘Do you want tea or coffee? I’ve got jasmine tea, too.’
He lays on the sofa, his eyes on my bare legs. Then, a moment later: ‘Coffee’s not very good for you, you know.’
‘Says the drug addict.’ I put the kettle on.
‘I’m sick of these reboots,’ he murmurs, facing me, as I open the can of jasmine tea. ‘I’ve had so many already, redoing things over and over again.’ I can see only his green hair from the kitchen. ‘This is maybe my fourth time coming here.’
I take the mugs out of the cupboard.
‘Correct,’ announces CHAIR.
I almost drop the mugs.
‘This isn’t about “redoing things”. There’s no starting over,’ she says. ‘You go through some similar experiences every time – it’s about letting go, basically.’
I cower at CHAIR’s shrill voice, but Naoshi doesn’t seem bothered by it at all.
I quiver as I make the tea.
‘Reboots are about letting go, and accepting things,’ CHAIR emphasizes, more quietly.
Naoshi opens those cold, unsettling eyes and watches me settle his mug on the table. He sits up and lets out a sigh long enough to carry his whole soul.
‘You’re growing on me,’ he says offhand, with a shrug of his thick eyebrows, ‘I’ve come to like you now, having met you so many times here on this planet.’
‘Here he goes, blabbing on again.’ More mockery from CHAIR.