“It’s an invitation to the cherry-blossom-viewing party,” Sensei said a few moments later. I see, I replied. The cherry blossom party? “It’s an annual event. They do it every year, a few days before school starts in April, on the embankment in front of the school. Tsukiko, how would you like to join me at this year’s cherry blossom party?” Sensei asked. I see, I repeated myself. Cherry blossom parties are nice. But there was nothing nice about the tone of my voice. Sensei, however, paid no attention as he stared fixedly at the postcard. “Ms. Ishino has always had such fine penmanship,” he said. Then Sensei carefully unzipped his briefcase and slid the postcard into one of the compartments. I watched absentmindedly as he zipped it back shut again. “Don’t forget, it’s on April 7,” Sensei reminded me as he waved from the bus stop. I’ll try to remember, I replied, as if I were a student again. It was somewhat of a careless phrase, insecure and childish.
