The Girl On The Park Bench

   Breakfast had been flavorful. Try as I might, I couldn’t deny that fact. A demon born of salt and fat ached in my bowels, they begged for the sweet release of expulsion. My gaze drifted towards the spidery fingers of my hands and their calloused knuckles. Natsumi would hear. You promised to stop. Apple, apple, round like an apple.  Not one coherent thought went through my mind as my feet stumbled onto the scale and found a truth I couldn’t ignore.

   “I’ll skip lunch,” I promised aloud. It was a lie. They came easier each time. A sudden knock at my door spun me around and I asked,  “Sa- Natsumi, are you ready to go?”

   “Yes,” trilled that accursed gyaru.

   “One second.”  She can’t know about the scale.  Ever.  I hid it away in a dark corner and hoisted a backpack over my shoulders. The straps bit into my bony shoulders, but it was a punishment I could bear, for now. Nervously, I eased the creaking door open only to be greeted by Natsumi’s smirk and vaguely floral odor that stung my eyes. Her expression turned dour immediately.

   “You’re wearing that?” she asked as her bright eyes studied my outfit.  Her tone made it obvious that she did not approve of my dark blue jeans and charcoal-gray button-down. Natsumi sighed dismissively, “It’s so drab.”

   My shoulders shrugged all on their own. “So?”

   She crossed her arms over an oversized baseball jersey.  It was red and white. I didn’t recognize the logo.  That knowledge lay well outside my interests.  “I’ll never understand why you hide your legs,” she sighed as she brushed her golden bangs to one side and cocked her hips from side to side.  Natsumi was adamantly opposed to wearing anything other than questionably short skirts or shorts.  Hiding those perfectly tanned and toned legs would be a crime against humanity.  Her words, not mine.  Only a vestige of artfully torn jean shorts peaked out from underneath her jersey.

   “You know I get cold easily,” I countered.

   “Because you’re too skinny,” she announced as she poked me with one immaculately manicured nail painted ombre red.  Her finger may have struck my chest like a dart but the insult stirred my heart like a rising sun. She spun around and strolled away as her twin tails bounced with each step. I floated behind her, oblivious to every second of our usual morning trek until we were safely aboard our train.

   The subtle stench of warm bodies wedged against each other like sardines floated up and into my nostrils.  A demon that refused to be ignored growled in my gut as I felt a slender arm wrap around my waist.  Its fingers squeezed into my hip.  Natsumi’s soft voice burned against my ear, sending the delicate hairs into a frenzy. 

   “It’s crowded today,” she purred as I felt my cheeks flush hot. My eyes latched onto a narrow strip of open floor as her playful laughter clinked like glasses.  A slender finger tucked a loose strand of hair behind my beet-red ear. Surely it was hers because every muscle in my body was locked firmly in place.

   “I’ll protect you,” whispered Natsumi.  The scent of her floral perfume flooded my nostrils as she inched closer.  

   It felt like my entire body had seized tight, but I managed a reply. “T-thanks.” My neck strained against what felt like a mountain crashing down. I met her gaze for a split second, just in time to see a hint of color rising in her cheeks, but the sight was too much for my throbbing heart to handle.  

   “Sorry,” she mumbled uncharacteristically, but her hand remained firmly entrenched on my hip.  Her fingernails dug in ever-so-slightly, just enough to sting.  I think I liked it.

   “Don’t be,” was the best my vacant brain could manage as I gazed aimlessly into the crowd. She had been correct about the crowd.  It was a rare thing for our morning commutes to be disrupted by such a horde. A glance at my phone told me we weren’t running late for classes despite a remarkably busy morning. 

   The weird were asleep or, at the very least, had the common courtesy to hide their faces from those ordinary souls afflicted with the curse called ‘routine’. If there was an oddity, it was hidden behind sleepy-eyed salarymen, put-upon office ladies, and energetic students not yet resigned to life’s monotony.  Against this backdrop of mundanity towered a woman in a long black dress.

   Her appearance caught me off guard and I wondered how I hadn't noticed her before. Her height was notable at a glance, even from across the passenger car.  She stood at least half a head taller than the nearest man. A wide-brimmed hat, akin to a crown, rested upon her head. It was a hungry black that devoured all nearby light.  The shade contrasted brilliantly with the lily-white skin of her bare neck.

  Is she dressed for a funeral? I wondered as I unabashedly continued to stare at her.  The woman exposed her profile to me as she turned to the side and I was disappointed to see that her features were obscured behind a long veil, but it was clear that she clutched something to her chest. Could it be a child? Surely not.

   “Ubume.” The word fell from my mouth unknowingly. A firm hand squeezed me harder and Natsumi broke into my quiet world.

   “Say something, Akane?” she asked in a murmur that rippled against my ear.

   “Oh, it’s nothing,” I replied but compulsion forced me to explain, “I noticed a woman that reminded me of a story.”

   Natsumi chuckled softly as she somehow managed to shift even closer to me. She draped her arms recklessly over my shoulders and leaned in. “Not a lewd one, I hope.”

   I pulled a face that she thankfully couldn’t see. “Of course not.”

   “Well then, tell me the story.”

   “I’m not sure of all the details. It’s an old legend. It varies from story to story.”

   “You don’t need to defend yourself,” replied Natsumi.  Her hot breath caressed my neck like a lover’s fingers.

   “I know that!” I shouted vigorously enough to turn half a dozen heads in our direction.  Eyes beyond counting cursed me with disgusting glances before thankfully turning away.

   “Careful,” teased that wretched gyaru, “You might find that you like the attention.”

   I ignored her and continued, “Most of the tales I know are about a passerby encountering a woman holding a child. The woman always insists that the passerby take the child. If they refuse, the woman kills them.”

   “Kills who? The child?”

   “No, the passerby and if they take the child it grows so heavy they can’t hold it and the woman vanishes. They look down and realize that the child is a boulder. Or rocks or whatever.” I finished the explanation with a shrug of my shoulders that failed to drive Natsumi away.

   “What a weird story.  Who told you about this?” she wondered as she wrapped her arms around my stomach and pulled me close.  Words can not describe how grateful I was to have a backpack between us.

   “My brother was playing some game about yokai and became obsessed with them. And-”

   Natsumi cut me off before I could finish my explanation.  “I didn’t know you still talked to your family.”  Her voice was a growl.

   Why wouldn’t I? The words almost came out before I remembered.  My parents didn’t talk to me.  Only my brother kept in touch and those conversations were rare.  I couldn’t recall what happened, there was surely a reason. I stared down the passenger car silently and knew that the woman in black stared back.

   “Sorry,” said Natsumi listlessly, “I know that’s a sore spot.”

   “Yeah.”  My reply was a barely audible mutter.  I gazed into nothingness, “It’s okay.”  Her hands released me, her nails grazed against my stomach as they departed, but she remained close.  For a split second her fingers brushed against mine.  They escaped before I could grasp them tight.  She didn’t notice.  We passed the rest of our short ride in silence.

   A few minutes after exiting the station Natsumi surrendered to the urges of her soul and cut through the silence with a sudden shout.  “Akane!”  

   I froze midstep at the sound of my name. “Ha!” she laughed, “You look like a flamingo!” 

   Without a word, I shook my head and strode past her. Each footfall thundered against the sidewalk. It was unnecessary to turn around. I already knew exactly what she was doing at the moment. Her face was screwed into a pout, her fists were clenched, and in about three to five seconds her voice would pierce the heavens.

   “Don’t be like that!” she shouted.

  “Sorry,” I lied without looking back, “I don’t want to be late.”

   “We have thirty minutes before class,” she argued as she snuck one hand around the crook of my right arm. “Let’s go through the park.” 

   Slightly abashed and devoid of the necessary energy for a quarrel I conceded to her demands and allowed her to guide me into the nearby park. It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. The autumn air was crisp and clear and overhead the sky bloomed a beautiful blue. I allowed myself a deep inhale that flooded my lungs with serenity and exhaled slowly.  A sense of nostalgia hung in the air.

   Calmer, I squeezed her hand as I came to a stop. She turned around in a painfully slow manner. Confusion and anticipation danced as one in her shining eyes. My chest hurt. A dry throat swallowed up my words. Before I could make a second attempt she pressed one finger against my lips and gently whispered, “It’s okay. I’m not mad.” Those five little words quickened the rhythm of my straining heart.

   The dam broke as my apology surged out in a single, unbroken breath. “I’m sorry. I’ve been callous. Thank you for taking care of me.” I bowed quickly before a single tear could mobilize. Before I could stand upright her arms were wrapped around me, guiding me up, again and again. Her cheek brushed against mine, soft and warm.  A glimpse of a memory, a single forgotten frame flashed through my mind too quickly to capture. 

   “I’ll always be there for you Akane,” she whispered as she pulled me deeper into the embrace.  Her words felt familiar, but the voice wasn’t correct.  This was enough to shock me back to my senses and I was momentarily grateful that the park was empty. We were alone, there was only a solitary bench off in the distance and a dark-haired girl sat upon it.

   “There’s someone here,” I hissed through clenched teeth as I wrenched myself out of her grasp. Natsumi’s eyes swelled up like saucers.  Her head spun around to survey the scene.  When she spotted the stranger she cocked her head to one side and rolled her eyes at me.  

   “It’s just some girl,” sighed Natsumi.  Without a hint of warning, she suddenly narrowed them and said with devilish glee, “I think I’ll say hello.”

   “Don’t!” I pleaded, but my foolish roommate was already halfway to the solitary bench. The urge to flee rumbled in my gut. A shadow flitted in the corner of my eye and spurred me into action. As I approached the pair I noticed that Natsumi was oddly still and silent.  I called out to her and she turned to face me.  Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused.  Her face was pale.  She mumbled incoherently.

   “What’s wrong?” I asked. 

   The sight of the stranger answered my question and stilled my lips.  It was a young woman in tight, waist-high black jeans with a t-shirt haphazardly tucked in here and there. Straight black bangs hid her eyes and most of her voluminous hair was pulled back and tied up in a loose bun. Her skin was porcelain white, like a beautiful doll.  It took me a moment to realize each of her slender arms was marred by blue-green bruises. Bile rose in my throat as I noticed one forearm was bent unnaturally.

   “Call 110.” The order came out unconsciously as I knelt down in front of the young woman.  A blue substance streamed out of one of her nostrils and trickled across her delicate lips.  They were familiar.  The smell of orange blossoms filled the air as a cold thrill ran like a razor up the nape of my neck.  I knew this face, but it couldn’t be her.  It couldn’t be Fumiko. 

  The ground rushed up at me as my vision went black.