|Torn Picture 2|
|Found in||Kurato Hotel|
|Related memory items||Torn Picture 1|
|The day of the recital at the ballet school I attended, despite my insistence that he come, Mao didn’t show up. While on stage, my eyes were fixated on the audience. And being so distracted, my feet tripped up my classmates and made a mess of the performance. I went home completely dejected, only to find Mao waiting in front of my house.
"Mao, why didn’t you come today?" I demanded as I ran up the steps to him. Mao replied with, "Well, you know…" What was that supposed to mean?
"More importantly, look at this." Mao showed me the inside of the white plastic bag he was holding. What was supposed to be more important?
"They’re called ‘Moonlight Mushrooms.’ They light up at night and if I can figure out what causes that and blend it with the genes of the bellflower." Mao’s dirt-smeared cheeks were flushed with excitement, it angered me like nothing ever before. Mao had ditched my recital to go hunting for mushrooms in the ravine instead. I swung my hand up and knocked the bag from Mao’s grasp. Dirt flew from the bag and a rain of mushrooms fell to the ground.
Mao looked at them with the saddest expression on his face. Imagine that, Mao was more worried about some mushrooms than about me. He could marry them for all I cared.
"You look like an idiot obsessing over some pathetic mushrooms! I’m just a waste of your precious time, aren’t I? Unlike me, your plants don’t tell you to come to recitals, they won’t make fun of you or tell you to do your homework. You only need to look after them when you want to. You only turn to your plants because you’re no good with people. You may have a dream for your future, but don’t step all over mine."
I know, I know. I was taking out my frustrations from my poor performance on Mao. My own dreams weren’t going as well, so I was looking down on Mao’s. It was a lowly thing to do. But I didn’t want to apologize. I left Mao standing there as I ran inside and locked myself in my room.
I had hung up my drawing, where everybody could see it on my wall. The one of me, as an adult, dancing in the field of lantern blossoms. That drawing of Mao’s and my dreams coming to reality was a treasure to me. When I tried to peel it off the wall, the picture tore.
For a moment, I felt extreme remorse. But I refused to give in, took the torn drawing and ripped it to shreds before dumping it in the garbage.