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Barely anything phased Megumi.
As an infant, she never made a fuss. As a toddler, she never threw tantrums. She didn’t look back on the first day of school, nor did she ask for assistance in learning to read, walk, or ride a bike. Sakamoto-Kitagawa Megumi was about as independent as someone her age could possibly be, and for a while, that worried her parents.
They’d watch children run into their mothers’ arms when picking her up at daycare and compare this behavior to their own daughter’s near indifference. Were they not present enough? Affectionate enough? Did she not think they cared?
“We both love you very much,” Yusuke had said one day. “Do you know that?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Then they came to an epiphany.
Maybe we aren’t the problem. Maybe there is no problem.
At age six, Megumi was diagnosed as autistic, and her parents breathed a sigh of relief. This, they understood.
Yusuke, however, still felt a slight guilt at not noticing sooner. Forget the obvious signs—she was autistic. It shouldn’t have taken so long to come to the same conclusion about her daughter. But, and her husband continued to remind her of this, she didn’t exactly have a reliable witness for how she acted in her youth. If she’d tried to be independent, Madarame would’ve certainly prevented it. And now, he was dead.
At age eight, Megumi made it abundantly clear what she would and would not tolerate. Her boundaries were a brick fortress: within its guarded walls, she couldn’t be let down.
The unreasonably expensive stuffed tanuki from the time they spent her birthday at the zoo (because it was the only thing she’d asked for)? She couldn’t sleep without it. Literally any other stuffed animal that came before or after it? She couldn’t care less.
Cotton? Great. Clothing made from any other material? Vile. Abhorrent.
White rice? The perfect food. White rice with anything on it? Disgusting. Inedible.
Should anyone cross these boundaries, she’d either ignore them or go practically catatonic until something changed. Perhaps, her parents soon realized, she was affected by more than what they’d initially braced themselves for, and in less overt ways.
So when Megumi came to them in tears over the fireworks show taking place a few blocks from their new house, they gave her their full attention. Not that they wouldn’t have otherwise; she’d simply never had a meltdown like this before.
“Please, make it stop,” she begged. “Tell them to stop, please.”
Her parents couldn’t do that, of course. They even had plans to watch the fireworks with her the following evening… well, not anymore.
She wouldn’t wear ear defenders, because she was in the middle of a documentary on sea turtles that she refused to stop watching, fireworks be damned. Her regular headphones were also out of charge. She wouldn’t eat, because, quote, “The noise makes my teeth hurt.” She wouldn’t even look outside when Yusuke suggested that seeing the display might make it seem less scary.
“I’ve got an idea,” Ryuji announced, and promptly left the room.
Yusuke held her daughter close as they sat on the young girl’s bed. Megumi didn’t like being hugged very often, but, in alignment with many of her actions tonight, she’d apparently decided her mama’s arms were the only suitable protection.
Ryuji returned with a pile of blankets, couch cushions, and zero explanation given for their purpose. After throwing his haul on the floor and leaving again, a slew of squeaking, scraping noises could be heard down the hallway, in addition to one poorly concealed swear.
“What is Dad doing?”
“I honestly have no idea.”
The scraping belonged to a stack of chairs, which he also brought into Megumi’s bedroom. Finally, he leaned a broom against the wall and folded his arms, seeming proud of himself. Yusuke was still lost. Is he trying to distract our daughter by making her… clean?
“Okay. We’re gonna build a blanket fort.”
“A… what?”
“Y’know, a blanket fort.” Repetition doesn’t make you any easier to understand. “Usin’ what we got lyin’ ‘round the house to create, like, a mini house.” He turned to Megumi. “Your grandma and I used to build ‘em all the time on her days off. They were never very big, and they definitely weren’t sturdy, but we had a ton of fun anyway.”
“How will that make the fireworks go away?”
“Uhh… it won’t, but- but! You might find you enjoy yourself so much that the fireworks just fade into the background!” She didn’t look convinced. “I, um, also started chargin’ your headphones, so you can keep watchin’ your documentary inside the fort.”
“I guess…”
Yusuke, too, wasn’t convinced. “May I speak with you outside?”
“Suuure,” he replied, sucking in a breath. Perhaps he thinks I’m upset. “You mind bein’ alone for a sec, Gumi? I promise we’ll come right back.”
“Alright…”
Out of Megumi’s earshot, Yusuke said, “I’ve never built a blanket fort before—heck, I didn’t know they existed until just now. What if it fails, and she gets even more upset?”
He rested a hand on her cheek. “These things ain’t supposed to be perfect. It’s all ‘bout the bondin’ experience.” A particularly loud firework went off, and Yusuke heard a small gasp. “She doesn’t need a master carpenter, Yu. She needs her mom.”
Yusuke sighed. “I hope I can—”
“Not ‘hope’. You can.”
“I can,” she corrected, “be that for her.”
Megumi rocked back and forth, the collar of her nightgown pulled over her ears.
Ryuji knelt in front of her. “Hey, Gumi. Your mama and I know you wanna see the turtles again, and that this wasn’t part of your plan for tonight. It can be upsettin’ when plans change, but we gotta adapt sometimes, okay?”
She slowly lifted her head and nodded.
“You lead the way, dear,” Yusuke added. “Tell us exactly how this fort will look.”
“I—sniff—want it to look like a coral reef.”
Well then. She honestly should’ve expected that response.
Yusuke once used her imagination to turn the creeping shadows of the atelier into doting house spirits watching over her when no one else was around. Making a coral reef out of pillows shouldn’t be too hard, right?
Ryuji gestured to Megumi’s favorite stuffed toy. “Does Miyuki have her scuba license?”
“Of course she does.” Yusuke had long since memorized the girl’s unique affect. Even the subtlest shift (and it was usually very subtle) meant something significant. Now, she sounded almost offended by the implication that the plush tanuki wouldn’t be scuba certified.
Though Megumi’s tone rarely reflected it, her emotions ran just as deep as her dad’s. She felt so strongly about so many things, and Ryuji nourished these thoughts like the adults of his past should’ve done for him. When a kid in her class said the coral reefs were a “lost cause”, he replied with, “That’s stupid. He’s wrong.” Then they both got in trouble after she not only echoed his words the next day, but mixed them around. “That’s wrong. You’re stupid.”
Yusuke couldn’t find it in herself to scold either of them. As frustrated as Megumi’s teacher was that Ryuji had taught her such “hateful, foul language”, it, oddly enough, made Yusuke even more grateful for this perfectly imperfect family.
Like always, Megumi refused to compromise her vision. Reefs-forts weren’t tent-shaped, nor would they be constructed with desaturated bedding. Desaturation signified a dying reef, and her reef was as lively as ever. Yusuke returned about a third of the pile to the living room.
“That blanket represents the ocean’s surface, so it should hang from the ceiling.” Before they could respond, another firework went off, and Megumi hurriedly crawled under the covers. “The ceiling! I want it on the ceiling!”
“Of course.” Ryuji fetched the stepladder while Yusuke arranged a few clusters of “coral” (pillows). “What have you learned from this documentary so far?”
“Well…” Megumi gave a muffled summery from the safety of her cocoon, waiting for a lull in the noise to observe their progress. Eventually, she said, “No, that’s not right.”
Yusuke turned to find her daughter’s face barely poking out of the covers. “Care to show me how it should be done?” she replied, trying not to laugh at the adorable sight.
The completed reef-fort only really resembled a reef if she squinted, but Megumi had no complaints. Headphones all charged up, she resumed the documentary in full spirits.
Exiting the room, Ryuji turned to Yusuke and whispered, “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“No, it wasn’t. I just… whenever I’m faced with these seminal experiences, the past becomes even worse than it already seemed by comparison. I remember things I should never have been taught were normal.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for changing my perspective. You’re very good at this.”
“Only ‘cause you’re here. And I sometimes remember the bad parts, too. But she won’t.”
“No,” Yusuke agreed with a smile. “she won’t.”