Punks

It was Sunday afternoon in January. I helped Kuwata re-dye his hair black in the bathroom of Murai’s house. After brushing it, he looked at mine. “K, your hair is a little lighter too.” he said. I used to bleach it during summer vacation to make me cool, but I had put it all back before the start of the second semester. As he said, I kind of knew it was losing its color. I would be called over the PA system in my school. “You had better dye yours,” he picked the back of my hair. “I’ll blacken it.” I doubted if he would be doing it right because I found he shallow and dishonest.

“Before that, pay the money back for the previous karaoke.”I said, holding out my palm. “I’II do it. I’II do,” he studied his reflection in the mirror and made a wry face. He insisted that instead of returning the money, he would dye my hair by using the rest of the dye bottle he had bought. “Sit down there,” he said. I refused to, but he pushed my shoulders down.

I knelt on the bathroom tiles. I was faint-hearted enough to be under his thumb. He begun to brush my hair. In the bathroom there were also Murai and Shiota, an eccentric person with artistic talent. Although he has a pierce hole the size of coin, I had been impressed by his playing piano. However, a certain memory came bak to me. I had been seventh grade and read manga he had drawn, where he represented vulgarity, malice and inhumanity.

There was something fishy around me. “It’s okay. I’ll do it myself,” I said. “Wait. Don’t move. Close your eyes in case liquid drips.” I did as he said. Kuwata was taking his time. I heard three boys chucking, perhaps thinking a cunning plot. Still I was kneeling, head bowed, eyes closed. Somebody grabbed a fistful of my hair. Perhaps Shiota handled it roughly. “Poor thing. Ha-ha! Poor thing. School tomorrow. What is he going to do? Ha-ha!”Murai asked. “Shhh!”said Kuwata. “What happened?”I asked. “Good, good, very nice.” he said.

That was the part about Murai that I really hated. The way the more punks are in his house, the more he harmonizes with them. I knew deep down he looked down on me.

They released me. “It’s done. You have to leave the dye for a while,” said Kuwata. I rose to my feet, went to the changing room and surveyed my hair in the mirror. Of course, nothing happened. After fifteen minutes, it had not changed at all. When I turned around as I eyed it with a sense of relief, I realized he dyed my back hair only blond. Its color was very uneven. Shiota gave me vulgar rough. I was about to cry. How am I supposed to get home?Kuwano said; “You looks so cool, I’ll introduce you to beautiful girls, who would love you.” They burst out laughing.

“Give me my money back,” I said. “The dye bottle empty, because of you,” he said. “This was very expensive.” Shiota and Murai was chuckling. I was convinced the money would not return to me. I did think they always humiliated me. I had been foolish enough to try to get along with them. After all, Shiota handed me a towel to cover around my head.

Shiota and I were on our way home from Murai’s house. “Kuwata is such a jerk. I haven’t got my money back from him either. That’s who he is,”he said. I remained quiet, thinking he might take his side. “You should blacken it immediately,” he said. I nodded like I understood. “I’ll get it right away for you.” He would be able to get it easily. Shoplifting. I thought. “No. Anyway, I go home … Then, I’ll buy it myself,” I said and changed the subject. “Do you keep practicing piano? You are talented.” He looked away from me, saying: “See you.”

The next morning I did not get up out of my bed. After eating lunch at home, I could barely work up the energy to go to school. It was also common for me to attend from afternoon classes. When I enter the classroom with my school bag during lunch hour, my classmates would pretend not to see me while  I feel lonely. At any rate, I would be told to repeat a year because of the lack of my attendance days. 

It was the fifth period ethics class. From my seat in the corner of the classroom, I looked out through the glass window. It was raining outside. I was occupied with yesterday’s nightmare. The drops of rain scattered down and the dew on the leaves in the darkness was akin to tears. 

Murai never visited me. I wondered if he felt guilty. A week later, Okada, who went to the same stupid school as Kuwata and Shiota, came to my house for the first time. I felt something odd. When we were ninth grade, for some reason, he had refused to go to school; I called him from time to time, only to talk his mother. Now he was standing in front of me. He had reddish hair with a earring in his left lobe.

“Lets’ hang out,” he said. “Everyone is waiting for you in the park(at that time, some parks were hangouts for juvenile delinquents).” “Sorry, I didn’t feel like doing that. Maybe some other time.”I said, and just as I closed the door, he jerked its knob by the hand. “Come. Come out.” “No,” I tried to close it, but he kept doing. “Please. You won’t stay so long there. Come.” I reluctantly went out. I thought this was the last time I would see them, so I made up my mind to go there. “I know what you mean,” I said. “We’ll compensate you for something,” he said soberly.

In front of my house is the park. We were ascending the stairway to it. I was reminded of going to school with him singing the popular songs–WANDS,T-BOLAN, and B’z–when we were seventh grade. We were long distance runners. After running under summer sun, we once enjoyed swimming.

In the darkness they had smoked their cigarettes. Leaning around the pull-up bars were Shiota and Abe. By them Murai was standing. Okada, whose cigarette was burning in his holder, and I walked over them. Suddenly, Shiota hit me, followed by Okada. I tried to run away. “Where are you going?”Abe jump-kicked me, Murai laughing and laughing. Shiota hit me again and again, banging the back of my head against the ground. I could see stars both in the sky and in my head. I did not get up until they were finished. 

I staggered dizzily home from the park. After a couple of hours the telephone rang in the dining room. I went to answer it.“I’m really sorry … sorry … sorry … so sorry … Forgive me …”the voice was Okada.