The train rumbled on, the cushioned seat uneven underneath me. Around were the supports of faded wood and plastered posters all over the walls: a play down in Tokyo, another mellow peach drink, and one where the rules of the company were drawn over with crayons of varying red. A small smiley face looked on from the corner of it.

  "Are you going to eat that?" my father asked, his chopsticks pointing at an uneaten piece of mackerel. Shaking my head no, his face lit up. He speared it quickly and precisely, dragging it over to his bento as the poor fish dangled in the air.

  A lady from a few seats over wrinkled her nose at him.

  His rough jacket lay beside him as he enjoyed his meal, growing stubble highlighted ever so by the sunlight that peered through the window. He eventually shifted his glasses away from the light to stop the glare, but the dark oak bags and a brightly tired smile were hard to ignore. He refused to nap earlier, but I couldn't blame him. It was hard to try and do so under the sound of a baby's cry. Two had made their way onto the train, and I only found time to sleep in short intervals before the whimpers and hushings started again. As annoying as it was, part of me wondered if I was like that at some point.

  My mother used to take pride in the fact that their daughter looked like her when I was young. 'Pretty brown pearls and fingers that could dance with the stars, ' she triumphantly stated, teasing my father on how she had won the race. Of course, he had always joked differently, pointing out the goofy, lopsided grin that would paint my face when I was happy- a characteristic he said came from his mother. He had no proof, however. The days we visited my grandmother were ones I particularly dreaded. Serious and annoyed, her house smelled of weary souls. Lo and behold, a smile was never painted onto her face. At most, I was given a nod of approval after a piano recital of mine; a murmur to her son soon after, and out the door she went. We never talked much to her after one fateful summer day. I was too young to understand, and I particularly didn't care much either. All I hoped was that I didn’t turn out to be like the rest of her, too.

  Resting my head against a hand, I turned toward the window and watched the world outside, short hair brushing against my neck. A few strands overlapped my eyes, but I didn’t move them. Not that there was much to see, anyway. Hues of red, orange, and yellow. Comforting in their own right, but I'd gotten used to seeing them. It was on these sorts of days that I missed seeing the birds out in the open, the flowers, the non-muddled river. In all honesty, I used to hate the color green, but I've started to envy it more and more.

  The rustling of papers caught my attention. Across from me, my father finally finished his meal. He wiped his fingers off on a napkin, oily residue lingering on the paper once he removed them. I had no idea why, but a small smile formed on my face. "The meal was that good?"

  "I haven't eaten since yesterday, Kaho. Give me a break," he chuckled, before smelling his fingertips. I could already imagine the smell of fish on them, but I didn't say anything.

  The silence fell upon us not long after. I’d occasionally sneak a glance at my father, who was busy now reading a newspaper.

  I don’t think he realized it was the first time he said my name in weeks.

  ?

  We came to a stop a few hours away from where we needed to be. No functional train station resided at our final location, so a car was necessary for the remainder of the journey.

  I waited outside the building, fiddling with a white cassette player as the muffled sound of my father arguing drifted through the glass. A sign in bright red lights and lettering hung above:

  MOMO’S R NT-A-CAR

  The missing letter sat dimmed next to me, leaning against the wall as if it too were waiting.

  My fingers fumbled with the rewind button, the cold object alien underneath my touch. The slight hiss of rewinding tape filled the air as fragments of Miki’s voice echoed, only drowned by the occasional sound of an engine driving by. After what felt like an instant, however, the cassette's reels came to a sudden stop, an eerie silence following suit. I blinked for a few moments, trying to comprehend what had just happened. I took a quick look left and right to make sure no one was coming. In the clear, my chest finally let out a held breath, allowing me to hit the play button.

  I fell in love with Miki‘s music not too long ago. Introduced to her by a friend who had come waving a tape after school one day. We all huddled around the park table, desperate to hear a glimpse of music over the chatter of others. I still remember the first time I heard those opening notes, and the warmth that flooded my body as Miki’s voice rang out. The synth, the saxophones… all of it breathtaking. I still recall that I never really listened to the lyrics much on that first listen. I was too caught up in the moment. Black notes came more naturally to me. Words did not. I don’t remember where or when I even got my cassette player. It wasn’t from my father or my mother, that was for sure. It had magically appeared in my backpack one day after band club, and I never bothered to use it in fear that it was someone else’s that I had accidentally stolen. However, it didn’t matter much now that we were moving. Part of me wondered if they knew it was gone...

  Stolen story; please report.

  The moon was starting to peek above the clouds. Letting my back rest against the wall, my eyes wandered up to watch. Heavy clouds rolled on by, and the last of the birds were making their way home, too. Music mixed in the air with the sounds of engines and-

  Click.

  The music stopped.

  Looking down, a small light was blinking. Low power. Eyes wide, I turned the machine off quickly before staring at it for a moment. Taking off the back, I grabbed the batteries and reinserted them, seeing if that would work. Nope. Panic was starting to set in. I shook it in a final, desperate attempt. Nothing.

  Sighing, I handled the cassette player in my palms before slipping it softly into my jacket pocket. That… was annoying. With nothing else to do, I cleared my throat and looked around. The streetlights were now turning on. Barely anyone was still out, aside from a woman who rushed down the sidewalk, groceries in hand. The birds were all gone and replaced by the autumn wind that whispered across my neck. Something did end up catching my eye, however. Across the street was a small general store whose sign was painted on rather than lit. Tomaru, it was named. Resting between a laundromat and an arcade, its door was slightly open, a faint yellow glow emitting from it. I stared at it, lost in thought, then turned back toward the window where my father was still deep in argument with the clerk.

  I figured I had time.

  Pulling the sleeves over my hands and dusting off my baby blue shoes, I checked both ways and crossed the street.

  ?

  There was an old man sitting behind the counter, a suitcase beside him, wiping off the surface with a paper towel. The faint smell of coffee wafted through the air, and a ticking clock joined in on the melody. Upon entering, he glanced up and gave a small, apologetic smile.

  “My apologies, but we’re closing the store in five minutes.”

  I raised an eyebrow, eyes wandering over to a handwritten poster that hung near the entrance. Wasn’t the store supposed to be open until 9:00? It was only 7:00, the last time I checked. Looking at my face, he seemed to have read my mind.

  “I’ve got a long drive ahead tonight. Today is my daughter’s birthday,” the man chuckled, tossing the towel in a nearby trash can. “So hurry, so we can both get out of here.”

  Nodding, I gave a small bow. “I understand.”

  My footsteps echoed softly in the empty store. Although I was on the hunt for batteries, I couldn’t also ignore the fact I actually hadn’t eaten much at all today, either. I grabbed a melon bread from one of the shelves and eyed one of the sodas from the fridge before deciding against it. There was still a water bottle that sat at the bottom of my bag. Maybe tomorrow, I could get one in town then. My eyes avoided the temptation of the other drinks as I walked past, keeping them fixated on the other shelves as I turned the corner to the aisle next to, searching.

  A few minutes passed before I eventually found the batteries, tucked in a far corner of the store next to a few brightly colored toys and activity packets. I let out a sigh of relief and picked out the ones I needed before making my way back. The man was waiting as I did so, his weary fingers rolling against the counter, counting in time with the clock.

  “Found everything you need?”

  “Yes, sir.” I placed the items in front of him and began searching my pockets for my wallet.

  “Melon bread and batteries… never seen that combination before,” he chuckled, taking them and scanning. “That’s 220￥.”

  I pulled out the cassette player for a brief moment and grabbed the wallet that lay underneath. Opening it, I fiddled around for three coins, ignoring the smiling family that looked back at me. Finally, my fingers wrapped around the yen, and I placed those on the counter, too. The man nodded and took them, opening his register to give me change.

  “I’m sorry for asking, but you’re not from around here, are you?” his voice rising above the sound of coins clinking as he shuffled through them.

  “Was it that obvious?” I answered with a dry smile.

  The old man let out a hearty laugh at that, handing me the yen. “You tend to differentiate residents and visitors after working in a store for decades,” he explained. “City folk like you tend to have those around.” He pointed at my cassette player, which I still held delicately in my hand. “Though, usually, I’d see earphones being worn with those…”

  “I… uh, lost them,” I lied sheepishly, lowering my eyes slightly.

  “Ah. How unfortunate.”

  A moment of awkward silence befell us. Not that I had much to say anyway. Between the ticking clock and the small guilt building up inside of me, there was no need to initiate anything, anymore at all. The man handed me my change and wished me well. I gave a small, respectful bow, said thank you, and went on my way.

  ?

  I couldn’t tell if my father was mad or disappointed. If I had to make a guess, it was probably both. I didn’t bother to apologize; we were both too tired to say much. I think he understood anyway. I unwrapped the melon bread and took a small bite, watching as he slowly maneuvered the red car out of the garage and onto the open road. The sun was now far gone, and the moon shone brightly on stage. The stars danced beside it, angles changing every time we turned a corner or came to a slow.

  “Keep an eye out for a signs that say Hanakaze,” he told me, his voice coarse.

  A small nod was all that was needed to satisfy him.

  ╚???╗?╔???╝