Chapter Text
Giyu Tomioka lived alone in a modest house in an ordinary neighborhood in a large and forgettable town, and he had arrived at the conclusion that he’d live alone in that modest house in that ordinary neighborhood for the rest of his life. Giyu had many reasons for believing this. He knew moving would be a hassle, he was comfortable where he was, he didn’t want to change jobs, he didn’t want to leave his friends. They were all valid, honest reasons for staying where he was forever. But none of them was the real reason. The real reason Giyu didn’t ever want to move to was far simpler, even primal.
Giyu was afraid.
Truth be told, Giyu was afraid of a lot of things. A LOT of things. He was afraid of spiders. And cockroaches. Of bugs in general. And public toilets. And elevators. And high places. And things covered in holes. And moldy bread. And winding mountain roads. And abandoned buildings. And the hegemonic influence of the U.S. war propaganda machine on the health of developing economies. You get the picture.
But of the many, many things Giyu was afraid of, he was most afraid of people. For Giyu, interacting with people was an acutely distressing experience. People were inclined to judge. People were inclined to demand. People were easy to disappoint. People often failed to understand. Sometimes people were just plain mean.
So Giyu wasn’t quite sure how to explain the impulse he felt as he casually peered through his front window at his neighbor’s unkempt lawn. Why did he feel compelled to do something he had never thought to do before? What strange, possibly divine force prompted him to take a small, seemingly trivial action that would push him outside the bounds of comfort, that would send his life careening far, far from his meticulously laid plan to live alone forever in his modest house in that ordinary neighborhood in that large and forgettable town?
Of course, Giyu didn’t know that last part would happen. But, life would inform him soon enough.
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Dear Neighbor,
Greetings. I hope this note finds you well.
I’d like to bring your attention to the fact that your lawn has not been mowed in approximately three weeks. As a result, it is quite overgrown and rather unsightly. In addition, your yard is bestrewn excessively with rotting foliage. The community’s HOA regulations require that all residents keep their lawns properly groomed and clear of all forms of waste, including decaying vegetation. I respectfully request that you tend to the matter promptly. Its continued neglect daily diminishes the appearance of the neighborhood as well as our enjoyment of it.
Regards,
Your neighbor, the one to your left as you exit your front door.
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Fuck off. My yard is fine. Get a life.
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Dear neighbor,
Please kindly note that “fuck you” is neither a useful nor respectful response to a rational and justified request for compliance with HOA rules. Article 15 of the HOA by-laws clearly states that lawns must be kept to a blade height of no more than 2 inches. According to my calculations, your lawn has reached a height of 4-5 inches, which is clearly longer than regulations allow. If you are incapable of mowing your lawn due to physical or mental incapacity, I can refer you to a local landscaper who can tend to your yard for a reasonable rate. If your finances don’t permit the employment of a professional landscaper, I recommend asking either a resident teen or retiree to perform the task. I’m certain either would oblige for a nominal fee.
Regards,
Your neighbor to the left as you exit your front door
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Physical or mental incapacity???
Seriously fucker. Get a life. Better yet, get laid. A hearty fuck oughta kill that massive bug up your ass.
Also, what kind of prissy fuck doesn’t sign their name on their passive aggressive notes? Pussy.
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Dear Neighbor,
Because a week has passed without your rectifying the problematic state of your lawn, I’ve taken the liberty of hiring a neighborhood adolescent to mow your grass and rake up the leaves. You needn’t compensate me for the money and effort I’ve expended to accomplish this much needed end. The improved appearance of your yard is reward enough.
As for not signing my name, might I point out that you also failed to sign yours.
So does that not also make you a pussy?
Sincerely,
Tomioka, your neighbor to the left as you exit your front door.
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You fucking asshole! How dare you have some random puke come on my property to mow my lawn without my fucking permission! And compensate you!? Are you fucking kidding me? I should have you fucking arrested! I should fucking punch you in the dick! If you trespass on my property ever again, I will fucking kill you with my bare hands. Got that, you fucking gonad?
And my name’s Shinazugawa, bitch. Don’t ever call me a pussy again.
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
After a spell of reflection on the matter, I now realize I did in fact overstep my bounds by unilaterally improving the miserable state of your yard without your express permission. I sincerely hope that you can forgive my zeal for tidiness in both appearance and conduct, a zeal which has clearly caused grievous offense, or so I gather from the excess of salt and epithets in your prose. If there is any way in which I can amend my lamentable act, you needn’t hesitate to communicate said means via a courteous and lucid correspondence.
Sincerely,
Tomioka, your neighbor to the left when you exit through your front door
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Tomioka,
Was that an apology, you dumb bitch? It better be an apology. If it’s an apology, then fine. We’re good. Just don’t fucking do it again. If it’s not an apology, then what the fuck are you trying to say? Just fucking say it. Stop with the bougie bullshit. Just talk like a normal fucking human being.
And stop saying you’re my neighbor to the left when I exit through my front door for chrissakes. I know who the fuck you are.
Shinazugawa
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
You appear to have taken personal offense to my communication style. I humbly request that you not do so. This is something that I don’t generally share with strangers, in particular those who already bear copious amounts of ill-will toward me, but I suffer from crippling social anxiety. This condition renders it extremely difficult for me to interact with effortless candor, or as you so aptly stated it, like a “normal human being.” I simply feel more secure huddling behind lettered diction – sorry. Big words. Though it may not appear so, I assure you, I am doing my best to approach normality, however insufficient you may find my efforts to be.
Since our beef (is that term appropriately colloquial?) has been settled, I shall cease the note writing and leave you to your life.
Sincerely,
Tomioka
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Shit dude. Now I feel like a dick. I didn’t mean to put you down. I really didn’t. I guess I’ve been on edge lately. Work’s been a bitch. My family isn’t getting along. And my fiancé is pissed because we haven’t been able to see each other much lately. I can hardly take a shit without someone coming at me. It gets to me sometimes.
Fuck. Why am I telling you all this?
Anyway. Sorry for being a dick. Thanks for explaining your side. I’ll try to be a more neighborly neighbor.
Shinazugawa
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
Since you opened up the issue of being neighborly, I do have one humble (and I believe sensible) request. Would you please consider purchasing curtains for your north-facing windows? Because the windows in our homes are sizable but the distance between our units considerably less so, I am permitted a much too, let’s say, detailed view into both your living room and bedroom. Indeed, I cannot casually glance out my own window without seeing unintentionally into yours, and well, I have seen things that a neighbor ought not to see and that I am certain you do not want seen, or at the very least, that your paramour does not want seen. So if not for your sake, then for hers, exercise a modicum of propriety please.
Respectfully,
Tomioka
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Oh, so you’re a perv.
Like what you see?
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
I take grave offense at your unfounded accusation. I am absolutely not a pervert as you incorrectly suggest. I believe you have either misunderstood my prior message or, more maliciously, have purposefully twisted it to support your obviously unfair and unflattering perception of me. I merely wished to point out that your “personal affairs” are often visible to any passer-by, not only to myself, even when they are innocently going about their own business and that it might be both prudent and considerate to purchase window coverings (I can suggest some stylish and affordable options if needed).
I would also like to note that although I have a clear line of sight from my bedroom into yours, I have not allowed my gaze to linger long enough to ascertain any specifics of your appearance or activities. In fact, I’m certain I would not recognize you if I were to encounter you by chance on the street; consequently, I can offer no adjudication as to whether or not I “like what I see.”
Although, I must admit, I couldn’t help but notice that you have the same duvet cover as I do. So, I suppose, you do have good taste, in bedding at least.
Regards,
Tomioka
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
Did you receive my last correspondence? I see that it has been removed from your doorstep, but you have not replied nor complied with my request. Are you willfully ignoring my quite reasonable and, I assure you, well-intentioned request? Or is there some other explanation for what is presenting as dismissive behavior? Perhaps I’ve simply – how might it be stated “normally”? – broken the camel’s back? Danced on your last nerve? I’m terrible at this.
In any case, a response of some kind would be greatly appreciated, even if only a crude epithet. To be ignored is the most vexatious of rejections.
Regards,
Tomioka
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
I still have not received a reply from you, and there are still no coverings on your window. And not that I’ve been intentionally looking, but there is no evidence of your presence in the house. However, your car has remained in the driveway for a few days now (another HOA offense we can leave for another time), and there is no other evidence that you have left your residence (again, not that I’ve been surveilling your comings and goings). Is everything okay? If you need assistance of any kind, feel free to reach out. I’d be happy to help.
Your neighbor,
Tomioka
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
Because you haven’t complied with my prior request to employ curtains on your north-facing windows, I could not help but notice the state that your apartment is in. I find it rather concerning, not so much for the mess (everyone has their own standard of cleanliness), but because it is inconsistent with the typical state of your apartment. Perhaps I should state this more directly – I’m worried because this isn’t like you. I would appreciate knowing that you are okay. I’m currently inclined to call the paramedics or police to ensure you are safe.
In the meantime, please accept this pot of soup and homemade bread. I suspect that you may not have sufficient food supplies, and (this may be presumptuous of me) you don’t seem the type to cook. I want to make sure you eat properly.
I probably sound like a stalker. I apologize. Please know I am motivated purely by concern for a fellow human being.
Sincerely,
Tomioka
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
It appears you received the meal I left for you the other day.
I took the liberty of tending to your yard. I manicured it personally so as to avoid having complete strangers on your property. I suppose I also qualify as a stranger, but perhaps not complete. In any case, your yard is once again HOA compliant.
Best,
Tomioka
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Why are you helping me, Tomioka? What’s in it for you?
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
Why am I helping you…?
I honestly don’t know. I don’t really have a reason. It simply seems like the right thing to do. You’re my neighbor after all, and from what I’ve gathered thus far, a relatively decent human being. Well, once you get past the prickly exterior.
Should I stop helping you?
Sincerely,
Tomioka
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I appreciate your help. I like it. Don’t stop.
Your last note was kinda normal. Can you keep writing like that?
Shinzugawa
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
I’m relieved and pleased to hear that my unsolicited assistance was not unwelcome, that it indeed helped. Furthermore, I would be happy to continue to offer aid in any form that I am capable of offering and you feel comfortable receiving. That includes, but is not limited to, assuring your lawn is HOA compliant. And perhaps purchasing coverings for your north-facing windows…?
Sorry. Does this note sound normal? I scarcely understand current conventionalities, and that renders colloquial response challenging, if not downright impossible.
In other words, I don’t know what I’m doing.
In any case, you needn’t hesitate to request a favor from me.
Sincerely,
Tomioka
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Tomioka,
I do have one favor to ask.
Will you come over? I could use some company.
Shinazugawa
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Tomioka,
Is there a problem? I see you got my note, but it’s been a couple of days since I left it.
If you don’t want to come over, just fucking say so, asshole.
Shinazugawa
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Dear Mr. Shinazugawa,
Come over? Why in the world would you want to visit with someone like me? Forgive me. I’ve cogitated on this for days. I honestly don’t understand.
Tomioka
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You fucking doof. I want to meet with you because you seem like a nice person. Uptight and occasionally annoying. But mostly nice. Decent, I mean. And smart.
And to be totally honest, I could use a friend. My fiancé and I broke up recently. That’s why my house is in the state it’s in. It’s been tough.
I keep telling you shit wtf.
Listen, if you want to come over, come over. If you don’t, whatever. I’ll be fine.
Shinazugawa
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Dear Shinazugawa,
I’m so sorry to hear about your break up. That’s painful, I know. I understand that loneliness all too well.
I want to come over. I want to be a friend in your time of need. But truth be told, I’m drowning in anxiety at the thought of meeting you in person, so much so I can barely write this note. I just know I would make an ass of myself in some horrible, unforgivable way. I’d say something stupid or say nothing at all. I’d be too nervous to partake of any comestibles you might offer. I’d sweat worse than a pig roasting on a spit. A panic attack would be too real a possibility. I simply can’t subject you to such a scene, particularly given the state you’re in.
Still, I long to be a friend to you. I’m sure this is a paltry substitute for actual companionship, but here is my phone number. At least this way we can lend immediacy to our communications. I mean, communicate in real time.
510 555 9099
Sincerely,
Tomioka
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Giyu Tomioka sat bundled up on a cushioned chair on his back porch and sipped plain black tea from a dainty, ecru tea cup. He noted the weather in his climate journal – sunny, clear skies, chilly, 10 degrees Celsius.
“Cold for a November morning,” he thought to himself.
He glanced at the maple tree in his square patch of backyard. The tree was still cloaked in crimson and gold plumage, which fluttered at the slightest ruffling of air. Birds loitered on the branches and chatted in melodic chirps. Squirrels scurried atop the fences.
Giyu tugged his thick robe a little tighter around him, dug his feet deeper into his furry slippers. He breathed in the scented steam swirling up from his delicate tea cup and took a sip. The warm liquid radiated through him like morning sun, melting the chill that had stiffened his muscles. Giyu smiled.
“I wonder if he’s gotten my note yet. I wonder if he’ll actually text. Can I handle texting? I’ll handle texting. It’s just letter writing. Only quicker. And with bad grammar,” he mused to himself. “I can do this.”
Giyu raised his elegant tea cup to his lips. “I will do this.” He took a sip.
RIIIIINNNGG.
Tea sprayed out of Giyu’s mouth like water from a sprinkler. He coughed and sputtered as he grabbed his phone.
A PHONE CALL?!?
Giyu checked the number. He didn’t recognize it. For a brief moment, he thought he could safely ignore this rude and abrupt incursion into his sacred mental solitude. But a niggling something made him peek ever so timidly through the snow of autumn leaves and into the still uncovered, north-facing windows in the home next to him.
And there, framed by that big, bare window, stood a tall, fit-looking man with white hair and lavender eyes and a wry smile that could whip legions into simpy submission. Probably had. The man held a cell phone to his ear and waved.
“Shinazugawa?” Giyu mumbled aloud. He looked at his phone, then at the man in the window. At his phone. At the man. At his phone…
“What do I do? What do I do?” Giyu panicked. “Do I answer? I can’t answer I want to answer but I can’t answer what do I say I’ll sound dumb he’ll think I’m stupid but if I don’t answer he’ll think I’m rude what do I do? What the hell do I do?”
The impulses battled within him like ancient behemoths. They pummeled his mind into limp, lifeless, lumps of thought, until finally, finally!
Giyu fainted.
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Sanemi Shinazugawa lived alone in a modest house in an average neighborhood in a large and forgettable town, and though he somewhat liked that modest house and that average neighborhood, he was damn sure he wasn’t going to stay there. Sanemi was the ambitious sort. He was the consummate go-getter, a resolute ass-kicker. He was rocketing up the corporate ladder so fast everyone was certain he’d be running the whole country soon.
Sanemi wasn’t afraid to work long hours, to put in extra work, to sideline his own needs to get ahead. He wasn’t afraid to move at a moment’s notice to some brand new and unfamiliar place where he didn’t know a soul. He had sacrificed a lot to get where he was, and he had no problem with sacrificing more. It’s what he needed to do. It’s what he wanted to do. That’s what he told himself at least.
Then one day, Sanemi’s prissy next door neighbor left a bitchy note on his porch. Most of the voices in Sanemi’s head told him to ignore that stupid piece of meaningless paper. It was small, it was trivial. Why waste a drop of his valuable energy on it? But one weak voice whispering in a neglected room in his heart wouldn’t shut the fuck up. It whispered and whispered and whispered until it drowned out all the other voices, and for reasons Sanemi himself didn’t recognize, much less understand, it made him do something every last shred of common sense told him was stupid and pointless: he responded to that bitchy note.
Eventually, Sanemi would figure out why that annoying voice made him do that stupid, pointless thing, not once, not twice, but dozens of times. And that quiet realization would change his life forever.
Well, that is, if he let it.