14.07.02

"I once saw a shoe...," my mother would say.

The shoe of a man...

"... it was so scary..."

...who had jumped in front of a subway.


"So...?" I would say, "You didn't see it happen..."


But now I understand.


There is a curious kind of trauma that is caused by the sliver of time separating a person from witnessing a terrifying event. Five minutes too early. Ten minutes too late. But I was there. And now everything is different. And I'm not sure how to feel.


A man set himself on fire on Sunday.  
2 pm.  
Shinjuku, South Exit.

I went to the bank on Sunday.  
1:30 pm.  
Shinjuku, South Exit.
I looked towards Lumine and saw fire trucks. But there's been so much road work these days, I think. Nothing special. I head downstairs to pay my bills, and head underground towards the station.



I saw fire trucks.



30 minutes later they were used to put the flames out on a man who had climbed up onto the bridge at Lumine.
I must have seen the man. But I wasn't looking for him.
I must have walked by all the commotion, with only a thin wall protecting me from what was going on.



"I saw fire trucks," I told my parents.

"But it didn't happen to you," they said.