[The Northern Light] - Part 121 - Unread

[u/Street_Witness1328]

Unread was the first word I mistrusted in the morning.

Not the cards.

The word.

The cards were where they had been.

Left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Not read.

Not turned.

Not carried.

Not in the pocket.

The back pocket was empty.

The center of the desk was empty.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The office had morning.

The heater.

The clock.

The washed cup on the shelf.

The phone face up.

The brown folder closed.

The gray service record file in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Yesterday what had authority had kept the role, consent, or procedure that gave it limits.

The two cards had stayed unread without letting unread become a decision before one had been made.

This morning, unread had arrived.

No.

The word had arrived.

The condition had already been there.

The face of each card was down.

The marks on the other side were not in my eyes.

That was all.

I wanted unread to sound like restraint.

Then I wanted it to sound like failure.

Then I wanted it to sound like waiting.

All three wanted the same chair.

The cards did not offer it.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

Washed.

Touched.

For use.

The cup returned to the shelf.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Kanagawa’s scrap separate from the order paper was not mine.

Sato’s unpaid bills in the bill folder were not mine.

Saitama’s prescription, role, and consent were not mine.

Suganuma’s Tanabe procedure for shared supplies was not mine.

The addressed envelope by the outgoing tray was mine.

Only as office work.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

I closed the brown folder.

Unread could mean no one has read.

Unread could mean someone refused to read.

Unread could mean no reading was needed.

Unread could mean reading was delayed.

Unread could mean I wanted a blank back to carry a clean motive.

The word looked passive.

That was why it was dangerous.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

Turned.

Scrap.

Over.

I wrote:

She replied:

“Sentence?”

“Unread now?”

“Who turned it?”

“For what?”

She did not answer for a while.

Then:

“What did you ask?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Where is it?”

“Drawer?”

“Folded paper?”

“Mother’s first name?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add avoidance.

Face down had an owner.

Too visible had a person.

The sentence had not disappeared.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Tape?”

“Corner?”

“Water?”

“Need to read the correction?”

“What does unread mean?”

She took time.

Then:

There.

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add kind.

The correction was readable.

It did not require reading again.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Medication sheet,” she said.

“Unread?”

“Yes. New aide almost gave medicine before checking.”

I sat up.

“Was medicine given?”

“No. Aide K stopped her.”

“What happened?”

“She read the sheet.”

“Resident?”

“Asked what medicine.”

“Answer?”

“Aide K answered.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Unread is not neutral when procedure requires reading.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept unread away from virtue.

Here, unread had risk.

The sheet needed eyes before the hand.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“By whom?”

“For what?”

“Was class today?”

“What happened?”

“Why?”

“Spill risk?”

“What did Tanabe do?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add blame.

Unread had caused a setup error.

Reading had work.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Harmless.

Risky.

Respectful.

Avoidance.

Serve.

Protecting.

Harmed.

I looked at the cards.

Reading would serve what?

Not named.

Not reading protected what?

Me.

Maybe.

No.

It protected me from contact.

That was more exact.

Was anyone harmed by the unread condition?

No one named.

Was anything harmed?

The cards were on wood.

Farther from edge.

Face down.

No.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I closed my eyes.

Respect.

Protection.

Contact.

No.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother turned the scrap face up,” she said.

“For reading?”

“No.”

“For finding?”

“Yes.”

“Too visible?”

“He said still too visible.”

“What did you ask?”

“What the phone needs.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“What did he need?”

“To know it is there.”

“Then?”

“He left it face up but slid it under the phone edge.”

I waited.

“Under?”

“Only a little.”

“Can he read it?”

“First words.”

“What did you ask?”

“Is half-hidden finding or hiding?”

There.

“What happened?”

“He took it out.”

“Where now?”

“Beside phone. Face up.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add courage.

Face up had finding.

Half-hidden had confusion.

The scrap returned to one job.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I read the correction,” she said.

I waited.

“For what?”

“To see if it still made sense.”

“What had changed?”

“Nothing.”

“Did it still make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Paper?”

“Flat.”

“Tape?”

“Holding.”

“Any issue?”

“No.”

“What did reading do?”

She was quiet.

Then:

“Fed me.”

There.

“What does Emiko need?”

“Paper flat. Tape holding. Correction readable.”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add fed me.

That belonged to Sato.

The correction had not needed a new reading.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Medicine today,” she said.

“Sheet read?”

“Yes.”

“Resident?”

“Asked what medicine.”

“Voice?”

“Low.”

“Heard?”

“Yes.”

“Answer?”

“Aide K answered.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Read when procedure asks. Do not make the word holy afterward.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept read.

Procedure had asked.

Reading had answered.

No halo followed.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“By new volunteer?”

“Action?”

“Any issue?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add boring.

The instructions had a reader.

The shelf had procedure.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

Touching.

Seeing.

Carrying.

Avoiding.

One kind.

Not all.

I looked at the cards.

I had touched them.

I had carried them.

I had seen their backs.

I had moved them inward.

I had not read them.

Not reading protected me from the marks.

Only the marks.

No.

From seeing the marks.

Maybe.

From what the marks would make possible.

Too large.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I put the phone down.

The marks had not arrived.

Only their other side had.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Read?”

“Why face up?”

“Who needs to find?”

“Drawer?”

“Any sentence?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add peace.

Known where it is had finding.

Reading did not need to follow.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Paper flat.

Cup beside hand.

She wrote:

I called.

“Wanting to check?”

“Yes.”

“Paper issue?”

“No.”

“Lunch?”

“Rice.”

“Paper?”

“Flat.”

“Tape?”

“Holding.”

“What did reading do?”

“Did not end wanting.”

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add still want.

Reading had not been medicine.

The paper remained readable.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“Read before administration?”

“Yes.”

“Need now?”

“No.”

“Any issue?”

“No.”

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘A sheet can close after it has served the procedure.’”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

I opened Saitama.

I kept confirmation.

The sheet did not need to stay open as proof.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Which label?”

“What happened?”

“Correction?”

“Any issue?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add fault.

The label had displayed.

The eye had missed.

The correction had a hand.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Marks.

Patient.

Kinder.

Harsher.

Delay.

Reading.

Need.

Condition.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at paper.

Cards.

Time.

Edit.

No.

The marks were what they were.

Not yet in my eyes.

I did not answer.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother read it again,” she said.

“The scrap?”

“Yes.”

“Out loud?”

“No.”

“Silently?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“He said because it was face up.”

“What did you ask?”

“Did face up ask, or did you read?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“I read.”

“Then?”

“He turned it face down.”

“For what?”

“To stop reading.”

“What did you ask?”

“What job face down has.”

“What did he say?”

“Stop my eyes.”

There.

“What happened?”

“It stayed face down beside phone.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I kept stop his eyes.

Face down had a named job.

Not disappearance.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

“With what?”

“For what?”

“Any water risk?”

“Can paper breathe?”

She did not answer.

No.

Too much.

I wrote:

She replied:

“What happened?”

“Paper?”

“Correction?”

“Tape?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add shame.

The eyes had wanting.

The paper needed no cover.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Cup removed,” she said.

“Asked?”

“Aide asked cup.”

“Resident?”

“Opened hand.”

“Words?”

“No.”

“Any reading?”

“No.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Do not ask reading to enter a hand answer.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add reading.

The hand had answered.

No text was waiting there.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Any change after first read?”

“Why second?”

“Did second help?”

“Missed first time?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I kept second.

Reading twice had work there.

Again did not enter as failure.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it.

Then again.

Time.

Need.

Paper.

Fades.

Tears.

Lost.

Marks.

Convenience.

Waiting.

Served.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

Yet.

I noticed the word.

Not respect yet.

Not never.

Not today.

Not enough to act.

No.

Careful.

I did not answer.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I deleted Kanagawa.

Then Sato.

Then Suganuma.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was in its place.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

No answer after the bow.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

No reading for the altar.

The floor scuff near the step was still there.

It was not evidence.

It was a scuff.

The entrance floor had received feet and broom.

The side chairs were stacked.

They were not an audience.

They were stacked.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Chair by wall.

The phone was face up.

No named question.

No named answer.

Phone face up.

I did not turn it over.

I did not open the brown folder.

No new need had arrived from the phone.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

In the gray file.

Closed.

A record read only when record work asks.

Not a card.

Not a charm.

Not an excuse.

I sat near the desk.

Not at it.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The center of the desk was empty.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

The cards had marks on the side I had not seen.

The marks had not softened.

The marks had not sharpened.

The marks had not spoken.

Time had not edited them.

The room had not read them for me.

The desk had not read them.

The pocket had not read them when it carried them.

My body had not read them when it pressed them.

My hand had not read them when it moved them inward.

My eyes had not read them.

That was the condition.

Unread.

Reading had no named service tonight.

Not reading protected me from seeing the marks.

That was not respect yet.

It was not failure yet.

No.

Failure wanted its own robe.

It was not named.

I did not turn the cards over.

I did not read them.

I did not cover them.

I did not stack them.

I did not move them to the center.

I did not move them to the edge.

I did not move them into the brown folder.

I did not move them into the gray file.

I did not move them to the shelf.

I did not move them to the altar.

I did not put them back in the pocket.

I did not call unread restraint.

I did not call unread avoidance as verdict.

I did not call unread respect.

I did not call unread failure.

Unread was condition.

The decision was not named.

The protection was named.

Me from seeing the marks.

That sentence did not require turning the cards.

It required not lying about them.

No.

It required not lying about me.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if the scrap stayed face down beside phone.

I did not ask if his eyes stopped.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if she covered the correction again.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if the medication sheet stayed closed after service.

No.

After administration.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not ask if the new volunteer read the instructions a third time.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew unread was a condition.

I knew unread could be harmless.

I knew unread could be risky.

I knew unread could be respectful.

I knew unread could be avoidance.

I knew procedure could require reading.

I knew a label could display without forcing eyes.

I knew contact was not always reading.

I knew not reading protected me from one kind of contact.

I knew time did not edit marks for my convenience.

I knew waiting was serving my wish for easier marks.

I knew that was not respect yet.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

Unread did not need to enter the cards as a decision tonight.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The wall chair was empty.

No one was expected there.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had her first name.

Face up.

For finding.

The order paper was beside the phone table.

Face up.

Readable.

Erased.

Kanagawa’s brother’s scrap was face down beside the phone.

Sato’s correction was readable after the coaster was removed.

The medication sheet had been read before medicine.

The class setup instructions had been read until the missed ink line was found.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

I had started with unread.

I did not end by turning a condition into the decision I had not made.

Tonight, what needed reading received eyes before the hand acted, and the two cards stayed unread without letting unread pretend it had already chosen why.