Table Of ContentTable of Contents
Copyrights and Credits
Title Page
Preface
Part 1
An Encore No One Called For
Newsletter
L
IFE, IT SEEMS, is a horribly dull thing.
The fact that every single adult always says that their teen years were
the best time of their life is proof of that simple fact. To think that one day
I’m supposed to look back on these meaningless days with reverence, with
jealousy—with the notion that I’ll never rise any higher than the place
where I currently stand—is a tragedy.
I’d always assumed that everyone around me was burdened by a
similar sense of dread, but it seems that is not the case. Every last person
manages to find some kind of fulfillment, some kind of consolation in their
own way, whether in reading books, listening to music, playing sports, or
pouring themselves into their studies.
By following certain basic rules and acquiring certain basic abilities
and generally avoiding any extreme hardship, I’ve been able to survive.
Food tastes good, and sleep feels great, but no matter what I do, it’s all
boring.
It’s all so very, very boring.
Every morning I eat breakfast, go to school, walk into my assigned
classroom, and sit in my assigned seat. I never share any particularly
meaningful exchanges with anyone. I don’t make friends, and I don’t offend
anyone. I just sit at my desk, waiting for the time to pass me by.
Any stimulation makes the boredom all the more apparent. When you
wriggle your body, the pain resonates. As long as you remain still, you can
get by just being there. All I do is gaze upon the boredom that sits in the
back of my mind.
I raise my eyes, taking a quick glance around me. There is not a
single special soul amongst the gathering of thirty unremarkable children in
this classroom. Every last one of them is dull—myself included. What sets
me apart from them is that I am always keenly aware of just how boring I
am. The rest of them live with the illusion that life is a colorful, many
splendored thing and that they themselves are special. And every one of
them grates on me equally.
I find myself at a loss. I feel a swell of anger both for my own
aimless self and for those who feel no such confusion. And yet it seems that
these days, when all I can do is curse my own dullness, are supposed to be
the height of my life.
Give me a break.
Seriously… Someone, please take my feelings away from me and
take me away from this pointless place.
***
I used to read a lot of books in my spare time when I had nothing else
to do. Thanks to this, I accumulated a lot of useless knowledge, but I didn’t
reap much more from it than that. Specialized books and nonfiction aside,
the stories thought up by others gave me no hope whatsoever.
“Suzuki, please read from line five until the next paragraph.”
“Okay.”
As the teacher instructed, I stood up, language arts text in hand, and
read the indicated passage aloud. There was no point in rebelling:
Whenever I saw the self-styled delinquents in my class complaining about
what a pain in the ass this sort of thing was, it struck me all the more how
absolutely clueless they were. If you think something’s a pain, then just do
as you’re told. Going with the flow is the easiest way to keep time marching
on. If you elect not to skip school or if there’s some reason you have to
attend, this is your only means of alleviating the tedium. Or if it isn’t
actually a pain, and you just think you can deal with your boredom by
having someone fuss over you, then you’re truly the lowest of the low.
The sooner you sit for your lesson, the sooner it’s over.
Four lessons before lunch—just sitting there and listening to someone
talk is enough to make you hungry, so every day you go to the cafeteria and
eat. You pick an empty chair and sit down in it, putting whatever you
happened to pick up that day in your mouth. You force yourself to eat a
meal that’s never quite what you were hoping for.
After lunch, you return to the classroom without much dawdling.
When you take your seat, the others around you distance themselves. To be
frank, this is a blessing. There’s nothing good about actively getting
involved with others.
And then, just like in the morning, you suffer through the tedium of
boredom. Usually, you’re successful.
“Hey, Suzuki.”
Today, however, I was interrupted. Tanaka, the girl who sat in front of
me, was sitting sideways in her chair, looking at me through dull eyes. A
straw ran between her mouth and a juice box.
“What do you do for fun?”
Piss off, I thought. Both for asking blunt questions for no real reason
and for acting like her life was somehow so much more special than mine.
“Nothing really.”
“Quit being so pissy and answer the question. What d’you do after
school?”
“Go running.”
“With who? You aren’t in any clubs, right?”
“Alone.”
“What, you some kinda athlete?”
“No.”
“That’s obvious, idiot. Why don’t you find something funner to do?
Just lookin’ at your gloomy face glaring at your desk all the time really gets
me down, y’know.”
Mind your own business. I’m not even bothering you. Why are you so
concerned about other people’s feelings? If I were to bother striking up a
conversation with my boring classmates who seemed to measure their own
worth by how buddy-buddy they could get with random people, it’d just
add to my own tedium.
“Fun doesn’t exist.”
“…Jeez, that’s dark.”
I choked back the sigh that I was about to let out at the way her face
twisted up at my statement. I had no intention of recklessly making enemies
in my class. Not only would it be tedious, but it would also be incredibly
annoying.
“I mean, you’re not wrong that it’s boring out here. I can’t wait to get
out of this hicksville, y’know what I mean?”
What a vapid opinion—endlessly so.
It didn’t matter if we lived in the middle of nowhere or in the heart of
the city. It only took an hour to get to the city by car or train, maybe two at
most. A completely trivial amount of time. Exactly what could either of us
accomplish in such a short span? Both of us were boring people, regardless
of our location.
I looked away—there was no point in conversing with her further.
Tanaka, however, still seemed intent on using me as a means of killing time
and pretended to mutter to herself, fishing for a reaction. “Oh, our class’s
resident dark cloud, the girls’ rep, is back.” She looked toward the back of
the classroom as she spoke, loud enough that it was clear she was making
no attempts to hide it. I knew without looking who it was that she was
referring to. “You ever talk to her, Suzuki? Y’know, as a fellow stick in the
mud?”
What would it take to satisfy her? There were so many pointless
questions in the world.
“I mean, not really.”
“I bet you two could get along. You’re both always staring at your
desks, so maybe you could talk about what kind of desktops look the
nicest!”
I hated people who laughed at their own jokes.
Fellow sticks in the mud. I was aware that from the outside, Saitou—
who had probably just entered the classroom—and me appeared to be the
same sort of person, but that didn’t make it a meaningful point of
connection.
Having finally gotten her fill of talking at me, Tanaka vanished,
leaving me to sit quietly until lunch break was over. I was in charge of
cleaning the classroom this week. Wipe down the floors and blackboard
well enough, line up the desks reasonably, things like that. Cleanup is
necessary when there’s no one else around to do it for you. Performing
tasks that one was not expected to derive enjoyment out of in the first place
was an easy thing for me and put me far more at ease than even our midday
break.
After that, I made it through fifth and sixth periods, said my
farewells, and headed home with no lingering attachments. My classmates
remained for a few moments in the classroom, some of them nervous about
upcoming club activities, most of them relieved at the feeling of freedom.
As a result, only I and one other classmate left the room without wasting
any time.
Sometimes the pattern of which one of us ended up staring at the
other’s back on the way out flipped, but not once had we ever interacted as
we made our way down the hall. Our enrollment numbers were close,
however, so whichever of us arrived at the shoe lockers second always had
to wait for the other to finish changing their shoes before they could leave.
Today, Saitou arrived at the lockers first. I waited quietly as she
donned her shoes in no particular hurry. Almost every day we shared these
few moments together, sometimes with our positions reversed. Never once
had we spoken. After Saitou left, not speaking a word or even turning back
to look at me, I changed my shoes as well.
Would you really think that Saitou and I were two peas in a pod? I’m
sure that whatever was inside of her was no more than a few tenths of a
millimeter different from the boringness that lies in anyone else. Being
lucky enough to have someone in the same class who you could share your
feelings with and who’d come to your rescue would never happen—at least
not to a worthless human being like me.
Fate, miracles, outstanding moments—none of them are real.
***
“Oh, Kaya! Welcome home!”
My mother was on the way out when I arrived at home. She was
dressed all in black.
