“Emiko.”
My voice was soft, more of a light-hearted reprimand for her unnecessary actions. Her hounding of the shopkeeper, the back-and-forth exchange as the two fought a war of price in this small boxing ring of a secondhand store in Akihabara.
She briefly glanced at me, my call a minor distraction before the shopkeeper’s baritone voice pulled her right back into the argumentative fray.
“The price is the price. Two thousand eight hundred yen.” He declared, his eyes darting to a spot on the fluffy tan rug rolled up on the wall, “And that isn’t a stain. It's… the design.” He finished unsure of himself but trying to convince Emiko regardless.
It was the midday of a Wednesday. The plans that were supposed to happen last week finally came true. This was the third shop visited so far; Akihabara was focused more on electronics and entertainment, but that didn’t mean there weren’t a few cheaper second-hand stores scattered around and in between the alleyways that rested on the outskirts.
Emiko had designated herself as the prime negotiator, something which wasn’t really needed as all the items we were looking for were dirt cheap already, but she seemed intent on it, so I stood by and let her have her fun.
However, she was proving to be a tough negotiator. Only accepting a purchase once it has been transformed into a bargain, even the jumping anxiety she sometimes displayed was absent here.
“Two thousand.” She shot back, her arms crossed and her eyes piercing as she glared up at him from behind the lenses of her black-framed glasses.
The shopkeeper rubbed the back of his bald head, exhausted at her constant haggling but refusing to be too harsh so as to not upset the young girl that he assumed Emiko was.
Well, she was a young girl, but not quite as young as she appeared. Still, a stranger wouldn’t be able to tell that she was closer to seventeen than the fourteenish years of age she appeared as.
But a child tends to be a child no matter how old they are. Though to tell them that would earn a hasty rebuttal steeped in emotion rather than logic, so eager to prove their maturity, that they are deserving of the boons of adulthood that they forget to bathe in the joys of being a child.
Or perhaps that is the boon of childhood? To take rash action and be safe from consequences, to be forever shielded against the reality of it all. To live solely in the moment of your youth, never fearing when it might vanish yet still desiring it to pass hurriedly.
And if it is not that, then it should be. Regardless of whether it was a boon given to me, it should still be given to others.
It is what a sister would do, what she would offer to the younger, irrespective of her own childish needs.
Even if she, too, is a child, she will have to don the garb of an adult- a necessity located far away from the proving grounds of children but besides the reality of adulthood.
He looked at me for assistance. I was the one paying, after all, and clearly the older girl. So, hopefully, he inferred I was the older sister. Even if our looks didn’t exactly match, it was the role I was continuing to play.
I merely returned a pleading smile, one that was asking him to relent, even if it's just a little bit.
“I can go to two thousand six hundred.” He conceded, a rough scratch to his tone yet still draped in consideration to the youth before him.
A shame Emiko viewed this pity as submission. A trace of weakness, the blood in the water acting as bait to the sharks, and of course, in her mind, Emiko had to be the shark.
Though, if Emiko were actually a shark she’d know that they aren’t attracted to human blood, so she remains as nothing more than an imitation. A teenager performing a role they aren’t suited for, but no adults around them are ready to give up the game just yet, so we all play along.
“Two thousand two hundred!” Came her response, the bite into his already smothered ego, “You yourself admitted it had a strain.” She wrongly accused.
She wasn’t a bad negotiator, above average at the worst. But simply listening to her was enough to work out she was new to this type of thing, and if this shopkeeper wasn’t as kindhearted as he was, she would have already lost this brokerage.
“This is wringing me dry, two thousand four hundred. If I go any lower, I’ll be paying you to take it off me.” His tone was final, a clear declaration that this was the baseline and any further was impossible.
“Deal.” She agreed with a nod, much to his relief. I could tell it took him everything he had not to let out a massive sigh at this whole ordeal coming to its conclusion at last.
A slight jingle of a bell caught my ear, and looking over my shoulder, I spotted a gathering of hanging blackout curtains strung down on the nearby wall, one of the items that was a priority for this shopping trip. It was hard to tell whether they’d be what we needed from a glance, but fortunately, I had Emiko available to check, and it was a perfect excuse to have a few secret words shared with the shopkeeper.
“Emiko, do you think those curtains will fit?” I asked, pointing towards them. Her head turned to look, and her legs moved to check before the reply even came.
“Those over there? Okay, maybe? Give me a second, I have the measurements in my phone.” She finished while taking out her phone and swiping whatever app held her notes onto the screen as she moved closer to compare them.
I shared a glance with the shopkeeper. He was an older man, in his fifties, perhaps? A bald head and a tad bit overweight, though I doubt there are many men his age who would care about either of those things. Still, his eyes made up for everything else, hazel and refusing to look at the bad and instead demanding to look at the good. It was welcoming, making him out to be the kind of man who’d help you move house or fix your fence free of charge.
The kindly neighbour who prefers to plant a new tree than rest in the shade of an old one.
“Thank you,” I whispered, grateful that he had been easy on Emiko and let her win. It's what a sister would say, I know that.
He raised a hand, a smile on his dry lips. “No worries. I had a pair of girls her age a while back. I know how they are.”
I could afford to sacrifice a few hundred yen with ease, so I placed three one thousand yen notes from my opened purse onto the counter between us, which he picked up tenderly in his wide palms, “I’ll pay the original price.” I said, an eye on Emiko as she kept her surveying gaze on the blackout curtains she was in the midst of evaluating.
He acknowledged my words with a nod as he dialled in the cash register and printed my receipt, putting it on the counter for me with two one hundred yen coins that were quickly taken and pocketed into my purse. “Are you her babysitter?” He asked, curious about my relationship with her, which was no surprise.
Emiko appeared too young to be my friend, and I too young to be her mother, and our appearances were too different to be related. It was a humorous situation, all the fault of Emiko’s youthfulness. I think responsibility partly lies with her hairstyle; it doesn’t pair well with her face and dashes any trace of maturity she might otherwise have had.
“She’s seventeen.” Was all I had to say to answer that, the surprise on the shopkeeper’s face was worth the slight exaggeration of her age, and a flash of regret appeared as he realised he treated someone who was almost a woman no different to a young girl.
“And she’s my younger sister.” I continued, my hand plucking out a strand of my blonde hair to call attention to it, “This is dyed.” I lied just as easily as he believed it, after all, Japanese girls dying their hair blonde wasn’t that uncommon.
“Ah… that makes sense.” Came the response, still a bit embarrassed at the revelation, but finding the humour in it within the next moment, “She gets this often, doesn’t she?”
“You’d have to ask her… but yes.” I returned, my statement based on assumption rather than anything solid. Nevertheless, as a sister would know the answer, I also have to know; it's all a part of the role.
“Seina!” Emiko called out, awaiting confirmation that I was listening, which she got as I turned towards her and gave a brief hum. “This is good enough; we’ll need twelve sheets to block out everything.”
“Twelve curtain sheets?” The shopkeeper exclaimed with a chuckle, “Planning on covering up a whole house?” He continued, though his question was more to himself than requesting an actual answer.
“How much will that be?” I asked, to which he pulled out a notebook from beneath his desk and began flipping through it.
“Give me a second, I bought twenty of these from an old acquaintance who got them from a hotel in Jinbocho that’s shutting down. Price should be eight thousand yen per curtain, but we can do eighty thousand yen for the bulk cost.” He summarised, his pencil writing away in his notebook as he calculated all the costs in neat mathematical tables.
I took out a card from my purse and waited while he readied the card reader and inputted the necessary details for me. A light beep and the transaction went through: “Didn’t expect to sell so many of them in one day. Will you… need any help moving them? I can’t rightly leave two women with all of this unassisted.”
“Could you hold them for me, the rug too? I’ll come and collect them after we’ve finished shopping.” I queried, to which he seemed satisfied that we wouldn’t attempt to move this many kilograms of fabric on our own.
“Alright, good. Make sure you come before 5 p.m.. That’s when I close up for the day. Ah, and bring a vehicle. You won’t move this stuff without one.” He finished with a wave, and after some last pleasantries, myself and Emiko had left behind the second-hand store and stepped back out into the streets of Akihabara, the most well-known neighbourhood of Chiyoda.
The alleyways soon opened up as we stepped onto the main street of Akihabara. A six-lane road became the shelf that held up the two rows of colourful, advertisement-covered buildings that accompanied its light and dark grey tiled pavements. The stone rested beneath a row of thick trees six metres apart and continued down until not even nature could shade this abundance of manmade life.
On the corner of one of the parting roads was an orange pawn shop tucked up against two skinny buildings. A large billboard displaying an image of an anime I’d never heard of sat atop it, just barely managing to provide the illusion that it was equal in height to those much taller buildings beside it.
And on the opposite corner, a white building that seemed to be made of a hundred or so stacked blocks took up position. It was an electronics store, a strange form of traditionalism for this street that fit in with conservative grace. The only advertisements on it were for its own product line of cameras, making it seem oddly sparse compared to the other billboard-obsessed structures that favour posters over windows.
You could empty the entire inventory of a paint store on this street, and you’d still end up with less colour than was originally here. Bright signposts, billboards set up on every open rooftop or empty blank space, window stickers for characters older than some of the people walking this street, and posters cladding the walls as if there were the armour for some ancient mediaeval knight.
It ran up and down almost every property here. Not even the birds could escape this colourful triathlon of product marketing as they reached for the sky and came far too close for the wind’s comfort, forcing it to be absent from this still boulevard.
Further up, a green bridge cut across the rooftops of two buildings on both sides of the street. It was one of the train connections that parted from Akihabara Station just over to the east. Its overhead train line stunted the growth of the buildings below it, forcing them to remain two-story buildings for the rest of their lives.
A maid café was located a bit after the metal bridge. Blue, eight stories high and capped with a block of advertisements, it continued the theme that Akihabara belted from its core.
A picture of a woman in a French maid outfit showed off the business right above the entrance, and a young girl outside dressed in that same maid outfit hovered around outside the doors, inviting anyone she could inside and those she couldn't entice through the doors were handed a leaflet instead.
It was a job that differed from a standard server or waiter, yet it wasn’t too far away from a hostess. Nevertheless, I suppose it was far enough away for it to remain innocent, though I wonder if any of the women within ever had similar thoughts to Mikako?
The last stop before Akihabara petered out and ended as just another normal street of Tokyo was a milky, windowless game arcade building overlooking the Kanda River, which acted as the southern cutoff point for Akihabara. It was a pachinko parlour, which meant it was no different from a gambling hall hiding itself under colourful lights and the preppy faces of anime girls.
And just like the rest of Chiyoda, a tapestry of language was weaved throughout the streets, English, Chinese, German, and more were spoken from the gathered collection of tourists that spotlight at Akihabara. The stores reflected these visitors, displaying matching vocabs on signs and employing bilingual attendants to cater to this witch’s brew of cultures.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“What else do we need?” I asked.
Emiko’s stare remained on her phone as she scrolled down her extensive list. Most of the items had been bought already and were all neatly packed in the bags I was carrying, while the larger ones were either awaiting pick-up or were yet to be purchased.
“A TV and a radio, but if we move the ones in my bedroom you can save the money. I’m not really using them anyways; everything important is on my laptop, and they’ll get more use in Jonpexi.” She answered her explanation seemingly more to convince herself than me.
The goal of this outing was to furnish that one intact room in Jonpexi that we’ve been using for practising. It's become a hangout spot for us, free of hassles and far away from others so that we can solely devote ourselves to acting.
It's the convenient, makeshift acting hall tucked away on the second storey of the abandoned building of Jonpexi, that office-like room, insulated and protected from the elements with electricity still running through its forgotten vein-like wiring.
Emiko had wanted us to do this last week, adding some comfort into that room so that it fit its new role as a home away from home, or perhaps a stage away from the stage. I understood her desire; every person wants a place to call their own, and as her antics have gradually started to separate from rule-abiding, what with her faking sick days and skipping sleep all to ensure the play has a landing no less than perfect; it is no surprise her bedroom is no longer up for the task. Especially with noise-conscious parents nearby.
“I can afford it, don’t worry.” I offered, hopefully soothing any concerns of money she had.
With that out of the way, the shopping trip continued on as usual. The doors of stores were opened, and we ventured into them, searching for what was required. Electronics had a secure home here at Akihabara, so they were the quickest to find, Emiko’s evaluating eyes chose a budget TV and radio out of the tens of better options, to which I promptly overruled her and selected a set that wouldn’t break in the first five minutes and could display an image with more than a handful of pixels.
She was reserved about the cost. It was a fair amount for this type of item, but nothing that could be considered excessive to a normal working person. I attempted to ease her as best as I could. It worked to an extent, but it was clear that she would have tried to negotiate the price if this were not a branded store with fixed price tags.
I wasn’t sure if it was what a sister would do, but I did it regardless. Money has had little meaning to me since my escape. That first apartment I bought and lost myself within years ago was my only major expense, so the time at Ha:Yami had built up enough reserve to justify some waste.
Not that this could be called a waste. It’s worth so much more than money, built within a shared home and matching blood. The path treaded is lined with mementoes of the older sister for the younger to discover, all encrypted with a cypher only they know the root of.
The far more eccentric, vastly more logical, and undoubtedly more poetic language of familial love.
And I am fluent.
“Okay, we’ve got everything, I think?” Emiko looked up at me, her eyes wide and questioning, “Unless you have anything else you want to look at?”
“No, I don’t.” I replied with little else to add on.
We were outside the final store, standing by the railing that separated the pavement from the road. The trip was over, and the sun already winding down from its peak of midday and towards the early afternoon.
“What now? How are we going to get everything to Jonpexi?” she asked, leaning against the railing. Her stare was on the slow-moving traffic that moved up and down this road of Akihabara, their plethora of car paints mixing in with the colours that hugged every wall on every building, creating a rainbow assortment of pigment.
“I know someone with a van, so don’t worry. I’ve already planned ahead.” I spoke as I joined her next to the railing. The person I’d be relying on still unaware of the fact, but she’d follow through with this never-made promise.
A favour for a favour. It's what she deals in.
“That’s very kind of them-” A buzzing from her tucked-away phone halted her words before she finished them. She extracted the phone carefully, making sure not to drop the bag wrapped over her arm and read the received message, “Ah, it's Yumi and Misaki. I promised them we’d work on the soundtrack today at my house. I didn’t expect the shopping to take so long, I’m so sorry Seina, I have to go, will you be alright on your own?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Emiko returned a smile to my own and hurriedly handed me the bag she was holding. She offered a thank you and another apology for leaving so abruptly, but before she left for Akihabara Station, I stopped her with a sentence.
“Emiko, can I ask a question?” It was a pointless question, one filled with curiosity just as a cake is centred around a filling.
“Huh? Emm- ok? I’ll try to give an answer, but it really needs to be quick.” She stressed the necessity for haste, her head already looking towards the station’s direction before turning back to me.
“Why try so hard to negotiate the prices?” And that was it, no consequences revolving around its result. Impossible to answer incorrectly, a question that has no purpose other than to satiate my query.
I had the money, everything spent today was a droplet in an ocean. The sea free flowing and warm, and my head above the water line for the first time. It's all for her, the sister I perceive her to be. Wealth is barely a candle next to the inferno eruption of Mount Vesuvius that is familial love, and to trade a bit of it away for a smile is exactly what a sister would do, and exactly what I would do.
“I couldn’t leave everything to you, I had to pull my weight somehow.”
Her answer came with a slight trace of trepidation, as if her admitting she wanted to be helpful was something to be embarrassed about. But on the other side of that fear, was the pervasive feeling of responsibility, one that said, I wanted to do this, so I must take on part of the burden.
It was a strange answer, but I suppose it was a strange question. That responsibility is no doubt overlapping with the play, her desire to see it performed to perfection, and Jonpexi will form one of the cornerstones of the actress I strive to be. The same actress who will see Emiko’s desire realised.
Just as familial love will shape another cornerstone, another piece of the puzzle to become I.
“Thank you, I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.”
Emiko startled, obviously feeling undeserving of the thanks and misunderstanding what I was thanking her for, “Ah- I- no… I should be saying that to you. You’re the one who paid for everything… I know it can’t have been easy, considering everything, so… I’ll try and pay some of it back, okay? I’ll get a part-time job like you soon, so keep the recipes, please!” She continued on, her resolve getting caught in the lies about my age, her assumption that this money came from the part-time job of a sixteen-year-old rather than the full-time shifts of a hostess.
“Emiko, there’s no need. When I said I could afford it, I was being serious.” And it was one of the few times there was no lie to be found.
Even a sister tells white lies every now and then, so I remain in character nonetheless.
I could tell she was preparing a counter to my words, some jumbling exposition or rationale as to why she had to pay me back, so I cut off the incoming explanation with a reminder.
“You’re going to be late if you wait any longer.”
And that was that, she realised that she was on a timeframe. That the creation of Us of I’s soundtrack was awaiting her signing off, confirmation, guiding hand, or whatever else she was needed for, maybe it was even all three, or none at all.
It was irrelevant to me, but crucial to her. So she hurriedly gave her goodbyes and accepted mine before she disappeared around the corner, following the pathway back to Akihabara Station.
Her outing to Akihabara had just finished, but mine still had a ways to go before it could stop. So to that end, I settled the bags on the pavement, took out my phone and dialled a number with my now free fingers.
She answered almost instantly.
“Seina, one moment, please. I’m in the middle of some paperwork.” Hatsuko relayed, her voice coming through calm, collected, still, and disregarding.
It fit her to a tee. Every bit the liar I knew her as, purposely ignorant and uncaring of anything other than her reputation. There was solace to be found in her familiarity, the consolation that I could be anyone as long as I furthered her goal.
The typing sound of her keyboard, fingers set loose against their plastic caps. Rhythmically tapping out notes of song, and of words. Her shunning of diplomacy; placing me on some form of hold and allowing me to boil over in my own thoughts as if I’m no different to a pot of water already forgotten about over the flame. It has no effect on me, but it could have, at least up until I hear the gentle sipping of something come from her, and the taste of that hastily brewed lukewarm black coffee she so often drinks comes to bite at my palate, and I slip back into a first-time dream and warm bed.
Yes, I quite like this devil I know.
“What is it you need?” She spoke the moment after the typing stopped. Her hand held the phone to her ear the next second, and her voice strangely devoid of any traces of impatience, as if she’d willingly wait a century just to hear me say a single word.
“What were you doing?” I answered her question with one of my own, replying as a reaction rather than intention.
Silence prevailed for a short while over on her side of the line. A debate raged on tranquil waters, no port in sight so she decided to drop anchor where she stood. Her answer was nothing more than impromptu, giving up the game right at the starting line as she knew I didn’t care to play it. Thus, she did the impossible, made possible only for myself and told the unfiltered truth; no lies or even misrepresented candour.
“Emiko rang me on Monday, she requested I terminate our contract. I accepted.”
“She’s quitting?” I asked, my mind confused about how she could simply abandon the play she’d put so much effort into.
“No, not at this moment. After the play is over, I’ll cease to be her manager. I was in the middle of finalising the paperwork for a smooth transition to her new boss; hopefully, he’ll be happy.” She continued on, putting my confusion to rest and clarifying the situation. The question of why Emiko never brought it up with me remained, but that was one for her directly.
“You aren’t upset at losing a talent?”
“Oh, this was always going to happen. I’d long planned for it. Though Emiko seemed uncharacteristically confrontational with me, she had a pointed comment to make about my office room, I assume that’s your fault?” There was an amusement in her voice, she wasn’t angry, it felt more like a scientist taking note of a strange reaction outside of their hypothesis, as if she hadn’t expected me to tell on her lies.
“I apologise. I wasn’t myself when it happened. Emiko found out the lie about my experience, and everything fell apart after that.” And it was truth, I wasn’t myself. I was a void, pointless and empty and vacant. The only lies I maintained were my own ones, told to build up the image of Seina to the tallest peaks, and Hatsuko’s lies were never her’s, so they contributed nothing towards her construction.
But that’s changed now. All these lies are put to use building an actress far greater than any consuming black hole. So none can be abandoned up until their abandonment brings more worth than their presence.
“Seina, how can I trust you after this?” Hatsuko followed up my answer with a question that lay somewhere between a provocative jab and a genuine question. I wasn’t sure which, but I knew my answer.
“Because it was only after those lies that I realised I must become an actress.”
It's the only way I can become myself, to make up for all those years living a life that my parents designed, all those years living as a void, too afraid of the truth, and all those years… not living.
The fog has passed, the road is visible, and the destination is a stage, or perhaps a scene, or maybe a camera. Either way, it's all centred on an actress, the one I strive to be.
She acknowledged my words with a hum. Seeing no reason to continue this line of questioning, she switched lanes, “How’s your sister? Have you spent time with her this week?”
“Emiko? We were out shopping together today, she just left a moment ago to work on the play at home. We also spent all of Sunday together, so we’ve been together a fair amount.”
“Sure, that’s progress. Congratulations.” She replied in the same manner that someone lies to a manager that they work hard for the benefit of the company instead of for the paycheck; a response of obligation rather than preference. “And familial love? How's your understanding of it?”
“I think that familial love, that bond between sisters is…” I paused, it was a question that needed space to grow, to combine and pulse with all the knowledge I’ve learnt, and will continue to learn. A summary of the love for the younger sister, made by the older, of this ancient and worn-down language that only we can understand and speak. One phrase to define a relationship that has existed before even language yet is somehow our oldest language. Of course, my answer is painless to declare; familial love is “Sacrificial.”
She didn’t respond straight away, instead holding onto my words with keen appraisal. And once she had evaluated every single piece of it as if she were a manic archaeologist uncovering the site of Troy, she gave her dissertation, “Sacrificial? Is that so? That’s surprising, yet it isn’t wrong. Sacrifice is something most do for family whenever the time strikes them, but be careful going too far down that route...” Hatsuko stopped, taking a quick breath to rethink something, and then she began speaking again, “Seina, I’d like you to perform in a commercial.”
“A commercial?” I was about to ask for an elaboration, but she cut me off before I could start.
“Yes, a ramen commercial two weeks from today. It was originally Emiko’s role, but with her preparing to leave, there isn’t much point- not that there was much in the first place. But an acquaintance of mine needed an actress on short notice, so they came to me. I couldn’t use you as I wanted all your focus on the play, so there was little choice. I was going to cancel it, but the script arrived yesterday and after reviewing it… I think it’d be a beneficial experience for you.”
The way she spoke made this feel like a set-up, some grand plan or ambush to test me. It felt as if I was about to be blindfolded, led through a maze by a leash, and never told once as I unknowingly ran towards a wall.
“What’s the script?” I asked, the words pointless as we both knew I had already agreed to do it regardless of the script. Any chance to be an actress was worth it, no matter what.
“You’ll learn more if I don’t tell you.” She shot back, her ambush sprung before I had even passed the first hurdle. “It’s a quick commercial. The producer will brief you on set, and that should be enough.”
“And if I fail?”
“Then I made a bad gamble.” She bluntly stated, “Go with your instinct. I’ll still be there to guide you, but you should understand all the tools you’ll need by now. Consider that your advice.”
“Hmm, I’ll do it.”
As if I could say no.
“I’ll send you the details shortly and pick you up on the day. Don’t waste your time with an outfit, I have one chosen already.” I gave another hum of confirmation, and Hatsuko added one final thing, “Oh, and why did you call again?”
“I need your help moving some things with your van, can you help?” I spoke the sentence, already half-convinced she’d agree.
“Yeah, where are you?”
And, of course, she did in an instant.
“Akihabara, I bought a few things I need to transport.”
“You went shopping with Emiko?” She dismissed her question before it was fully realised. “Okay, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Goodbye.” The phone call clicked off, and the line went dead, leaving me alone, surrounded by a thousand colours and a thousand more individuals.
The thoughts they carried with them were of their own. Unknowable to all but those in the know, zapping between energised synapses no different to a cast iron ball from a cannon shooting from one end of the barrel to the other. The destination is irrelevant to the thought, just as it is to the cannonball, but it will arrive at an end goal eventually.
It's just that most people aren’t aware of where it’s going; what places and situations their thoughts will lead them to next.
But I am, and not even sacrifice could stop me from reaching it.
What a contradictory thing to say.