Laid-back Uncle
That weekend, my uncle called me over, so I went to Dōgo.
“Sotoko-chan, are you by yourself?” my aunt asked as she greeted me at the door.
“My brother’s at club activities,” I replied.
When I stepped into the living room, my uncle was sprawled out under the kotatsu, watching TV.
“Oh, Sotoko—you’re here. It’s cold, huh?”
He pushed himself up and scratched at his messy hair. There’s always something loose, unhurried about the air around him. I don’t dislike it.
Sliding into the kotatsu, I said, “You’re always so laid-back, Uncle.”
“That’s the best way to live,” he shot back lightly.
Maybe he’s right, I thought, as I watched TV with him.
It was one of those shows where people bring in paintings, antiques, or toys to have their value appraised. My uncle was getting into it on his own—“That’s gotta be a fake,” or “Wait, it’s worth that much?”—muttering to himself as he watched.
My aunt brought out some mandarins and poured tea for me. I gratefully helped myself.
“How’s school?”
“It’s… not too bad, I guess.”
“I heard that school of yours is really demanding. You said the summer homework was intense, too, didn’t you?”
That’s putting it lightly. English and math were one thing, but then there was modern Japanese, classical literature, Chinese classics, biology, earth science, geography—stacks and stacks of worksheets. I told myself I’d finish everything by July, but it ended up taking until Obon, so I barely had half a summer break.
“That’s what you get for being so eager to go to a school like that,” my uncle said with a grin.
I feel like I’ve heard him say that before. It’s not like I was that excited to go, though.
“So, what did you call me here for?”
“Oh, right. I’ve got something to give you.”
He said it while still watching TV. It wasn’t until the program ended that he finally got himself moving.
“Found these while I was sorting things out,” he said.
What he brought out was an old photo album. There must have been twenty of them.
Inside were carefully arranged photos: my grandparents when they were still young, my mother and her siblings from birth through their college years. Each picture had a date and neatly written notes beside it.
“Is it really okay for me to take all of these?”
“We don’t have any kids,” my uncle said gently as he flipped through the pages. “I figured it’d be better if you kept them.”
There were many photos in the albums of two girls with identical faces standing side by side.
I’d heard that besides my uncle, my mother had a twin sister—an older sister. She had passed away around the time I was born.
But seeing the photos in person, it felt like there were two versions of my mother. It was strangely surreal.
“Why did she pass away so young?”
“She had poor health,” my uncle replied in his usual easy tone.
I accepted that answer as it was.
“This is your mom in high school.”
The photo he pointed to showed a uniform just like mine—though with a much longer skirt.
“Mom went to the same school as me?”
“She was smart.”
“Really?”
“She was top of her class all three years in middle school. She even gave the valedictory address at graduation.”
Just like Tōko-chan.
Wait—
The other girl with the same face was wearing a different uniform.
“They were identical twins,” my uncle explained. “When they were little, they did everything together. But around middle school, they got this idea—like, maybe they could live two different lives. So they started doing different things, beginning with club activities. They even chose different high schools on purpose.”
“Huh…”
“They looked exactly the same, so even if they swapped uniforms and went to each other’s schools, no one else could tell. Your grandmother would get mad sometimes, like ‘What on earth are you two doing?’ But they kept secretly switching places. Said it let them enjoy both schools.”
That actually sounded fun. Just imagining it brought all kinds of mischievous ideas to mind.
“Could you tell them apart, Uncle?”
“Of course I could. Even identical twins have a different vibe. And their moles were in different places, too.”
“A different vibe?”
“Your mom was the more mischievous one—kind of adventurous.”
I spent the rest of the day relaxing at my uncle’s place. Drinking tea as it was served, snacking on mandarins and sweets. At one point, my aunt brewed some tea.
“Does Miko-chan’s club run late?”
“It starts in the afternoon today, so he’ll probably be back pretty late.”
“And you don’t join any clubs, Sotoko-chan?”
“I really don’t have the time for that. I’m too tired when I get home to make dinner otherwise.”
“You’re such a good girl, Sotoko-chan.”
“Right?”
My aunt laughed.
On the way back, my uncle drove me home, along with more than twenty albums.
“Sotoko, anything troubling you?”
“Something troubling? Hmm… maybe my math teacher who only gives ridiculously obscure problems?”
“Now that’s a problem.”
My uncle laughed in his usual loud, carefree way.
“You’re handling high school and all the housework—that’s a lot. You can always come stay with us, you know.”
“Thanks. But Miko helps out too, so we’ll manage somehow, the two of us.”
“I see. Well, if it ever gets too much, just say the word.”
After my uncle left, I sat down and looked through the albums again.
They were filled with my mother’s smiling face from her younger days.
That’s right. She was always smiling. Always laughing softly to herself, as if everything amused her just a little. And then, all of a sudden, I remembered something she once said.
“Soto-chan, you should always smile, okay?”
“Why?”
“Because when you smile, everyone around you becomes happy.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Which would you rather have—me smiling, or me looking grumpy?”
“I don’t like it when you’re grumpy.”
“See? It’s the same with you. If you’re sulking, the people around you won’t like it either.”
“I see.”
“And you know, if you keep smiling, you’ll become happy too.”
“Really? Then… are you happy, Mom?”
“Of course I am! Because my favorite Soto-chan is always right here with me.”
The meticulous notes written in the albums felt so like my grandmother—someone who noticed even the smallest details.
And yet…
That meant she had lost both of her daughters.
I had never really thought about it before, but I could understand, at least in my head, that it must have been an unimaginable grief.
Then, all of a sudden, a memory of her came back to me.
I think it was my first year of middle school. I sprained my ankle during P.E. and came home early.
The front door was unlocked. Careless, I thought, as I stepped inside. Then I heard something strange—like a faint sound.
When I reached the living room, I saw her in the tatami room, sitting alone with her back to me in front of the family altar. My mother’s portrait looked down at her.
She was crying.
That strong, unshakable grandmother—crying.
I felt like I had seen something I wasn’t supposed to.
Quietly, I backed away and returned to the entryway. I slipped my shoes back on, picked up my bag, and then opened the door again, calling out loudly:
“I’m home!”
A moment later, my grandmother came out from the back.
“What’s wrong? You’re home early.”
“I hurt my ankle in P.E.”
“Let me see.”
When I lifted my skirt slightly to show her, she glanced at it once, then looked straight into my eyes and said firmly,
“This isn’t something to come home for.”
Her expression was as composed as ever. Looking at her like that, I wondered if what I’d seen—her crying in the tatami room—had just been my imagination.
A thought suddenly struck me.
Maybe… she had wanted to raise me in place of the two daughters she had lost.
I looked at the portraits of my grandmother and my mother displayed above the altar.
“It’s okay. I’ll take care of things at home properly.”
I said it out loud.
