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Geiru turns and gives her dressing room one more cursory glance before leaving, as she always does. Costume: hanging up neatly. Wig: on its stand. Balloon pump and wide array of differently-colored balloons: in her shoulder bag. She pats her pockets. Phone, keys, and wallet: check. Finally, Geiru flicks the mirror lights off, then the overhead lights, and she closes the door.
The Toneido clan has had a busier day than usual. Taifu’s performances always draw a huge crowd, as the master of the Toneido School, and this evening he premiered his latest one-man dinner show. It’s good money for the troupe, sure, but Geiru can’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy. Someday, she’ll be the one people would trample all over each other for a chance to see.
But not yet, apparently, according to Taifu. He’d decided to give Uendo the entire opening act. Geiru was instead delegated the noble task of passing out appetizers and drinks for the audience. But that’s fine! Uendo could use the practice, anyway, Geiru had thought to herself with clenched teeth as she loaded tiny shot glasses of sake onto serving trays.
Now, walking tiredly down the backstage hallway, Geiru exhales and tries to push the memory from her mind. It’s the end of the night, and she can finally go home to curl up on the futon with Jugemu and watch Bob Ross reruns until she dozes off. She can leave her bitterness behind.
If only til tomorrow morning.
She faintly hears the sound of plates clacking against each other as they’re loaded into the dishwasher. The kitchen staff must not have gone home yet. It figures — earlier, the dining room was packed tightly enough that they had to turn people away at the door. They probably won’t wrap up until the early hours of the morning. She doesn’t envy them.
Geiru fully expects to pass through the serving area without so much as an acknowledgement from the restaurant staff. But she’s taken off-guard when a busboy she’s never seen before (and probably will never notice again) peeks through the beaded curtain separating the dining room from the kitchen. He calls out to her. “Hey, lady! That one yours?” he asks, pointing a finger somewhere behind Geiru.
Hey, lady? Is that how we greet seasoned thespians these days? She almost says “Excuse me?”, but then she realizes he must not recognize her without her costume on. Still: rude! Or maybe she’s just crabby. “Probably not,” she responds, crossing her arms indignantly, before actually turning to see what he’s pointing at.
Then she looks. And then she says, “Oh. Yeah, I guess he is.”
Bent over a kotatsu in the back of the dining room is a delicate figure in green robes, a curtain of dark bangs falling into their face. The tiny form shudders and sniffles.
Uendo usually cleans up and goes home sooner than Geiru, even when they stay to visit Shisho, so the fact that they're still here must mean that something is up. And that body language isn’t hard to figure out. After so many years of training with the collective known as Uendo, Geiru knows them like the back of her hand.
She exhales a long sigh and takes a moment, preparing herself to be “on” again. She’s utterly exhausted, emotionally drained, and is fighting off the beginnings of a headache... but still, when she re-opens her eyes, she’s Geiru. Skipping the short distance across the restaurant, she stops next to the kotatsu and puts her hands on her hips. She gasps for dramatic effect. “Could it be? Is that who I think it is? My best buddy Owen?!"
The sniffling stops, just for a second, but Owen doesn’t lift his head from where he’s hiding his face in his arms. He makes a brief, muffled sound.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you!” She lifts a hand to cup her ear.
Owen finally looks up at her, his eyes red and watery. “I said, yeah! ” he huffs, then tucks his face back down into the crook of his elbow.
That’s strange, Geiru thinks; Owen is usually excited to see her. She wonders what could have happened to put him — or Uendo — in such a bad mood. Had Uendo downed a glass of Sapporo after the performance by mistake? Or maybe on purpose? Either way, they’re not here for her to interrogate now.
Geiru gasps in delight. “Oh, Owen! What perfect timing! I was just thinking how nice it would be to have a friend to walk home with.”
He peers up at her again, his eyes going wide. “Go home? Right now?” She nods. “I don’t wanna,” he mumbles.
“You don’t! Whyever not?”
After a pause, he quietly admits, “...It’s too dark. I’m scared.”
“Oh, pssh! Who cares about the dark when we’ve got our trusty guard dog Jugemu to keep us safe?”
Owen’s face lights up. “Jugemu is here?” The rakugo troupe has met her dog plenty of times, and in fact, she usually keeps him with her at the theater. She had known that today’s crowd would be too large and rowdy to safely bring him, so she’d left him at home instead.
She holds up a finger to signal ‘wait’ and reaches into her shoulder bag. “He will be. Just watch! With a twisty, twist, twiiiist…” She pumps some air into a blue balloon and crafts it into Jugemu’s likeness — or what she says is Jugemu’s likeness, anyway — then presents it to Owen with a flourish. “And BLOOOON! Here he is, our fierce protector! Are you ready to come with me now?”
She holds her breath — if this doesn’t work, she’s got no backup plan other than leaving Owen here overnight, and if she did that, Shisho would never let her hear the end of it. Owen takes the balloon dog out of her hands and stares down at it for what feels like an eternity.
“...I guess.”
Whew. “Atta boy!” She reaches down and offers him a hand. Owen takes it and rises unsteadily to his feet. “Think you can lead the way?”
He wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Um… I dunno.”
Oh. Geiru blinks. Of course a five-year-old can’t be expected to know his own address. And she doesn’t know it, either. In all the years she’s known Uendo, somehow it just never came up.
…No, she thinks to herself, that’s not true. Uendo has invited her over plenty of times, but she never accepted. She regrets it now, and not just because she currently has no clue how to get Owen home.
Guess there’s only one other option.
“Well, that’s alright.” She gives him a bright smile. “Whaddaya say we go back to my place and hang out with the real Jugemu instead? It’s a short walk. I live just down the block.”
“Are we gonna have a sleepover at your house?” Owen asks.
“Um… I guess so!” Geiru exclaims. “Come on, you can be brave for me, can’t you?”
She pokes him encouragingly on the nose, and finally, Owen seems appeased. There’s the faintest hint of a grin on his face as he says, “Okay. I wanna see the puppy.”
“Me, too,” Geiru replies, mirroring his smile. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
Well, this isn’t exactly how Geiru expected her night to go, but it could be worse. At least Owen knows not to let go of her hand and to look both ways before crossing the street. It’s a peaceful evening, not too warm or cold, and there’s hardly anyone else out this time of night. Of course, she still walks with a bottle of pepper spray and her keys clutched between the fingers of her free hand. Thankfully, there’s no need to use them.
Five minutes later, they’re at the entrance to her studio apartment. Jugemu is already whining and scratching the other side of the door as they approach. He leaps up onto her knees as soon as she opens the door, eagerly accepting the ear scritches that Geiru offers, then his attention wanders over to Owen. Owen drops down to the floor and reaches out to him.
“Oops, careful, he can be a bit nippy,” Geiru warns, bracing herself for Owen to yelp or scream — but then Jugemu gently sniffs Owen’s hand instead of trying to take a taste. She relaxes a little once the Shiba Inu puppy flops onto the floor and lets Owen rub his tummy.
With her dog and her troupemate both occupied, Geiru turns her back on them to hang up her keys and bag on two hooks near the doorway. She then glances around her apartment to inspect how child-safe it may or may not be. A few of the posters on her walls are a bit… avant-garde, but there shouldn’t be anything too inappropriate. The physical safety of her apartment was another stor, though. Babysitting certainly wasn’t on her agenda for the near future, or else she would’ve tried to clean up before now...
Well, “clean” is a relative term. In a one-room apartment, there’s not really anywhere that all the clutter can go. It just sort of keeps piling up on top of itself. She shuffles into the middle of the room and starts scooping up dirty clothes, scraps of chewed-up dog treats, and shopping bags. At least those have their own bins to go into…
A moment later, as she’s busy straightening out the blankets on the futon, suddenly the thought hits her: Where the hell is this kid gonna sleep?
”Oh, f--” she begins, then catches Owen looking over at her in surprise, “...iddlesticks.”
“What’s wrong?” Owen and Jugemu both seem to ask, with Jugemu’s head cocked to the side.
“Nothing, I just…” Will be sleeping on the cold, hard floor of my own home. My own home!! “I just forgot that we have to take the dog outside! He needs a potty break!”
To his credit, Owen is eager to help. Jugemu tugs him around on the leash a bit, but their brief trip out onto the grass goes by without too much trouble, illuminated by the moon and the streetlights. Once all three of them are back inside the apartment, Geiru gives Owen the rundown.
“Alright, so…” She massages her temples and the bridge of her nose, worn out from the strain of trying to maintain her cheerful act this late at night. Her throat’s started to hurt from raising the pitch of her voice for so long, too. “The bathroom is through that door —” she points — “and there are some books over there if you get bored. I don’t think you can read any of them, but the pictures are pretty. There are cups in the cabinet if you want some water, too. Now, you’re gonna sleep riiight here.” She gestures grandly at the futon before her. “And you totally won’t wake up before seven in the morning! Sound good?”
Owen sits down gingerly on the edge of the mattress. “Are… are you gonna sleep in here, too?”
Geiru pauses, looking around in confusion. “Where else would I go?”
Mysteriously, Owen seems satisfied with this answer. He kicks off his shoes, swings his legs up onto the futon, and pulls the blankets up over his lap. Jugemu hops up to curl into a ball next to him. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Finally, the promise of sleep feels like it’s within her grasp. “Awesome. Now wait here for a sec, I gotta go brush my teeth.”
When she returns, Owen is still sitting cross-legged in the same spot, meekly running his fingers through Jugemu’s fur. It’s strange for Geiru to see them like this. Uendo and Kisegawa usually don’t pay much attention to Jugemu; Patches is the only one of the three who enjoys spending time with him. Patches had been the one to suggest his name, too.
For the first time, Geiru feels a pang of dread at how awkward things are going to be in the morning, when Uendo wakes up and finds themselves in an apartment they’ve never seen before. Uendo and Geiru have never spent time together outside of the soba shop. Geiru will have to explain that she was helping Owen, not kidnapping him, and then they’ll have to have the especially awkward discussion about why Owen had even shown up in the first place. Uendo will be embarrassed, and then Geiru will be embarrassed, and... then… maybe they’ll... go have breakfast?
Huh. It might not be so bad after all.
She finishes laying her own blankets and pillow down on the floor a few feet away from the futon (not like she has much choice — the apartment is tiny). She walks over to flick off the lights, but pauses right before touching the switch. Her apartment gets pitch-black at night, apart from the faint green glow of the digital alarm clock on her dresser. With Owen’s terror of the dark, will she have to stay up with him until he passes out?
Wait — false alarm (ha, ha). Suddenly, Geiru remembers a special feature of her alarm clock. She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Hey, Owen. Wanna see something cool?”
He sounds hesitant, but still agrees: “Um, yeah.”
“Check this out.” She turns the lights out, then quickly presses a button on the clock, and suddenly, a vibrant array of shapes and colors is projected onto the ceiling. It’s all squares, triangles, zig-zags, circles — very 90’s bowling alley, all in neon colors, and Owen seems captivated. There will be no nightmares or monsters under the bed (uh, futon) tonight.
“That’s awesome," he says, slack-jawed. He flops down onto his back and continues to gaze up at the light show.
Geiru smiles as she wraps herself up in the old spare bedsheet she pulled out of her closet, trying to get comfortable on the floor. At this point, she’s exhausted enough that she barely even cares about the stiffness she’s sure to feel in her back and shoulders in the morning. “Sweet dreams, little one.”
A few seconds of silence pass in the dark.
“Miss Geiru?”
She tries not to sound as cranky and sleep-deprived as she feels. “Yeeees?”
Owen pulls the blankets up to his chin and rolls over on his side to face her. Timidly, he says, “Um… Shisho usually tells me a story…”
Ugh. Of course he does. She drags a hand down her face and her voice falls flat. “Sorry, kid, but... I’m not that great at storytelling.” Or so I’ve been told, she thinks sourly.
She doesn’t turn to look at Owen, but she can feel him staring a hole through her. A few more seconds pass, and Geiru starts to get uncomfortable. She glances over at him, and as their eyes meet, she sees that Owen seems to be frowning in complete disbelief.
“Nuh-uh,” he says simply.
Geiru is so taken aback that her act falters. “W-what do you mean, ‘nuh-uh?’ You think I’m lying?”
“You gotta be good at stories,” he insists. “You’re a…” He struggles with the word.
“Rakugo artist?”
“Yeah! You’re a ru… roku... ragook…” Nope, it’s not happening. He finally settles for, “A clown!”
Geiru laughs, in spite of herself. “I sure am, huh.” Just a clown. Barely a rakugo artist at all.
She starts to feel a little self-conscious about where this conversation is headed, and then she feels self-conscious about the fact that she feels self-conscious. Why is she getting so embarrassed? Owen is just a kid — hardly her toughest audience. And there’s no way that Uendo is going to have any recollection of this discussion in the morning. They’ll never speak of it again.
Actually… Geiru stares up at the colorful patterns drifting across the ceiling. Those are all pretty good reasons to just… go for it, huh?
They’re both quiet for a moment as she mulls it over.
And then, with every ounce of energy she has remaining (which isn’t much, but it’s enough), she sits straight up and proclaims, “Aaaalrighty then! It’s time for a Geiru Toneido original bedtime story! Featuring her spectacular assistant, Owen!”
Jugemu lifts his head sleepily. Owen flinches, clearly startled, but then he sits up too. “M-me? What am I s’posed to do?”
“Why, you’ll help me tell the story, of course!”
“But I don’t know the story!”
She winks. “Neither do I. That’s why I need your help. What kind of bedtime story are we telling, Owen? A romance? Folklore? A bildungsroman?” No reaction. That’s understandable, though — she hardly even knows what a ‘bildungsroman’ is herself. “Hmm… maybe a super cool fighting story with dragons and swords and stuff?”
“Ooh, I like that one.” She figured he would. He rubs his eyes, clearly getting drowsy, but too eager for storytime to let himself fall asleep just yet.
She nods. “Then so it shall be. We start by meeting our handsome, brave protagonist, Owen Toneido, as he trains for battle —”
“I wanna be the dragon,” Owen interrupts.
Geiru blinks, then clears her throat. “Suit yourself. But then who’s going to be the dragon-slayer?”
“Umm… How about…” Owen ponders for a second, then a grin spreads across his face, illuminated faintly in alternating shades of red, yellow, and blue. “You!”
And thus begins the story of Geiru Toneido, Princess Dragon-Slayer, who actually doesn’t slay any dragons and instead goes on a high-speed chase through the air, riding on the back of Owen the Tornado, Scourge of the Skies. First they’re chasing Jugemu the Nine-Tailed Fox through the forest, then they’re all making a deal with the oni, Taifu, in exchange for fame and fortune.
Owen is shockingly good at improv for his age… or maybe that’s just the absurdity and charm of a small child’s sense of humor. Either way, Geiru is even more shocked to find herself smiling while they talk. She’s always tense while she’s performing a rakugo tale, second-guessing every artistic choice she makes. But this is easy and natural, with no pressure and an enthusiastic, nonjudgmental audience. She might even venture to think that she… enjoys it?
She enjoys it so much, in fact, that she’s actually disappointed when she stops mid-sentence to glance over at Owen and find that his eyes have fluttered to a close, one arm hanging off the edge of the futon, mouth hanging slightly open as he sleeps.
Her apartment is quiet now without Owen’s airy, melodic voice chiming in between her sentences. As she rolls over onto her side to get comfortable, Geiru tries to think of how she might end the story.
They all lived happily ever after…? No. That feels like a cop-out. But Owen doesn’t deserve a sad ending, either. After all, they’d bargained with yokai and won a lifetime of riches and glory, didn’t they?
Geiru’s own eyelids start to feel heavy, but even through the melatonin-induced haze, an idea finally strikes her. How about...
To be continued.
That one feels right. And she’s looking forward to it.