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Encounters #1 (Concluded)
First year Kitagawa harasses first year Ikezawa. Cornered, Ikezawa snaps and pushes her tormentor away, who – unluckily – falls down a staircase and sustains minor injuries. Incidents like this one aren't rare. Presumably, most of them will not come to the attention of Yamaku's administration, as the students work them out amongst themselves. In this case, a week's suspension is as much a time-out as it is an official reproach. It is a calming-down period; neither of the two students involved would have wanted to return to class straight away. This is certainly true for Ikezawa, who hates being looked at and frightens easily. Mutou doesn't know Kitagawa; and Takeuichi has revealed little more than that she keeps to herself.
To finish off the one week period, they have an apology session. The principal knows what he is doing: If things go well (or well enough), the ceremony provides closure for the students involved. The event is over and done with. They can move on. If things do not go so well, this event will serves as a reminder that Yamaku, for all the freedoms it grants, does not condone certain behaviour: any further offence will not be treated as lightly, though specifics are left to the respective students imagination. Finally, the respective homeroom teachers get to observe how their students behave under pressure and deal with conflict. This provides valuable information for further dealing with them. These sessions make sense. They are useful. Overall, the chances are good that they serve social coherence here at Yamaku. They are a valuable in mitigating, if not resolving conflicts. Mutou hates them.
Right now, Ikezawa is walking beside him, maybe half a pace behind, her scarred side facing the wall. Earlier today, Mutou has briefed her on what to expect, on what is expected of her. She barely responded beyond “yes” or “no”. She was sitting opposite of him, a seating order he now thinks was not optimal – too confrontational. They should have sat at an angle to allow them to look past each other while still holding a conversation. Luckily, the seating order in the principal's office will reflect this. To his relief, Ikezawa has never once tried to wriggle out of the session. Even now, she seems determined to take responsibility. Ikezawa seems a strange bundle of responsibility and anxiety, stepping back when she needs to, stepping forward when she has to. In the future, it may be best to give her the space she needs; that way she could conserve the energy she needs for the emergencies. She had a week now, and as far as Mutou can tell (which is none too far, if he is honest), she is prepared.
Finally, they stop shortly before the principal's office. The door is open, and he wants to give Ikezawa a moment to collect herself. Mutou turns towards her: She stand hunched, looks to the ground. He's still uncertain how to handle that. “Well, here we are,” he says.
“Y-yes.”
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
They walk on, through the open door. The principal sits behind his desk. As always, four chairs are arranged before the desk, two on either side at an angle, so that desk and chairs almost describe a trapezoid. That way, should anyone stare straight ahead, they face no-one, and with a minimal turning of the head, everyone can face everyone. Takeuchi and his student have already arrived. Everyone rises. They exchange bows, and then take their seat.
The principal makes his introductory speech. Mutou listens for cues more than content; he has heard variations of this speech often enough. Instead, he glances at the other student, Kitagawa, whom he hasn't seen before. She doesn't have the defiant look he has half-expected. Instead, she looks intently at the principal and listens. Or pretends to listen? Her rapt attention might also be a way to avoid facing Ikezawa. Is she feeling guilty? Mutou's gaze strays sideways, on to Takeuichi. For a brief moment, their eyes meet. Then Takeuichi adjusts his glasses and looks away.
The principal's speech boils down to how their frustrations may be understandable, but how one should let frustrations dictate one's actions, and how a school like Yamaku cannot exist without the efforts of everyone involved. Beside Mutou, Ikezawa sits stiffly, looking at her knees. Eventually, the principal talks about the suspensions, about thinking time, and then the word “apologise” falls: “Miss Kitagawa, Miss Ikezawa, you have – I am told – both agreed to apologise for your involvement in this affair. I will shortly ask you to do so. But before that I would encourage you to ask questions, or raise issues that may be problematic you. If anything is on your mind, please do not hesitate to bring it up.”
Silence. Not many students bring up issues at that point. Ikezawa will want to get this over with as soon as possible. Kitagawa? Mutou studies her. Is it his imagination, or have her eyes narrowed slightly?
“Well, then,” the principal continues, “it is best we take apologies in the order of the contentious events. Miss Kitagawa?”
Kitagawa faces the principal with little of the awe a first year would normally feel. She closes her eyes briefly, then turns to face Ikezawa. Her gaze swerves towards him, lingers on him for a moment, before it refocuses on Ikezawa. She rises, and – to Mutou's surprise – returns her attention to the principal. “I apologise for disrupting the peace here at Yamaku. I am aware that running such an institution is not easy, and through my selfish actions I have made it even harder. I will do my best not to cause further problems.” She bows, and keeps her head lowered for just a little too long. When her head comes up again, the principal nods, and she turns once again towards Ikezawa. She seems strangely stiff, now. Mutou is quite sure authority means little to this girl; her posture reveals no extra-ordinary respect. But the timing of her bow? Mutou couldn't tell if it was subtle mockery or a sense of time tainted by nerves. It is clear, though, that Ikezawa makes her more nervous than the principal did. Why? “And I apologise to Miss Ikezawa,” she continues, her voice firm. “What I have done is inexcusable. Please know that my words were calculated to maximise discomfort, not truth. I am, myself, in a bad place, and you presented an easy target. Having been at the receiving end of such behaviour in the past, I have no respect for it. I disgraced myself and discomforted you, in the process. It is for the latter that I apologise.” She bows again, but this time the timing is impeccable.
A short silence follows, and before everyone can focus on Ikezawa, she speaks:“I-it's okay,”.she says. “I-I'm sorry, too.” Simple words. She does not rise from her chair, she does not bow. She is trembling slightly. Mutou hopes Kitagawa will see and honour the effort.
Kitagawa stands and looks at her, and for a while it looks as if she was going to speak again, but then she nods just once and sits down. The apologies are done with, but she seems... more tense than before. Mutou cannot read her. He turns to Takeuchi for a clue, but Takeuchi is busy watching her. Mutou can see the worry in his body language, and this, in turn, worries him. Takeuchi
never lets down his mask of serenity. Is she
that difficult?
That unpredictable?
The principal looks around the room, and then: “So, if we are finished...”
“No...” The word is barely more than a breath, but the principal pauses and turns.
“Miss Kitagawa?”
She doesn't look up. She is as stiff as Ikezawa now. Her hands are balled into fists. “I thought I could do this, but I can't.”
With a calm authority practised through years, the principal speaks: “Please explain.”
“I do not retract my apologies. I've done wrong, but... I can't stand it. I can't stand hearing her say things like 'it's okay,' or 'I'm sorry, too'. I, in her place, wouldn't have said that. It's... I know what it's like to be on the receiving end. It's deadening. Eventually, you lash out. And that is
wrong? Accepting an apology like that is like... like... like siding with the bullies. It's false. It's insincere. I'm in the wrong here, and she isn't. And if it that isn't so, then why am I apologising in the first place. None of this makes sense. Nothing will change. I will avoid her, and she'll avoid... almost everyone. I know people are mean. She knows people are mean. And now I know
I can be as mean. And I'm supposed to be glad that she apologises? How is that supposed to work as
relief? Accepting her apology is a lie. Being apologised to is making me feel worse. It's as if there's no way out. You can't take it, and you can't defend yourself. You're utterly and completely at the mercy of your tormentors. I just don't get it.”
The principal, bless his patience, nods. “Accepting an apology can be as hard as giving one. Apologising is a two-way road. At least here in Yamaku, it is about understanding each other. We are not looking for a villain. We are trying to avoid future incidents.” He turns to Ikezawa. “Miss Ikezawa, maybe it would help Miss Kitagawa if you were to explain why you apologised.”
Ikezawa trembles. Nobody disturbs the silence until she speaks. “I d-don't want to be angry f-forever. It m-makes me s-strange ins-side...” Her stutter is more severe than usual.
A strange smile appears on Kitagawa's face. Her voice is almost tender. “You still worry about being strange inside? I have gone strange inside a long time ago. I want to try something. I want to say a sentence and hear how you feel about it. If you agree to this, you can ask me anything, and I will answer even if I'd rather not. But beware, I will be as honest as I can be. So don't ask questions you can't bare to have answered.”
“Okay.” No hesitation. Her trembling has let off, but now she looks incredibly tense.
“Fine, so here's the sentence: 'If I apologise, they will go away and leave me alone.'” Kitagawa has spoken, and the room falls silent. Takeuchi leans back in his chair to have a better look at Kitagawa. The principal's expression doesn't change at all. Ikezawa is silent for a long while. Then: “N-not always. Sometimes you have t-to lock the door.”
“You don't have to answer, but I have to ask,” Kitagawa says. “Are you sure you're sorry?” She raises her little finger, bandaged and stabilised, for everyone to see, but Ikezawa is only looking down. “Does apologising make you feel less stranger inside? Or is this something you have to do so others leave you alone?”
“I-I shouldn't have... pushed you d-down the stairs. I shouldn't...”
“No? What else could you have done? I was in the zone – and I'll stop here, because I'm getting frightfully close to that zone – but I can tell you I wouldn't have stopped.”
“I sh-shouldn't...” It looks like she's slipping into some sort of fit, but she stops mumbling instead and her breath slows down. And then she surprises everyone in the room. “W-why were you not surprised?”
For a moment, Kitagawa stares at her blankly. Then: “Oh, is that your question?”
“Y-yes.”
“I'm not sure what you are asking.”
“W-when you saw my scars, you were not s-surprised. Why?”
“Oh, I see.” Kitagawa chuckles. “I hate to tell you, but I was as surprised as anyone. But where I come from it's not wise to show your feelings. Basically, being surprised doesn't catch me off guard, so it doesn't show on my face.”
“Oh.” Ikezawa looks down. “I was c-confused. N-normally, people are surprised and then try to be nice. You were... different.”
“Don't misunderstand,” Kitagawa says. “Your scars aren't half as hideous as you think. When I apologised I said that I didn't mean the things I said the way I said them, didn't I? For example, I don't think you're a monster. Not at all. It's just... you're so apologetic. Your apologising with... with every gesture, and I can't stand that. It makes me angry. I'm containing my anger right now. I really only want to run away. Please understand. I don't hate you, but no good can come from us meeting.” Even Kitagawa is looking down now. Her knuckles are white with the strain. “Do you understand?”
Strangely, Ikezawa calms down. “Y-yes.”
And the office falls silent. Not even the principal seems to know what to do. Kitagawa has taken charge of the situation and the result? What it resembles most is a non-aggression pact. Mutou is unsure whether that is a good or a bad thing. Ikezawa doesn't tremble, but she is strangely subdued. What has just happened? Normally, the students walk off one after the other, glad that the situation is over. But this? It looks like a key moment for both of them. And yet they basically agreed to ignore each other and not resolve anything.
Eventually, the principal dismisses them with some formalisms. Mutou and Ikezawa leave first. Once outside, Mutou feels like he should say something. “You've done well,” he says, but it sounds empty to him. Ikezawa doesn't react. They walk along the corridor, and when they reach the stairs, Mutou stops. “You can take the day off,” he says, but again Ikezawa doesn't react. He adds, “If you like.”
She looks up at him for a long time, then closes her eyes. “Th-thank you.” And without further words she turns and walks away. As Mutou watches her retreating back, he realises he has just set a precedent. And he is completely unsure if he has done the right thing. Maybe he should have waited for her to make a move? When will she come back to class? How will she behave? How will she face her classmates? So far, she has always been early. Mutou has often wondered why. He thinks it is because entering a classroom full of people draws attention. But something in her seemed... different just now. A little less worried, perhaps, about her appearance; a little more worried about her behaviour.
Mutou takes a deep breath and looks up the stairs. Supervised self-study can't last forever; he has a job to do. Quantum theory might be ultimately incomprehensible, but at least there are formulae that help you build a laser. His students minds? A black hole that sucks up all meaning. He's come frightfully close to the event horizon today...
***
When they leave the principal's office, Kitagawa says, “I need to go somewhere, and... scream.”
This sounds like an understatement to Takeuchi. “I have no objection,” he says. “Be sure to come back one day.”
She is taller than he is, so, when she turns, she looks down at him. “One day?”
“Preferably, soon. Maybe today.”
“Are you sure you are a teacher?”
“Forcing you to go to class now teaches you nothing,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “And I admit to having been worried you'd snap right in there. So, off you go, preferably to somewhere lonely, and do what you must. Hurt no-one, destroy nothing, and come back. I don't need details.” He might even be proud of the restraint she has shown in there, but he is too confused to tell. Effectively, she has just told a girl who thinks that everyone hates her for her scars that it's not her scars, it's herself. That might even be a good thing. In the long run. Interestingly, she has stayed within the boundaries that their honourable principal has set. Honesty is quite admirable, isn't it? Takeuchi cannot tell if Kitagawa has deliberately called their bluff, or if she simply did her best not blow up in there. Maybe this is just who she is? Or can be?
Kitagawa looks at him some more, then nods and runs off. He only barely stops himself from calling, “No running in the hallways.” But an inside joke based on the reports he has read might not be a good idea right now. Kitagawa Miyako radiates an overwhelming aura of sadness, pain, despair. As if those feelings are all she has left to share. All of that a furious projectile hurled into the morass of shame that is Ikezawa Hanako's aura, where it lands and sinks at the same speed as praise probably would. The universe has a strange sense of humour to let them meet like that. Takeuchi says a silent prayer of thanks to any god who might listen. They could have
both been in his class.
