The Bomb’s Heart

August 27, 2018

Baek Junseo

Takayama, Japan. 8:00 AM.

Even though summer hadn't completely left, autumn was starting to edge closer and closer. It was cold; I hated the cold. I hated Japan too, though its landscapes were magnificent and the people warm. Perhaps I didn't hate it that much, and it was just the frustration from work speaking through me, because once again I had endured long days without managing to sleep, and my body felt too heavy. Even after arriving in Takayama a week ago, I hadn't been able to rest as much as I wanted because my thoughts kept overwhelming me. In a tiny house, with just enough space to place my few belongings, I could feel the noise of my heart even more clearly, always composing a sweet, melancholic song.

The rhythm of my shoes against the floor stirred the melody a bit, making it more rhythmic, more ferocious. At that moment, all I wanted was to run, to find somewhere I could die and be free. I missed my innocence so much, the sweetness of ignorance that kept me hopeful of finding a home for so long. A home, I had always wanted one. In a distant past, I had imagined so many times living with people I loved, but now I saw that dream slipping further and further out of my grasp, abandoning me with the relentless symphony of my heart.

Before I knew it, I was in front of the school. My stomach burned; I had forgotten to have breakfast.

I don't remember who I was at seventeen. By then, I still didn't have a name, and I was always in a dark room, sleeping excessively. I didn't miss being seventeen. But I had never had the chance to attend a public school, nor had all those things I had seen in series, dramas, and movies. Maybe I should have started by running to class with a toast in my mouth, or something like that. Interestingly, all the buildings in Japan, aside from the traditional ones, seemed like colored blocks stacked on top of each other, with windows, doors, and varied decorations. It was beautiful in its own way, and managed to present itself as orderly and clean. Upon entering, there were small lockers to leave the shoes and change into indoor slippers. There was a small step before entering, which separated that hallway from the locker area.

"Lee Taeyang?"

Standing at the far end of the hallway was a woman dressed in very formal and covered clothing. She wore thick-framed glasses that nearly concealed her entire face, and her hair fell behind her ears, reaching just above her shoulders. I nodded slowly, still watching her.

"Welcome, I am your homeroom teacher. They asked me to show you your locker, then you'll come with me to fill out some paperwork in the teacher's lounge."

School procedures, that was new. The woman did what she said, showing me some of the institution's rules, class schedules, and other bits of information that I absorbed and memorized almost by reflex. She stayed by my side until I entered the classroom. Earlier, I had been informed that I would share classes with one of the objectives: Alexandra Ryokakku.

Being in superior classes meant a slightly stricter schedule than for normal students, but it wasn't as difficult as trying to start a conversation with someone I only knew from documents sent by my boss, which were never entirely reliable. My introduction in front of the class caused some commotion and murmurs, with comments about my height, appearance, nationality, etc. However, Alexandra didn't look up from the book she was reading.

She was quite tall compared to the average female in Japan, so she stood out undeniably. Although one of the school rules was that women had to keep their hair above their shoulders, she gathered her enormous brown hair in a clip. From the front of it, strands of white extended, blending with the brown strands. A birthmark. I had read that her parents had bribed the school to allow her to keep her hair that long, as it was a tradition for the women in her lineage and considered sacred. Her face was well-defined, with sharp but delicate features. A strange combination of her nationalities. She had incredibly long eyelashes, hidden behind thin glasses.

The only available seat was beside her. But she didn't even seem to notice.

"Maybe I could talk to her about the book," I thought as I walked toward my new seat. As I hung my bag to one side, I realized, to my misfortune, that the book was apparently in Russian.

God, I missed home.

I sat carefully, listening to the teacher resume the class. I rested my arms on the desk and rubbed my eyes, yawning a little. "How could I force a friendship?" I kept asking myself, as I tried to understand whatever the teacher was explaining. Even worse, she was a beautiful woman. Should I simply ignore that fact and treat her like a man?

I didn't know what to do.

"Do you understand?"

Her voice was Japanese with a delicate accent, very faint but still noticeable. A cold, deep voice, like an outdoor bath in the middle of winter. I wanted to keep listening to her, but at the same time, I just wanted her to be quiet.

I turned my head with a small embarrassed smile, deniying with a soft sound from my throat. Her eyes were blue, very blue, so blue that the reflection from the window made them look slightly gray. Her pupils were dilated, perhaps from reading, and her gaze was curious. She covered her face a little with the book she had been reading, avoiding a reprimand.

"I'm still having a little trouble with Japanese."

Her eyes showed compassion.

"I know how you feel. I'll help you during the break."

Oh, dear Alexandra. Even though you're not my type, even though I've just met you, you made my job easier with such ease that I want to kiss you. Her smile, complementing mine, seemed to revolve around the same shared experience. We were both foreigners; that eventually made us orbit the same way.