Lacrimo Crystallinus

Like most mornings, I wake up slowly and procrastinate actually rising. Beside me, Satoru is still deep in sleep. His arm is tossed over me, holding me to him, as usual. I stretch, yawn, and wriggle out from beneath him. Groaning softly in protest, he shifts and rolls over. Stifling a laugh, I slip into a sweater dress and slide my fuzzy boots on. On my way up the stairs, I grab my pink and black scarf and wind it around my neck loosely.

As soon as I open the front door, I am buffeted by a chilly winter wind. Regardless of the cold, I step outside and close the door behind me. It’s the first winter snow of the year, but it should still be autumn. It doesn’t bother me, however.

The soft, powdery snow crunches under my boots as I make my way down the narrow street. Although it’s too cold for the sweater dress and I’m shivering, I stare at all the buildings with curving rooftops and sloped architecture blanketed in a thick layer of snow. It looks soft and almost shapeless beneath all that fluffy whiteness. And still, fat flakes are falling and sticking to my hair and eyelashes and dress. The frosty air is clear and crisp and though each breath stings my lungs a bit, it is refreshing and makes every sensation more acute. I take a deep breath of the cold air and walk a little faster to help generate warmth.

A lot of people are walking. I was a little surprised at first by how many people walk everywhere in Japan as compared to America, but now it seems just normal. I like that they do. It feels both relaxed and fast-paced at the same time, and everyone is courteous enough. Now that it is snowy and cold, there are less people walking. And because there was a lot of snowfall, children are playing in it and some adults who aren’t at work are playing too.

I turn down the street and walk along a narrower street, one that most cars don’t enter. Vendors line the street, selling coffee, hot tea, and snacks. The smells of takoyaki and cooked spices are everywhere and intermingling with the distinct smell of hot coffee. Signs and electronic billboards are flashing and glowing, their lights made more brilliant by the muted white around them. It is beautiful. I follow the street down a few meters or so, stopping in front of a grocery store. I exhale and try to run a few Japanese phrases through my head to make sure I say them correctly before stepping inside.

Strangely enough, this is my first time visiting a grocery store, even though I’d been in Japan for a few months already. I had been relying on Satoru and Momo for shopping, but I didn’t realize how little Satoru enjoyed cooking. When I did realize, I told him I would shop from then on, and cook. He seemed grateful. Now, I am surprised by what I see. Although I’m not sure what to expect, this isn’t it.

The grocery store looks almost exactly like the ones back in Colorado. Of course, it’s a bit smaller, but the aisles are distinctly marked by small signs on the end caps. Everything is placed near where it would be in America. For a moment, I am too surprised to move, but when I realize that I am gawking, I blush and hurry to gather the things on my list.

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“Kaerimasshita,” I call as I lug the bags into the kitchen. There is no response, but I don’t dwell on it. Everyone is probably still sleeping. Instead, I begin to hum/sing Bubble Pop! by Hyuna as I begin chopping daikon.

“Where have you been?” Satoru demands suddenly from behind me. Flinching in surprise, I drop the knife on the cutting board. His hand catches my wrist roughly and his eyes are very intense. I lose all words for a moment, absorbed in the hardness of his expression.

“I went to the store,” I answer when I can finally think. He does not release me, and I glance at my wrist with a slight trickle of uncertainty that hasn’t yet become fear.

For a long time, he doesn’t say anything. His face is so cold and distant that it’s scary. I feel my heart beating obnoxiously in my chest.

“Satoru,” I say in nearly a whisper. He blinks, releases me, and steps away, averting his eyes. I watch him for a moment, a strange feeling manifesting in my chest, and I rub my wrist a little. “A—Are you okay?”

“Never been better,” he responds gruffly, opening the door and slipping outside without another word. It’s so unlike him… I stare after him for a while, but eventually focus on the radish I’d started chopping before. More than anything else, I just want to put it into the refrigerator and do something—anything—to take my mind off what just happened. Instead, I breathe and force myself not to think about it. I focus on the strokes of chopping the vegetable. I focus on the downward motion and making each cut straight for the perfect slices.

When I’ve finally finished cooking lunch, I sit down at the table, my legs folded under me, and I eat alone. Neither Momo nor Satoru has come home, not that I expect Momo. The house is quiet except for the falling water in various pieces of furniture around the house. The soup is delicious, but I am not hungry.

Belle sits on my lap and I pet her softly, finally allowing myself to think of Satoru. What could incite him so? Perhaps it is simply an ongoing problem with his parents, but to me, it seems that something must have set it off. . . Belle looks up at me suddenly, her eyes sympathetic. I smile sadly and kiss the top of her head. Isn’t it funny . . . pets always know.

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“Thank you, Henri,” I say, hugging him tightly. “I really appreciate that you took me out today. It was great to meet your friends.”

“Don’t mention it,” he responds with that goofy smile. “I’m glad you got along so well with Yumi. I know she can be a little… much.”

I laugh. “No, no, I liked her bounciness! It reminds me of a friend from home. Thank you again, Henri. Thank you so much.” I bow politely in farewell before going inside. The house is quiet, but I expected that. Satoru’s shoes are near the door, so he is home, but I wonder if he is asleep yet. Just in case, I make my steps as quiet as possible. On my way downstairs, however, I notice that he is in our room, sitting on the bed.

I am about to enter when I realize that he is looking at something in his hands. His expression is troubled and thoughtful. I decide to leave him his privacy. When I go into the bathroom, I make sure that the door is shut loud enough for him to hear. I stand in front of the mirror, looking over my face. Surprisingly, I look happier than I had for a while. When I open the door, Satoru is standing there. His expression is not unhappy, but neither is it content.

“Bao,” he says, his expression faltering, “I’m sorry.” I look into his eyes, which he diverts, but I already know what they must hold.

I hug him tightly and feel him shaking a little. “Satoru, what is the matter?”

“How can you say that?” he asks, squeezing me a little before kissing my forehead. “After how I acted…”

“You were upset,” I say, smiling a little in reassurance. “I know it’s just stress; nothing you would do on purpose.” I pause, standing on tiptoe to kiss his lips. He seems hesitant, but I decide that it is just because he is thinking. “Why don’t you tell me, and get it off your chest?”

“I… I’d really rather not,” he says, his eyes full of displeasure. “I’m sorry, Bao, but please know that I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” I say, bringing his hand to my face. He looks at my lips as if to kiss them again, but unsure of whether or not it’s okay, and he smiles sadly. His thumb brushes my cheek softly and his other hand cups the other side of my face. My eyelids droop and I want to lean into his embrace.

“I love you as I always have, Bao. I… am just troubled.”

“I love you, too, Satoru. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? I will always listen. You know that.”

“I know, and I thank you. Bao—“ He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but clamps it shut immediately. “Will you… will you come to bed?”

“Of course, koibito. In a moment.” He turns to leave. “Satoru, wait.” He turns, his eyes grudgingly looking into mine. “Problems always get better. I’m sure that yours will, too. Maybe it will even solve itself.”

“Maybe,” he repeats halfheartedly, drifting down the hallway. When I finish brushing out my hair and removing my makeup, I follow him into the bedroom. When I step through the door, he is already in bed. I undress and climb into bed beside him, pressing myself to him. Even the bed is cold.

“Satoru,” I call softly, feeling a strange hollowness in my stomach as the words bubble to my lips, “Is…. is it me?”

“No.” He kisses me softly, then pauses as if in thought.

I almost think that he will say something more, but he does not. Instead, the thoughtful expression on his face remains as he pulls me toward him and we settle into the fluffy blankets. For a long time, I stare at the blank wall, washed in warm candlelight, and wonder what he is thinking of.