Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis
vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent:
"Sibylla ti theleis"; respondebat illa: "apothanein thelo"
===
"Minako?"
"Hai, okaa-san."
"Help me with this bag."
"Hai, okaa-san."
The rain falls in fat drops on the pavement as Minako pushes her hair, sodden and limp, out of her face and then reaches to grab the back end of the suitcase and haul it into the house. The "for sale" sign waves in the wind, squeaky. She listens to it with nearly-deaf ears as she minds the first step into the building and then the full staircase up, into her room. It's a little white abyss at the end of the hallway, and she drops her end of the bag before her mother. The result is a crashing noise that jars one of the suitcase latches. The other follows along, and before the lid hits the floor, clothing and memoribilia tumble out onto the carpeting.
Her mother heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Minako, what am I going to do with you?" she chides, watching as she goes immediately to her knees and starts shoving belongings back into her bag. "Your father is hired as a consultant for Interpol, one month turns to three, then six, then a year, you're miserable to start and then happy to be there, and when that miserable Sailor V character is killed in a fire, you're sobbing every night and your father's suddenly sent back to Tokyo." She shakes her head. "And ever since we left, you've been so - Minako. Minako, are you even listening?"
Minako shakes her head. Honesty, she'd been told a thousand times, is the second-best policy. Instead, she's staring at the photo that's fallen out of her suitcase. She can't even remember packing it, but there it is, the glass of the frame now cracked from falling on the floor.
"I don't understand what happened," her mother repeats, shaking her head. "I'm going to help your father with the last few boxes. We'll order pizza for dinner. What would you like?"
The only thing Minako can think of is blazing fire and explosive heat, pushing her back, sending her flying into an alley and burning her skin while the murmurs of familiar voices and lips brushing against hair burnt her heart.
She would like to be caught in the fire again, but instead she sighs.
"Just cheese."
