Removed – Chapter 9

Days one through five of training with Jiro start out fine but progressively get more uncomfortable as each session ends. I walk in every afternoon after lunch, dressed in my Nishikyō grays, close the door quietly behind me, and try to strike up an easy conversation with Jiro.

At first he seems pleased to talk with me, but our eyes slide to the cameras watching us, and the chatting dies off. I get the feeling, based on Jiro’s sullen sighs every time he glances up, whomever is watching does not want us being friendly with each other. By the end of a week together, he’s professional and closed-up, so I stop trying to talk to him.

Sakai knew what he was doing when he employed Jiro to train me because he is an amazing partner. He pushes me to the limit and never once coddles me like I asked him not to. I love the sword fighting. My situation with Jiro is awkward, but I look forward to each afternoon especially when the kata start to make sense to me. Koichi joins us too, and he is quick to compliment me when I get a move right which only makes me work harder. My small accomplishments give me hope I won’t have to just get by. I may actually be good.

Jiro is bold enough to always exercise without the constraint of a shirt (I love it and try not to stare), but then again it’s quite impossible not to. The dōjō is excessively hot. Air flow to this section of the ward must not be working properly. If we could open the windows we could get some relief, but they’re closed for a reason. I doubt they want to broadcast to the neighborhood we’re sword fighting in here every day.

During our second week in the dōjō, we have one incident when I stupidly get in Jiro’s way and injure my shoulder. My mind is so distracted with work, and not thinking, I stumble into his sword.

“Shit, Sanaa!” he yells at me. “Haven’t I been teaching you to fall away from the sword when you see it coming? How could you be so careless?”

I almost walk out on him because I’m so embarrassed by his harsh reaction. I have such a crush on him and to hear him yell at me? I harness every bit of strength I have not to cry in front of him and instead let loose my tears in the bathroom.

When I return to the mats, Jiro is calmer and reassures me it’ll never happen again. His apology keeps me from quitting, and the event changes everything for us. He suggests we take breaks and talk more regardless of the cameras, and on the ride home afterward, I can’t stop smiling.

After four weeks of practicing every day, I can tell I’m starting to impress Jiro. He is slowly losing the stern look to his face, and he smiles more often when I complete a movement correctly. He can be talkative and sweet, but also serious, so just like the first few days of our practice, I do my best to keep him engaged. On the train from Ku 1 to Ku 6, I sit and think of what to say or ask him so I can walk in the door and start up a conversation like we’re the best of friends. Believing it is part of the process.

Previous questions include: How long have you trained? “Since I could hold a sword.” Where do you live? “With my brother about six blocks from here. My parents live in the same building two floors up, but I moved out with him when he turned twenty.” Are you still in school? “No, I finished early last year and work for my father and Sakai-san now.”

He asks me questions too, and we often end up talking for some time before beginning. Damn, I have it bad for him. He is smart and funny but always reverts to his quietude, especially when practicing.

Today, I’m more comfortable than usual and want to ask him personal questions about what he does outside of training me. I take up his afternoons, but what does he do with the rest of his day?

“Jiro,” I ask as we’re taking a water break between sessions. We’ve been working on forms all afternoon, and I’m trying to pretend I’m not tired, but he’s noticed my arms sagging under the weight of the sword. The insomnia is taking its toll on my body. “What do you do when you’re not practicing? Not working?”

I stare at the floor or my water glass. I’m never sure if I’m overstepping my bounds with him. Teacher or friend? What role does he think he plays?

“What? You mean for fun? What’s that?” He laughs, and it makes me blush. I love his laugh. It reminds me of Sakai.

“Yes, fun. I know you’ve heard of it. An elusive concept, I’m sure.”

“Well, lately, I go out with my brother a lot. I like to walk the ward when it’s quiet…” he pauses. He must be debating telling me. “I draw.”

Hmmm, this is unexpected. I thought he might be into a sport or something. “Draw? As in, illustrate?”

“Yes, don’t look so surprised,” he grumbles.

“No, no.” The blush is not going away. It’s so irritating when my body won’t listen to my mind. Stop being so obvious! “Well, I am a little surprised. It wasn’t an answer I expected.”

We sit in silence for a moment, and I concentrate on cooling myself down.

“I’m horrible at drawing,” I confess. “My mind is too analytical. Best I can do is schematics and diagrams. I wanted to learn but gave up when I became too frustrated.”

He smiles at me and pokes me in the shoulder with his elbow. “I can see that. You want to break down iaido into perfect movements and get upset when you can’t do them right away.”

“You noticed, huh? I’m glad you keep pushing me… So what do you draw?”

He turns his glass around in his hand. “This and that. Images that are clear in my mind. Sometimes just places in the ward. I often pick a spot and sit with my tablet and draw whatever’s in front of me. But sometimes I imagine places I’ve never been and draw them too.”

“Like where?” I imagine him sitting with his eyes closed and calling up the same images in his head I do when I think of Yūsei or Earth before the Environmental Decline.

“The old cities. Forests, fields, trees.” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “Places I hope to see in my lifetime.”

“On Yūsei. I know. I think a lot about what life will be like there. Oceans, the sky, and clouds. Sunsets. I’ve only ever seen pictures of them. Wait. Did you draw your tattoos?” I ask but I’m sure of the answer.

“Yep.” He looks down at himself and over his shoulder, and I follow. I love looking at him. I hope my aunts aren’t home later. I have sexual tension I need to get rid of, and I doubt I can call up Chad and meet him at a love hotel ever again. I’m now spoiled by Jiro’s gorgeous body. “I drew the outline when I was fourteen. We’ve been adding to it ever since.”

“You have someone you work with?”

“Yeah, she’s amazing. Has helped me translate my line drawing into this.”

I drink the remainder of my water, knowing our rest has almost come to an end.

Clearing my throat, I feel the nerves wanting to make my hands shake. “I’d love to see your other drawings. I mean, if you wanted to show them to me. You don’t have to, of course.” Stop stammering, Sanaa.

“I’ve only ever shown my mother,” he says, standing and offering a hand to help me up.

“Oh, okay. Well…” Stupid. That’s just too personal, I guess.

“We’ll see.”

Huh. “We’ll see” is a whole lot better than no. Maybe I’ll win him over yet.