Natsuki

In that moment, as the first spark went shooting off into the sky, all I could see was you. I didn’t see it explode, see the rings of shimmering light dance in the air before falling back down to earth. Peppering the sky with colours too vibrant to be real, neon greens and Barbie pinks and Post-it-note yellows. You waved me over, your arm sweeping across the sky as you called my name.

I didn’t know anyone at the festival. The geta felt unnatural on my feet, wooden sandals that kept sliding out from between my toes. I remember looking around, wondering how everyone else was managing to walk around so effortlessly. Lifting my arms, I looked down at my long, draping sleeves, then leaned back to check that the thin piece of fabric around my waist was still securely bound. Everyone else had theirs tied in elaborate knots behind their backs whilst mine remained a mystery. I had done it myself after everyone else had gone to sleep, hands working behind my back, praying that I was doing it right. I fixed my posture, trying my best not to look like a newborn giraffe as I hobbled from stall to stall, eyes scanning the wooden hanging panels in a foreign language I couldn’t understand.

It was by far the most thrilling thing I’d ever done, sneaking out the dorm window late at night. I hid my shoes in the peony bush, then followed the pathway lined with glowing crimson lanterns. The air was hot and heavy, filled with the sweet smell of candy floss and cooking meat. I walked as though in a dream through the coils of smoke that billowed from the yakitori stalls. A group of children ran past, shouting in excitement and I hurriedly stepped aside, losing my footing in the process. But you caught me, grasping my wrist to hold me steady.

For a moment I just looked at you, and you looked at me. I’d never felt so stupid in my life, scouring my brain for words and being unable to say anything more than thank you. I’m glad that you had more. You told me that my obi was coming loose, which turned out to be the piece around my waist when I asked what the word meant. Then I thanked you again, kicking myself for all those conversation lessons I had skipped. In the end I asked you the only other phrase I could think of.

And you told me that your name was Natsuki. I liked the homey feel your stall had, the hand painted sign at the front, the bowl of lollies for the children, the faded posters of anime characters peeling slightly at the edges. I laughed at your feigned bitterness, bound to this little tent by order of your grandfather whilst your friends strolled the streets. I spied a sheet of paper covered with scribbles and went over to have a look, recognising the familiar equations of geometry and calculus. It turned out that you were in your final year too. I asked what you planned to do after you finished and you said you didn’t know, that you'd likely be stuck in this town for the rest of your life.

When I took the plastic rifle in my hands you stopped me, adjusting my grip to help me aim for the target. Thanks to you I was able to hit it on my first try. Even though I hadn’t paid and technically cheated, you still let me choose a prize. There were so many different ones, plush toys, figurines– keychains. I chose one of the latter, a loop of braided red string threaded through a small lucky cat charm.

By now the fireworks were almost ready. You pointed to a spot in the distance so I could see them, silhouettes against the firelight setting out the grid of panels. You asked why I looked so sad. I didn’t realise that I did. Maybe it was because I was afraid. Because I knew that once the fireworks began they would only last for a few precious moments, an ephemeral splash of beauty in the darkness that would fade into nothing. After that everyone would probably linger for a while before eventually heading back home. The stalls would be packed away, the lanterns extinguished, and the fireworks would become nothing more than a memory.

I turned towards you to answer, but you were crouched down on the grass, pulling a pencil and notepad out of your pocket. Rapid strokes faster than I could keep up with as you wrote out the characters I couldn’t read. When you had finished you tore out the page and gave it to me, your fingers brushing mine. You asked me to write to you and said you would be waiting for my letter. I said yes, but that it would probably have to be in English. That made you laugh. You nodded and said that it was okay, that you needed to practice your English as well.

Far below, we watched as everyone made their way down towards the bay. You taught me the names of the different yukata patterns people were wearing and I pretended that I could understand even though it was as difficult as trying to carry water in your hands. The broadcasting system sputtered to life, the crackly voice echoing around the grounds. I saw your eyes light up. You raced down towards the crowd, then turned in confusion to see me standing back where you’d left me. Your face split into a smile and you planted both legs firmly in the ground, refusing to move as you waited for me to follow.

✴︎

Dear Natsuki,

Did your final exams go well? I’m not quite sure if mine did. I’ve finally decided what I’ll be studying at university. Mother and father wanted me to go into a degree in something they see as being of ‘substance’, teaching or nursing and so forth. But I’ve decided to do a degree in Japanese much to their dismay. It feels surprisingly nice to do something on my own terms for a change.

✴︎

Dear Natsuki,

You were most certainly lying when you told me that Japanese wasn’t a difficult language. Granted, I can see that the grammar of English is considerably more difficult (why do we have so many exceptions to the rules?) but have you ever seen a system more complex than kanji? All those characters will be the death of me. I know so many, and yet every time I open a Japanese newspaper I could swear that I know none at all.

My current plan is to work in Japan as an interpreter after I graduate. As the year draws to a close I will need to begin applying for different companies, my fingers are tightly crossed and I’m praying for the best! I hope that life is treating you well, wherever you are.

✴︎

Dear Natsuki,

Work hasn’t begun yet, but the papers are finalised and I can officially say that I am an interpreter. Who would have thought? I only have four more days left before I leave for Aomori. It feels a little bit sad to see my room so bare. These next few days will be filled with goodbyes to family and friends not knowing when I will see them again. It’s a strange feeling, but not in a negative way. Because what overwhelms it all is this feeling of anticipation, like I’ve been waiting all these years to go back.

Are you still living with your family, running the shateki stall every summer? I expect the festival will be coming up soon– after all, August is just around the corner. If I come, will you meet me there?

✴︎

Everything is exactly the same as how it was three years ago. And yet everything has changed– the strange symbols on the shop signs jump out as words, the once incoherent jumble of sounds that enters my ears resolves into language. I had forgotten how heavy the heat feels here, pressure against the skin that brings out beads of sweat. I swipe them away, only for them to appear again.

An old man enthusiastically waves me over to his stall and offers me a fan. Not one of the unfolding ones, but the traditional uchiwa kind. He refuses to let me pay, saying he paints them as a hobby to pass the time. I admire the fine brushwork of the morning glories, a vibrant blue like the colour of the ocean. I continue down the row of stalls, on my way to where you will be.

Natsuki? I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I lost the piece of paper you gave me. I must have dropped it that night, as I hurried back to the dorm. The next day we were leaving in the early morning and so I didn’t even get the chance to search for it. Or to contact the festival organiser to ask about the boy who ran the shateki stall that I wanted to see again someday. I went over the possibilities a million times, each one a tiny regret.

I turn the corner to see a shateki stall different from the one I remember. This one is more modern, all bright colours and flashy new posters. The fashionable young lady running the stall sees me and smiles warmly, waving me in. Somehow I manage to hit more than half of the targets. The lady is astonished and claps her hands in delight. She insists it’s skill but I think it’s luck from the lucky cat dangling from my bag.

I follow the crowd down to the bay where the floats glow like fire, warriors wielding swords, gigantic waves of blue and sparkling seafoam white, dragons with long snaking bodies and wide yellow eyes that glow like the sun. As the announcer informs us that the fireworks are about to begin I take a deep breath and look up at the sky, staring hard because these fireworks will only exist for a few seconds each before disappearing into nothing. I wonder what you’re doing these days. Whether the memory of me crosses your mind like how you cross mine.