The Last Leaves Falling (22 page)

:D I’m glad.

READ ANYTHING GOOD TODAY?

Not really.

D-: GEEK-BOY, NOT INTERESTED IN BOOKS? :P

Ha. No. I’m tired, that’s all. I feel as though I’ve run a hundred miles by the time I get up in the mornings.

:( IS THAT AN ALS THING?

I don’t know. It could be.

:(

WHAT DO YOU THINK MONKEC IS DOING RIGHT NOW?

Perhaps . . . drawing kittens in the margins of her schoolbook. Making a flick book, one page at a time.

HAH, YEAH.

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN HER WORK?

No. She never wanted to share. Have you?

NO. I’D LIKE TO THOUGH. I BET SHE’S TALENTED.

Yeah.

SHE’S CUTE, TOO.

Is she? Last time I saw her, she left fairly abruptly, and I was too nervous to notice much of anything.

Yeah.

O_
O

What?

I JUST REALIZED . . .

IF SHE’S NOT AT THE COMPUTER, SHE’S NOT MONKEC. AT ALL. IT’S LIKE SHE’S STRIPPED A PART OF HER AWAY.

HEY MAN, ANY NEWS?

No.

She does not answer messages or start up conversations. We have not even seen one single trace of her in any of the chat rooms. It’s like she’s vanished from the Internet completely.

But why?

It’s strange without her. Kaito and I talk well enough, but our jokes are few and deadened, as though we are in mourning.

I suppose, in some small way, we are.

44

“Wake up, Sora. It’s late.”

I groan and open my eyes. Mama has let in the sun, and it is too warm, my blankets too heavy, and yet my head is heavier, my limbs deadweight, and I do not want to move.

“Come on,” she says, and I groan again.

Mama sits beside me and reaches a hand to my forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”

No.

My mattress is wet sand, sticking, clinging, pulling me under.

“Mmhmm.”

“Well then, hurry up. You’re wasting the sunlight.” She gets up to leave, and I try to heave myself upright, but my arms and legs do not respond.

What’s happening?

I can feel the sheets beneath my palms. It should be easy.

I push again, harder this time. I can feel my hands pressed against the softness of the mattress, feel my muscles tense, but I am still lying here.

Is this it?

Am I stuck like this forever?

A bedridden lump with nothing to look at but the whorls of plaster on the ceiling.

I almost cry out, but I catch the sound before it leaves my throat. I can’t, not until I’m sure. Maybe it’s all in my imagination and there’s nothing worth worrying my mother with.

I lie here for a minute, counting the seconds between breathing in and out again, forcing the panic out across my lips with every exhalation.

And then I try again, this time digging in my heels as well, for extra leverage.

Nothing.

I’m stuck. It’s happening. I can’t get up.

“Mama!” I try to keep the shaking from my voice, but it’s no use. “Mama, I can’t—”

She’s back in my room in seconds.

“What is it?”

“Help?” I try to gesture to my useless body, the bed, the whole mess. My arm flails, and a desperate cry escapes my lips.

And she’s here, smoothing the hair back from my forehead and squeezing my hand as though our lives depend on it.

Perhaps they do.

“Hush,” she whispers, “hush. We’ll do this, it’s all right.”

And then she’s sliding an arm beneath me and she’s lifting, pulling me up.

And even though I’m flooded with relief that I’m not stuck here for eternity, I am also angry, and ashamed, and I cannot look at her.

45

“Can I ask you something?”

Doctor Kobayashi thinks before she answers. “Yes.”

Ever since this morning, one lone image haunts me, it hangs behind my eyes, and every time I blink, it’s there. I need to get rid of it, but I do not know whether she’ll help me.

“Those men, in the ward around the corner, the one that’s locked.” I pause, watch her face for a reaction, but there is none. “What’s wrong with them?”

“I don’t know, Sora.”

How can she not know? She works here!

“None of my patients are in that ward.”

“But you must have some idea.”

“That room is a palliative care ward. Those men are very sick. Dying. That is all I know, I promise you.”

“Are they allowed visitors?”

“Yes.”

I swallow hard, push away my fear. “Can you do something for me?”

•  •  •  •

“Are you sure about this?” Doctor Kobayashi asks. “Really sure? It could be . . . difficult.”

I stare at the heavy frosted glass, the locked door in front of us. “Yes.”

“All right.” She punches numbers into the lock and pushes the door open. “I will be right out here.”

My arms work better now that I’m awake. The hospital floors are smooth and flat. I push myself into the room. It smells different from the corridor, more like hot wet cabbage than pine cleaner.

“His name is Yamada-san,” Doctor Kobayashi whispers after me.

There he is. Somebody has pulled the curtains around the other beds, and the nurses, although I’m sure they can’t be far, are not in sight. We are alone.

Even from across the room, I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his paper neck every time he swallows. I can see the painful heaving of his chest sucking in air.

I have to do this.

I wheel up to the foot of his bed, and his eyes, deep and dark and more alive up close, flicker recognition of my presence.

“Good morning, Yamada-san.”

His eyes rove, and his mouth makes wide, uncoordinated movements, letting out a rasp of air.

I flinch. Is he angry? Sad? Pleased?

My heart hammers out a warning, and I want to flee, but he is looking at me, waiting, and he does not seem to be trying to yell at me. So I continue. “I thought perhaps you’d like a little company.”

He blinks slowly. I will take that as a yes.

I move around to the left side of his bed and grasp his hand.

“I’m Sora.”

He half-nods, once, and then lets his head flop to the side so that he can see me.

I feel as though his eyes are boring straight into my heart, my mind, my soul. And I want to pull away, but I am too afraid even for that. I stare back, helpless. Terrified.

And then his eyes stop searching and he smiles, an awkward, gaping smile from a face that doesn’t work, but it softens everything, and I find that I am smiling at him in return.

We sit together for what feels like an eternity. I listen to his breathing, long drawn-out gasps, a rattling deep inside his chest, and then the eager respite of exhalation. I watch his mouth and throat and torso work to get the oxygen he needs, and I wish that I could breathe my own air into him, to make it easier for just a moment.

I do not want to break the almost-peace, but there’s something that I came to do, and I do not think Doctor Kobayashi will let us sit forever.

“I . . . may I ask you something? Please.”

He blinks acceptance, and suddenly I have a thousand questions, not just one. Who are you? What is it you did, before? Where is your family? How do you tell the nurses if you need to scratch your nose?

Does it hurt?

Are you afraid?

I don’t know which is most important, which to choose. My brain aches with the pressure. What if I ask the wrong thing? Waste my chance? Offend him? And why would he answer me anyway? I am a stranger.

But I’ve started now, and I have to ask him something.

Fast.

“Are you all right?” The words come out in one rushed breath, but the question is polite, and safe, and all he has to do is blink yes, or nod, and we are both home free.

But he does not nod. He looks at me, and looks, and then his eyes take on a fierceness that I’ve never seen before, and his jaw works in wild, desperate circles as he tries to gain control, force unused muscles to make words, and his breathing gets faster, louder, desperate. For a moment I think maybe I should call for help. And then, in one harsh breath he wheezes out his answer, emptying his lungs:

“No.”

46

I left as quickly as I could, gulped in the fresh, cool air of the corridor, blinked in the bright, safe light.

No?

No.

One tiny word. And I feel as though the world has dropped from underneath me.

He was supposed to give me answers, tell me that everything will be all right, that it was worth it.

Doctor Kobayashi does not say a word as we go back to her office.

My mother, lost in her own thoughts, sits on a bright plastic chair in the corridor, her hands crossed neatly in her lap, waiting for the end of my appointment. She’s worried. I can see it in the lines across her face.

And the world drops further away.

47

ShinigamiFanBoy:
Are you guys sapping my time? Is this some evil science-fiction master plan?

Bluebird_796:
What?

ShinigamiFanBoy:
This week! Where did it go? I feel as though it only just began.

MadSkillz:
I agree! SOMEBODY must be behind this!

MadSkillz:
Who is it???

MadSkillz:
It’s you, isn’t it?

Bluebird_796:
Argh, I know! How are we supposed to get top marks, meet for ice cream, go shopping, AND take over the world? :(