high school and my sexual orientation became clearer to me, I was faced with two choices: either deceive everybody, or come out of the closet. But I still hadn’t decided which route to take, and so I had no energy to think about college. Those were the times when I was glad Mom wasn’t alive anymore. I didn’t say anything and Dad started in with one of his sermons. Grandma brought out some peaches she’d peeled and stealthily crept back to her room. I could sense that Dad was choosing his words carefully, aware that my grandparents were eavesdropping.
“If you don’t go to college, you’ll regret it. I’ve known a lot of young people who didn’t go, so I know what I’m talking about. Once they go out into the world they finally realize how blessed they’d been and regret having thrown away the chance. The girl who’s my assistant is like that. She told me she doesn’t know why she didn’t go to the photography department at the Japan Academy of Arts. She failed the exam once and never took it again. But I admire her. She got a job and is doing her best. She’s found her own path in life, wanting to be a photographer. You don’t even have that. You haven’t gone out in the world. Once you do, you’ll be sorry you didn’t take this opportunity. But then it’ll be too late.”
It’s not too late. I’m already out in what you call the world. A world of emotions that’s different from what my old man’s talking about. I wanted to tell him this, but that would mean revealing I was gay, and I wasn’t ready for that. Irritated, all I could do was pretend to sulk.
“Anyway, you like the arts, so you should go somewhere where you can study that field.”
“It’s too late,” I said, attempting a compromise. Saying it was too late was my way of buying time. I hated myself for it. Dad’s face suddenly lit up.
“It’s not too late! You can go to a cram school. I’ll find out which one’s good.”
From the next room my grandpa cleared his throat in relief. It wasn’t easy living there. After Mom died, even if Dad had wanted to move out and be free, he couldn’t. He has a twenty-year mortgage and had built a house for two families to live in. Even if Grandpa and Grandma passed away, the land would most likely go to the immediate heir: me. If it came to that, I might kick Dad out, a thought that made me feel a whole lot better. Just then my cell phone rang from in the pocket of my shorts and my father pointed to it.
“Your cell phone’s ringing.”
The screen said the caller was Toshi.
“It’s from Toshi.”
Looking somewhat tired and unhappy, Dad reached for his cigarettes. He seemed relieved it wasn’t a guy.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you.”
I was surprised to find it was a guy. Phone pressed to my ear, I slowly eased my way upstairs. Downstairs, my grandparents had come out and I could hear Dad explaining things to them. “Senior year in high school is a tough age,” he was saying. “Hard to tell if they’re adults or still kids.”
“Who the heck are you?” I asked the guy on the phone. “And what’re you doing with Toshi’s phone?” I waited until I was safely back in my room.
“You’re Kiyomi, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Instinctively, I knew the guy had picked up Toshi’s phone somewhere and was randomly dialing all the girls’ names on it. My voice is so low hardly anyone ever guesses on the phone that I’m a girl. Besides, the name Kiyomi could work for either guys or girls. The guy apologized weakly and was about to hang up.
“Hold on a sec, pal,” I said. “I’m a girl. But how’d ya get hold of that phone?”
“I found it and thought I’d return it.”
I told him all he had to do was dial the number under Home. “Got it,” he said, and then said this: “Hey—if you’re a girl how come you talk all rough like that?”
This pissed me off, so I asked him, “How the hell old are ya?”
“Seventeen. I’m a
“If you don’t go to college, you’ll regret it. I’ve known a lot of young people who didn’t go, so I know what I’m talking about. Once they go out into the world they finally realize how blessed they’d been and regret having thrown away the chance. The girl who’s my assistant is like that. She told me she doesn’t know why she didn’t go to the photography department at the Japan Academy of Arts. She failed the exam once and never took it again. But I admire her. She got a job and is doing her best. She’s found her own path in life, wanting to be a photographer. You don’t even have that. You haven’t gone out in the world. Once you do, you’ll be sorry you didn’t take this opportunity. But then it’ll be too late.”
It’s not too late. I’m already out in what you call the world. A world of emotions that’s different from what my old man’s talking about. I wanted to tell him this, but that would mean revealing I was gay, and I wasn’t ready for that. Irritated, all I could do was pretend to sulk.
“Anyway, you like the arts, so you should go somewhere where you can study that field.”
“It’s too late,” I said, attempting a compromise. Saying it was too late was my way of buying time. I hated myself for it. Dad’s face suddenly lit up.
“It’s not too late! You can go to a cram school. I’ll find out which one’s good.”
From the next room my grandpa cleared his throat in relief. It wasn’t easy living there. After Mom died, even if Dad had wanted to move out and be free, he couldn’t. He has a twenty-year mortgage and had built a house for two families to live in. Even if Grandpa and Grandma passed away, the land would most likely go to the immediate heir: me. If it came to that, I might kick Dad out, a thought that made me feel a whole lot better. Just then my cell phone rang from in the pocket of my shorts and my father pointed to it.
“Your cell phone’s ringing.”
The screen said the caller was Toshi.
“It’s from Toshi.”
Looking somewhat tired and unhappy, Dad reached for his cigarettes. He seemed relieved it wasn’t a guy.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you.”
I was surprised to find it was a guy. Phone pressed to my ear, I slowly eased my way upstairs. Downstairs, my grandparents had come out and I could hear Dad explaining things to them. “Senior year in high school is a tough age,” he was saying. “Hard to tell if they’re adults or still kids.”
“Who the heck are you?” I asked the guy on the phone. “And what’re you doing with Toshi’s phone?” I waited until I was safely back in my room.
“You’re Kiyomi, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Instinctively, I knew the guy had picked up Toshi’s phone somewhere and was randomly dialing all the girls’ names on it. My voice is so low hardly anyone ever guesses on the phone that I’m a girl. Besides, the name Kiyomi could work for either guys or girls. The guy apologized weakly and was about to hang up.
“Hold on a sec, pal,” I said. “I’m a girl. But how’d ya get hold of that phone?”
“I found it and thought I’d return it.”
I told him all he had to do was dial the number under Home. “Got it,” he said, and then said this: “Hey—if you’re a girl how come you talk all rough like that?”
This pissed me off, so I asked him, “How the hell old are ya?”
“Seventeen. I’m a
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