23 – Blank

It happened when I was in first grade. Back then, I still had a dad. When he had a day off he usually took me out to play somewhere. He'd been enthusiastic when told me we were going to the botanical garden the next day, but ended up not coming home because of a problem at work. I'd been looking forward to it so much that I was crushed once I realized we weren’t going.

I curled up in a corner of the room, but Mom, who rarely spoke to me, took me to the car. We were headed to the botanical garden Dad promised to take me to. It was the first time I'd gone anywhere with Mom, and I remember the mood being oddly tense. Whenever I went somewhere with Dad, I'd beg for a piggyback ride once I got tired, but Mom refused. She looked really bored, so I tried talking to her to get her excited.

That flower's pretty, isn't it? It only grows in other countries.

Mom only sighed and hummed in agreement as I reacted to each and every flower. I got so absorbed in looking at them that I ended up getting separated from her. I panicked, but it turned out Mom was fiddling around with her phone on a bench a good distance from me. I'm not sure if it's because I realized I was safe, but the tears were streaming when I ran over to her.

Still, she seemed bored and had a sour look on her face the whole time. I guess she didn't like me after all. I was thinking about that while the two of us looked around. On the way out, we saw a moss ball exhibition. Mom pointed to a nearby stall and asked if I wanted to buy anything.

Dad always bought me toys and picture books, but Mom never bought me anything. I had a hard time deciding what to buy because I didn't know how much she was willing to spend, and I also knew I'd be sad if she told me I couldn't buy the thing I picked out. Her expression grew more irritated at my indecisiveness. Getting hurried just made me more flustered.

That was when I saw it. The butterfly hairpin.

Everything at the stand was handmade, so it was the only one in the world. The hairpin sparkled like a gem and changed color depending on how the light hit it.

I want this one.

I remember my heart pounding when I told her that. Would Mom buy it for me? I wondered what to do if she told me to find something else. I was planning to tell her it was okay if I couldn't have it, but Mom silently grabbed the hairpin and took it to the register.

I opened the paper bag she gave me and carried the hairpin in my palm, excited to hold it with my own hands. My eye was taken with its gem-like glimmer. I thought there was no way there were butterflies colored like this out there in the world as a kid, but I was charmed by the hairpin anyway. The butterfly that became my cherished object that day was a vivid blue tinged with deep purple.

On the road home, I put the hairpin on and showed it to Mom. Still not looking at me, she quietly asked, ...Do you like butterflies?

I didn't look at her either, and facing forward, I replied, Yeah, I love them!

Mom laid a hand on my head as I said that. She seemed unfamiliar with this gesture, like she was clumsily improvising, but I definitely felt warmth in it. It was a warmth that came gradually—the same warmth that came from Ruri-chan's body.

That definitely had to have been what unearthed the memory.

"Tateha…?"

I don't remember my mom ever hugging me tight, but the ticklish temperature of her skin gave me a sense of fulfillment.

"...My mom bought that butterfly hairpin for me a long time ago."

"The one you wore in elementary school?"

I pulled away from Ruri-chan, and when I did, the chill felt like I'd just opened the window of a hot room to let in a winter breeze. I fetched the treasured hairpin from my desk, where I'd put it away for safekeeping.

"So you really kept it..." Ruri-chan stared longingly at the butterfly in my fingertips.

"It was my first time. Going somewhere with Mom, I mean."

I'd started to forget… No—I had forgotten my memories with Mom. That memory was a mundane fragment of an everyday life unrelated to pain. It was only natural that I'd forget.

There wasn’t anything memorable in this house. Mom was pretty much never here, and I don't remember us doing anything like going on a family trip. The starkness of my environment made me anxious whenever I went down to the living room. I was always wondering if I was a ghost that was invisible to everyone, even my own mother.

There weren't any memories to show that I'd lived, just the ones that were seared in by pain. Only the strong, scarring sensations could mark the boundary between the memorable and oblivion.

Huh. I wondered why *this* memory hadn't vanished even after all this time. Mom buying the butterfly hairpin for me wasn't a memory of pain like the others. Still, I was glad. It made me happy.

"It's important to you, isn't it?" Ruri-chan's smile was soft, like dandelion fluff.

"I'm not sure..."

Well, maybe she was right, considering I'd kept the hairpin instead of throwing it away.

"Heeey, why don't you try talking to your mom, Tateha?"

"Talk to her? Why?"

"Well, you're lonely, aren't you? You're always home alone..." She had stooped down to meet my eyes because she's about a head taller than me.

"It's not like I'm... lonely. I have TV, games, and books, you know."

"But aren't all of those things you do by yourself? I don't know your mom's circumstances so it's probably not my place to say anything, but... Just doing things like putting meals in the refrigerator and ignoring you otherwise isn't any different from keeping you as a pet. That's awful!"

"But Mom keeps me alive! It's not like she's inconveniencing me or anything. She's nice to me! She gives me as much money as she can."

"I think there are more important things than just food or money."

I didn’t get it. My environment was supplied with the essentials. What was there for Ruri-chan to be upset about?

A blue glint reflected off the butterfly in my hand. The memory of the glimmering I saw that day seemed to be stuck in my throat. I couldn't even breathe. An indescrible feeling that I was suffocating wouldn't go away.

"Things like that hairpin, for sure."

In the insect enclosure was a swallowtail that died from an incomplete emergence. In my palm, the butterfly hairpin Mom bought for me. The space between these two things is a blank.

What had I been thinking back then? What had I been feeling? Why had I put the hairpin away so carefully?

"...Got it..."

I wanted to know too.

"I'll try... talking to Mom."

It was far from a clear promise, nothing you could call a commitment, but Ruri-chan happily nodded. I threw open the curtain and bathed in the light.

Ruri-chan had dropped her ribbon where she'd been sitting.

"Hey, you forgot this."

I handed the ribbon to her as she started prepping to go home. Embarrassed, she looked down at her chest, then took it.