Heaven

by Mieko Kawakami

“I don’t know, maybe. More like, desks and vases probably don’t get hurt,” Kojima said. “Even when they’re broken,” she added softly. “Yeah,” I nodded. “People are different, though,” she said softer still. “Sometimes you can’t see the scars. But there’s a lot of pain, I think.” After that, she was quiet.

“Heaven is a painting of two lovers eating cake in a room with a red carpet and a table. It’s so beautiful. And what’s really cool is they can stretch their necks however they want. Wherever they go, whatever they do, nothing ever comes between them. Isn’t that the best?”

Without school, I could get by without seeing anyone or being seen by anyone. It was like being a piece of furniture in a room that nobody uses. I can’t express how safe it felt never being seen. I knew the peace could never last, but it was immensely comforting to know that, if I never left my room, no one in the world could lay a finger on me. The flip side was I had no way of engaging with the world, but that was how it had to be.

But I wasn’t crying because I was sad. I guess I was crying because we had nowhere else to go, no choice but to go on living in this world. Crying because we had no other world to choose, and crying at everything before us, everything around us.