An Education
Last Edited:
Entirely fictional, word for word
The night of December 24th.
Back when he was a child, it was the only day of the year when the people who gave birth to him would listen to his request.
The woman always made he write down what he wanted on a piece of paper.
And each time, his heart would swell with hope as he wrote what he truly desired.
Late at night, without fail, her husband would place some random snack on the bed where he was sleeping.
And each time, he thought to himself, “So it’s not happening for me again this year either.”
In that final year, the man said to him, “That’s enough now, isn’t it?”
And with that, his Christmas came to an end.
Perhaps it was all along something that never truly existed—his very being, that is.
His first memory was of the kitchen, from a time when kindergarten was still a question.
The woman who gave birth to him was cooking there.
He merely approached to help, only to be told by the woman, “You’re in the way. Get out of here.”
He has few memories from his early childhood.
In the handful of existing photos, taken at his maternal grandparents’ home, he is seen standing on the dining table and being made to smoke and drink alcohol.
More than twenty years later, he heard that the house had been built with the insurance payout from his grandfather’s fatal fall down the stairs.
Before he knew it, they had moved out of that house and into a cheap apartment.
There is only one memory of him being happy in that house; being taken by the man, that woman’s husband, to a nearby driving range.
The golf club was too big for his small frame, and on his first swing, his whole body spun around.
He thought it was strangely amusing.
This was perhaps because at home, he wasn’t even allowed to have conversations with them, let alone be taken anywhere.
He was laughing as he looked at the man, he said just one thing: “Don’t spin.”
After that, he ended up spinning a few more times anyway.
Then the man said, “We’re leaving.”
Whenever that woman went shopping, he was always left in the toy section.
To a child, an hour is an eternity, filled with the worry of whether she would ever return.
One day he couldn’t take it anymore and decided to walk home on his own.
A neighborhood mother happened to find him and took him in, but after that, he was no longer taken shopping, or anywhere.
He was taken to the movies just once.
Delighted, he picked the film he wanted to see.
The man bought a single ticket for him and then went off somewhere.
When he came out of the theater, the man was asleep on a bench.
I was eating grilled fish alone at home.
He found it fun to crunch the bones, so he ate the whole thing except for the head and fins.
He showed them to that man nearby, sticking the head and fins together.
Just because he thought it looked funny.
That man offered no response, as usual.
When he was in elementary school, his pleasure was visiting the mother of that man.
In those days, it was customary that during long school vacations, he would be left at that grandmother’s for a month or so.
The reason for the grandfather’s absence still remains a mystery, but that grandmother was an warm-hearted individual.
She was so kind that the eldest son remains unmarried to this day, still living at home and lecturing her constantly.
The second son continued to abuse his child together with his wife, while telling people around them that the issue was merely excessive spoiling.
The third son, who never worked and lived as a freeloader, died of lung cancer from smoking too much, only left a widow and a young daughter.
Of all the brothers, the third son possessed the greatest kindness.
That person—his uncle—when he was young, would often use the pocket money he got from his mother to look after little him.
His uncle would always put him in the passenger seat of his car with the window cracked open from last time, and take me to various places while smoking.
The fact that he doesn’t smoke at all yet shows no resistance to secondhand smoke might be due to that.
His uncle rarely bought him things, but those experiences left a mark on my memory that went far beyond mere objects.
What he especially loved was going bowling at night with that uncle and his friends.
Because he never did anything like that with the people at home, even such a simple activity felt special.
Repeating this several times, he would always come home late at night looking satisfied.
After repeating this a few times he came home looking content as always.
That night, as he returned home after my usual several-times-a-year pleasure, that woman just told him: “That’s enough. Never do it again.”
With those words, his invitations from that uncle and his friends to join their nighttime outings came to a complete stop.
During that period, they relocated to another new home.
Roughly around then, his brother was born.
Because the younger man had cute features, the man often dressed him up as a girl.
Few of his remain to this day, but the photos of that young man continues to be carefully kept within their photo albums.
At some point, perhaps out of youthful recklessness, the younger man took to stealing his money and his beloved toys.
He asked the people who gave birth to him to make it stop.
Knowing he would be ignored, he decided to keep his important things locked in his desk drawer.
Upon seeing this, the woman simply took the key away from him.
The theft never ceased, and in the end, he was forced to hand over all treasures to his brother.
Years later, when the younger man got married, the man offered him a single piece of advice: “Get along with your younger brother.”
Their sole activity throughout the year was watching television.
She had one answer for all his questions: “I don’t know. Watch and learn.”
One day, he cried for the first time over a TV show.
The woman glanced his way and mocked, “What? You’re crying?”
It was from about this period that his possessions would often go missing within the home.
Asking her always yields the same answer: “I don’t know.”
The truth is, she just threw away all his carefully collected cards, games, and stickers for absolutely no reason.
In that house, he was doomed to have his precious things taken from him by two people.
The only times they ever spoke to him were to rage, insult, scold, or mock him. That’s how it always was.
He slowly retreated into himself, blocking out the world.
His school grades dropped, and he started ignoring the three people in the house.
One day, there was a party attended by school friends and parents.
The children were having a great time playing games or something.
Toward the end of the party, he was suddenly summoned to the room where the parents were drinking.
Then, in front of everyone, a father from the neighborhood—with whom he wasn’t even particularly close—began lecturing him. He was reduced to tears, utterly humiliated.
Then, out of nowhere, a neighbor’s dad he’d never talked started scolding him in front of everyone.
He kept insisting that you shouldn’t cause your mother any more trouble.
Yes, I am the problem. Because that’s what everyone thinks.
Overwhelmed with shame, he broke down in tears.
That woman looked at him crying, seemed somewhat satisfied.
Seeing that he had started ignoring the three of them, that man called this relative to his home.
He had a clear memory of the relative getting him a toy-included treat at the convenience store for around two dollars when he was little.
Because no one had ever casually bought him a thing like that before.
That person would occasionally take him out personally for all-you-can-eat shabu-shabu, give him their old nice jeans, and generally treated him very well in various ways.
Unaware of the circumstances, that person simply said, “You must be out of your mind not to talk to your own father.”
At that time, he lacked the means to voice his defiance. This was because they had thoroughly taught him that it would be pointless.
Now he lost a key ally.
And that’s when the man started cutting him off and turning people against him.
From that point, the man began maneuvering the people who were kind to him, further cornering him.
The wall clock he had discarded was mounted on the wall in his room.
His private notebooks have always been read by them as a matter of course, and for that man, the wall clock holds no meaning beyond being free.
Rummaging through trash was standard practice. Even his discarded private notes had been subject to their casual inspection, just for fun.
To that man, the wall clock signified nothing more than an item obtained at no cost.
One day, he received some pocket money from the grandmother.
On the way home, the car they were in stopped, and the woman took him to a pachinko parlor and made him gamble all of it.
Once she confirmed that nothing had been won, the woman just took him and left, without a word.