Chapter 12: Mother 2

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Translator: Soafp

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June 8th. Saturday. 10:11 AM. I'm sixteen. Today is Kai-chan's death anniversary.

Once again, the sky is leaden with clouds. The pink-and-navy-banded Keio Line express train speeds through the lukewarm wind.

The yellow Nambu Line. Then the orange Musashino Line. I take these to get to Tama General Medical Center, where my mother is hospitalized.

Yesterday, I spoke with the attending doctor, a woman with a bob haircut who looks great in her red glasses. I told her that today is the anniversary of my little brother’s death, and I really want to visit his grave with my mom.

I begged her earnestly. The doctor in the red glasses said it would be fine if my mother's condition was stable. I'm sure that's what she said.

But today, unfortunately, the sky is cloudy. The low-pressure index on my weather app reads “Extreme Caution.” …I have a bad feeling about this.

“Kai-chan!”

As soon as I entered the hospital room, my mother clung to me, her eyes swollen red from crying.

“Mom, what's wrong?”

“Kai-chan, Kai-chan, where have you been?”

“Ahaha, at school. I started high school, remember? You don't remember? …Anyway, about today…”

“Strangers… Strangers are trying to take Kai-chan away from me…”

“It's okay. We'll always be together, Mom. Always. So, today, let's go out and…”

“Oh, Kai-chan… My Kai-chan… Don't leave me alone… Ah… Ahhhh…”

My mother cried. She trembled, sobbing, burying her face in my E-cup ch*st, which is as soft as hers. It's just like that day—when you left, Mom—like me and Kai-chan. Watching her like this, I felt something strange.

But reality is harsh. The doctor with the red-framed glasses, who was there with us, closed her eyes and shook her head. …I'm sorry, but Yoko-san can't go out today. Even without saying it aloud, I could tell that's what the doctor was silently conveying to me.

…Haa. I knew it was no use.

It was supposed to be the most important first anniversary of my dearest little brother. But today ended with me soothing my mother for hours, as she cried like a lost child.

Strangely enough, it was somehow comforting.

Maybe it's because it felt like my mother was crying on my behalf. On behalf of the tears I shed on that day, when I cried out in a voice that couldn't reach her, calling for my mom.