After that, I was down with a bad case of flu. I couldn’t leave the house for over a week. Miwako never called to ask after me. I felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. According to Fumi-nee, she hadn’t turned up at the studio, either. She must have been busy looking for Tama.
A few weeks later, Miwako went missing herself.
The summer of her second year, Miwako Sumida took a break from university. The reason on record was poor health, but what that meant, I had no idea. She didn’t say anything to me before leaving. Not a word of goodbye, let alone an explanation.
I found out on the third day of the semester. Chie ran up to me on campus.
“Do you know where Miwako is?” she asked. “Did she say she was planning to go somewhere?”
I frowned. “No. Isn’t she in the same classes as you?”
Chie nodded. “Yes, but I haven’t seen her since the new semester started. I thought she was sick, so I went to her apartment yesterday, but nobody answered. Earlier today I checked with the school administration, and they told me she submitted a temporary withdrawal form.”
“You’re trying to say she’s gone?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I thought she might’ve told you something, so I—”
I didn’t wait for Chie to finish. Grabbing my bag, I ran as fast as I could to Miwako’s apartment. On my way there, terrible thoughts raced through my mind. Had she gotten into some sort of trouble? Was she in danger? But I tried not to speculate too much. Standing in front of apartment twenty-three, I knocked on the front door.
“Miwako,” I shouted. “Are you there?”
I waited, but there was only dead silence. My anxiety grew and I kicked in the wooden door, which opened with a loud bang. I rushed into a completely bare apartment.
The wooden coffee table, the bookshelf, the mini television, and stereo set—all of them were gone. The only trace of Miwako was the pair of white curtains with yellow water patches, hanging motionless before the closed windows.
Groaning, I dropped to my knees.
That morning, I discovered that Miwako Sumida was no longer in Tokyo. But I could never have imagined that when I saw her again, it would only be her lifeless body, pale and cold to the touch.
The summer had left Miwako Sumida forever.
“What are you going to do now?” Fumi-nee asked me.
I stroked Tama’s fur. “I’m taking Tama to the studio.”
“I didn’t mean about Tama. I meant about Miwako. What are you going to do about her?”
That familiar ache returned, deep in my chest. “What are you talking about? She’s gone.”
“It doesn’t seem like you’ve come to terms with her death.”
“Then what do I seem like?”
My sister crossed her arms. “Like you’re about to do something crazy.”
“You’re just making weird assumptions,” I said, eager to get away from her. “I’m going to go take a shower now. Can you look after Tama?”
“Hey, I’m not done talking.”
Ignoring her protests, I headed to my bedroom. My sister was right. I should resign myself to what had happened. Nothing would bring Miwako back to life. But I had to find out what had happened in her final months. She’d said she wanted to tell me something. Maybe I could find out what, if I traced her path somehow.
But I had no idea where Miwako had been. When I received her letters, there had never been a return address on the envelope.
Something had happened while she’d been away, enough to convince her that life was no longer worth living. I wondered if anyone else ever found out what the reason was. Miwako could be so closed off about her worries—I doubted she had confided in her family.
But maybe her closest friends, Chie and Sachiko. Between the two, Miwako had known Chie longer. They had become friends in high school, and Chie had been the first to notice Miwako’s disappearance.
Perhaps she knew something.
PART TWO
Chie Ohno
Most people don’t remember their first day in kindergarten, but Chie recalled hers all too well. A girl in pigtails had come up to her and asked if they could be friends.
“Yes,” Chie said, trying to hide her nervousness with an easy smile.
Shortly afterward, the teacher asked the class to split up into groups of three. Chie went up to her new friend, but to her surprise, the pigtailed girl had already joined a group.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “we already have enough people.”
The class had thirty-one students, so one child was bound to be left out. Chie ended up partnering with the teacher. She tried not to seem upset, but really, she was devastated to be the only one without a group on the first day of school.
From that day onward, Chie didn’t believe in friends. People would only seek you out whenever it was convenient for them. When it came to the crucial moments, they would drop you immediately to save themselves. Chie promised herself never to trust anyone and thereby never to get hurt again. But years later, she broke that vow for Miwako Sumida.
Though Miwako was cold and at times strange, Chie was unquestionably drawn to her. They spent most of their free time together, and people started calling them best friends.
Chie would never admit it, but she loved that phrase. Best friends. Had she actually longed for one all those years? Probably, if she were honest. And she did think she and Miwako would be friends forever. Or at least, for many years after they graduated from university, after they got married and started their own families. Maybe even after their hair turned white, they could still be together, exchanging tears and laughter.
But none of that happened.
Because when they were twenty, Miwako Sumida ended her life.
8
Transparent
People
The train came to an abrupt stop, jolting the passengers inside.
“What’s happening?” Chie asked Ryusei, who was sitting next to her.
He got up and left the train car. A few minutes later, he returned.
“There was a minor malfunction,” he said. “Service will resume once the crew makes sure everything is all right.”
“Uh-huh.” She looked up. “How much longer until we get there?”
He checked his watch. “Another three or four hours. You should go back to sleep.”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” she whispered, but Ryusei couldn’t hear her. He had already left the car.
Pressing her face against the cold glass, Chie scanned their surroundings. She had no idea where the train had stopped. As far as the eye could see, there were only trees. On a typical day, she would have marveled at the feast of greenery. But not now, not in the middle of a journey in memory of her dead best friend.
Didn’t we promise to solve all of our problems together?
Chie closed her eyes and tried to nap. She hadn’t been sleeping well recently. Even when she tried to keep herself occupied, all she could think of was Miwako.
Miwako, I knew you better than anyone else in this world, didn’t I? But I don’t understand what was running through your mind in those final moments. Why did you slip that noose around your neck?
Chie heard chattering sounds in the distance. It had to be that group of elementary school children she’d seen in the station. They looked like they were on a class trip, carrying matching hats and water bottles. Where were they headed? It was odd to see so many young children from the city on this unpopular route.
A petite lady in her twenties walked by, waving a flag and singing a children’s song. The students followed her, and there was another teacher not far behind. Only two teachers? No, there had to be at least one more for such a big group of children. Chie watched them pass and saw a pair of transparent students, a boy and a girl.
Each classroom was bound to
have at least one transparent person. Chie knew this well because she used to be one of them.
Transparent people, by all accounts, were normal. So normal, in fact, that they simply tended to fade into the background. If you looked carefully, you could spot them toward the end of the line during school outings, but they would never be last. In class, they sat in the middle, usually near the wall. They didn’t get the nice seats with a view by the windows. They weren’t the best students in the class, but they were doing well enough to pass their exams.
To sum up, they were the average of the average. They got along well enough with a few classmates, but none were real, close friends. They lived a quiet life in high school, college, and later on, in the workplace. They tended to marry each other because others might pull them closer to the spotlight, and they never got used to being the center of attention. They were, after all, almost unseen.
“You’re still not asleep?” Ryusei’s low voice roused Chie from her thoughts. “Looks like the train’s going to be stopped here for quite some time.”
Chie stood up to stretch.
“I wouldn’t go to the restrooms now,” Ryusei said. “Those schoolchildren are down the hall using them. There are thirty-two of them. It’s going to be a while.”
She shook her head. “Ah, no, I just need to stretch my legs.”
He looked out the window. “I see. Do you want to take a quick walk?”
“Maybe later. The hallway will be crowded while the train stops here. Let’s wait.”
Ryusei chuckled.
Sitting down, Chie furrowed her brow. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just . . .” He tilted his head. “I never knew you were so level-headed.”
She sighed. “I know, all of you think I’m scatterbrained.”
“Hey, I never said that,” he protested.
Now it was Chie’s turn to laugh.
“I guess you’re right. I owe you more credit than I’ve given you,” he said. “I mean, we never really talked, did we?”
“Even when I talked, you hardly listened. Your full attention was always on Miwako.”
Ryusei’s smile turned stiff.
Chie looked down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought her up.”
“It’s fine. We can’t avoid talking about her forever, especially not now that we’ve planned this whole journey for her,” he said, still facing the window. “Thanks for accompanying me. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. I was planning to make this trip even before you approached me.” She let out a sigh. “But there’s no point now, is there? I still regret not trying to find her earlier.”
“You shouldn’t. There’s no guarantee that finding her would have made a difference.”
Ryusei smiled as if trying to reassure Chie, but something about the way he did it made her sad. She leaned her head against the window too.
Miwako, you really are one stupid girl.
“How did you meet Miwako?” Ryusei asked Chie. “Were you two classmates in high school?”
She turned to him. “Not classmates, but schoolmates.”
“So you knew Jin too.”
Chie shook her head. “Miwako transferred to our school after her mother remarried. Jin must have known her from her first high school.”
“What was she like back then?”
“What do you think?” She laughed. “Serious, unfriendly. The same as always. She gave off a don’t-come-near-me vibe wherever she went.” Chie paused, clasping her hands together. “But she was a good friend.”
“You were so fond of her.”
She tilted her head. “Compared to the way you felt about her, it was nothing. You really liked her, didn’t you?”
Ryusei paused. “It doesn’t matter. She never saw me as anything more than a friend.”
Chie looked away. That was exactly the problem with guys, especially ones like Ryusei. They only saw what was right on the surface. But she couldn’t blame him, since he knew nothing about Miwako’s past.
Her secret was what had drawn Chie in, but she had no idea what about herself could possibly have attracted someone like Miwako.
Noise flooded the hallway as the group of schoolchildren returned to their seats. Chie craned her neck to look for the two transparent students. She failed to find the boy, but she caught a glimpse of the girl, absentmindedly holding on to her backpack straps.
“Do you like children?” Ryusei asked.
“Of course. They’re so sweet,” Chie said, turning to face him. “What about you?”
“I do too. I volunteer every couple weeks at an orphanage.” He was quiet for a moment before he continued. “Miwako told me she hated kids.”
“That’s not true. Miwako loved kids.”
“She definitely told me she hated them.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, but Miwako loved kids. She was just terrified of them. You . . . Never mind.” You don’t understand, she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
Ryusei looked like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. He turned back to face the window. Chie closed her eyes and heard the soft rumble of the train engines starting. They began to move and she tried to sleep again, knowing it would be hopeless.
Before Chie Ohno met Miwako Sumida, she had been living an unremarkable life as a transparent girl.
She got along well with everyone but was close to no one. She did well enough in everything, though nothing could be considered an achievement. Most of her teachers, except her homeroom teachers, didn’t remember her name. Most students knew her as Ohno. No one called her by her first name. Chie was perfectly fine with that. It was a peaceful life, and in line with her goal to graduate painlessly. She didn’t want to get involved in unnecessary high school complications.
But one day, her life completely changed.
Everything started when her older sister married her colleague and moved to her husband’s hometown near Osaka. She had previously subscribed to a number of indie zines and tabloids, and for a short time, the mailman continued to deliver them to the Ohno family home.
Though Chie and her sister had a good relationship, they had never been particularly close. Her sister worked long hours in a supermarket, and when she was home, she would lock herself in her room. Chie often wondered what her sister did behind that closed door. Finally, she found her answer in these alternative music and art magazines, which she spent days poring over.
Chie found a particularly fascinating weekly indie zine called The Secret Diaries. Her sister already had a few volumes, so she was probably an existing subscriber. Chie never asked her about it. It seemed inappropriate somehow.
The zine was entirely composed of diary entries. In practice, it was the opposite of what one would normally call a diary, made completely public to its surprisingly large pool of subscribers. These entries were printed, bound, and distributed on a weekly basis, along with a postcard readers could tear out and use to vote for their three favorite entries. The most-liked diaries would be featured up front. The “diarists”—this was what the zine editor called its contributors—regularly posted entries in a bid to be placed in the front pages.
Anyone could submit their diary entry. All they had to do was to fill out a different form from the zine and send it to the office with a photograph or a drawing to accompany the entry. The form only asked for a pen name and return address. There was no need for a real name.
The zine editor wrote:
Dear Reader,
There are two ways to interpret the meaning of a “secret diary.” The first is a diary whose contents are kept secret, and the second is a diary penned by an anonymous person. This is the second. The mission of The Secret Diaries is to celebrate both the most beautiful and terrifying everyday moments without fear of judgment.
Whoever you are, wherever you are, you can join this movement by sending us your diaries and voting for the entries you like best. Every week, we publish the top twenty-five—as voted by you—along with the most promising new entries to keep things fresh!
Chie thought the concept was interesting, so she started a diary too. She wrote about her everyday life—how she broke her glasses during her physical education class, or how third period had been canceled because the teacher was sick. The anonymity of it appealed to Chie. She could write anything she wanted, without anyone knowing it was she who’d penned it.
The newer diaries selected by the editor would be published at the back. If the readers found them interesting and voted for them, they would gradually move toward the front.
Most of the diary entries were written by students and young office workers, but there were also a number of housewives and white-collar professionals among the contributors. Reading the entries, Chie tried to imagine what their lives looked like. She could learn a lot from those pages. A diary penned by a heart surgeon about his days working in an unnamed hospital detailed everything from tiring night shifts to demanding family members to moments when he had to deliver the bad news to patients’ loved ones. These diaries gave Chie a glimpse of sides of the world she had never experienced and probably never would. After her sister’s subscription ran out, Chie secretly renewed it using her pocket money.
Unfortunately, despite routinely sending in her entries, Chie’s segments barely shifted from the last few pages and eventually fell off entirely. Perhaps they weren’t interesting enough. Then again, there was nothing interesting about her life. She was just an unremarkable high school girl.
Over the next few weeks, Chie discovered something. She didn’t necessarily need to write about what had really happened to her. She could be anyone she wanted. No one would know, as long as she was convincing enough.
Chie stopped writing about her boring life and instead created a new entry. She conjured up the perfect girl, the kind of person she always wanted to be.
The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida Page 8