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“I will repeat myself as many times as it takes for you to understand: no.”
Megumi stood her ground, preventing Madarame from getting any closer to the painting. A mere five-foot-three, she boasted a presence far exceeding the inches he had on her.
If, in an instant, all her work went up in flames, this would be the only thing worth protecting. Not a legacy for the world, but for her son, and Megumi intended on presenting that legacy accordingly. As he grew, Yusuke would look to the portrait of a kind, composed woman much older than herself for the guidance she could never provide him in life. Though certain details may be fabricated, her love was real, and that’s all that mattered.
“You naïve child—” Ah, so I’m suddenly a child when it suits his narrative. Just yesterday, she’d been an adult responsible for peddling his scams while he was off doing God knows what. “—you’re the one who doesn’t understand the opportunity I’ve offered you! Don’t you care about your son? About his future? You’d be setting him up for life!”
“Yusuke is of no concern to you.”
“Perhaps not now, but soon.”
Each day, Megumi considered skipping the wait, packing Yusuke’s bags, and using the last of her money on a cab, train, plane—whatever got him away from Madarame the fastest. His plans for him were undoubtedly worse than how he’d treated her, considering Yusuke’s youthful optimism.
But no one would believe a sick, delusional girl “complicit in her own abuse.”
“What could a painting possibly provide him that the fortune made from it could not?” he continued. “If anything, it only perpetuates the lie that you were ever fit to be his mother.”
As much as it pained her to admit it, he was right. Hell, she never even wanted to be a mother to begin with. At 16, does anyone…? Now, 19 and already graying, that child was the only thing keeping her going.
“Please,” she replied desperately, her footing beginning to weaken. “It’s all he’ll have left of me. It’s all I can give him. He won’t ever know me, but he’ll at least know he was loved.”
Madarame scoffed. “Suit yourself, though I’m unsure if ‘love’ is what I’d call resigning your son to a life of poverty.” Leaving the studio, he muttered under his fowl breath about selfishness and greed. Megumi hoped the irony didn’t escape him.
He may have conceded today, but the argument wasn’t over. Soon enough, he’d get desperate, and attempt to wear down her resolve once more.
And this time, she’d be ready.
During instances like these, she’d send Yusuke to their shared room until Madarame was gone. Her son already knew his mother was weak—she couldn’t let him see her at her lowest.
When they were alone, he’d sit on a large sheet of paper at the corner of the studio, turning sharp crayons into tiny, waxy nubs. To many, the three-year-old’s drawings were incomprehensible. To Megumi, however, he was already well on his way to grasping the basics of abstract expressionism. Occasionally, she’d even caught him recreating her work. Those were some of her proudest moments.
Focusing back on the painting, she added a few small creases around the infant’s eyes, and an extra shine to her own. In about a month’s time, she’d be finished… so long as nothing happened to her before then.
Just a little longer, she prayed. I need control over my fingers for just a little while longer, and you can have them.
She’d started it about six months ago, working intermittently between Madarame’s seemingly endless demands. Demands that, recently, allowed her only a few broad strokes per week. Today, curiously enough, was different, but despite the lack of interruptions, no good thing came without a price. She suspected this one related to the “deal” her Sensei proposed her.
Sayuri isn’t even my name.
As twilight approached, Megumi finally found a stopping point to close up the studio. Thoughts of which white to use on Yusuke’s blanket were quickly replaced with what to make him for dinner. It might be another instant ramen night. I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this.
Treading carefully through the decrepit hallways, she scanned the ground for any loose boards or uneven screws. Yusuke nearly broke a toe once, running where the glow of the streetlamps couldn’t follow. Her joints groaned with every movement, chiding her dreadful posture on that uncomfortable stool.
Megumi entered their room, panicking briefly when she couldn’t locate her son. Eventually, a lump stirred beneath the covers of the futon, and she let out a relieved sigh.
“You can come out now,” she whispered.
The covers stirred again, and a small mop of staticky blue hair poked its way out. Yusuke’s face, normally obscured by his bangs, was made visible as the strands stood on end. His round, rosy cheeks puffed up in a wide grin, and for a moment, Megumi felt even angrier. Madarame didn’t understand his joy like she did—he only saw someone he could control.
“Mother!”
“How are you doing, my little tanuki? Did I wake you…?”
“No, just resting my eyes.”
Megumi chuckled, hearing her own excuses echoed back at her. It wasn’t unusual for her to drift off while they were playing; a side effect of long hours and an exhaustingly curious child. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I ate. Yamamoto-senpai made nikuman.”
“Oh.” How long had he gone hungry before Yamamoto found him? Or did he search for the amateur chef himself? “Did you thank him?”
“Yes! It was so good.”
“I can imagine. His cooking is always superb.”
Yusuke reached for something behind him, barely able to contain his excitement. “Are you hungry?” he repeated, holding out a plate wrapped in about a dozen napkins.
“Absolutely famished. What do you have there?”
He carefully unwrapped the plate, and its contents almost made Megumi weep. A single smashed nikuman, pork filling flowing from the sides, nestled in the soggy napkins. It was as if he’d rolled over the plate at some point, then haphazardly reconstructed it.
Please, no one take that spark away from him.
*****
She survived. Against all odds, Kitagawa Megumi survived.
She watched Yusuke turn four, then five… the time flew by, and then he was ten.
They’d spent the first few years outside the atelier cycling through the apartments of graduated students. Megumi initially reached out for her son’s sake, back when she was certain she wouldn’t live much longer. But she did, and those fleeting connections became a sanctuary for them both. They never overstayed their welcome, leaving once Megumi sensed that their courteous smiles had started to waver.
She took whatever odd jobs would accept a twenty-something-year-old without a high school diploma. The remainder of each paycheck (after repaying her former classmates’ kindness) was put toward an apartment they could actually call their own.
Finally, she managed to secure a cramped little space at the outskirts of town. On their way to this new apartment, Yusuke practically bounced off the train walls, letting everyone there know exactly why he was so excited. As entertaining as it was to watch, after a handful of annoyed glares from nearby passengers, Megumi politely asked him to remain seated. Thankfully, that momentum picked back up the second she unlocked the front door.
The apartment was even worse than when she’d initially toured it.
Yusuke didn’t care.
“It’s huge! And- and I get my own room, right…?”
“You do. Right over there.” She pointed to a door on the far side of the room, and he was gone before she could say another word.
Life was good, all things considered. They had a few minor setbacks—spending Yusuke’s ninth birthday in a hotel after cockroaches infested half the building, for example. Nothing they couldn’t handle. Megumi approached these cracked, water-damaged walls and covered them with every drawing the young artist gave her. They would make this place a home, damnit.
Those same classmates came and went, keeping an eye on Megumi during her off days while Yusuke was away at school. She didn’t feel safe being alone anymore, not when it nearly killed her last time. Not when she had a whole new life to look forward to.
So, they had an apartment, and they had company. But one problem persisted.
Yusuke didn’t have any friends. He claimed he was perfectly content by himself, but the longing in his voice remained.
That, his mother understood all too well. Like him, Megumi had been the weird, quiet kid who paid more attention to doodling than taking notes. She’d always wanted a friend, even if she never took the initiative to make one. Now, she’d only be remembered for why she left.
One day, Yusuke returned home giddier than ever.
“Hello, Mother! Hello, Yamamoto-senpai!”
“Hey, Yusuke!” Yamamoto replied, waving at him from the kitchenette.
“Hello, my little tanuki.” Megumi watched as he removed his shoes and darted over to where she lay on the couch. “How was school?”
“Wonderful! I think—” he flapped his hands wildly, “—I think I made a friend!”
“Woah, really?” Yamamoto chimed in. “That’s awesome!”
“Her name is Toshiko, and she recently moved here with her mother. She saw me alone at recess, and asked what I was drawing. No one at school has ever been interested in my work before!” Yusuke’s eyes sparkled, and though Megumi’s body ached from the labor of yesterday, she couldn’t help but share his joy. “She told me she likes to run, and that she plans on doing it professionally someday.” He flipped through his sketchbook. “Here,” he said, passing it to her. “This is Toshiko.”
The girl in question, according to Yusuke’s drawing, had spiky black hair, a mischievous smile, and an abundance of freckles (courtesy of his lucky fountain pen). He’d used a highlighter to fill in a single blond streak, which also outlined the piece.
“We talked all the way to the station,” he said, flapping his hands even more. “And she invited me to her apartment after school tomorrow!”
Caught up in the excitement of it all, Megumi almost overlooked one crucial detail: meeting Toshiko’s mother. It had to happen eventually. Wasn’t that what parents of children who were friends always did? They’d get to know each other over a pot of tea—occasionally making sure their kid hadn’t fallen into a ditch—and discover the things they had in common.
Things like… never graduating high school. Never living somewhere longer than two years. Getting paid pocket lint to scam people into buying forged paintings.
Becoming a mother at 16.
She’d already been mistaken for Yusuke’s older sister more times than she could count. She’d even introduced herself as such, on multiple occasions. But during conferences with his teachers, the truth always revealed itself, and none of them were as skilled at masking their disgust as they thought they were.
Yusuke came prepared, having witnessed this judgement firsthand. “She’s also a single mother. That’s why they moved: to escape Toshiko’s father.”
“Thank you… for thinking of me.” Megumi wouldn’t allow her own reservations to minimize such an important moment. He deserved a normal childhood. He deserved friends, and frequent playdates—do they still call them “playdates” at this age?—at each other’s apartments, no matter how much she wanted to hide the state of theirs.
“Be back before dinner, alright? And if Toshiko’s mother offers to feed you, then…” After all these years, Megumi was still a laughable cook. “…tell her I’ll give her one of my paintings, to show my thanks.”
“Aren’t those made to sell?”
“Yes, but she opened her home to you. It’s the least I could do.”
“Oh. Okay.” He seemed a bit hesitant, but didn’t pry. Seconds passed, and he looked back at the drawing and chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s just, when Toshiko first approached me, she thought- she thought I was a girl.” For a brief moment, Megumi swore she heard that unmistakable longing slip into his voice once more.
*****
And now, the moment of truth.
Instead of allowing him to roam free, Megumi asked Yusuke to hold her hand during the train ride over. He’d squeeze it whenever he noticed something interesting out the window opposite them, marveling at ornate statues and buildings on a route neither had taken before.
“We should go there soon!” he said approximately fifty times.
“Yes, it does look quite lovely.” It also probably costs money. Money we don’t have.
They arrived at the station, and Yusuke lightly pulled her along, as if he knew exactly where to go (Megumi had the map). After weaving through a few charming backstreets, the apartment building finally came into view.
Megumi’s legs were on fire, and they’d hardly walked a mile. Yusuke supported her side, expression shifting from anticipation to concern. “Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?”
“No, no, we’re almost there…” God, I feel old.
Going a bit slower now, she suddenly felt even less prepared to meet Toshiko’s mother. Toshiko was a runner, so it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to assume her mother was also athletic. How would she react to a 26-year-old who couldn’t even make the short walk from the station?
They took the elevator up to the fourth floor, and with every “ding”, Yusuke’s smile grew wider. His enthusiasm could be a bit draining at times, but it also brought color back to Megumi’s life. In a world of corporate shills, he was unapologetically unique, and she’d spent enough hours around those types to know they wouldn’t appreciate him the same way she did. She hoped there existed a place untouched by such corruption, and that he’d find it someday.
Yusuke knocked, and Megumi immediately heard footsteps racing to the door. It swung open, and a short girl matching her son’s illustration greeted them with a cheerful, “Hey!”
“I’ll be there momentarily!” came a voice that presumably belonged to her mother.
“How’s it hangin’, Yu?” She already had a nickname for him…? Perhaps that was normal. Not that I would know.
“I’m doing splendid, and you?”
“Awesome!” Toshiko turned her attention to Megumi, who stood awkwardly in the entryway like a vampire waiting for its invitation. “It’s nice to meetcha, Miss Kitagawa!”
“It’s nice to meet you, too. Toshiko, was it?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Come on in!”
The girl had absolutely zero volume control, and a gummy, gap-toothed grin that covered half her freckled face. Their hobbies may not align, but from a single interaction—combined with every great thing Yusuke said about her—Megumi couldn’t think of a better match.
Toshiko’s mother emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl of seaweed chips. Unlike her daughter, she was exceptionally tall, with long, silky black hair swept over one shoulder. She smiled, and as far as Megumi’s analysis went, it was genuine.
“You must be Yusuke’s mom,” she said. “Call me Mei. To the kids, I’m Miss Sakamoto, but we’re both adults, ain’t we?” She had a slight twang to her voice; much less pronounced than Toshiko’s, but still present. Megumi wondered if they’d previously lived in the countryside.
“Megumi Kitagawa. May I sit?”
Mei raised a brow. “‘Course you can. No need to ask.”
The children ran off to Toshiko’s bedroom, and Megumi finally found a spot to rest her legs. Her ensuing sigh must have been a bit too loud, though, judging by Mei’s next remark.
“It’s tough, doing it all on your own.” She sat beside her, taking a few chips.
“Absolutely. But it can also be just as rewarding.”
Mei stretched an arm over the back of the couch. “We’ve never met before today, but I feel like I already know you.” She paused, making a sour face. “Sorry, that probably sounds weird. I mean, from what I’ve seen of Yusuke, you did a fine job raising him.”
She’d struck a nerve Megumi didn’t know she had. She gripped the corner of a cushion out of Mei’s view, focusing intently on holding back the tears that threatened to fall. “That’s- that’s very kind of you. I wish I knew more about Toshiko—and you, by extension. Yusuke…” Megumi sighed. “Yusuke doesn’t have many friends.” That was a lie. He didn’t have any prior to Toshiko. “Knowing my baby was alone at school, that there was nothing I could do about it… it broke my heart. But now, he actually looks forward to each day.”
“Toshiko had the same problem, unfortunately.” Laughter erupted down the hall, in a place untouched by corruption. “I’m so proud of her for taking the initiative to meet someone new, and I’m equally glad it was your son.”
“I’m glad, too.”
*****
Megumi sensed there was something Yusuke wasn’t telling her.
He’d become quieter recently, less open to sharing his work. She wouldn’t force him to, of course. He deserved every ounce of privacy Madarame never afforded her. But she also hadn’t seen him so… closed off before, as if he’d been followed home from school one day by some enormous, invisible threat.
The shift came shortly after Toshiko came out as “Ryuji”.
Megumi only had a vague understanding of what it meant to be transgender, and Ryuji’s account fascinated her. For as long as he could remember, he knew he was a boy, he just didn’t have a word for it until now.
Initially, Yusuke seemed happy for him. He stayed over the day Mei gave Ryuji his first proper haircut, and the next morning, they went clothes shopping together. He even used what little money he had to put toward a new uniform. Besides Mei, Yusuke was Ryuji’s biggest supporter, and their friendship remained just as strong four years later.
And then, like a switch had been flipped, that happiness began to fade.
It was around the time of his summer growth spurt, when he’d shot up nearly six inches leading into high school. Many of his favorite childhood clothes no longer fit properly, so he was stuck with whatever Megumi’s former classmates offered him until they could afford an updated wardrobe. The less freedom he had in what he wore each day, the more his posture shrunk. She’d even caught him pulling his hair a few times, which he claimed was from stress. He’d become a lot harder on himself, too, taking each mistake as if it were a death sentence.
Yusuke not only kept his door shut, but he’d shut his mother out of his life almost entirely. Megumi didn’t have a clue how to open him back up.
She’d been forced to grow up overnight, without any room for a proper send-off to her non-existent childhood. As such, when searching for potential warning signs in Yusuke’s behavior, Mei became her regular source of intel instead.
“Teens are hard to read sometimes,” she’d said one day. “They’re caffeine-driven ticking time bombs who hardly need an excuse to explode. Ryuji… Ryuji was in pain for so long, and I had no idea. Well, I sorta did, but it wasn’t the ‘right’ idea, y’know? A part of me feels guilty for not recognizing the signs earlier, while another knows we never would’ve gotten anywhere if I approached him first. He came to me when he was ready, and before this year, he wasn’t.”
“In retrospect, how- how obvious were those signs?”
“For starters, he never wanted to talk about his body. Ever. If I brought up any sort of changes, he’d shut me down immediately. And when I called him ‘my girl,’ ‘my daughter,’ he’d become incredibly… what I thought was embarrassed, but I now understand it was something else. Shame, maybe. I’m still not entirely sure.”
“I don’t mean to argue—you’re who I’m coming to for advice, after all—but… isn’t that fairly standard teenage behavior…?” She sipped her tea, which had gone cold by now.
“The difference lies in why those things make him so uncomfortable.” Mei added another lump of sugar (her third… fourth?). “There’s disliking your body because it doesn’t look like the other girls’, and there’s disliking it because you know you… ain’t one.”
“Interesting.” Megumi placed the empty teacup in its saucer. “I should probably be on my way soon, if I’m to arrive home before Yusuke.”
“You sure you don’t need me to accompany you?”
“I’ll be alright. It’s… one of my better days.”
*****
A month later, the floodgates opened.
“Mother?” Yusuke asked, stepping into her ‘studio’. Most of the apartment, besides his room, acted as a studio at some point. Even the bathroom, for drying prints. “May I speak with you? I don’t mean to keep you away from your work, but it’s rather important.”
Megumi tried not to sound too… enthusiastic wasn’t the right word. Relieved, perhaps? He finally felt comfortable opening up to her, and the last thing she wanted was to scare him off. “Of course.” She set down her brush. “You can tell me anything.”
He sank into the chair he’d positioned across from her. “I apologize for being so distant recently. I’m not upset with you, let me make that perfectly clear.”
She already felt lighter at his reassurance, and Yusuke appeared to sit up a bit straighter as well. “That’s wonderful to hear.” Though she would’ve said more, apologizing herself for getting so lost in her work sometimes, it was his moment to speak.
“I should just ‘rip the bandage off,’ as Ryuji would say.” Had he consulted his friend about this beforehand? “I know, deep down, you’ll love me no matter what. I know, and yet…”
“It’s true. I love you now, and I’ll love you forever.”
Yusuke choked back a sob. “Mother…” And suddenly, he was three years old again: afraid of the dark, of the creaking floorboards in the atelier at night. Afraid that something or someone would take his mother away and never give her back. “Mother, I- I’m a girl.”
There were a million different ways she could respond, and they all conveyed the same message. From Yusuke’s birth, to her rebirth. “I love you. My little tanuki, I love you so much.”
She held her arms out, and Yusuke collapsed into them, nearly knocking her off her stool. “I’m a girl,” she softly repeated. “I-it feels so good to finally admit aloud.”
Megumi kissed the top of Yusuke’s head as she buried her tearful face in her mother’s shirt. Paint wasn’t the only thing that stained it now, and Megumi couldn’t care less. They were overdo for a laundry day, anyway. “I’m so proud of you, my precious girl. My daughter.”
“Daughter…” She sniffed, wiping her nose. “How strange… I thought this would alleviate my anxiety, but I’m shaking even more.”
“These are big changes, Yusuke—oh, is there another name you’d prefer to be called?”
“I have no desire to change it. Or rather, no other name has resonated with me.”
“Should I take that as a compliment? Being that I was the one who named you,” Megumi joked, rubbing soothing circles onto her back.
“I suppose so. It’s a very nice name. Thank you.” Yusuke’s shaking was suddenly interrupted by full-bodied laughter, a kind Megumi hadn’t heard in far too long. A kind more humorous than the jokes themselves, lasting long after their charm had worn off.
“I’m so tired,” Yusuke said after finally catching her breath, voice weak from weeping and wheezing. “I’ve hardly slept since Friday.” It was Sunday. “I would just... lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about this conversation and all the possible ways it could go. The worst ones kept me awake until morning.”
“You can rest your eyes now,” Megumi replied. “And dream pleasant dreams.”
“I will. First, however, may I rant to you a little more…?”
“Certainly.”
Yusuke sat back in her chair, hands folded neatly in her lap. “I don’t want to cut my hair anymore. I want to wear dresses, and skirts, and long, flowing ribbons, and petticoats with ruffles like rose petals. I’m still comfortable wearing suits and ties, but I want people to look at me and know I’m wearing them as a girl.”
“Do you want to know who I think would be a tremendous help along your journey?”
“Who?”
“Mei. She has a similar body type to yours. I understand if it’s ‘weird’ shopping with a friend’s mother, but I’m sure she’d be thrilled at the suggestion.”
“I have a similar body type to… Mei? She’s- she’s beautiful!”
“You’re beautiful, Yusuke. I really should paint a portrait of you when I get the chance—if you can sit still long enough, that is. The last time I completed something so personal… well, you were only a baby.”
“You’ve painted me before…?”
Her face fell. She’d given away too much. Could Yusuke handle such distressing information after a moment like this…? “I’d planned to show you on your sixteenth birthday,” she began. “Quite honestly, a large part of me never expected to follow through with that plan.”
Now it was Megumi’s turn to shake, hesitantly approaching the closet as Yusuke struggled with her response. “As you know, your father was never in the picture. I also ran into frequent difficulties finding jobs that would accept someone of my low education. There’s a reason for this.” She found the painting; buried at the back of the closet, but always in the front of her mind. “When you were born… I was a child, Yusuke. A child who, under the care of a horrible, abusive man, believed I wouldn’t live past your youth. In preparation for that inevitable day,” she handed her the painting, “I made this for you.”
Megumi went silent, allowing the girl to take in every detail at her own pace.
Eventually, she spoke. “You were sixteen…?”
“Yes. I never graduated high school.”
“I was aware you had me at a young age, but…” She inspected it further. “I remember… glimpses of an unfinished painting that looked like you, only much older.”
“I didn’t want you to know. I’d hoped someone outside the atelier would take care of you once I was gone. Anyone but him.”
“He tried to kill you… He knew you were sick, and he tried to kill you.”
“It’s over now.” Megumi set the painting aside, firmly grasping Yusuke’s hands, which had reflexively balled into fists. “I promise, my little tanuki. He cannot hurt either of us anymore. You’re free to be whoever you want to be.” Yusuke let her hands relax. “You made life in the atelier better not only for myself, but for every student who had the pleasure of meeting you. When they’d return to watch over me, they all hoped to see your beautiful smile again.”
“May I display your painting in the apartment?” Yusuke asked. “It shouldn’t remain hidden any longer. Even if it doesn’t quite represent you, when I look at it, I know I am loved.” She lit up, like the statement inspired something in her. “What if, while you paint my portrait, I paint yours? Then you can see yourself through my eyes, and I through yours.”
“That’s a brilliant idea.”
“I’m so excited! Just- don’t rush through your painting so you can see mine, okay?”
“Of course not. I’ll take my time on this one.”