Yuri Worlds
[21] Grandmother
“Well, I can see that you’re both all right. Should I go, or would you prefer to join everyone else in the administration building?” Miss Okura puffed out a long, slow breath following her words. Misaki resisted the urge to look away.
Yuka brushed at her loaner clothes and cleared her throat. “We’re still drying off. If we head over now, then we’ll likely just get soaked through all over again. I mean, you just have your umbrella…”
Glancing away, Miss Okura reached into a side pocket and drew out a second umbrella with a metallic snap, like she was unsheathing a sword. Yuka gave a modest grunt to this and pointed out, “With just one umbrella to share, we might still get soaked.”
Promptly, the youthful grandma plunged her hand into her opposite pocket and pulled out a second, slightly larger umbrella. Juggling the two of them was awkward with the open umbrella above her.
Yuka narrowed her eyes slowly and simply stated, “Oh.” She received both unfurled but closed umbrellas from Miss Okura as she gently dried herself before entering the small, wooden shack. The wind outside wanted to rattle and whip the door, but the older woman gripped the handle tightly and latched it in place behind her. She admitted, with a quick cough and her umbrella delicately put away, “I used to love coming out to these when I was young.”
She stretched a hand above her, nowhere close enough to actually reach the ceiling. “Over summers, many decades ago, I’d go down the row, one by one, and make sure everything was patched up and taken care of. So, if any girls ever needed a place to stay in the middle of a rainy night, these would be here for them.“
The supposedly old woman squinted her massive left eye and laser-focused around the small room. She carefully sought out the origin point of every drip. Opening up a cabinet in the corner, she extracted a series of small buckets and placed them underneath as many damp spots as possible.
No matter how many she placed, another incessant drip developed. She eventually sighed and admitted, “But that was a long time ago. I do wonder if number eighteen still has the impressive length of rope I made once. Hmm. Anyway, I can’t stay long. Weather in my knees, and very little in here to sit on. You have those umbrellas, and you know the way back. Be nice to each other.”
She swiveled around and prepared to leave the way she came. Her covered cough against her hand sounded older than she looked, as though she were a secret smoker. She lingered. It would’ve been so easy for Misaki to just hold her tongue and let her leave. She would be alone with Yuka, with all the possibilities that that entailed. She couldn’t do it.
Misaki called out with a settling cough of her own, her voice reluctantly floundering with the topic. She couldn’t look over at Yuka. Surely, she would be disappointed. Nothing they shed was even close to dry yet, Yuka’s items in particular. Miss Okura found a set of plastic bags that reminded Misaki of the kind her parents used to have for storing compacted clothes in the closet. The bags somehow hadn’t acquired a musty smell or more than a thin layer of dust likely to be rinsed away the moment they were brought outside.
Neatly folding everything was easy enough, although the prospect of the clothes she and Yuka recently wore essentially touching one another was a warmly bewildering thought she never could’ve imagined before. She wanted to hide behind something, but nothing could cover her up.
To her relief, Yuka appeared neither upset nor disappointed when she peeked over to check on her. She appeared perfectly professional, as though she’d simply slipped on the mask of a lawyer, devoid of all the recent ambiguity and emotions. One part of Misaki wasn’t happy about that, but she held that down. Life contained too much craziness to get lost in a confusing and uncomfortable spell of whatever had been happening recently. She shouldn’t be remembering an impossible life as a little flower girl. What would be left of the man she was supposed to be if she just let all that run wild? It was too terrifying to consider.
Yuka ultimately wound up wearing the windbreaker, and Misaki one of the remaining dry towels from the cabinet. Miss Okura made sure to take care of anything that could suffer water damage. All set, they lined up just outside the door. A part of Misaki screamed internally at all the cute, fun, and blush-inducing possibilities she had forsaken. What feelings might she have known? What undiscovered countries might she never have returned from? Her head swooned, and the snail pouted.
With everything together, stepping out into the rain was strikingly uneventful. The sheets of precipitation still ravenously splattered their umbrellas and anything uncovered. Walking was a slow and methodical process to keep clear of mud. Miss Okura effortlessly moved through the storm as though she had a special sonar telling her exactly what was where. The shacks they passed before receded away until the dim, but familiar landmarks of the shrine revealed themselves in the distance. Back on stone, it was ridiculously easy to avoid the biggest puddles and slip around the large building off to the side.
A small area just inside provided them with a blast of drying warmth and the opportunity to release their burdens. Despite the exterior matching the style of the other buildings, the interior of this one resembled a cozy combination of a 1980s office building and an even older home. Where the Sasaki house trended more towards fresh wooden sensibilities, this place sprawled out with fuzzy old rugs on the cusp of static excitement.
“MOMMY! You’re okay!” Maharu practically hovered as she happily bounded through the air with her body coiled up like a vibrating spring. Her body language bordered on restraint compared to the rocketing demeanor of their last encounters. Misaki also noticed that the girl’s typically neat ice shelf of blue hair had been ruffled and puffed by the humidity or something else. It almost seemed as though an invisible crown had been roughly placed on and scuffed around her head like a coiled plastic comb. A pair of vague prominences were shadowed by the unkempt style. Misaki assumed that she had to have been wearing something on her head recently.
Quietly, Miss Okura sighed and pointed out her state. The girl blinked briefly before wildly batting at her locks and somehow bringing them back to a semblance of order. Her embraces, oddly, also shifted towards reservation. Beyond the little area where they hung up, set aside, and spread out everything that needed drying from the rain, a large group of ladies was gathered. None of them appeared older than anyone they had yet met. Some genuinely had the sense of being mothers, but distinctly in the range of the Sasaki moms. A few had a distinct countenance reminiscent of Miss Okura’s but still appeared more like late high schoolers or early college girls. As always and ever, Misaki did her darndest not to stare.
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Led over to a side room, the two of them were soon reunited with the rest of the group. Haruka had her legs neatly folded with dainty, perfect little slippers on her feet. Namiko leaned back and looked thoroughly comfortable in her kimono, while Chika wore a similar, bright blue one covered in massive waves. Yasha stood on the far side of the room, doing some stretching. Kei and Fuyuki weren’t present, nor was Naoko. Misaki sat close to her friends but attempted to remain close to Yuka. Haruka made sure they received steaming hot green tea to sip. Light music drifted through the air as Misaki settled back. She could see herself swiftly settling back into a napping state with all these soothing comforts.
To keep herself from that chasm of uncertainty, she swiftly relayed the details of their excursion with as many random cows and crops focused on instead of other physical encounters. Ayame received special attention, along with her curious teddy bear companion. Yuka made sure everyone, especially her elder sister, knew that, despite some lingering bruising, her leg seemed to be perfectly fine and on the mend, according to the clinic. The key differences in Namiko and Chika’s trek involved the briefest peek into the front of the old hotel, a detour to scope out the shopping arcade, and some strawberry picking before they missed most of the shrine due to the sudden storm. Misaki immediately gleefully breathed in the sweet and earthy presence of the fresh strawberries.
They had the distinct unevenness of nature, many with light blemishes, muddy traces, and subdued colors. But the taste was unparalleled to anything she had lately from even the most prestigious organic markets on the edge of town. The food practically felt alive at this very moment and infused her with artistic inspiration. Her stomach just barely had enough space for a handful, but they were much appreciated.
Once they had all savored the fresh fruit with plenty left over to take back, Maharu bounded towards a corner cabinet and yanked out a massive brown box. She wrapped it up in her arms and spiraled towards the group before planting her discovery right in the middle. It was a board game.
Yuka carefully dabbed her mouth, raised a skeptical eyebrow, and questioned, “You found it?” Maharu’s initial reaction wasn’t the irrepressible exuberance that Misaki was used to. Rather, she quickly dipped her head and retreated to a polite position away from the game before explaining, “Yeah. I’m sorry about last time and everything. I wanted to find it, and I didn’t hide it. I also didn’t want to find it… For a little while."
Rubbing her arm slightly, Yuka looked away from Maharu and focused instead on the immense box set in front of them. The relationship between the two of them fascinated Misaki, even though she plaintively warned herself not to pry. The box contained several lovely and exotic cardboard pieces with hexagons, squares, circles, and so many other inscrutable designs that made Misaki‘s head spin. Really quite typical for any board games she ever attempted. She very much enjoyed playing, but rarely ventured beyond the template of Monopoly on her own. Gal Hotner received a sponsorship involving a surprisingly gender-fluid roleplaying title with a setup complexity that made Franklin swiftly retreat in fear.
Haruka was the one who revealed that Maharu had played this game at least two dozen times since first receiving it and hadn’t won a single match. Maharu looked over at Yuka’s sister with a combination of resignation and pain. Gently, Haruka bowed but didn’t elaborate on that simple gesture. Gradually, as though she were torturing it out of herself, Maharu laid out the details of the game.
It was surprisingly complex and a little bit classic, but with fascinating mechanics that ran the process of the game like a ticking clock. Once you set the pieces out, the rules forced them forward. The beauty of the game motivated Maharu to play it. But she clenched her mouth, as though holding back a lancing tooth pain. She almost forgot to breathe. Even Misaki found it obvious that there was more going on with this game, but she didn’t want to press. Chika vehemently pressed, and Namiko backed her up with questions related to the game’s flower-dancing elements.
Maharu approached the box and gently stroked the side as though it were a strange, square pet. She worked backwards from the lyrically beautiful dance elements that inspired her when she was young. It made her think of a dainty, wind-up ballerina in game form. Maharu confirmed she’d never once won this game, despite so much practice and so many efforts to play it. Furthermore, she’d never even done better than last place, even with little girls as her competitors.
Shutting her eyes so she could speak the next part, Maharu explained, “This is the very first game I can remember playing with my mothers. And it’s the very last game we played together as a family.” The color clearly and sharply sank away from Maharu’s features for a long moment before she took a breath and returned to normal. The shift was so stark that Misaki genuinely feared for her. But her mood and ease soon improved as she scampered through accounts of how badly she played the game to the point of absolute ridiculousness. Completely giving away one of the winning cards, forgetting to take the opportunity to dance when that could’ve doubled her point tally, and going after the wrong goal despite it being clearly visible in the home section of the board.
Despite her light and playful countenance, she carefully walked through her account of the most recent play session. Another loss, but one that came painfully close. She got upset. More than that. It came to an argument between her and Yuka, who gazed down at her feet and didn’t provide any commentary. Maharu readily admitted to being so dumb about it and gave faint hints of laughter without catharsis. The game vanished after that and had seemingly been destroyed or thrown away. But she found it. Supposedly randomly.
Glancing around, Misaki saw that most everyone seemed subdued. Chika appeared especially pensive, while Namiko wrapped her hands low. Yuka’s expression was inscrutable. Haruka looked like she was antsy to open the box and set it up. The only problem was Yasha. Misaki didn’t mind being away from her lately, and this reunion just affirmed that.
She was hunched forward with her hands close to her chin, as if poised to ensnare it. Her eyes were still and unblinking. Like some wild tiger eager to strike. Misaki found it freaky and kept her eyes on Yasha. It took a long time for the blonde girl to notice. Not that catching the attention of others deterred her strange body language. Miss Okura slowly approached, and that finally caused her to lean back and look away from Maharu.
She slipped on a pensive look of concern, evocative of what she should have been showing all along but still paper thin. Like a mask, carefully hiding her true thoughts. How many masks did this strange girl wear?