What… are you doing here?
I hadn't planned to show or tell Otsuki any of this; there was no reason to. In fact, part of me wanted to keep it completely hidden. It would be much easier if she just ignored it and went home.
Normally I wouldn't mind if he snooped around a bit, even if he came into my room, but at that moment I couldn't afford to be nice enough to ignore being upset.
It wasn't as if she was doing anything wrong. She was kneeling on the floor, in front of the prominent altar in the middle of the room, visible from the hallway if the door was open. He wondered if she had seen him by chance, since he thought the door was closed.
Was this something he wanted to do since he came here?
Otsuki looked completely serious. It didn't seem like she was doing it to make a good impression, since the way she was staring at the photo above the altar seemed somewhat melancholic, as if she had known it for a long time.
"Sorry for… barging in. I just didn't mean to make you feel bad with the question. I thought you'd be downstairs."
"You should have asked me."
I didn't bother to hide my annoyance, which wasn't very pronounced, but her presence was noticeable. From the moment I entered the room, my gaze had been averted from both her and the altar. I glanced involuntarily at the computer, which forced me to lower my gaze completely.
I started to feel disgusted by being in that room. Just a few days ago I was spending almost all my time here, and now I didn't even want to look at it. It was ironic.
"I'm so sorry. I mean it."
She turned to face me. Her apology carried a heavy weight, and it affected me enough to calm me down. Especially because I had looked her straight in the eyes.
"… No problem."
Accepting that getting even angrier would be foolish, I sighed deeply. That didn't stop me from still feeling tense. Trying not to let her see, I was clenching my right hand as tightly as I could, trying to control myself and avoid getting even more stressed.
Otsuki turned back to face the altar. She hadn't lit the incense there, so the room smelled a bit heavy. I didn't want to change the sheets, nor did I bother opening the window. At least I thought the smell would be too strong for her; I couldn't smell anything.
Neither of us spoke for a moment. I didn't know what to do: whether to leave and tell her I'd wait for her downstairs, stay near the door waiting for her to finish, or join her.
My body reacted on its own the moment I heard that option. Without turning around, I took a step back, trying not to make a sound. I would have to tell her that I was going to wait for her, that I was going to leave.
I can't be here. Looking at the floor makes me see stars. The light coming through the window highlights the desk, where the monitor sits, its deep black blinding me.
That same altar Otsuki was praying at was what made me go to class. The last thing I did before leaving was "say goodbye" to her. Could anyone be more of an idiot?
I wanted to act tough, to think that by acting like a "mature" person, like an anime character who's already had their development, I was going to change too. I thought that just doing things was enough. But it's not just about doing; I also needed to understand. And at that moment, I didn't understand anything, I didn't want to, which is why I acted so arrogantly.
And this place is nothing like that one. Whenever I'm not thinking about one thing, I'm thinking about the other. If the room, the floor, the monitor reminded me of that place, the altar reminded me of the other.
I couldn't look at the flowers that adorned it. I couldn't notice the details carved into the wood. I didn't want to look at the photograph enclosed in that frame. I couldn't see Otsuki at all.
It was standing in the same spot where I found it. It's like it's covering me up. Like it's protecting me. But surely, it's only doing it because it wants to. That's what it told me before we started studying.
She wants to give the impression that she's selfish, that she doesn't care about anyone else, that she's just a simple-minded rebel and little else. But that impression crumbles the moment she stops making excuses, the moment she stops thinking.
We are complete opposites.
I couldn't muster the courage to speak; I wanted to leave but couldn't, as if someone were covering my mouth with their hands. I thought I heard Otsuki nod, after which she began to speak, her gaze still fixed on the photograph.
"For almost a year now, I've gotten into the habit of praying after putting all my things away in my room. I don't remember the day I started doing it, but it's become a habit."
Her hands rested serenely in her lap, having lowered her head a little, now looking at the flowers on either side of the altar.
"I don't believe in God. I stopped believing in Him. When I was little, I liked to imagine Him as a Greek god, like Apollo or Hermes. A perfectly beautiful being, at least according to what I liked at my age, and who, more than a god, was seen as a hero. Now I know that's all nonsense, I don't buy it anymore."
As she continued talking, I remained hesitant. I felt bad interrupting her, but I couldn't stay there any longer. Why was she even telling me all this? I asked myself. Just asking the question made me decide to continue.
I took a step forward, undoing my progress in fleeing. But that was no longer my goal. I didn't want to get any closer, but I knew I wasn't going to leave until I'd heard her completely.
"I don't know if my mother believes in Him or not. She went along with it when I was little, but she's never made it clear. She'd probably say something silly like 'the only god that exists is the god of sales' to make me laugh." A somewhat subdued chuckle escaped her lips, and her voice grew heavier after a brief pause.
"I'm sure my father didn't buy it."
Despite her change in tone, she began to smile slightly at the mention of her father. That's when I realized something about her. I knew nothing about her father. I had the feeling I'd heard her mention him at some point, but I thought it was just déjà vu.
"He also went along with my talk about my gods, but he didn't believe in them at all. One day, while we were having dinner, he told me how my grandfather used to nag him about God. My grandfather was very religious, to the point that he imposed it on my father in an exaggerated way. The poor man didn't have any siblings, so he had to swallow it all. Well, my grandfather stopped nagging him when he adopted all the customs he wanted him to have. Then, my mother started bragging about how lost he would have been if they hadn't gone out together. She didn't deny it."
No matter how much I listened to her monologue, I couldn't fully immerse myself in her story, imagine her grandfather, her father, or the conversation in which her father told her everything. She must have been seeing it all as a short film.
"When he went to live with my mother, he got rid of all that habit. I wasn't angry with my grandfather for believing, but my father thought it was utter nonsense. He told me many times that the person I should believe in isn't God, but myself. I was so embarrassed when he said that, not because he cared about me, but because of how shameful it was. I know he meant well, but I couldn't help thinking he was just being cocky."
"And that's partly why I did it. He was the one who suggested having children. Both my father and mother would have preferred a daughter, and although it made me happy to hear it at the time, I felt bad for that boy I could have easily replaced. Who knows who would have turned out if I hadn't been the lucky one… Anyway, what I was getting at."
Little by little, she drifted away from the main topic, and before saying anything else, she composed herself.
"Since he was so excited to be a father, it was normal that he wanted to act cool. He even told me so when I criticized him for something. My mother has told me several times that when he acted like a monster or a hero when he was about 4 or 5 years old, I would always say something like 'Dad seems silly,' and he would always reply with something like 'Let me act cool!'"
"He was full of energy back then. I know that mainly from the videos they recorded when they played with me. It sounds like he changed later, but he never stopped being that way; it's just that when I grew up, he started treating me in a less childish way. Completely the opposite of my mother."
With that last sentence, she was simply trying to criticize her mother. Not for something that bothered her or that she disliked, but more for highlighting something so surreal. Likewise, Otsuki knew that her mother saw her for who she was.
That same phrase was what distracted me from something he said seconds before.
…it never stopped being that way…
For the time being, I decided to remain silent.
"If he caught me in a bad mood, it really bothered me, and of course, I reacted like any kid would. Neither he nor my mother got angry when I was like that, or when I did something wrong, or when I got bad grades. Although, the grades thing was only for my mother; my father did get a bit obsessive about them. He wasn't the type to go crazy and demand straight A's, but he wasn't so careless that he didn't know how I was doing in school either. I'd say the minimum he expected was a 7 or a 6; if I got higher, he was happier, and if I got lower, he didn't scold me, but he did insist that I had to study. I felt bad about getting bad grades anyway, so I never needed him to punish me for it."
Still on his knees, Otsuki began to gaze at the window of the room, just to the right of the altar. He was looking up at the sky, at no point in particular.
"It's true that I was never generally scolded, but what stood out most was that he never scolded me for my grades. All they did was insist on how I should do things next time, what I should and shouldn't do. And I'm grateful I never needed more than that."
"I've never seen my father angry, and according to my mother, the only time he cried in front of me was when he first held me. Since then, not even my mother has seen him cry. I don't know if it has to do with him acting tough, or if he really hasn't needed to."
Otsuki took a deep breath after finishing speaking, and after kneeling on the ground for so long, she stood up. She stretched her legs, which were undoubtedly half asleep, and then sighed again. She turned to ask me something.
"Can I sit in the chair for a moment? My legs hurt…"