[kato masao]
KIFU
by ungalad
Waya had heard of it before from his parents and his teachers, from older people. You can be friends with someone, really good friends, but times passes by and it washes away the care. New interests, new friends, new occupations; you become separate and one day you realize that your best friend is now this guy you used to know. One of the many strangers that walk among the streets and have familiar faces you can't quite place.
After three weeks without Isumi-san, Waya started to worry. He had never been in a situation like this before and he didn't know what to do. The sole idea of calling Isumi-san made him feel sick. But nobody should feel bad about calling their best friend, unless they had done something bad. And Waya hadn't done anything bad or wrong, he had passed the pro exam. He really wasn't expecting a "Congratulations!" or anything like that. All he had been expecting was Isumi-san not to hide for too long; to hear about his plans for the future, not from Shinoda-sensei or someone else, but from Isumi-san himself.
After four weeks, Waya realized that the uneasiness that caught him by surprise from time to time could actually be (and mean) that he missed Isumi-san. One lazy afternoon, he found himself wondering why he didn't have any plans for that day; and it hit him: because in a day like that he should've been playing a go game against Isumi-san, at his house or his friend's. After his tiny epiphany, Waya was very aware of every single time and moment he missed Isumi-san's company. If he tried to be objective, it wasn't as if he spent hours and hours missing him. Barely a few minutes a day, if not seconds. Just sudden pangs of angst, sadness or whatever it is you call it. That was when Waya learned that one thing is the measuring ticking of a clock, and a completely different one, the experience of time.
"I'd call him later," he used to tell himself, daily. And later became tomorrow; tomorrow became next week, and so on, until he realized in horror that he hadn't seen nor hear from Isumi-san in an entire year.
So he called him. It felt weird and uncomfortable, what do you say to your best friend (if he can still be acknowledged as so) when you call him after a year of distance? He dialled up Isumi-san's number, happily realizing that he hadn't forgotten it yet, and waited. The phone made annoying, intermittent noises and Waya thought, once again, of how many hours can fit in a second. Finally, somebody answered.
"Hello?" It was a female voice.
"Hello, this is Waya. I'm looking for Isumi Shinichirou-san…" he said. His voice sounded a bit too shrill.
"Oh. Hello, Waya-kun!" the female voice said, cheerful and yet uncomfortable. "It's been a while!"
It was Isumi-san's younger sister. She awkwardly told Waya that her older brother was not home. In fact, he was not going to be home for a while. She mentioned a university and the name of the major, but Waya was paying attention and, at the same time, he was not. The words coming out of the receiver were shocking. When he hung up the phone, the go pro was left with the feeling that he still did not know a thing about Isumi-san's whereabouts.
One day, two or three years later, Waya went to his parents' house for dinner and his mother told him he had received a letter. Apparently, there was someone among his acquaintances that was yet to learn that he had moved out of their house and thus changed his address. That clueless person was Isumi-san, and Waya couldn't help but feel excited and happy when he took the envelope from his mother's hands.
He put the letter away in his bag and waited until he got home to read it. Isumi-san wasn't in Japan but in China, part of a student exchange program. The polished writing asked Waya about his recent games. It turned out Isumi-san had been following Waya's every step on the world of professional go players, but since he had been in China, he had not been able to do so. He also asked about Shindou, about why he had quit. Waya realized, one more time horrified, that he didn't know what to answer; he hadn't heard a thing about Shindou since he had given up go and utterly refused to talk to Waya about it.
And he started to remember all the nice days he spent with both Isumi-san and Shindou when the three of them were part of the insei program. He remembered that Shindou's favourite drink was C.C. Lemon, that Isumi-san did not drink black coffee. He thought of the time when Isumi-san and he decided to talk to Shindou, just to find out if he really had the strength to be Touya Akira's rival; he thought of how they ended up with a good friend, instead. He clearly recalled the day Shindou joined them in the first class, and the first time Shindou beat him. He remembered the thrilling, depressing and gratifying pro exam that had somehow torn their friendship apart. Burgers, ramen and sushi; good games, worries and hopes; he remembered it all.
Everything had changed now, but that was futile observation. Everything is in perpetual change; he was different person, the world was a different place every following second, every following moment. What was the same-though, at the same time, it was not-were the feelings he experienced through his moment of recollection. The memories themselves were snapshots of unchangeable moments; snapshots of things that, no matter how many more years passed, were going to stay the same, because memories are eternal.
The reminiscence left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. It hadn't really been too many years, but it felt like forever. Though he was still very young, he felt strangely old-like a grandfather remembering his childhood while watching his grandson playing in the backyard. It was a new feeling, Waya noticed, absentmindedly.
Isumi-san's letter said that he hoped to hear from Waya soon. It mentioned Isumi-san's address and phone number in China, and the same personal details of him in Japan. He had gotten himself an e-mail account, too. Waya took out his mobile phone-he had bought a new one since the last time he had called Isumi-san-and carefully store the details in the device's memory, for later.
by ungalad
Waya had heard of it before from his parents and his teachers, from older people. You can be friends with someone, really good friends, but times passes by and it washes away the care. New interests, new friends, new occupations; you become separate and one day you realize that your best friend is now this guy you used to know. One of the many strangers that walk among the streets and have familiar faces you can't quite place.
After three weeks without Isumi-san, Waya started to worry. He had never been in a situation like this before and he didn't know what to do. The sole idea of calling Isumi-san made him feel sick. But nobody should feel bad about calling their best friend, unless they had done something bad. And Waya hadn't done anything bad or wrong, he had passed the pro exam. He really wasn't expecting a "Congratulations!" or anything like that. All he had been expecting was Isumi-san not to hide for too long; to hear about his plans for the future, not from Shinoda-sensei or someone else, but from Isumi-san himself.
After four weeks, Waya realized that the uneasiness that caught him by surprise from time to time could actually be (and mean) that he missed Isumi-san. One lazy afternoon, he found himself wondering why he didn't have any plans for that day; and it hit him: because in a day like that he should've been playing a go game against Isumi-san, at his house or his friend's. After his tiny epiphany, Waya was very aware of every single time and moment he missed Isumi-san's company. If he tried to be objective, it wasn't as if he spent hours and hours missing him. Barely a few minutes a day, if not seconds. Just sudden pangs of angst, sadness or whatever it is you call it. That was when Waya learned that one thing is the measuring ticking of a clock, and a completely different one, the experience of time.
"I'd call him later," he used to tell himself, daily. And later became tomorrow; tomorrow became next week, and so on, until he realized in horror that he hadn't seen nor hear from Isumi-san in an entire year.
So he called him. It felt weird and uncomfortable, what do you say to your best friend (if he can still be acknowledged as so) when you call him after a year of distance? He dialled up Isumi-san's number, happily realizing that he hadn't forgotten it yet, and waited. The phone made annoying, intermittent noises and Waya thought, once again, of how many hours can fit in a second. Finally, somebody answered.
"Hello?" It was a female voice.
"Hello, this is Waya. I'm looking for Isumi Shinichirou-san…" he said. His voice sounded a bit too shrill.
"Oh. Hello, Waya-kun!" the female voice said, cheerful and yet uncomfortable. "It's been a while!"
It was Isumi-san's younger sister. She awkwardly told Waya that her older brother was not home. In fact, he was not going to be home for a while. She mentioned a university and the name of the major, but Waya was paying attention and, at the same time, he was not. The words coming out of the receiver were shocking. When he hung up the phone, the go pro was left with the feeling that he still did not know a thing about Isumi-san's whereabouts.
One day, two or three years later, Waya went to his parents' house for dinner and his mother told him he had received a letter. Apparently, there was someone among his acquaintances that was yet to learn that he had moved out of their house and thus changed his address. That clueless person was Isumi-san, and Waya couldn't help but feel excited and happy when he took the envelope from his mother's hands.
He put the letter away in his bag and waited until he got home to read it. Isumi-san wasn't in Japan but in China, part of a student exchange program. The polished writing asked Waya about his recent games. It turned out Isumi-san had been following Waya's every step on the world of professional go players, but since he had been in China, he had not been able to do so. He also asked about Shindou, about why he had quit. Waya realized, one more time horrified, that he didn't know what to answer; he hadn't heard a thing about Shindou since he had given up go and utterly refused to talk to Waya about it.
And he started to remember all the nice days he spent with both Isumi-san and Shindou when the three of them were part of the insei program. He remembered that Shindou's favourite drink was C.C. Lemon, that Isumi-san did not drink black coffee. He thought of the time when Isumi-san and he decided to talk to Shindou, just to find out if he really had the strength to be Touya Akira's rival; he thought of how they ended up with a good friend, instead. He clearly recalled the day Shindou joined them in the first class, and the first time Shindou beat him. He remembered the thrilling, depressing and gratifying pro exam that had somehow torn their friendship apart. Burgers, ramen and sushi; good games, worries and hopes; he remembered it all.
Everything had changed now, but that was futile observation. Everything is in perpetual change; he was different person, the world was a different place every following second, every following moment. What was the same-though, at the same time, it was not-were the feelings he experienced through his moment of recollection. The memories themselves were snapshots of unchangeable moments; snapshots of things that, no matter how many more years passed, were going to stay the same, because memories are eternal.
The reminiscence left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. It hadn't really been too many years, but it felt like forever. Though he was still very young, he felt strangely old-like a grandfather remembering his childhood while watching his grandson playing in the backyard. It was a new feeling, Waya noticed, absentmindedly.
Isumi-san's letter said that he hoped to hear from Waya soon. It mentioned Isumi-san's address and phone number in China, and the same personal details of him in Japan. He had gotten himself an e-mail account, too. Waya took out his mobile phone-he had bought a new one since the last time he had called Isumi-san-and carefully store the details in the device's memory, for later.