Statute Forty-Nine



  Statute Forty-Nine

  by

  Michael D. Britton

  * * * *

  Copyright 2012 by Michael D. Britton

  I’ve never met my parents. I don’t remember much about my childhood. I mean, I know I had one, because I can call up the memories - always the same basic set of memories - but I don’t have any feelings about them, and I can never seem to expand on them – every time I try, the thoughts just flee my grasp like water through my fingers.

  It never seemed to matter before I met Satoshi. I wish I had more to share with him – more about my past – but it’s mostly a blank. Satoshi says it’s okay, but I can tell it bothers him, and I really want to make him happy.

  Making Satoshi happy makes me happy.

  We share a small flat in downtown Tokyo, on the forty-second floor of a brand new residential building just west of Kogakuin University in the Shinjuku district. I prefer classic furniture, but it is, technically, Satoshi’s place, so he filled the rooms with all retro-modern stuff – lots of smoked glass and shiny metal. I don’t really care – it’s better than being on the street, like a lot of my friends.

  Satoshi came home tonight in a sour mood. I offered him some botamochi, but he said he’d already eaten. He just went into the bedroom and shut the door without a word.

  He’s like that sometimes. Satoshi is a good man, and he generally treats me pretty well, but sometimes he can be very distant - or even angry.

  One time, he hit me.

  It surprised me more than anything.

  He actually apologized later, and we don’t even talk about it, but I’ll never forget the look on his face – before, during, and after the back of his hand struck my cheek.

  That’s a memory, unlike my childhood, that I can recall in slow motion, in perfect detail. It was Saturday, February 21st, 2037. At night, three minutes after eleven. I remember the temperature of his skin, the amount of pressure that was placed on my face, the way it made my head snap sideways a few centimeters. It’s as if it had just happened ten seconds ago.

  But it was over a month ago.

  Satoshi probably doesn’t even remember himself. He doesn’t have a very good memory, come to think of it. He’s always asking me to recite phone numbers, email addresses, his calendar of appointments – it’s like he can’t think for himself sometimes. But I’m glad to do it for him, since I seem to have a gift for remembering details and calculating numbers and stuff like that.

  I wonder if Satoshi is mad tonight because of the phone call.

  This morning, before he left for work, there was a phone call from someone I don’t know.

  A deep-voiced woman.

  She asked for “Mr. Kimura,” and sounded rather official. I passed the phone to Satoshi, he paced around the brown square Persian rug on the living room floor, kicking at the cream-colored tassels, and nodding and saying “yes” a few times, frowning throughout the call. Then he hung up and left without saying goodbye to me.

  He didn’t take my calls all day.

  He’s been in the bedroom for over an hour now. I’m getting worried – he usually snaps out of his funk quicker than that. I wonder what that call was about, and why I have suddenly become a persona non grata around here.