#nana56b
Lines from the story
Ever since I can remember, my older
sister’s right side has been paralyzed.
The unnatural shuffling sound of her
footsteps with every step… That was my
“daily life,” and at the same time, the
source of my “loathing.”
In my childhood memories, my sister and I
were always arguing.
“Don’t come over here.”
“That way of walking is embarrassing,
isn’t it?”
When I hurled those heartless words at her,
my sister would sometimes snap back, and
other times she would just smile sadly with
her eyes downcast. As we grew older, even
those arguments ceased, and only a cold
silence filled the house.
It’s been three years since I entered the
workforce. I’m getting married to the
girlfriend I’ve been with since college.
As the eldest son, I had always intended to
eventually move back in with my parents,
but the presence of my “sister” cast a
shadow over that plan. I hadn’t hidden my
sister’s disability from my fiancée, but I
hadn’t actively brought it up either. The
same went for my friends and colleagues.
Deep down, I harbored a petty,
self-centered fear: I didn’t want to
invite my sister—with her physical
limitations and the stares she would surely
attract—to my wedding.
My sister continued to live quietly at our
parents’ house, with no sign of marriage
in sight. I worried that her presence might
restrict our lifestyle or affect how others
viewed us. Using such selfish reasoning, I
kept my sister at a distance, and the rift
between me and my family only grew deeper.
It was a cloudless, clear autumn day, just
five days before the wedding.
Under a piercingly blue sky, my phone
vibrated as I was on my way to a client’s
office.
My mother’s voice, sounding as if she were
about to collapse, came through the receiver.
She told me that on her way back from the
bank in her wheelchair, my sister had been
struck by a large dump truck…
A shock ran through my entire body, as if
my heart had been gripped directly.
It seemed my sister had lost her life in an
instant.
The next day, in the morgue of the police
station, where a heavy atmosphere hung in
the air, we received my sister’s
belongings.
A well-worn bag, terribly dirty shoes…
And inside the bag we received was an
envelope containing ten 10,000-yen bills
and a single sheet of stationery.
“To Shota. Congratulations on your
wedding.
I’ve been such a useless older sister,
and I’ve caused you so much trouble all
these years. I’m sorry.
This is the best I can do to celebrate
your wedding.
Please be happy.”
That must have been money she’d
painstakingly saved from her meager
…
