Free Nan-Core by Mahokaru Numata Page A

store, when Mitsuko ripped open the bag of popcorn she had just bought and plunged her hand in and started to munch away.
    “Want some?”
    She held the bag out, so I took a little. We walked a little more, reaching the fountain in front of the art museum.
    “Want to sit?” Mitsuko asked another question, and we found a bench to sit on. Without warning, she reached over and flicked away some popcorn that was stuck to my top.
    “The frills on your blouse are really cute. Where did you get it?” she asked, but went to throw the empty bag into the bin nearby instead of paying attention to my answer. When she got back she pulled open another bag of candy and began to eat them at a leisurely pace. She held the bag out to me with a questioning hum. “So, got any plans for today?”
    I didn’t know how to respond to a question like that.
    “What was your name? I forget.”
    I told her my name, then guessing it might seem strange to leave it at that, followed by asking the question that had been on my mind the whole time. “What happened to your hand?”
    “Oh, this?” She brought her left wrist to her face and examined the bandage where some blood had seeped through. “This was yesterday. I cut myself again.”
    I didn’t say anything, as I didn’t quite follow her meaning. No one talked about cutting back then—I think the trend was yet to set in, or maybe I was just unaware of it.
    Mitsuko poked out her chin, unimpressed with my ignorance. She started to explain wrist-cutting to me, her voice pitched high, child-like. Her makeup was so thick I couldn’t imagine what she’d look like without it. She didn’t look human, it was like an android or something was talking at me.
    She told me she’d first tried it because it was trendy in America. She said she’d kept it up because it made her feel fashionable, because the bandages were cool, and because the bleeding helped clear her head. And before she realized, she was addicted.
    When she finished talking she jumped to her feet and brushed some candy crumbs from her knees, then said “See ya!” and hurried out of sight.
    After that, whenever we saw each other at school Mitsukowould come over and say hi, sometimes wrapping her arm around mine. We bumped into each other a lot, so I had to assume she was seeking me out on purpose.
    After the third or so invitation, I visited her apartment. It was obvious from the room that she had no problems with money, so I figured she probably had a decent allowance coming in. Everything in the room, from the cushions to the curtains and wall hangings all bore a profusion of flower prints, frills, lamé, and beading, and her cosmetics alone could fill up a clothes trunk. The room was full with the heavy tang of perfume, old clothing, sweat, and blood. It was the first time I visited someone’s room and, more importantly, it was the first time I chatted at length one on one.
    I got the strong impression that it was the same for Mitsuko. We had become friends, it seemed, and yet neither of us really knew how one was supposed to handle a friend. She made some tea and we sat for something like half an hour. The whole time she was engrossed in eating popcorn and uncharacteristically laconic. We didn’t do anything else that day, but when I was about to leave she presented me with a spare key.
    “Hey, hey, so after you left I made a really deep cut,” she said the next day, as if it was an afterthought, holding up her hand wrapped in thick bandages. “You’ll come again today?”
    On the way over I got her to wait while I picked up some dried
nori
seaweed and a few pounds of rice from the local supermarket. With the apparently unused rice cooker in her kitchen, I boiled the rice and rolled it into bite-sized chunks, each as big as half an egg, and wrapped them in thin strips of seaweed before telling Mitsuko to try them. Watching her eat nothing but candy made me feel terrible. She protested at first, saying anything other than