"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.
