He was a university student from the city, visiting friends. I never learned his name. He bought me taiyaki and won me a goldfish in a plastic bag. We sat on the riverbank while the fireworks painted the sky in wounds of light—red, then white, then gone.
Mr. Tachibana was our kōkō (high school) art teacher—thirty-two, divorced, with hands that smelled of turpentine and kindness. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and never raised his voice. In a town of shouting men, his quiet was an ocean. Sei ni Mezameru Shojo -Otokotachi to Hito Natsu...
He drew two hands, almost touching. The negative space between their palms formed the silhouette of a woman's profile. He was a university student from the city, visiting friends