Confessions (16 page)

Death. I was doing to die. Die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die. I was going to die.

I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper and deeper into the icy slime.

Spring break. I spent my days in my room, staring out at the sky.

I wanted to climb out of the swamp and run away somewhere. Somewhere where nobody knows me. Somewhere where I could start all over from the beginning.

White jet streams stretch out all the way to the edge of the blue sky. I wonder how far they go. As I’m thinking about this, I remember something I heard once.

Weak people find even weaker people to be their victims. And the victimized often feel that they have only two choices: put up with the pain or end their suffering in death. But they’re wrong. The world you live in is much bigger than that. If the place in which you find yourself is too painful, I say you should be free to seek another, less painful place of refuge. There is no shame in seeking a safe place. I want you to believe that somewhere in this wide world there is a place for you, a safe haven.

Then I remembered who said it: It was Sakuranomi-sensei. I saw him on TV just a few months ago. Some joke—me remembering this now. He was so sure there was someplace I could go, but how was a middle school kid supposed to survive out in the world all by himself? Where would I sleep? What would I eat? Was anyone going to feed a runaway kid? Or give him a job? You couldn’t last long out there without money. It was always the same thing: Adults gave you all this advice, but they could only understand the world on their own terms—they couldn’t remember how it is to be a kid.

…
When I was your age, I was always running away from home. My friends and I were always getting into trouble, and getting punished for it. But we never once thought about killing ourselves.…Why would we? When we had each other?

Maybe that’s how it worked when he was a kid, but things are different now. Nobody really has any “friends”—I’m not even sure what that means. So if I’m going to go on living, I’ve got no choice but to do it in this house. My father works, my mother looks after me, and I stay right here. This is the only refuge I’ve got.

But what would happen if I give the HIV virus to my mother and father? And they get sick and die before I do. What would I do then?

I’ve
got
to make sure they don’t get it.

That’s my final goal as I live my last few days here in this swamp.

I seem to cry a lot in the swamp, but not because I’m sad. When I wake up in the morning and realize I’m still alive, the first thing I do is cry for joy. I pull open the curtains in my room and let the sunlight shine in, and though I know I don’t have anything to do, I still cry at the start of a new day.

I cry because the food Mom makes me is so delicious. She fills the table with all my favorites, and I cry even harder when I realize I may not be around much longer to enjoy all this. I even tried those bean cakes I’ve always hated, thinking I should while I still had the chance, and I cried because I never imagined they would be that good. Why had I never given them a chance before?

They told me my sister’s pregnant, and I cried to think about a new life coming into the world. Then I wanted to congratulate her in person because she’s always been so good to me, but I couldn’t risk infecting the baby, so I was left to cry all by myself.

But I’m not really unhappy. I don’t really hate the way I am now. I thought it would be terrifying to live like this, knowing I was going to die soon, but my life is actually more peaceful than it was before.

I thought I wanted things to go on like this forever.

But then spring break ended.

I was entering eighth grade and I had to go to school. That’s why they call it “compulsory education.” I knew all that, but somehow I still couldn’t make myself go. I’m a murderer. If I showed up at school, the kids in the class were going to punish me. They were going to hurt me. I was pretty sure they would eventually kill me. So how could I go?

But in addition to everything that might happen at school, I had another worry. I wasn’t sure that my mother would let me stay home. I’ve been making up aches and pains every day since the start of school, but that can’t work forever. Eventually she’s going to get angry, or cry, or tell me how disappointed she is. I hate all of that, but it’s not like I can tell her the real reason.

What would happen if she knew all the details about Moriguchi’s daughter?

I threw her body in the pool after Watanabe killed her. That’s what she thinks—and even that was a pretty bad shock. But how would she feel if she knew I had actually killed her, and that I had done it intentionally? Or that Moriguchi had taken her revenge by infecting me with the AIDS virus?

I’ll tell you how she’d feel. She’d go completely crazy. But what would I do if she didn’t want me here anymore? The thing I was most afraid of was being thrown out of the house. To me, that was the same as dying.

Then all of a sudden she came up to my room.

I was surprised that she didn’t really push me to go to school. Instead, she wanted me to go see the doctor. She said I could stay home and take it easy for a while if they diagnosed me with a psychological problem.

Maybe I
was
sick.

But if I went to the doctor, they might find out about the HIV—and then my mother would know. That was a little scary, but I decided I could always run off if it looked like they were going to do any tests. Anyway, pretty much anything was better than being forced to go to school—where the kids were bound to kill me.

In the end, I shouldn’t have worried so much. The doctor came up with a name for what ails me. It’s called “autonomic ataxia”—whatever that is. But it turns out plenty of kids my age in Japan are staying home from school because they have it. My mother didn’t seem particularly upset when she heard this. In fact, she seemed almost happy. At the very least, it meant that I could stay home and rest for a while, and that made me feel a little more relaxed, too.

When we left the clinic, I looked around like I was seeing the world with new eyes. I hadn’t realized it that morning because I was so nervous, but this was the first time I’d been out of the house since that day. I was surprised to see that I could breathe the air out here like any normal person. Maybe I couldn’t go to school, but I might be able to start going outside again.

I took a deep breath, like I was trying to check whether I really had come up out of the swamp, even a little bit—and that’s when I caught sight of the Domino Burger by the station. It wasn’t my favorite place—Watanabe and I hung out there during those few days when I thought we were friends—but when my mother asked me whether I wanted to get something to eat before we went home, I told her I could eat a hamburger. For one thing, I knew they used paper plates and plastic forks, so there was less chance of spreading the virus, but the real reason is that I needed to prove something to myself. I knew I wasn’t ready to go back to Happy Town, but if I could face a place like Domino Burger, I thought I’d eventually be able to crawl out of the swamp.

I’d been so worried about dying that I’d completely forgotten about Watanabe—at least until I saw the Domino Burger sign. I suddenly wondered what he was doing. I was sure he must be locked away in his laboratory in that deserted house, worrying about dying too, and I have to admit the idea made me feel pretty good. He was getting just what he deserved—that’s what I thought as I bit into my hamburger.

But just then something flew up all over my leg.

Milk! Milk! Milk!…They were sitting right next to us…Moriguchi and her daughter!

They were coming after me, pushing my head back down just when I’d been able to get it a little bit out of the swamp. Stop! Stop! Stop!…My head was going under the mud again. They were watching me, making sure I’d never get out. The slime was getting in my mouth, running down my throat.

I ran to the bathroom and threw up, trying to get the mud out. And the image of Watanabe along with it.

I haven’t been able to go outside again after the trip to the doctor, but I manage to get by here. It’s nice and quiet. My room is the most peaceful, since I don’t have to worry about spreading the virus when I’m in here.

I read manga on the Internet almost every day, and then I think up sequels to the stories and write those down in the notebook my mother bought me. I have to do a lot of cleaning, which is a pain, but it feels better than just messing around all day.

Then they showed up. Terada, the new homeroom teacher, and Mizuki. They said they’d brought copies of the class notes, and Mother let them in and talked with them in the living room. Which is right below my room. I could hear every word they said. Mother spent a lot of time telling Terada how terrible Moriguchi had been.

Then Terada told my mother she should leave all my problems to him. He said it in this really arrogant tone of voice, and I thought I was going to scream right through the floor.

Leave me alone!

I managed to keep quiet, but I started to feel really scared.

You could never trust teachers. This one was acting all nice and friendly, but he was just trying to lure me back to school so they could kill me. Terada had probably been Moriguchi’s student or something. She was probably his guru. He acted like he was worried about me, but he was probably here to check up on us, see what we were doing so he could report back to Moriguchi. I couldn’t even trust Mizuki. There was a rumor at school that she was Moriguchi’s spy. Maybe Moriguchi still wasn’t satisfied; maybe she had decided she wanted to kill me right away, and this was all part of her plan. My mother seemed to like Terada. What would I do if she let him come up here? He was probably coming to kill me. I just realized that Mother had been telling Terada all that bad stuff about Moriguchi. What if he went back and told her?

When Mother came up to my room looking all proud of herself, I screamed and threw a dictionary at her. Why did she have to go shooting her mouth off? She looked really shocked—probably because it was the first time I’d ever acted like that. As soon as the door was closed, I started to cry again. But I can’t think of any other way to protect myself.

Terada and Mizuki come once a week, and every time I feel terrified. Mother doesn’t let them into the house anymore, but she hasn’t told them to stop coming. How much longer will this go on?

I’ve been afraid to go out of my room. What if somebody’s outside? Moriguchi or Terada or Mizuki—or even that scary Tokura from the Tennis Club? I’m so frightened I can’t do anything.

They all want to kill me.

If they find out I’m reading manga on the Internet, they’ll kill me for that. I’m pretty sure Moriguchi knows which sites I’m going to almost before I get there. What if Terada left some sort of bug in the living room and Moriguchi’s listening to every word I say? If she hears me saying something’s delicious or I’m having fun doing something, she’ll want to kill me even more.

They’re watching me. And I can’t do anything. I sit in my room and stare at the white walls, but the image of the pool and the little girl float up in front of me. I want to look away, but somehow I know I’m not allowed to.

Moriguchi has put a curse on me.

I spend the whole day staring at the wall. I don’t know what time it is, what day it is. I can’t taste food. I’m afraid of death, but I don’t really feel like I’m living anymore. Maybe I’m not.

For the first time in days, I saw myself in the mirror. I looked miserable and filthy, but somehow I could see signs of life. My hair had grown. My fingernails were long. My skin was grimy. But I was still alive. I started to cry—I was bawling my eyes out.

I’m alive! Alive! Alive!

I had the proof—my long hair and fingernails, the grime on my skin. My hair covers my eyes and ears and hides my face; it protects me and lets me know I’m still alive.

I woke from a deep sleep, as though I’d finally crawled out of some place I’d sunk into, and I found black things scattered around my pillow.

What was going on?

I shook my head to try to clear it and then picked up one of the black things, but it dissolved in my hand. Starting to panic, I put my hands to my head—and felt my ears.

That was my hair there on the bed. My hair! My hair! My life! Life! Life!

The mud at the bottom of the swamp began to dissolve and I began to sink again. The mud came oozing into my nose and ears. I can’t breathe.…

Death, death, death, death, death, death, death death death death death death death death death death death.…

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die.…

No! No! No! I’m afraid, afraid, afraid afraid afraid afraid afraid.…

Help me! Somebody!

But I was awake, and I was in my room, even if it had been trashed somehow, and I was still breathing. I could still move my arms and legs. I was alive. Or was I?

I left my room and went downstairs. Mother had fallen asleep with her head down on her desk. This was my house all right. I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.

Of course. I wasn’t dead—how could I be if I still had some hair?

I took the electric clippers out of the drawer. My mother had cut my hair with them until I started going to middle school. When I turned them on, they made a nice, quiet buzzing sound. I put them up to my forehead, and a little greasy clump fell at my feet—and with it, I could feel a little part of me vanish. So that was it? The proof of life was the fear of death. Then there was only one way for me to crawl back out of this swamp.…

Pressing harder, I ran the clippers over my head. With the buzzing, I could feel strips of my life being peeled away.