The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida

by Clarissa Goenawan

  “Ryu, have you seen this before?” my sister asked.

  She was pointing to a painting of a cat sitting on a countertop next to a sink with running water. Behind the cat stood a vase filled with yellow daffodils. Judging from the rough strokes, it was another of Miwako’s paintings.

  I shook my head. “This is the first time I’ve seen it, but that cat must be Tama.”

  “Yes, it must be,” she said. “I wonder what will happen to Tama. I didn’t see her during the wake.”

  “Don’t be silly. You can’t bring a cat to a wake.”

  5

  My

  Own

  Life Is

  Anything

  But

  Romantic

  Miwako had picked up Tama on a rainy day. I would never forget that morning, because it was the first and only time Miwako and I had slept together.

  It happened a week before the new term started. I hadn’t seen her for a while, as she had gone home to stay with her family for the winter break.

  On the day she told me she would be back in her rented apartment, I decided to drop by to give her some apples. The orphanage received a large donation of apples every year from a patron in Aomori. There were far too many for them to eat, so the staff usually sold the rest to fundraise. My sister and I always bought a crate and shared the apples with our neighbors.

  I hadn’t yet reached Miwako’s apartment when I spotted her leaving a convenience store. Instinctively, I called after her.

  She looked up at me, surprised. “Ryusei, what are you doing here?”

  I walked over to her. “We’ve got a lot of apples at home, so Fumi-nee asked me to bring you some.” A white lie—of course, the idea had been mine.

  “Let me help you,” I said, taking the plastic bag from her hand and nearly dropping it. “Wow, what did you buy? It’s so heavy.”

  “Some beer.”

  “Having a party?”

  A grin slid across her face. “Yes, a party for one. With the new term starting, I thought I should celebrate.”

  “I’ll join you,” I said. “Two is always better than one when it comes to drinking.”

  Miwako laughed, which I took as a sign of agreement. We walked side by side to her apartment. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or just that we hadn’t seen each other in a while, but Miwako looked pale and thin, her collarbones more pronounced than I remembered.

  “Really?” she exclaimed when I mentioned it. “No, I don’t think I’ve lost any weight, but thanks.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a compliment. I don’t find stick-thin girls attractive.”

  “So you prefer curvy ones like Chie, with big breasts and all.”

  “I prefer everything in moderation.”

  We turned into her apartment building and took the stairs to the second floor. Next to the door was a decorative mailbox with a wooden bird perched on top, one of its wings chipped. Underneath was the number twenty-three, scribbled in black marker. So I’d guessed correctly.

  “I must apologize, the place is a mess,” Miwako said. “I haven’t had a chance to tidy up.”

  I took off my shoes. “You can’t possibly be messier than Toshi.”

  Coming in, I realized she was only being modest. Miwako’s apartment, as I had guessed, was extremely neat. Small but cozy, it was a typical one-bedroom with a separate living, dining, and kitchen area. There was a wooden coffee table in the middle of the living room with a few circular cushions around it. A tall white bookshelf stood against one wall, and the other side of the room had a small television and a stereo set.

  Miwako opened the windows. “Sit anywhere you want.”

  “Where’s the fridge?” I asked.

  “Let me take care of that. You’re the guest.” She took the plastic bag from my hand. “Just wait here. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Miwako disappeared into the kitchen, and I took the opportunity to peek at her bookshelf. The top row was full of textbooks, but the rest had only romance novels. Most in English, a couple in Japanese. Miwako and I had gone to Ikeda Bookshop together so many times, and on every occasion, she had left with a romance novel. I’d known she was into the genre, but for some reason, I’d expected to see other books here too.

  She returned with an ice bucket full of Asahi Super Dry. “Sorry for the wait.”

  I frowned. “We’re starting now?”

  “Yes.” Miwako put the bucket on the table and sat next to me, her legs folded in front of her chest. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, it’s not that,” I said. “It’s just that . . . it’s only ten in the morning.”

  She shrugged. “Who cares?”

  Miwako cracked open two of the cans and passed one to me. We toasted and drank together. The beer was crisp and clean, its coldness refreshing.

  “You really like romance novels, don’t you?” I asked.

  Miwako laughed. “You’re spying on me.”

  “It’s hardly spying when your books are out on display for everyone.”

  “Hey, I don’t invite everyone here,” she said, laughing again. “But you’re not wrong. I do love romance novels, even if my own life is anything but romantic.”

  “When’s the last time you had a boyfriend?”

  She paused. “I’ve never dated anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  She smiled. “Let’s just say that there are two types of people. Those who are meant to date and those who aren’t. I’m the latter.”

  “How can you know if you haven’t tried seeing someone?” I took a sip of my beer.

  “Like who? Are you volunteering?”

  “I already did—twice—and you turned me down both times,” I said. “If you’ve changed your mind, I’m still here. But I have to warn you, the vacancy won’t last forever. I’m pretty popular, remember?”

  We burst into laughter. When that died down, I looked into her eyes.

  “Miwako, I’m serious. Just give me a chance.”

  She seemed like she was about to protest, so I added, “You don’t need to give me an answer now. But please consider it. Okay?”

  She looked away without responding. Not even a nod.

  The sky was darkening. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  “Should we close the windows?” I asked.

  Miwako shook her head. “Let’s let it be. You don’t mind, do you?”

  I shrugged. “Why would I? It’s your apartment.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I turned to her. “Do you like rain?”

  “Yes, I do,” she whispered. “I always leave the windows open. I like watching the rain wash things away.”

  There was a long pause before she went on. “You know, lately I’ve been noticing all those little sounds. The creaking of doors opening and closing, water trickling from the tap, low coughs, approaching footsteps, soft knocks on the door, heavy breaths.”

  “Is that so?” I wondered if the alcohol and dark clouds were making her sentimental.

  The white curtains on the windows flapped violently as the wind grew stronger.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked me.

  “Nothing.” I sipped my beer. “I’m not thinking about anything.”

  Miwako straightened her legs out in front of her to stretch, pointing her toes. She wiggled them before folding her legs up again. Resting her chin on her knees, she tilted her head slightly as she reached for her beer.

  The rain started, and drops of water came in. Darkened splotches appeared on the curtains. I glanced over at Miwako, but she didn’t seem to care. Drink in hand, she continued to stare blankly ahead. The wind caressed her long black hair.

  Then she put down her beer and took off her glasses. My heart skipped a beat. Her round eyes looked brighter, almost like they w
ere sparkling, and her sharp nose was more apparent.

  “You should get new glasses,” I said. “Those frames don’t suit you.”

  She looked at them. “I don’t wear these because I need them. They’re a memento from my father.”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes. I mean, my birth father. He passed away when I was young,” she said, pausing. “He had cancer. By the time the doctor diagnosed it, his illness had already reached a terminal stage. These glasses are one of the last things he left me.”

  I felt a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. I still have my mother, just like how you still have Fumi-nee.” She glanced at me and smiled. “It’s not that bad.”

  I cleared my throat. “What are you talking about? I would give anything to have my parents back. I’m sure you feel the same way.”

  Miwako lowered her head. Her smile was gone.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to imply that I understand what you’ve been through. I know our situations are different.”

  She looked up. “My mother remarried a few years ago.”

  “Do you resent your stepfather?”

  “No, it’s the opposite,” Miwako said, shaking her head. “He’s a very nice man, but I . . .”

  She stopped talking. Still sipping my beer, I waited until she was ready.

  Outside, the rain grew heavier. The roaring thunder moved closer and closer. I thought of my sister, who was supposed to be in the studio. I hoped she’d thought to bring an umbrella. But knowing her, she most likely hadn’t. She would just stay there and work until the rain stopped.

  “When you told me you had refused to be adopted so you could stay with your sister, I felt ashamed,” Miwako continued.

  I turned to her. “Why would you say that?”

  “I always thought it was going to be just my mother and me. But after a while, she told me about a colleague she’d been seeing. To be honest, I was too shocked to reply.”

  I looked at Miwako, but she was still staring into the distance.

  “Later that week, she introduced me to Mr. Sumida. He seemed kind and sincere, which he is. He’s also one of the few people who makes me feel comfortable. I’ve never admitted it to anyone, but from the first time I saw him, I wanted him to stay with us. I hadn’t seen my mother look so happy since before my father’s passing.”

  “What’s the problem, then?”

  She turned to me. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m betraying my father by replacing him with someone else.”

  “Miwako, don’t be silly.” I put my hands on her shoulders and drew her close. “Your father would have been happy to know you and your mother are doing well.”

  She leaned in toward me. I moved my hands to her back and embraced her. Closing my eyes, I breathed in that familiar summer scent in her hair. She was usually so strong and opinionated, but then there were moments like this, when it felt like she was much younger, confused and lost.

  “You really don’t think my father would hate us?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” I said. “Imagine if you were in his position. What would you think? Wouldn’t you be happy the family you left behind was doing all right? Living your life well is also a way to cherish his memory.”

  She nodded, smiling slightly.

  I smoothed her hair. “You said that once, you thought it would only be your mother. Does that mean that your brother . . .”

  “Yes, he’s my stepbrother. My new father’s son. Mr. Sumida’s first wife ran away with another man, leaving him with Eiji, who’s a few years older than me.”

  “Is he good to you?”

  She stared off into the distance again for a moment. “Yes, he’s a great brother. Very caring and understanding. Everything is perfect. I couldn’t ask for more.”

  “That’s good. I’m sure your father would be relieved too. He would be at peace knowing you’ve got yourself a good family.”

  Miwako buried her face in my chest. I touched her hair, running my fingers slowly through it. I moved one hand down to her waist. She pulled back and our eyes met. Inching forward, I kissed her. Our first kiss tasted like beer.

  Then our lips met again. One hand still at the back of her head, I pulled her closer to me. She closed her eyes. Tentatively, I slid my right hand up toward her chest. She didn’t resist. Her breast fit perfectly in my hand. I felt blood rush to my ears.

  Then I stopped myself. Was this really what she wanted?

  “Do you want to keep going?” I asked. “We don’t have to. It’s all right. We can stop.”

  Her eyes still shut, she said, “No, don’t stop. This is what I want.”

  “Miwako.”

  I whispered her name again, but she remained quiet. She lay on the bed with her back to me. I looked at the curve of her spine, mentally tracing her backbone. Soft sunlight filtered into the apartment, shining on her pale skin. Her bare back was so lovely, but she still somehow seemed so small and lonely.

  The curtains had stopped flapping. The rain had turned to drizzle, and the air brought in the smell of fresh soil. I could almost imagine the wet leaves outside, torn and broken and scattered in the drain.

  I got dressed and went to the living room, picking up the empty beer cans on the floor. I wiped up the rainwater near the window using an old rag I found in the kitchen. When I returned to the bedroom, Miwako was still lying in the same position, but she was too still to actually be sleeping.

  Sitting on the bed, I whispered, “I know you’re up.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Come on, let’s go for lunch. You must be hungry,” I said. When she didn’t respond, I asked, “Are you okay?”

  Finally, Miwako turned to face me. “I’m fine.”

  “Uh-huh,” I mumbled, averting my eyes from her naked chest.

  She got up and went to shower, leaving the bathroom door open. I could see her outline behind the frosted glass. She felt so distant, even after what had just happened. Had I taken advantage of her in a moment of weakness?

  I cleared my throat. “Miwako, can I ask you something?”

  “Yes?” she replied, her voice clear.

  “Why did we, you know—”

  “Why did we have sex?”

  “Um, yeah.” I cracked my knuckles.

  She took a while to answer. “You wanted it, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yeah,” I mumbled.

  The sound of running water floated through the bathroom doorway. As I continued to gaze at her blurred outline, an unbearable dread hit me. Did Miwako not think of what had just happened as significant in any way?

  Miwako stepped out of the shower, clad in a bath towel. Her skin was damp. Droplets of water fell from her hair, creating a trail on the floor. She walked over to her wardrobe and asked, “What are we having for lunch?”

  I forced a smile, trying not to look shaken. “You can choose.”

  “Anywhere is fine. You decide.”

  “What about the little yakitori stall we went to last time? It’s close by,” I said. “You said you like their chicken.”

  “Yeah, that place is good.”

  She took the towel off, and I immediately turned away, my face flushing. I was making a fool out of myself, acting as if it was the first time I’d slept with anyone.

  Then I remembered something.

  “Miwako,” I said softly. “This wasn’t your first time, was it?”

  “No, it wasn’t,” she said. “Is that a problem?”

  I felt a lump in my throat. “Not at all. You just mentioned earlier that you’d never had a boyfriend before. Was that a lie?”

  “No, it’s true.”

  Miwako sat next to me, now fully dressed in a loose white cotton T-shirt and denim shorts. She had lovely collarbones. As
she looked into my eyes, I tried to analyze her expression, but came away with nothing.

  It was none of my business, but I asked, “Who did you sleep with?”

  “Someone in high school,” she said. “He wasn’t my boyfriend. Just a classmate.”

  I had slept with a girl in high school too—my second girlfriend. Hardly unexpected. A number of us had. I wondered why I had asked the question. I swallowed and said, “So you liked him.”

  Miwako shook her head. “No. I told you, we were only classmates. I didn’t have any romantic feelings for him.”

  “I don’t understand. Then why did you sleep with him?”

  “You’re really asking that?” she said, chuckling. “Are you sure you want to know the answer? You’re not going to like it.”

  “Just tell me,” I said.

  “Fine, if you insist.” Miwako crossed her arms. “I slept with him out of spite. He was a nice enough guy, a quiet student. Some of the girls in school thought he was good-looking. He had a girlfriend at that time, and he was friends with the popular kids, but . . .” Her words trailed off.

  “But what?”

  “He had this older sister,” she said. “She loved to cook. She made all his lunches from scratch, and they looked amazing. He would bring the most elaborate homemade bento boxes to class.”

  I frowned, confused. What did that have to do with sex?

  “I guess I was jealous,” she continued. “My mother worked long hours; she never had the time to make me a fancy lunch box. I told you, I’ve always wanted a sister.”

  I waited for her to continue, but she said nothing more.

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  I tried to laugh, but I couldn’t. I didn’t get it. “You’re telling me you slept with your classmate because he had a sister who made him bento boxes? What kind of reasoning is that?”

  She shrugged. “Pretty silly, I suppose. I told you you weren’t going to like it. You wouldn’t understand.”