How High We Go in the Dark(70)

Akira leaves Seiji’s with a messenger bag filled with newsletters. He marches out to the nearest busy intersection, right outside of a business park fountain. He waves the newsletters over his head and shouts out headlines: Wake up and read the real news here! Spilled Water Does Not Return to the Tray! Wake up from your corporate dreams and see the world! A steady stream of people pass Akira from all directions; they do not stop or pay him any mind.

“Hey, you look like you might be a reasonable man,” Akira says, shoving a newsletter into the arms of a young office worker. The man jumps when Akira approaches but takes the newsletter and walks on.

“Miss, could I bother you for a moment? Sir, have you heard about the electromagnetic wave pollution? Excuse me, excuse me,” Akira says. Across the street, he sees another street canvasser for a mortuary planning phone app. The woman is standing with someone in a pink coffin costume who dances around, passing out tissue packets, hand fans, and visors. People stop to pose with the coffin and chat with the canvasser and Akira realizes that he’s at a disadvantage without any kind of swag to offer.

“Spilled water does not return to the tray,” Akira says again. “The plague has shown us the way. Say no to capitalism and yes to community. Say yes to your fellow human being.” Akira is about to pass out another newsletter when he feels a hand violently pulling him away from the sidewalk.

“Leave immediately,” a police officer says to Akira. He’s an older, barrel-chested man with tinted plastic glasses. His eyes are trained on Akira, unmoving. “We will not tolerate extremist propaganda on our property. You are a nuisance. Show me your ID card.”

“I don’t have it on me,” Akira says.

“What is your name?” The officer takes out a tablet and stylus from his pocket.

“Kenta Oe,” Akira says, proud of his spontaneous bullshitting. “From Saitama.” The officer takes one of the newsletters and pushes Akira in the direction of the nearest train station.

Having little luck in a downtown area, Akira picks a new spot outside of Harajuku Station. The mix of a younger, more alternative crowd might be more welcoming. At first, he is shy about giving the papers to people close to his age, barely raises his voice, feels ashamed for his torn jeans and dirty T-shirt while in one of the fashion capitals of the world. People take the papers without a thought, continue walking as if it’s a coupon book or a flyer for a concert. But he sees some kids reading them over sodas and burgers and shaved ice. He hears a young woman say maybe they’re not all lunatics as her husband or boyfriend throws the newsletter in the trash.

Before returning to the virtual cafe that night, Akira stops by Ameyoko Market, watches Yoshiko break down her stall for the evening, and wishes he had the courage to walk up to her like some Hollywood lover boy. In his cafe cubicle, he anxiously waits for Yoshiko to arrive in-world, so he can tell her about his day. He wonders what proportion of happy moments to sad ones is necessary for a person to sincerely want to keep living and hopes he and Yoshiko can get there together. Akira takes out a copy of the Sun Wave Society newsletter that he kept for himself to pass the time. He is surprised to find himself agreeing with much of what he reads. Perhaps not the end of the world part or the mysterious tenth planet that will supposedly cause the magnetic poles to shift, resulting in global catastrophe, but the underlying spirit of it all. He sees the responsibility we must take for the planet, our home, ensuring a future for the next generation. He imagines people on the street looking up from their phones and into each other’s eyes— Hello, how are you? Why are you so sad? How can we do better?

A melodic chime rings, alerting Akira that Yoshiko has entered the virtual world. He transports himself to her store and finds her outside in the English garden she has created, populating the scene with butterflies. Akira listens to the sound of her wings, watches her hooves kick dirt into the air that glitters like a cloud of fireflies. An ellipsis appears in the air, telling Akira that Yoshiko is typing. It soon disappears without a word sent.

“Is your microphone not on?” Akira asks. He moves closer to Yoshiko and strokes her mane.

“Sorry,” she says. “I guess I needed silence for a while. It’s nice to have so much control here. These butterflies, the fish in the lake over there, the way the clouds in the sky morph into impossible shapes—my mother’s face, the Eiffel Tower, a grand piano.”

“They’re beautiful,” Akira says. He extends a hand into the air and waits for an iridescent butterfly to land on his palm. In the distance, Akira can see a tiny figure standing on a dock over the lake, a little girl. “Who is that?”

“My daughter,” Yoshiko says, barely above a whisper. She gets up and moves toward the garden’s fence, stares out at the lake. “Ten thousand in-world gems to transform a video on my phone into a virtual model. If I press play, she’ll dance like we used to every day after she came home from school. She’ll laugh and say again, again, faster, faster. I don’t know what I expected. But it’s not her. If I press play now, she’ll fall into the lake. I’ve done it once already, clutching her hand as we sank below the surface.”

“I thought you had changed your mind about all of that,” Akira says.

“A few good days doesn’t change anything,” Yoshiko says. “My daughter is still in pain and can’t communicate with me. No one can help.”