I Want to Kick You in the Back Read online

  Eventually the hallway did come to an end. It lead to a door beyond to a garden that didn’t seem to get much light. Beside the stone steps there were three pairs of sandals. Slipping some on, Ninagawa stepped into the garden. I did the same. Scattered about were a couple of bonsai plants and numerous old magazines. I spied an old-fashioned washing machine and a laundry pole for hanging things up. There was also what looked like a storage shed, though it had no roof. Among the weeds growing beneath my feet swarmed packs of mosquitoes. “Why have we come out here?” I mustered up the gall to ask. “To get to my room,” came Ninagawa’s matter-of-fact reply.

  Trudging deeper into the garden, we reached a brown wall I hadn’t notice at first, since it blended in so well with the surroundings. In it was a little door, which opened to reveal an abrupt flight of stairs leading up. The sight of the sudden staircase within this wild garden was just surreal enough to give me a light case of vertigo. “Our house was originally just one story, but a second floor was built on top recently,” Ninagawa explained as he reached his hand out to flick on a light switch. “Well, I say recently, but it was built before I was born, so it’s pretty old too.” Certainly, the stairs showed their age. Made of black wood, they reminded me of the stairs in my musty old middle school. With each step upward, the orange overhead light swayed back and forth, reminding me of the flame at the end of a sparkler.

  At the top of the stairs was a yellowed sliding screen which opened to reveal a small tatami matted room that was perfectly square, like the inside of a die. Despite there being a big window inside it, it seemed murky, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the surroundings. Once they had, I found the first thing to catch my eye was the little study desk in the corner. It stood out as strangely youthful, at least in comparison to the small, old-looking mini-fridge next to it. Also in the room was a tall, varnished wood cabinet containing a glass case filled with antique Japanese dolls, which honestly gave me the creeps. To put it another way, the desk was perhaps the only normal thing in the room. Everything else was exceedingly rustic, especially for what was supposed to be the living quarters of a teenage boy. Granted, this was my first time in a boy’s room, but I knew Ninagawa could not be the norm.

  “So... you collect dolls?” I asked as casually as I could manage. “Not really. Those have always been there, I just never thought to move them. They belonged to my late grandmother,” Ninagawa replied. His late grandmother? I pulled back the hand that was making to touch one of the dolls. Instead I turned my attention back on the desk. Now that I looked more closely, I realized it wasn’t as normal as I had first surmised. Sitting in a can alongside pens and pencils was a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush; lined up amongst the books were bottles of spices and Worcestershire sauce; and sitting next to his notebooks were a fork, spoon and set of chopsticks. Atop a dictionary splayed out on the desk was a bottle of Parmesan cheese and a half-eaten plate of spaghetti coated in a plentiful helping of dust, and on the back of his desk chair was a bath towel left out to dry. It was clear that all of Ninagawa’s activities within this room revolved around his desk. “You eat meals in your room?” I inquired. “Yeah. I find it more relaxing,” Ninagawa answered. I could easily picture him hunched over his desk, slurping up spaghetti, illuminated solely by his desk lamp.

  Ninagawa slowly raised his hand upward, which made me jump. I thought he was about to start summoning unholy spirits until I heard the sound of his air conditioner turning on with a husky rumble. Only then did I notice he was holding its remote. Cold air began blowing into the room, bringing with it the dry smell of fish flakes. “Do you mind if I change out of my uniform? That’s usually the first thing I do when I get home. I can’t relax until I do.” Without waiting for me to say anything, Ninagawa began taking off his blazer. All I could do was glower out the window until he was done. What was with this guy? Why did he call me out here? In spite of the fact that I was the one to accept his invitation in the first place, I suddenly began to feel scared. This room felt like there was only enough air in it for him, and I was finding it hard to breath.

  When I’d turned back around, Ninagawa had changed into a green and black checkered shirt that reminded me of an Othello board, but matched pretty well with his old jeans that were worn enough to look white. My eyes fell over his legs and elbows, which, while super skinny, were longer and seemed sturdier than my own. Suddenly I remembered what Kinuyo had said: “Maybe he’s in love with you!” Could he be...? The truth is I had absolutely no idea what this boy, who had been so absorbed in reading a women’s fashion magazine during class that I thought he might get sucked into the pages, could be thinking.

  Ninagawa produced two cups from the very bottom drawer of his desk. He then took a plastic bottle full of tea from his mini-fridge and poured me a glass. Then, from the same bottom drawer, he unearthed an expensive-looking box of Japanese sweets, the kind you’d buy as a gift in an upscale department store. Opening the lid, he handed me a sweet, individually wrapped. Unlike me, who was growing ever more nervous and stiff, like a plant reviving in its home environment Ninagawa was becoming more open and relaxed.

  “Thanks for coming here. I know it was sudden.” He said, slowly drawing closer to me. “You see...”

  Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke, and I squinted reactively. He apologized as he wiped a speck of saliva that had landed under my eye with his thumb. I swear I could hear the sound of his finger rubbing against the small hairs on my face, and I could feel the mild warmth of his hand even after he had removed it. He slipped completely behind me, and I realized this was it. He was going to unhook my bra. I gripped the unopened sweet in my hand and tensed my thighs. But he only handed me a memo pad and pen. “Would you mind drawing it on here?” he asked. “...Drawing what on there?” I inquired, still wary. “A map of the store you met Oli-chan in.” I didn’t understand. “Who’s Oli-chan?” I asked. “The fashion model from the magazine I was reading.” Oh... so her name is Oli-chan? Huh. Not that I really cared... like, at all.

  Why was he bringing her up right now? “Didn’t I tell you in class? I met her at the Muji store in front of the train station.” It was the only Muji store in the entire town, and it was huge. Anyone who lived here had to know it. Why did he need me to draw him a map? “You did. So I’d like you to draw me a map showing the exact route you traveled on the day you met Oli-chan, what exact section you were in, where she was standing relative to you, and so on,” Ninagawa elaborated. “Uh... I guess I could...” I replied haltingly. “Really? Great. I appreciate it.” Sure. If you brought me all the way to your house to draw you a stupid map then by God, I’ll draw it all right. But you’re going to tell me exactly why you want to know so bad. “That model isn’t your long lost sister or something, is she?” I ventured. “Of course not. That’s just silly,” came Ninagawa’s deadpan reply.

  So without understanding the reasons behind him wanting it, I began sketching a map of the Muji store on the memo pad resting on my legs. Barely able to contain his excitement, Ninagawa kept peering over my shoulder. So intent was his gaze upon the paper that his nose got in the way of my vision, and I couldn’t concentrate on drawing the dumb thing. I ended up dragging my body around to turn my back on him. It was then that I noticed something else bizarre that I’d missed earlier. Beneath his desk was a large plastic case, the kind most people would use to pack their winter clothes away for storage. It wasn’t the case itself that was unusual, but its location. It was too big to fit beneath the desk, and it took up all the space meant for your legs to go. What did he do? Sit with his legs folded on top of the chair? “How do you sit with that big case under your desk?” I couldn’t help but ask him. “Like this.” Ninagawa demonstrated for me, pulling his legs up to his chest as he sat in the chair. The sight of him was so lame I had to turn my eyes away, embarrassed. Wait, why do I have to feel embarrassed for him? He should feel embarrassed for himself!

  After Ninagawa came down from the chair, I took a little break
from drawing and stretched out my legs. One of them hit the side of the desk and dislodged one of the wheels on the plastic case and it slid cleanly over to me. I could see what was inside of it thanks to the clear plastic. To my surprise it did contain clothes, but not Ninagawa’s, unless he were a cross dresser. You see, they were women’s clothes. Without thinking I unlocked the two black clasps on either side of the lid and removed it. After I had, a sweet scent arose from within the case, like smoke from dry ice. The women’s clothes were showy, including a blouse with a bright red flower pattern. There was also jewelry and other accessories, as well as issue after issue of women’s fashion magazines, just like the one I had seen him reading in class, stacked up so tightly as to leave hardly an inch of space. On the cover of the topmost issue was that same model, Oli-chan. While the contents of the case were colorful and stylish, it seemed to give off an aura of ominousness. As if to bat back that sense of unease, I quickly put the lid back on it.

  “All the magazines in there have Oli-chan in them. I also have some older issues I had to order off the internet. The clothes I got through entering contests and giveaways she was promoting. I even have a handkerchief with her signature on it. Oli-chan has been in the business for a while now, so there’s so much on her, I need a case at least this big to hold my collection.” The way Ninagawa said the name Oli-chan sounded strangely childish in spite of his deep, hoarse voice. It gave me the creeps. “Why do it? I mean... why collect all this stuff...?” I asked. “Because I’m her fan.” I repeated his words dumbly. “Her fan.” “Fan...” It’s a light, airy sounding word. The type I could see emblazoned on the bottle of the newest brand of spring water. It did not serve at all to describe the intensity of emotion Ninagawa was current displaying for his Oli-chan.

  Then was this map also for his collection? Looking over what I had drawn, Ninagawa furrowed his brow. “This is hard to understand. Is that store such a complicated place?” Sure enough, because I’d been distracted while drawing it, my map looked like a labyrinth. Moreover, the pencils marks had gotten all smeared by the sweat that’d been accumulating on my fists. It was so bad that even I, its creator, could make either heads nor tails of it. “No, I couldn’t draw it very well. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.” I apologized but made sure to do so sharply. “No, not at all. I appreciate the effort you put into it. I’ll follow your route there using this map.” Flustered by my apology, Ninagawa neatly folded up the map. He then cast a gaze on me that I could only describe as adoring. “I can’t believe I’m actually in the same room as someone who’s met Oli-chan in person,” he sighed. My mood, which hadn’t been good to start with, plummeted. Forget having fallen in love with me; my existence only held any worth to Ninagawa on account of my having met his beloved Oli-chan. “I drew you your map. We’re done here, right? I’m going home,” I announced. “Wait!” he stopped me. “Before you do, tell me one more thing. Oli-chan, what was she like?”

  Deciding it’d be a waste not to eat the sweet he’d given me before I’d left, I tore at its wrapper as I grudgingly dug through my memory bank. It had been her that approached me, which had confused me at the time; I was not the type to get noticed. The image of her walking toward me with long strides, wearing big white sneakers without any socks, made my heart ache. Remembering Oli-chan was painful because it made me remember my past self at the same time. “You know how in those pet food commercials, there’s always this big dog running through a field in slow motion? Like a Collie or Golden Retriever? She’s like one of those,” I said after some thought. “You’re comparing Oli-chan to a dog?” Ninagawa asked bewilderedly. “Yeah. She’s just like one of those.” Just like a well-pampered dog with rich owners, shiny brown coat of hair bouncing as she rushes through a grassy green field, with big and gentle eyes.

  Ninagawa took an old magazine out of his display case and, turning it to one page in particular, showed it to me. “Hasegawa-san, there’s no doubt in my mind that the one you met that day was the real live Oli-chan. Look at these photos. They’re in front of the old City Hall, just like she’d told you, right? See, the location is even written on the bottom here. These were taken on the same day you met her.” Sure enough, there she was, posing with a cheerful smile that didn’t quite fit her surroundings. Seeing the photos didn’t shock or surprise me. I was past the point of caring anymore. “At least the sweet he’d given me was tasty,” I thought as I shoved the whole thing into my mouth. “If only I’d known, I could have gone to see her during her shoot. But I wasn’t her fan yet, back then... Heck, I hadn’t even heard of her. When I first caught sight of these photos, I was so mad. Like, I’d just barely missed her. But now here I am, talking to someone who did meet her. It must be fate. We’re bound by destiny, Oli-chan and I.” Hold it, if anyone is bound to Oli-chan by destiny, wouldn’t it be me? But whatever. As Ninagawa continued to excitedly blabber, the memory of the day I met Oli-chan began to play in my mind like a video. More than any other memory I possessed, this one brought me back to my days in middle school the most vividly. Back then I cared so much less about the people around me and what they thought. I was stronger.

  During summer break of my first year in middle school, since I was in the volleyball club, I was gearing up for a match against another school. I had to take a train every morning to a practice space in the neighboring town. Before I’d enter the station, I’d always stop at the Muji store in front of it. That day was no different. As soon as the doors opened at ten o’clock I was the first one in. Wearing a white shirt with my school’s name on it and a pair of red gym shorts, I carried a sports bag with four volleyballs inside it as I made my way through the aisles, listening to the songs on the radio and the sound of the sand stuck beneath my sneakers scraping on the shiny, checkered floor. The few other customers there, besides me, would always be concentrated in the Muji Café on the first floor, but while I had also come to get breakfast, I had no business there. Passing by the café, which smelled invitingly of coffee, I headed toward my usual destination.

  Across from the café was a large row of tanks full of different kinds of corn flakes. If you turned the black valves attached to them, they’d deposit their contents into brown paper bags for purchase by the pound. I wasn’t interested in the corn flakes within the tanks, but the ones on the little white sample plates beneath them. I’d sample all the different varieties, scooping up about half of what was on the plates with my hand and stuffing them into my mouth. Corn flakes first thing in the morning really do taste great. My favorite type was the classic sugarcoated kind, its flavor light and sweet, but I was also partial to the one mixed with raisins. I munched on handful after handful. This was my daily breakfast.

  Suddenly I felt someone’s eyes upon me. Looking around, my mouth still full of corn flakes, I noticed a pair of customers sitting within the Muji Café. It was a man and a woman facing in my direction and laughing openly at me from beyond the glass. They must have thought I looked pretty shameless, but I didn’t care. I had no intention of stopping, not with two more varieties left to eat. Ducking behind a shelf so that they’d no longer be able to see me, I quickly stuffed the remaining two types of corn flakes into my mouth.

  “Hey, where’d she go?” I heard a loud voice coming from the direction of the café. The voice was obviously looking for somebody, but I was the only one in the area. “Where are you?” the voice called again. Holding my breath, I stayed hidden. “Ah! Here you are,” I heard the voice behind me and turned to see the same woman who’d just been sitting in the café. She was glamorous, with a mane of luxurious-looking brown hair. In her hands she held a cup of water. “You must really like corn flakes!” Her voice was raspy, breath smelling of alcohol, and her eyes were dewy, as if she’d just let out a big yawn. “Here’s some water. I figured they must have been pretty dry.” As she was quite tall, she had to bend over a little to meet my eyes. Having her pretty face come directly into my view surprised me, and I instinctively lowered my head. She seemed foreign someh
ow. Maybe one of her parents was a Westerner? Only her eyes looked Japanese, deep and black. They didn’t quite mesh with her high-bridged nose. Being regarded by those friendly, gentle eyes, I felt my face growing red and sweat forming on my brow. Taking the cup from her hand, I downed the contents in a single gulp. This made her chirp excitedly as I roughly wiped my mouth off with the back of my arm. “You’re totally feral! A wild child!” Then, in a manner I found girlish, she bent her knees to take a good look at my legs. “I love your legs. They look like they can run really fast! They’re so firm looking, too. I want a pair for myself.” I looked down at my legs too, but to me they resembled two gnarly roots. This was the first time I’d even been complimented on them. “Oh, but are those balls you’re carrying in your bag? Then you’re not a runner,” she said disappointedly. I could picture the disappointment on her face and in her eyes clearly, even though I wasn’t looking at her. That’s how good she was at imbuing her voice with emotion. The woman’s white hand touched my calf, which tensed in reaction. She then stood up and called to the man still in the café. She was speaking English, and so was he. As he stood up and walked over, I could see his arms were long and the skin on them white. Lining up next to the woman, the man stood taller than even the row of corn flake tanks. Their matching white sneakers were many sizes bigger than any I’d ever seen, reflected on the shiny floor, looking to me like giant freighters.