Ikari went out into the living area, presumably to fetch their things from the hall closet. But Hoku went ahead and showered without bothering with their belongings. Though he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning, he brushed his teeth with one of the hospital toothbrushes.
“Couldn’t you have waited?” Ikari remarked when Hoku rejoined him in the bedroom. “It’s wasteful to dirty the hospital things up when we’ve already got our own.”
“But it will be stupid if we have to go get our stuff out of some hall and then put it back every single morning.”
Hoku hadn’t come of an age where he needed deodorant, but Ikari made him apply it regardless. He forced him to lather a washcloth and scrub his face properly. The dampness of their skin made them colder than before, but they donned their masks and headed for the main area.
Mizumi and Tengoku were sitting at the table. In the main area with them were three other children - eight-year-old Ajisai, whom Tengoku had mentioned before, dark-haired 12-year-old Teishuki, and ten-year-old blond Daichi.
Most of the children were dutifully wearing masks even as they sat together, whispered and worked in coloring books. Ajisai, however, was barefaced. Ikari accosted the little girl.
“Hey - Ajisai-chan. Aren’t you going to put on a mask?”
“What’s the point?” was her answer. “We’re all eating together, and we can’t eat with masks on. It’s hard to breathe through those things, anyway.”
“Even if we’re together in here, we still have to be careful,” Hoku insisted. “We could spread germs and get eachother sick.”
“I’ve already been here for a week. If we were going to give eachother the virus, I bet we’d all have it already. Lighten up. It’s not like we’ll get in trouble with the grownups; they don’t care about the masks.”
Hoku had to admit to himself that Ajisai’s logic appealed to him, mostly because being able to see the faces of the kids with whom he’d be spending so much time would make them feel more like good friends to him. Still, out of loyalty to Ikari, he didn’t remove his mask.
“Ajisai-chan, do you know who the lady behind the desk today is?” The lady in question was the same one who had woken him.
“Oh, that’s Junko-san. The lady who‘s locking all the doors is Nijiko-san.”
“But where’d Momoniki-san go?”
“She went home while we were asleep.”
“They work shifts, Hoku,” Ikari explained. “They can’t stay here with us all day and night; they have to go home sometime.”
Hoku deduced that Kosui-san, too, had gone home and that Nijiko-san was her replacement.
“Do you guys know where the bathroom is?” Ikari inquired.
“It’s over there.” Daichi indicated a door that sat to the right of the cubicle. “But they keep it locked, so if you need to go, you have to ask for permission.”
The conversation was interrupted by Nijiko-san, who came to stand behind the couch.
“Okay, let’s all go to breakfast. When we’ve finished, we’re going to have a sitdown with Rinko-san, who is the first therapist you will see today. Afterwards, we will have our first session of group therapy in the classroom. We have two group therapy sessions every day from Monday through Friday, one in the morning, the other in the afternoon. Between those, you may have music or art therapy. We have no therapy sessions on the weekends. Now, everyone, let’s get moving.”
The children got to their feet. As they filed out of the main area and down the hallway that led past the bedrooms, Hoku could hear Teishuki murmuring to Ikari, “You guys are lucky you came on a Wednesday. Just three more days until it’s over for the week! I hate therapy.”
They assembled in a cafeteria for breakfast. It didn’t take long for Hoku to decide that he disliked this room. Like the main area, it was warmer than the bedrooms were, but there were several large windows, which afforded him a view of the blue sky and the green tree-branches that framed it and allowed the sunlight to come pouring in. The rays of light formed rings on the floor and the surface of the booth table - golden rings that made him think of the halos of angels.
The hot food had been divided up into little plastic containers, which had been arranged in stacks upon a table along with pieces of fruit, tiny boxes of dry cereal and cartons of milk. When Hoku came up to the table to serve himself, he took notice of the paintings that had been put up on the wall behind it. Several of them were of flower-filled forests and sunlit mountains. Others were words of wisdom - platitudes such as Never give up on your dreams and Love is everywhere - painted in gold, silver and rose against colored backgrounds.
Hoku did his best to follow Ikari’s example and eat his breakfast, but he lacked even a trace of an appetite. He discovered that he wasn’t the only one who struggled to eat. Teishuki sat across from him and buried her face into her hands, but the tears that she was attempting to hide came rolling down onto her wrists in gleaming streaks. Her food remained untouched.
Hoku ventured to speak to her. “Teishuki-chan? . . . Are you. . .okay?”
Teishuki shook her head. When she wiped her eyes, the long right sleeve of her blouse fell back, revealing the ends of two thick, deep scars. Ikari pinched Hoku‘s knee - his way of telling him not to stare.
Hoku’s mind raced with questions. What had happened to Teishuki? Had someone hurt her horribly? Should he - did he dare ask?
His unvoiced questions were soon answered.
“I can’t eat,” Teishuki whispered. “All I want to do is cut. I want to - so badly. But I know if I try, I’ll never get out of the ward.”
To cut? To cut what? It took a minute for Hoku to realize that Teishuki wanted to harm herself.
“Teishuki-chan. . .” Hoku trailed off. He wanted to be of some comfort, some help, but didn’t know what to say.
He had thought of hurting himself many times before, but only because he had seen it as a means of ending his misery for good. He hadn’t truly wanted to hurt himself. But Teishuki had covered her own wrist with scars. She hadn’t attempted to end her own life; she had just slashed her own skin, and she felt the urge to do it again. Why?
Hoku and the other children might be in the same institution, he realized, but he still didn’t know them. He didn’t know their stories - and, if he did know - even then - would he understand what they were going through?
Because it was the only way he could think of offering comfort, Hoku stood and reached across the table for Teishuki’s hand. She leaned away so that she was out of his reach.
“No. I - I’m sorry, but please . . .don’t touch me.”
Embarrassed, but trying to understand, Hoku sat back down and left the girl alone. Mizumi said softly, “I’m sorry, Teishuki-chan.”
Motegi-san, the woman who was in charge of food service, stopped beside the table to address Teishuki. “Teishuki-chan, sweetie, are you okay? Aren’t you going to eat your food?”
In response to both questions, Teishuki shook her head. Hoku supposed that Motegi-san must not have known what to do, either, for she went on about her work without another word.
It was impossible for Hoku to eat anything more with Teishuki, who sat actoss from him, in that state. Ikari didn’t try to push him.
When breakfast was over, they all piled back into the main area, where they were greeted by the therapist, Rinko-san. Teishuki had managed to stop crying by this time. She sat down on one of the armchairs, wrapped her arms around herself, and huddled up into a little ball.
Rinko-san distributed what appeared to be worksheets. “I want all of you to fill these out for me. These will let me know how you’re feeling today, where you’re at, and give us more information about you. After that, we’re going to talk about how we feel.”
Hoku found a pen and used a book to prop his worksheet up. The sheet was a list of questions and checklists. He had to indicate whether he was feeling depressed or anxious, how severe his depression was at the moment and whether he felt any desire to harm himself or others. He also had to indicate whether he had any “triggers.” Though he was certain nothing could be done about these, he wrote talking about death and sunlight.
The papers were collected, and then, at Rinko-san’s prompting, they all put what they had written about their current moods into words. Mizumi admitted to feeling sad. Ajisai did the same and added that she wanted to go home.
“I miss my room. And I miss my dog, Pochi-chan.”
Hoku couldn’t help but to notice that he and Ajisai were the youngest ward patients, the only eight-year-olds in the group. Was it strange for third-graders to need “professional help”? Had Ajisai asked to be sent away, as he had, or had her parents decided for her that she must go?
Tengoku, when his turn came to speak, said that he was feeling jittery and on edge. “Ever since I started taking the meds, my heart’s felt weird. It feels like it’s sort of numb and keeps. . .trembling in my chest.”
When asked how he felt, Ikari said that he was tired. Hoku didn’t know what he had written on his sheet. Though he himself had described his depression in writing, when his turn came to share, he said, “I feel okay, I guess.”
Teishuki confessed again that she wanted to cut. She shared a story with Rinko-san that shocked Hoku.
“I’ve been to Kaireinomiru Institute for help two times before, and I want this to be my last time, but I have a feeling it won’t.
“My parents died when I was too little to remember them. My grandma and grandpa took care of me till I was eight. Then I got taken away from them. I was kidnapped. It was two years before I or the other women and kids who had been taken along with me were saved. Even now, I don’t feel safe. Any little thing can bring the feelings back.”
There were sympathetic faces, but none of the other children seemed to be shocked by Teishuki’s words the way that Hoku was. He guessed that they had already heard her story before.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Hoku hated the group therapy room. Situated a few rooms down from the cafeteria, it, too, had large unblinded windows - two of them - that invited the sunlight in. It was cold, there were only hard steel and plastic chairs to sit in, and it had a strange smell, one that reminded him of stale ramen broth, for lack of a better simile.
Their group therapist was Tazuki-san, a tall, bald man, and when he opened the morning session by asking everyone to talk about his feelings yet again, Hoku knew that this would be a grueling 1.5 hours.
It wasn’t difficult for him to see why Teishuki said that she hated therapy. They were encouraged to pour their hearts out, to reflect on their feelings, to fill out more worksheets and bubble graphs, to learn about positive thinking, to reject self-pity, to know that they deserved to be okay. Those all sounded good in theory, but Hoku declined to speak and sat studying his hands, though he obediently filled the worksheets out. He had tried again and again to think positively in the past and had ended it all feeling like a liar. He had tried to believe that he deserved to be okay and had only succeeded in feeling guiltier and a little more worthless than before. Rejecting self-pity sounded like a wise thing to do, but, when he tried to do it, felt impotent and empty.
With all of that in mind, he didn’t want to talk about or reflect on his pain. Others were dealing with worse - Teishuki was fighting not to fall apart; Ajisai, Tengoku and Mizumi all had bipolar disorder. Hoku, Ikari and Daichi were the only patients who had come here because of depression alone, and neither Ikari nor Daichi had even come entirely of their own volition - Daichi had been hospitalized, then institutionalized a week before after he’d admitted to a friend that he was trying to end his own life by drinking transmission fluid.
Talking about problems might help the others, if only a little, but for Hoku, even hearing about his problems was like feeling a constant pulling on an open wound. Still, he didn’t want to go back home, where he would feel all alone. He wanted just two things: the antidepressant medicine and sleep.
At last, the session ended. The patients piled back into the main area. Hoku, who had to go to the bathroom, approached Junko-san, who unlocked the door. When he entered, he found not only the restroom, but, across from it, a door onto which a sign had been pasted. QUIET ROOM. This must be the room that Momoniki-san had mentioned before. Hoku considered asking about a nap when he returned to the main area, but decided against it. He didn’t want a nap; he wanted to sleep for hours. The couch in the main area looked comfortable enough. He could rest without having to bother the staff or worrying about being interrupted after a set time.
As he exited the bathroom and headed for the couch, Junko-san called him. “Hoku-kun, Dr. Ali wants to speak with you.”
Hoku met with Dr. Ali, a slim, dark-skinned man with a kind face, in a small, brightly-lit room that had been dubbed ”the art room.” Sitting across from him at the white table, he questioned him about the severity of the depression and jotted things down on the notepad he’d brought with him.
“Son, I’m going to put you on 25 milligrams of sertraline. You will take it once a day. Along with that, we’ll put you on 5 milligrams of melatonin to help with your sleep.”
“Yes, sir.” Hoku didn’t know what sertraline and melatonin were, but knowing that his medication had been arranged at last filled him with relief and hope.
“Good boy. Do you have any questions for me?”
“When am I going to get my medicine?”
Dr. Ali’s warm brown eyes smiled at him. “I’ll hand the prescription in before I leave. The staff here usually dispenses medicine in the mornings and at night.”
Hoku had no other questions, so, at Dr. Ali’s request, he sent for Ikari.
Ikari, like Hoku, was prescribed sertraline and melatonin. It seemed that everyone had been put on melatonin. Tengoku might dislike the medicine he’d been put on for his bipolar disorder, but no one had any complaints about the sleep medication. And almost everyone was tired and longed for sleeping medicine and bedtime. Hoku had never before met or been a part of such a big group of children who were so eager to go to bed in the daytime.
Tengoku turned the television set on, and everyone curled up on the couch and armchairs. Perhaps influenced by Ajisai’s attitude, several kids removed their masks and tossed them aside. Some cartoon was on, but Hoku couldn’t feel the brightness or find the humor in any of it the way that he would have before. Ikari, who sat beside him, was only half-watching, and the same was true of many of the others, who were more interested in using the chairs as napping spots.
The only one who didn’t seem to be drained was Ajisai. She was a constant talker and doer.
“Look, Hoku-kun, Ikari-kun!” She thrust a sheet of paper at the brothers. “I drew you both. Do you like it?”
The picture was startingly good. Ajisai, like Ikari, was a talented artist. Hoku was impressed, but lacked the energy to acknowledge her with more than a nod.
“I gave you black eyes, but I gave Ikari-kun really dark brown eyes. When I look at his, I can see a little bit of brown, not like yours.”
Hoku gave another nod. Ajisai installed herself beside him, on the arm of the couch. “This show’s one of my favorites. Joji’s so funny. I always laugh so much, it makes my family think I’m crazy.”
Her laughter at Joji, however, didn’t keep her silent or preoccupied for more than two minutes.
“I can’t wait to get out of here. I miss Pochi so much. He’s so cute. I got him when he was just a puppy. I was five, so its just like we grew up together.”
Hoku didn’t feel much like socializing, said little and did less, but he liked Ajisai. In fact, he liked all of the other kids so far.
When it came to the grownups, the staff, he didn’t have strong feelings either way. Junko-san stayed in her cubicle unless she was needed for restroom access; neither she nor Nijiko-san ever smiled. Their relative aloofness didn’t trouble Hoku, but he wasn’t certain what to think when the other children spoke of the staff.
“Junko-san’s mean,” Teishuki remarked, careful to speak quietly so that she wouldn’t be overheard. “I get headaches all the time. I asked her for an aspirin yesterday, and she took two hours to get to me. When I asked her again, she got an attitude with me.”
Hoku felt sorry for Teishuki, but, having waited three hours to be admitted into the ward and at least two more hours to receive a bed, he couldn’t say that he was surprised about the aspirin issue. As for Junko-san’s having had an attitude, he had been taught that children should obey adults without arguing and that it wasn’t a good thing to burden others with one’s problems.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“Nijiko-san isn’t much better,” Tengoku pitched in. “She has the keys to the outside door, but she‘ll only let us go outside three times a day for ten minutes, and that’s on a good day. I hate being inside all the time.”
“Is Momonoki-san nice?” Hoku asked.
“Momonoki-san’s cool. She comes in around dinnertime. She lets us have snacks, and sometimes she lets us use the radio. It can connect to her computer, so she can use the internet to pull up our songs and send them to the radio.”
“The radio connects to the computer?” Ikari, who was fond of music, remarked. “That is cool.”
Teishuki approached the cubicle. “Junko-san, can we have an outside break now?”
Junko-san glanced at her watch. “Nijiko-san will be back in a minute. I’ll ask her to let you out then.”
Hoku didn’t want to go outdoors, but Ikari and the others did, and he didn’t want to make a fuss about himself. So Nijiko-san unlocked the glass door, and the children flocked out into the sunshine. The outside-break area was a grassy circle. In it were black steel sitting booths; lush trees, green-golden with sunlight and drooping with lacy leaves, surrounded and overlooked it.
“I want to play tag!” Ajisai clamored. “Who wants to play? Somebody come play tag with me!”
Two of the bigger boys, Ikari and Daichi, joined her in a game to entertain her. Mizumi and Teishuki sat together on a booth and conversed in soft tones. Tengoku just lay back in the grass, folded his arms behind his head and bathed in sunlight. Hoku decided to sit down a few feet away from him. He tried to remember what Tazuki-san had said about positive thinking.
It’s been a long time since Oniichan and I’ve actually been outside in the sun. We’re always inside because of COVID. He gazed up into the blue sky. I don’t like it when the sun creeps into a cold, lonely room, but out here, where I can see the whole thing, it’s not so bad. It’s. . .kind of beautiful, I guess.
When Nijiko-san came to the door to call them inside, Hoku had to shake Tengoku, who had begun to doze off in the grass. Back indoors and on the couch, he himself curled up beside Ikari and, along with him, tried his best to nap. They must have fallen asleep, for the next thing that he knew, Ikari, rubbing his drowsy eyes, was poking him with his free hand.
“Come on, Hoku. We have to eat lunch now.”
xxxxxxxxx
After lunch came another hour and a half in group therapy. Then the children returned to the main area to scribble at coloring books and stare at the TV.
“Everyone, please be careful about what you turn to,” Nijiko-san admonished. “Shows that contain violence and bad language can be a trigger for some patients. Let’s be mindful of our friends.”
Noone seemed to be interested in heeding that advice, for, just a few minutes later, Tengoku turned to Family Guy, an American cartoon that, despite its name, Hoku was sure wasn’t meant for children even at the best of times.
As bald-headed Stewie was tasked with solving a grisly murder case and made wisecracking jokes that Hoku didn’t at all understand, Tengoku and Teishuki laughed and speculated about what would happen next.
Hoku didn’t want to be responsible for spoiling the other children’s fun. He rested his head on a couch cushion, closed his eyes so that he wouldn't see the Japanese subtitles, and tried not to hear anything that was happening on television, including any gory sound effects - did his best not to think of death or hopelessness. If anyone else was being triggered by the show’s content, there was no sign of it.
xxxxxxxxxxx
The sky paled, then dimmed. Late afternoon became evening. Around 6 PM, Momoniki-san and Kosui-san appeared to relieve Junko-san and Nijiko-san of their shift.
Kosui-san led the children into the cafeteria for dinner. Not even Ikari, who always tried to set an example for Hoku and who had braved the bland breakfast and lunch, was willing to endure what was served - limp, salty, oversauced vegetables, sticky rice, and slimy salmon that tasted as though it hadn’t been seasoned at all. Noone took more than a bite or two except for Mizumi and Teishuki, who ate without complaint because she’d skipped her other meals and was ravenous.
Hoku spoke to her for the second time since they’d met. “I‘m happy you’re eating, Teishuki-chan.”
Teishuki didn’t stop eating to answer him; she only nodded. But when they were in the living area once again, she asked Kosui-san to let her into her room for a moment so that she could change into her pajamas. Upon returning, she showed Hoku her pink top, the front of which had been embroidered with glittering lavender letters.
I’m a SURVIVOR.
Teishuki traced the letters with her thumb. “I picked this shirt out myself. This is what I want to be - a survivor, not a victim like I was in the past.“
She paused, hesitated and swallowed before going on. “That’s why I keep coming back here to Kaireinomiru Institute and tell people my story. Even though it’s scary to even think about talking about it. . .with every time I tell it, it gets less scary. I want to be able to tell my story. As soon as I’m old enough, I want to help people who‘ve gone through what I’ve gone through.”
It was Hoku’s turn to remain silent. Teishuki-chan’s so brave. I don’t know what it would be like to be kidnapped - taken away from your family for years and years. I don’t even understand WHY people want to kidnap other people. When I asked Mom and Dad and oniichan, they said it was something I’d learn about when I was older. All I know now is that Teishuki-chan lost her whole childhood. If that happened to me, all I‘d want to do was try to get it back - and forget about all of the bad things that had happened. Isn’t that what happens in all the movies that have happy endings?
Thanks to Teishuki’s overture, Hoku did come out of his shell a little. He sat beside her at the table and, while she colored flowers, attempted to draw, though the resulting pictures were nothing to boast about.
“That looks great, Hoku-kun,” Mizumi was kind enough to say of his attempt at a portrait of Teishuki.
She was more earnest in her praise of Ikari, who had done a beautiful sketch of some mermaid-like creature that he had designed himself. “Ikari-kun, that’s really great! There are so many talented kids here.”
Hoku didn’t mind the fact that Mizumi was more impressed with his oniichan’s work than with his; it was to be expected. Still, he had always thought that it would be nice if he were talented at something other than playing make-believe.
Teishuki was still working dedicatedly on her coloring book. She was filling the leaves of the flowers in. So far, her work was as beautiful as the art on the book’s front cover was. Hoku peered over.
“That’s so pretty, Teishuki-chan.”
Tengoku was as skilled at coloring as Teishuki was. Neither Daichi nor Ajisai were using crayons or pencils, though. Hoku turned away from the table to find that Ajisai was sitting on an armchair with a stack of colored paper and scattered colored pencils lying abandoned at her feet. Her pink, tear-streaked face was in her hands. Daichi sat beside her, rubbing her back.
Hoku left the table and made his way over to crouch next to her. “Ajisai-chan? . . . Are you okay?”
Ajisai shook her head.
“I don’t want to be locked up in here.” The words came out in shaky whispers. “I want to go home.”
“Ajisai-chan’s foster parents sent her here,” Daichi explained. “They called the police and told them she wasn’t being safe, and they put her on an ambulance and brought her straight here.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Ajisai managed out. “I didn’t mean to do all the things I did. I wasn’t trying to be bad.”
Hoku was silent, unwilling to interrupt or risk saying the wrong thing, so she went on. “I was on the internet, and I found my favorite singer, Hinoda Ikimono, on Twitter. So I sent her a message to say how much I loved her, and she messaged me back. I got so excited. We sent lots of messages to eachother. She called me an awesome fan. I couldn’t stop dreaming of being a great singer just like her. I felt so happy and excited that I forgot everything except for my dream. I left my foster parents a note saying I was going off on my own to start my career. I was supposed to go to school that day, but instead, I packed my bags and left home. I know the way I acted was bad, and I’m sorry. They didn’t have to lock me away like that. I just want to be back in my room with Pochi.”
Tentatively, remembering the way that Teishuki had felt about touching, Hoku offered his hand to Ajisai. She took it.
Somehow, they found themselves walking together around the main area, still clutching hands. They strolled around the circle of furniture, then back again. Hoku could feel Momonoki-san’s eyes upon them and supposed that it did look strange - their walking around indoors like this. But they were careful to avoid bumping into the cubicle or getting underfoot of Kosui-san, who passed them sometimes.
“I know you hate it here,” Hoku said, “but you don’t need to be scared. So long as you’re here, you’ve got us. You won’t be all alone.”
“Thank you.” Ajisai’s voice still cracked, but she could talk more easily now. “Do you have bipolar, too?”
“No.” Hoku kept his eyes on the floor tiles ahead. “The doctors say I have depression.”
”Oh. I get that sometimes, too.”
They didn’t say a great deal after that. When they did talk, it was mostly about the things that they missed and longed for. Ajisai wanted to be reunited with her dog, Pochi, her friends and her beloved music albums.
For the first time since his admission into the ward, Hoku opened up to someone about the reasons for his sadness, and, for the second time ever, he was honest about all of his fears.
”I miss our mom and dad. I used to believe in God, but now the whole world’s different. So many people are sick and dying. Our parents died. . .even little babies are dying. I want to be good like my family wants me to. . . but I’m scared of God now. I - I don’t know what to think anymore.”
He had admitted to Uncle Luqman before that he was afraid that God didn’t love him, but he had never admitted to anyone except Ikari that he wasn’t certain he believed in God at all. Uncle Luqman, Grandma and Grandpa would have all been shocked and disappointed. Hoku knew that Ajisai wouldn’t judge him.
What she did say, however, didn’t make him any happier. “It’s okay. I don’t believe in God, either.“
Hoku’s grip on her hand loosened.
”I just believe in the universe,” Ajisai went on, seeming to take no note of Hoku’s reaction. ”I think it’s magical, like a huge spirit we’re all part of. I learned in science class that we all come from stars, and I think it’s so cool.”
Ajisai-chan, don’t! Don’t say things like that. If God’s real, He’ll get you. He’ll make it so you’ll never smile again. . .just like He’ll do to me.
Ajisai said a few more things, but Hoku didn’t hear any of them. All of his weariness had returned, and when they approached the couch once again, he muttered, “I - I think I need to sit down now.”
The clock read 7:45 now. Only an hour and a quarter until bedtime - until medicine. The lady whom they’d met in the waiting room had said that it would take about a week for the medicine to begin having an effect, so Hoku didn’t hope to feel better overnight. But every hour that passed without his having started the process of healing was one hour too many.
The TV was still on. Daichi had changed to the food channel. On this particular episode of a cooking show, chefs from various countries and cultural backgrounds appeared to display their talents. A Jewish lady fried golden-brown blintzes just the way her grandmother had made them. A proud Pakistani Muslim man basted lamb cuts that he was roasting with potatoes. A young American baker iced the cake that he and his husband had made together.
Hoku imagined a world in which everyone was a devout Christian. Ajisai, the chefs on TV, his Shintoist friends at school - none of them could exist. The thought made him feel darker and lonelier than ever before.
But what about Mom and Dad? He sat up with a start. They believed in God. What would they think if I said I didn’t know . . .or even wasn’t Christian anymore?
Well, they can’t know now. I can’t tell them - they can’t be sad or mad or just say they love oniichan and me no matter what we do - because they’re gone. Hoku huddled up and buried his head into the circle of his arms. And it’s all my fault if I can’t imagine I’ll see them again one day. I SHOULD believe in God no matter how scared I am - and love Him and not complain - so I can believe Mom and Dad will be happy forever. They DESERVED to be angels. It’s just like with Tinkerbell in Peter Pan. She would’ve died if nobody believed in fairies. Maybe Mom’s and Dad’s and everyone else’s lives have been full of sadness all because of bad people like me.
Hoku allowed a few hot tears to fall. A moment later, he felt the couch cushion beside him sink beneath someone’s weight, then the resting of a gentle hand on his back. He recognized Ikari’s touch, leaned into it and stuck one arm back to wrap it around his brother.
When 9:00 came, everyone got up, and the TV went off. Hoku resisted the urge he felt to fly up to the cubicle ahead of the others. The seven children had to form a line in the strip of hallway that lay behind it. Hooked to one of the walls was a telephone. Across from that was a walled-off section of the cubicle. It had a shuttered window and a counter that Ayami-san, the nurse who was in charge of meds, used to dispense them.
Hoku was in line behind Mizumi, Tengoku, Ajisai and Daichi. It seemed to take an eternity for Ayami-san to serve them. As Hoku watched, she deposited pills and tablets into tiny, clear plastic cups, removed drinking cups from a stack, poured water from a jug into them, and handed them and the medicine over.
Hoku got up to the counter, at last. His eyes followed Ayami-san’s hands. She plunked a tablet into a tiny cup and handed it to him along with his water. “Five grams of melatonin for your sleep.”
Hoku accepted both cups, but he didn’t understand. “Thank you. But. . .Ayami-san, what about my other medicine?”
Ayami-san’s forehead wrinkled. “Your other medicine? Sweetie, all you’ve been prescribed for tonight is melatonin.”
Had Dr. Ali made a mistake? “But I’m supposed to get medicine to help with my depression, too - both me and Oniichan.”
“Not tonight you aren’t. That should start tomorrow evening. This is your first time being on either of these meds, isn’t it? Taking them both at the same time on your first night wouldn’t be a good idea, anyway. You’d be jittery, and you don’t want that when you’re trying to get sleep.”
Hoku should have appreciated Ayami-san’s logic, but he turned away without saying anything. He swallowed his tablet and the before the lump of bitter disappointment began to gather in his throat, then tossed his cups into the nearby wastebasket.
The doors were unlocked, so there was nothing left for him to do but to retire to his room. When Ikari joined him there, he was lying on his bed with his face buried into a pillow.
“Hoku?” Once again, he felt his brother’s hand passing over his back in slow, gentle circles.
“Shhhh. . . Hoku. It’s okay. It’s going to be all right.”
Hoku’s voice was muffled by the tear-sodden pillow. “I know Mom and Dad can’t come back. . .and we have eachother. I just want to feel okay again. . .even just a little bit okay.”
“We will.” Ikari pulled Hoku into a sitting position so that he could meet his eyes. “We will feel okay again. I promise. Remember, that’s why we’re here. We just have to keep trying to get ourselves better.”
Ikari’s voice sprang the tiniest of cracks. Hoku was startled - Ikari hadn’t expressed an opinion either way about being here since he’d caught Hoku talking to the police- until now.
Hoku wasn’t ready to believe that everything would be all right. But there would be time to worry about that tomorrow. The short night that he’d had yesterday, the exhaustion from crying and - perhaps - the sleep meds were all beginning to take their toll upon him. His body was beginning to ache, and his eyes were growing heavy, as were Ikari’s. Ikari, with his tired face and the troubled lines between his eyes, looked as if he were far older than eleven.