The Flowers Bloom On The Day We Meet

Today, I had another dream.

Only in that dream did I feel as if I was truly alive in this world.

There she was, dancing in the breeze in the warm sunlight in her sailor uniform, laughing merrily with her friends, delighted about the bright future, and letting her entire body pour forth raw energy.

It was like water inside her. It felt like being in a warm ocean. I drifted along in that water, gazing through her eyes and seeing what she saw. I could hear the sounds she heard through my ears. I could feel everything she touched through her warm skin. Then I forgot about all the difficulties of being “me” and morphed into her, relishing this existence.

The sky was clear and blue, the breeze was soft and gentle, people were kind, everything sparkled, and the entire world shone.

I always wake up in tears on the day I have that dream. I curled up, my whole body broken apart by unexplainable longing, and groaned like a lost puppy, gently dripping from the back of my throat, in the early sun shining through the curtains, amidst the chattering of the birds.

I wished I could be there. To that world of brilliance.

I got out of the futon and went to the bathroom to wash my face. The guy in the mirror had a lifeless look, unlike the face in the mirror he saw in his dream through her eyes, a face like a summer sunflower. I place my hands on the sink and take a long, steady breath. I have to live today as well. I gently placed my right palm on my chest and listened to its heartbeat.

I dressed into my uniform and left the apartment after breakfast. As I made my way down the stairs, I texted my mother, “Good morning, I’m on my way to school,” “Ok, be careful.” I immediately received the expected response. I didn’t want to stay in that suffocating house, so I applied to a high school in another prefecture where I could live alone. I’m not sure if she loves me as a child or if she protects me as a tool for the world in exchange for this constant interaction.

I stroll gently in the early summer sun, keeping time with the beat of my heart. I always felt like I was walking with the girl of my dreams when I did this. I looked tenderly at the hollyhock mallow’s scarlet blossoms swinging on the roadside. Hanakotoba1 speaks a language of noble and majestic beauty, passion and love. I had no idea what the name of this flower was, nor was I interested in it. More than anything else, I cherished the knowledge I had gained through her in my dreams.

In the middle of all of this, I’d like to emphasize that I’ve been thinking about the future.

I also learnt from her about this unknown author’s Man’yōshū2, in which hollyhocks appear. Various plants are introduced seasonally, and the hollyhock flower is presented as a metaphor to express my desire to meet you and my hope that one day we will meet and flowers will bloom. Someday, in a dream, in a softly lit classroom, I felt her from within, as lovely as fresh foliage swaying in the morning dew, when she touched this melody and made my heart tremble.

I want to meet you. I want to see you someday.

But that “someday” will never come for me.

My high school classes were mostly boring. I took notes while I peered out the window. Nonetheless, I was able to study quite well thanks to the memories of becoming her in my dreams.

When it came to gym classes, I always lied and observed, even though I didn’t mind as long as the exercises weren’t too strenuous. The PE teacher treated me as if I was a shattered piece of glass on my first day of high school, when I showed him a pink scar that went from below my larynx to my abdomen (maybe the vice principal had told him about my backstory beforehand). Some of my classmates were curious at first and approached me, maybe because I was so different from them, always observing PE. However, after a few months, I was able to blend into the classroom atmosphere, as most of them had lost interest in me. Except for Ogawara, who continued to talk to me from the seat in front of me.

“Hozumin, you know.”

He takes the liberty of altering my unusual surname, Hozumi, and calls me that.

“Actually, why do you have to watch PE all the time?”

As I leaned my head on my palm and watched the clouds sweep across the sky, I let out a small sigh.

“We discussed the effects of the chest injury previously, haven’t we?”

“So, what’s the deal with the chest injury? You’ve been gone for about two months. Is it so bad that you won’t be able to do physical education for the rest of your life?”

“You’re not going to do PE for the rest of your life, are you?”

“Don’t change the subject. If such a delicate issue is left unclear and imprecise, it may induce reluctance and concern, compromising our future friendship. So, let me clear things up.”

Ogawara leaned forward and elbowed my desk. His brows narrowed mischievously behind his thin-framed glasses, and he whispered quietly, “As a friend.”

I’ve always been so. I’ve never been able to grasp the truth of time and existence in this world. Especially since I began getting such dreams more frequently. I wondered whether I truly existed not here, but within the soft body of the girl in my dream, the one having her wonderful life. That was all I could think of.

Even so, I had to live in this world, and the presence of Ogawara, who still cared for me two months after I started the school, made it possible for me to do so.

I felt disoriented, but I closed my eyelids with my cheeks and took a steady breath to find my voice.

“I was in my first year of junior high school.”

“Ah? Oh..…”

Through the darkness of my eyelids, I couldn’t see, but I could hear and feel Ogawara adjusting his posture, as if he sensed my emotions.

“I underwent a heart transplant.”

“…..Seriously?”

When the eyelids are closed, vision, which dominates the majority of the senses, is obstructed, leaving the other senses more sensitive.

※※※

I’ve been diagnosed with restrictive cardiomyopathy.

I had always felt as If I was short of breath and exhausted more quickly than other people around me, but when I passed out in the fifth grade gym class and was rushed to the emergency room, the diagnosis that was given to me took my parents by surprise. I subsequently found that the five-year survival rate is around 70%, the ten-year survival rate is approximately 40%, and in the case of children, it is much more serious, but I now believe that it was too cruel a fate for a ten-year-old boy to bear. I was just a kid who didn’t know anything at the time, so I believed I was lucky that I could take a break from school and my parents were very kind to me, even though I was sick.

I was subsequently transferred to a room at a major hospital, where I spent time and had several procedures. It was a difficult time for me, but I was able to get through it with the support of my parents, who were really supportive, and my school friends who came to see me.

Eventually, while I was still in bed and in middle school for compulsory education, I heard that a donor had been discovered miraculously early. I’m not sure if it was the power of my mother, a political figure, or the weight of her connections. Anyway, my blood type and physique matched, and after several examinations, I was approved as a normal recipient, and during the rainy season when I was 13 years old, I underwent a transplant operation for a heart that belonged to an unknown person.

After a half-day operation, I awoke slowly from general anesthesia in the early sunshine. I was amazed and awestruck by the presence of the organ, which was truly pumping there, with a deep, dull aching in my chest. I was overwhelmed with astonishment that it was not mine, that it had belonged to someone else, someone who had already died, and that it had been implanted in my body by an artificial rather than a natural process, and that it was now keeping me alive in a way that undermined the very foundation of life.

I moved my right hand, which didn’t appear to belong to me, most likely because of the anesthesia, and touched the laceration on my chest over my hospital gown. It made me frown, and it stung like an electric charge was rushing through me. Tears ran down my cheeks as I recalled the organs trapped within me by the sutures, the end of someone’s loss, and good intentions.

—— That night, I dreamed I was an unknown girl roaming about in a lovely field. It had been a long time since I had thoroughly exercised my body. My father and mother were smiling as they observed me from a distance. I awoke with a peculiar sense of nostalgia, fondness, and melancholy in my heart, and I was crying once again.

I was discharged after thorough observation and rehabilitation. I could have cleaned up the surgical scar that ran from my throat to my abdomen, but I opted not to. I assumed that this scar would always remind me that I was living with a heart that had been given to me.

The lady who was assisting my mum at work arrived to pick me up and drive me home. The lady told me in a mysterious voice in the car. She told me that my parents had divorced. She said that my mother had taken custody of me and that the argument had been ongoing since I was admitted to the hospital.

I didn’t know. My parents’ expressions in the hospital room were very warm, and they did not appear to be having any problems. Even yet, the adults argued and broke down without the children’s awareness, and they made no attempt to show it to the child. That came as a surprise. I wanted you to talk to me rather than making decisions on your own. And I assumed――it was definitely my fault that we split up and they decided not to tell me.

For the first time in my life, I realized I was a helpless child who had been spoiled and sheltered by adults and the world around me. I kept my head down in the backseat of the car on the inorganic highway, under the extremely brilliant sunshine at the beginning of summer, despite my emotions, putting my right hand on my left chest to check my heartbeat.

I started using my mother’s surname, “Hozumi,” from then on. My mother, whom I met at home with one fewer family member, appeared cold-hearted than before I was hospitalized. A number of media outlets approached me to cover my situation, but I appeared to have turned them all down.

The dream of becoming a girl I didn’t know of recur on occasion after that. The girl grew a little more with each dream. When I woke up, I was usually crying. At first, I believed it was simply a strange dream, but as time passed, I realized it was the memory of someone’s heart, which was still softly beating in my left chest.

Donor information is often not disclosed. I checked my PC in my room and saw a “Community” option on the website where I had registered as an organ transplant applicant. When I clicked on the link, I was sent to a page with a compendium of memoirs and letters from transplant survivors and donor families, which I read one by one. There were words of deep gratitude and delight of life from the receiver in each of them, as well as words of determination from the donor’s family’s heartache and genuine compassion for the recipient who had inherited their precious family organ. I resolved to write a letter myself when I cooled down and readied a letterhead and pen, but not a single word came out.

I’m not sure if my hands have the right to write the warm glow of words like the ones there. No, I may express my gratitude as many times as I wish. But are they my true words? I wonder if I now have enough value and joy in life to stand proudly in front of the family who, at the end of their agonizing thoughts, cut out a piece of their loved one and sent it off. The pen fell to the chilly floor just as I was thinking this.

My father had mysteriously disappeared somewhere far away, and my mother, who was rarely home, was cold and treated me like a tumor when she did see me on occasion. The servants always cooked my meals, and I ate them alone. Still, I felt really pleased and full of life in my dream when I was her. “I” was free, and even though I was occasionally worried, I relished every day. I went to school, played with my friends, ate a nice lunch with my family, and was just glad that tomorrow would come again. My chest hurt like it was being crushed as I awoke in the early sun, and I groaned quietly. I wanted to go there. The fact that today would begin here, rather than there, made it all the more painful. Still, I had to live.

I explored the Internet and the library for various materials and books in between junior high school. I discovered that organ transplants are not an issue regardless of gender. There are accounts of people whose tastes and personalities altered as a result of organ transplants, dreams in which they learnt information about donors they were not supposed to know, hearts that convey thoughts, and memory transference. None of the stories had been scientifically proven, and they all raised eyebrows. Regardless of other people’s instances, scientific data, logic, or anything else, I had an unusual conviction.

The images I see in my dreams are the original owner’s recollections of the heart that was transferred to me and now keeps me alive. It’s a shimmering reminiscence of a lovely girl who died at an early age for unknown reasons.

That dream and her presence became more precious than anything else to me.

It’s never going to happen.

I can’t even touch it.

It was so transparent.

It’s just too cruel.

It was my first love.

※※※

Her pulse emerges from the hustle and bustle of the hallways and classrooms as I close my eyes. Thump. Thump. I softly pumped it up with both hands and held it against my chest.

“…..You mean you can’t exercise because of the surgery?”

I heard Ogawara’s voice with a tinge of restraint in the darkness of the sound. When I opened my eyes, I noticed Ogawara with a little curious expression on his face against the backdrop of a typical high school classroom.

“No, I can exercise just as well as everyone else.”

“So, why are you taking so much time off? Are you skipping PE?”

I did not tell him about my dreams or about her. I don’t think they’d believe me if I told them, and I doubt they’d want to. I wish to keep her presence between myself and her a secret.

“Because it’s a waste”

Ogawara cocked his head in response to my words.

“What?”

“The number of heartbeats, you know?”

I’ve heard that there’s a limit to how many times a creature’s heart can beat. This can be done 500 million times by a small dog. Cats and horses can beat about a billion.

Human hearts can beat around 2 billion times. There is, in a sense, a limit to how many times the heart may be performed. According to what I heard, it was merely a statistical story with no scientific or medical backing. Still, I was worried after hearing about it, and I wanted to cherish every single beat her heart made, so I avoided all needless exertion to avoid putting her under undue pressure.

“O… oh, I see. That’s right.”

Perhaps since he was aware of my predicament, Ogawara accepted my riddle without hesitation.

“Just don’t tell anyone I’m skipping PE, okay?”

I leaned forward, rested one elbow on the desk, and whispered, like Ogawara had done previously.

“As a friend.”

Ogawara rolled his eyes and smiled mischievously, like a child who had shared a secret.

“Oh, I’ll leave it to you.”

I whispered back.

When the bell sounded to signify the end of recess, the classroom erupted into a frenzy of activity as students returned to their seats. As Ogawara returned his attention to the blackboard, he held up his right thumb. I’m grateful for that.

I bid farewell to Ogawara after class and left the school right afterwards because I was not involved in any club activities. I strolled carefully, tenderly gazing at the flowers she adored, then stopped at a little store on my way home to get some groceries. I contacted my mother on the cell phone after returning to the apartment and placing food in the refrigerator to let her know I was home.

“I just arrived home from school.” Perhaps it was because she was at work that I didn’t always get a prompt answer to my calls home.

I didn’t want to live an unhealthy life for the sake of the heart she’d given me. I skipped physical education, but to be in good physical shape, I performed light exercise every day, as instructed by my doctor during rehab. I always made and ate my own meals, avoiding instant meals and fast food. I had salmon meuniere with a spinach and onion salad today. Take a bath to warm up and improve blood circulation, read for a few minutes, and go to bed at a reasonable hour to ensure enough sleep.

After days like this, I’ve come to believe that her heart is the essence of who I am, and that my body and the brain that regulates it are only channels or appendages to that essence. I believe it is a bold notion that may cause me to lose my ego, but it was also a relief for me. Living for this heart was equivalent to living for her existence, and it was the sole purpose and delight for me to live, as I had inherited a portion of her and was kept alive while having no personal reason to live. So I have to live tomorrow as well.

Let’s meet again after the kudzu, when the pears, dates, and children of the chestnuts’ progeny are stretched to the cane.

The words she scribbled on a sheet of paper in my dream and the voices of others around me calling her named her “Suzushiro Aika.” The sounds and letters are cool and lovely, and they represent her personality and life. And I grinned as I swayed in her sea, thinking that she must have been drawn to that Man’yōshū poetry since it had the same characters as her own name.

“Aika, good morning. Hey, did you see what was on TV last night? ‘The Mysteries of Life.’“

On my way to school one morning in my dream, I was approached by my classmate Eri. It was a sunny morning before the rainy season began, with bright hydrangeas swinging in the mild air.

“Good morning. I saw it, I saw it! I was impressed.”

My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was just tracing fragments of her memories. So I have no recollection of her viewing that TV show.

Eri continued, her wind-swept hair falling over her ears.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it, the birth of life? I’m not sure if I want to go through that kind of pain to have a baby when I grow up.”

“Haha, I know. It’s the fate of women, isn’t it?”

She chuckles quietly as she puts her arms around me, and the warm water shimmers comfortably in the background. I’m the only one who knows that you’ll never grow up.

“It was good, but the story of the guy who was saved by an organ transplant moved me.”

I gasped at her words.

“It’s as if someone is handing over the baton of life to someone else. I wept a little because the individual who was saved was so grateful to the donor. I quickly filed for a temporary donor registry after the show.”

“That’s wonderful, Aika. But, when you’re dead, isn’t it a little frightening to have your body used in a place you don’t know?”

“It’s a little frightening to think, but I thought it would be really nice to be able to help someone in that way.”

This kindness is what keeps me alive right now.

“Besides, I applied for it, but it’s only a declaration of intent in case something occurs, and I don’t expect to die that quickly. I have a long list of things I want to do!”

Her body and mind were constantly brimming with youth and hope. But…… you’ll die in the not-too-distant future.

I wish you were the one who was alive, not me. You’re the one who should be alive.

A gust of wind shook her skirt and lifted the fallen leaves from the roadside into the air. I stared up with her at the sky, which was high and blue, clear and unending, and seemed to celebrate the indefinite future. When I awoke to the glare of the sun, I was in a cold, gloomy, and open room where I lived alone.

“Ah…..”

My heart wrenched as tears welled up again, and I grasped the chest of my shirt. I was wondering whether my heart was trying to break through my ribs to get back to her.

After I had calmed down, I opened my mobile phone’s web browser and searched for her using her name. I had no expectations from the beginning, yet all I received in the results was a list of absolutely irrelevant sites.

If I keep dreaming like this, I wonder if I will ever find out.