Deviations

Miho: Family

Miho: FamilyI made it halfway home before I had to duck into a small batch of trees at a small park, losing what little food was in my stomach. At least no one was around to see me hurling or how bad I was shaking as I moved a few meters away and sat down in the grass. That dog, that poor dog. It was my fault, all my fault, and I’d let his owner thank me! Even acting like a sympathetic bystander instead of admitting my guilt.

Some sick, twisted part of me was glad the car hadn’t stopped. Then I hadn’t had to hear it, the sound of screeching tires. Or smell the burning rubber. God, if the driver had tried to swerve, he might have crashed, and I’d have been a useless heap lying on the ground. Only alive instead of dead like I’d planned.

I thought it would be poetic justice, being crushed under the wheels of one of the big delivery trucks that frequent that particular road. It was what I deserved, what I earned, but instead I’d chickened out. I laughed to myself, a harsh sound devoid of mirth. One reason I’d changed my mind was the thought of how horrible it would make me, turning an unwitting stranger into a murderer. But the driver ended up doing that to himself anyway, only he’d killed that sweet dog instead of my worthless self.

Dark wisps curled around me as I sat there in the grass, oblivious to the continuing rain. My breathing was shallower, and my vision blurred. “No! Stop! Go away,” I barked as I tried to will myself to be calm. None of it was real; it was my mind’s way of giving me a visual enemy to combat versus the shapelessness of my broken self.

I pulled my little flip phone from my pocket. His number was on speed dial, but I stopped myself from pressing the call button. I wanted to hear his calming voice, but it was Sunday. He was off today. Unlike medical doctors, therapists rarely work on weekends. I mean, he always said to call anytime, even after hours, but of course that wasn’t true. No one wanted to be bothered with work stuff if they weren’t at work. I clicked the phone closed. It was only a few days until our next appointment. I could handle this.

I forced myself to my feet to walk the last few blocks home. In the genkan[3] lay a pair of black high heels, right in the spot I always put my sneakers. Though annoyed at my routine being disturbed, I pushed the shoes aside, knowing they meant she was home. I straightened her shoes for her before leaving mine in their usual spot and headed inside.

“Tadaima.”[4] As usual she didn’t answer. Not like I expected this time to be any different, but I had to try.

Considering how wet I was, I should have gone straight to the laundry room to strip, but I wanted to see her. Even knowing how much it would hurt and that I wouldn’t get what I needed, I really just wanted my mom right then.

I found her standing in the kitchen, looking out the apartment window at the sun setting over the horizon. “Mama?”[5]

“Oh, Miho. You’re home.” She looked in my general direction, her brown eyes as dull and lifeless as her too-thin body. My moment of happiness at her coming back faded as I looked at my once beautiful mom not even pretending to care that I was there. Her voice was the same as it had been for years now. Tired. Drained. Another thing I ruined. I killed her. Her and my once loving, patient dad.

I try to be a good daughter who never complains, not about my problems, not about my fears, and not about being alone for most of the last three years. But no matter how much I try, I can’t seem to bring them back, not even a little. If only they’d never had to see my twisted body, maybe they wouldn’t have broken. They’d stayed with me through all the skin grafts, the months in the hospital, the loss of my sanity. They helped me survive it all, but at the cost of any love they’d once had for me. My hideousness had been too much to bear for such pretty, perfect-looking people.

The mom in my memories would have fussed at me for standing there soaking wet. She’d have grabbed a towel and started drying my hair while chiding me for not having an umbrella. She’d have run a nice warm bath for me and had hot chocolate and cookies waiting in the living room. The shell of a woman standing in front of me never even noticed the puddle forming at my feet.

And yet, for all that my parents hated me, I kept trying; another way of atoning, another way to punish myself.

“I just need to take my bag upstairs and I can start dinner. I was going to make your favorite curry. Do you want some?” I always kept the ingredients on hand, and for the nikujaga[6] my dad loved too. I made it for them if they happened to come home from their long “business trips” when I was not in school. But they never ate it during their brief drop-bys. Hell, I’d had chatty door-to-door salesmen stick around longer than my parents these days.

“I won’t be here that long.” She pushed herself off the counter and brushed past me to go to the laundry closet. “I only came to get a few of my summer clothes.”

I pushed aside the pain and forced myself to smile to her retreating back. “Need a hand?”

“I’ve got it.” She never looked at me when she spoke. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if she even saw me anymore at all. I wondered if she thought of me as one of those new phones that talk back at you. Well, maybe not. She would probably love the phone.

Before I followed her down the hall, I glanced back to confirm that the telltale white envelope sat on the dining table. I think it’s the only reason they really came home anymore, besides picking up things. To leave me money to live on. Part of continuing their responsibility as my parents, I guess, no matter how much they hated the duty. It wouldn’t have reflected well on them to completely abandon me. Still, I always wondered why they didn’t take all their stuff and do their monthly money drops using a remote deposit so they’d never have to come home again.

Leaning on the laundry room door, I watched her unload the dryer, drinking in her every feature. Had she lost more weight? Was her face more haggard than before? She folded her things in a hurry, tossing them in the open suitcase sitting on the washer. So eager to leave.

“Papa came home a couple of days ago. He had to get his summer clothes too since it’s hotter in Okinawa than here. I was a little worried because he looked pale, like he was sick, but he said he was fine. He didn’t have time for dinner either, but he let me pack him a bento. You want one? It wouldn’t take…”

She cut me off, still avoiding my gaze. “I’m eating with a coworker tonight.”

Yeah, right. Like I didn’t see the frilly little red panties and matching bra in her suitcase? As far as I knew, she and dad never saw each other anymore, so I doubted they were for him. Why did they even stay married? Couldn’t be for love, and it sure as hell wasn’t for me. Neither of them were in the industries that would frown on them breaking up. Maybe if they divorced they’d be happier.

“Done.” She snapped the suitcase closed. “I better hurry. I’ll miss the train.”

She shouldered past me, the suitcase hitting my hip. If she noticed my wince, she said nothing. She’d changed her shoes and had her hand on the door before she bothered looking over her shoulder, her eyes still landing anywhere but on me.

“Ittekimasu.”[7]

“Ittera…”[8] The click of the door bounced around our empty apartment. “…sshai.” My shoulders dropped as I sighed out my tension. Even though I missed them, having them around was always so stressful I was relieved when they left again. Guilt niggled at me as I sloughed my way back through the house to change out of my wet clothes.

I didn’t bother with a long soak in the tub. Just a quick shower to clean up before changing into my nightgown and going back downstairs to start dinner. I made the curry rice anyway, both because I liked it too and as a way to remind myself of the foolishness of hoping things would change now. My parents were gone; I needed to accept that. I knew that, really I did. But I was an i***t.

My stomach rumbled. I suppose wasting what little I’d gotten to eat at school had left me extra hungry. One of the usual pack had “accidentally” knocked my lunch out of my hands at school. I’d managed to snag a melonpan[9] before lunch was over to tide me over, but most of it was now lying in the park somewhere.

One nice thing about essentially being parentless? No one fussed if I ate my dinner in the living room while doing my homework or if I drank a soda with my meal. No one would scold me for skipping the onions because they are disgusting or for adding extra beef. And no one would tell me to go to bed early instead of eating a little ice cream and playing a video game.

Best of all, there was no one to see me walking around in a nightgown, letting my scars show. No one yelling at me to cover them up or gagging at the sight of them. I wanted to see them, needed to see them, my never-ending reminder of the greatest sin I’d ever committed in my seventeen years of life: the sin of surviving.