Home. It’s been a while since she last visited, hasn’t it? Kyoka wants to say she misses the swaying violets of springtime, the steady rumbling of the train, the hushed chattering of the fans around Mura but she doesn’t exactly miss it anymore, not that way at least. Of course she dearly misses grandma, but maybe it was time that dulled the acute sense of homesickness she first felt moving. It’s still there, but more a muted presence than anything, like the ghost of a whisper tugging at her heart.
Still, that doesn’t ease the pang of… actually she doesn’t know how to say it, but is there even a word for the bittersweetness of seeing the world you so loved move on without you there, trapped in time but also not, just barely out of reach? Seeing all those familiar yet unfamiliar sights, the juniors she might have, in another world, taught how to gel their hair, how to hold out their hands and face the stage, even how to understudy the roles that she’ll never play, now all strangers she’ll never get to meet, streaming out of the train doors in that uniform she once wore too, was there a word to express all that?
Words were hard for her, but maybe they sometimes just weren’t enough.
She didn’t understand it then, not fully at least, why her seniors cried so as they left, seemingly incapable of explaining why. After all, moving on to a new stage of their life, wasn’t that supposed to be something exciting? All the adults said it was, it must be. Kyoka thinks she understands it now. She spent a lifetime to get in, and dedicated her teen years to the company. Her seniors, hadn’t they too sacrificed years, decades even, for that stage? Saying goodbye wasn’t just saying goodbye to that stage, it was also a goodbye to their youth.
Without really meaning to, she finds herself standing at the foot of that familiar building again. Kyoka watches as the fans organize themselves, watches as the stars enter, watches the line outside slowly peter out. She watches her cold breath waft against streetlights when there’s no more people to watch. It felt like forever ago, when she would dance under those same streetlights, those same stars, alone at night to catch that feeling.
With her debut around the corner, that was it for this chapter of her life, her childhood, too, right? The thought came as a surprise, but it didn’t disturb her as much as she thought it would. Maybe she too has grown up, changed with the new world around her.
And maybe maturing is learning to move on. Kyoka gives a solemn bow, holding it a few seconds longer to properly thank, well, everything, and takes a deep breath in. She traces her steps back into all her old haunts, picking up an egg sandwich, a little cake, and maybe a bow too many, on her way back.
Some things don’t change though. The lights might be newer, and grandma might be older, but the time it takes for the door to open, the smile greeting her yell of “I’m home!!”, the smell of paper and salt in her home, it’s all the same.
