She’d been full of life in primary school. She’d excelled in swimming and running, and her grades had always been good. She and Mikami had been close. She had always looked up to her dad, the detective, her eyes filled with loving respect – no doubt the result of the stories Minako told her every day.
The change had come after she started secondary school. No, the first signs had been there in her sixth year of primary school. She started to shy away from photos. She threw a leaflet for the school’s Parents’ Day into the bin at a convenience store. She started refusing to leave the house with Mikami and avoided sitting next to Minako. She had perhaps sensed it, worked out what the other kids were thinking but not saying. Or perhaps someone had actually told her.
You look just like your dad.
It’s a shame you didn’t take after your mum.
She hadn’t attended school on the day of her graduation photo. Her photo had been lodged next to the one containing the smiling faces of her classmates, taken on her own the next day. Her mouth had been clenched tight, her eyes on the floor. I tried . . . but I couldn’t get her to look up, her form teacher had later called to explain.
A recommendation had meant that her high school had already been decided. Things will change once she’s there. She’ll grow up. A part of him had still been optimistic. At the same time, he had to admit his situation had made it difficult for him to keep a close eye on his daughter; the period had clashed with the shocking news of his first transfer to Media Relations.
Ayumi had attended the school for a little over two weeks. When she stopped going she started refusing to leave the house at all, eventually withdrawing into her first-floor bedroom. She wouldn’t tell them why when they asked. When they’d resorted to forcing her to go, she’d bawled like an infant. She spent the daytime in bed, hiding under her sheets. Her day and night cycle reversed as she began to stay up all night and go to sleep when it grew light outside. She began to take meals alone in her room.
Her behaviour had become increasingly eccentric. She’d started to hide her face whenever she did make the occasional trip downstairs. She would twist her head all the way to the right, facing the wall as she edged along the corridor or the side of the living room, because she thought the right side of her face the uglier – although it wasn’t until later that Mikami learned that this had been the reason behind her actions.
Minako had been beside herself with worry. She had tried to hide it in the beginning, treating Ayumi as though nothing was out of the ordinary, but it had become too much for her to bear as Ayumi’s withdrawal became more and more serious. She had coaxed a reluctant Ayumi into coming with her in the car to visit the town’s education consultation centre. There, they were introduced to a therapist who they began to see, driving the hour-long trip each way. Minako bought a doctor’s mask for Ayumi, who was still afraid to leave the house, and allowed her to lie across the back seat for the duration of the journey.
The change had come during their sixth session. Ayumi burst into tears, howling her heart out as she finally broke her silence. Everyone laughs because I’m so ugly. I’m too embarrassed to go to school. I can’t even walk outside. I’d rather die than see my relatives. I want to get rid of this face. I want to break it to pieces. As she continued, she had become increasingly distressed, stamping her feet and balling her fists, hitting the desk over and over again.
Dysmorphophobia. Body Dysmorphic Disorder.
Mikami had found it impossible to accept the therapist’s grim-sounding diagnosis. While it had been horrifying to witness the video of their sessions, he had resisted the idea that his daughter was suffering from a psychological condition. Everyone worried about their looks during adolescence. Wasn’t it just that it was hitting Ayumi harder than most? He realized she wasn’t pretty in the way that made people fuss over her. She’d inherited a good amount of his genes. But there was nothing about her that was ‘ugly’. Anyone would attest to it. Ayumi’s looks were no different to those of any other normal girl, the kind you saw everywhere.
The therapist had used the same point to argue that she had a psychological condition. He had stressed the importance of acceptance and recognition; that, as parents, they had a duty to accept their daughter as she was and to respect her as an individual. To Mikami it had sounded trite, and he had struggled to lend a genuine ear to the advice. He’d been angry, too. His daughter had opened her heart to a therapist – a stranger – telling him exactly how much she hated the way her dad looked. Mikami had felt uncomfortable and depressed, and the feeling had grown with each passing day, sapping away his will to talk things over with Ayumi.
Opening up to the therapist had also encouraged Ayumi to lay bare her jealousy of and animosity towards Minako. Perhaps she’d simply concluded that there was no longer any need to keep her emotions bottled up. Stop staring at me with that face of yours. After this cruel statement, Ayumi had stopped talking to her mother completely. When she did occasionally look her way, her eyes harboured traces of hatred.
Minako had started to panic; confused, she began to withdraw into herself. It had been hard to watch the way she would knock on Ayumi’s door, timid as she held a tray of food in her hand. She had taken to sitting quietly in front of her dresser; instead of putting on her make-up, it seemed as though she was cursing the way she looked. Mikami felt his blood boil. He doubted he would have put up with Ayumi acting this way for so long, not if he hadn’t been told she had a ‘condition’.
The day had finally come. It was the last week of August.
Ayumi, who was still locking herself in her room, had suddenly appeared in the living room. Her head had been twisted out of view; she addressed the wall when she spoke.
I’m going to have plastic surgery. I’m going to use the money I saved from my New Year’s gifts. I need permission, so I need your signatures.
Mikami had asked what she was going to have changed. He could hear the trembling in his own voice. Ayumi had been impassive when she’d answered.
Everything. All of it. I want double eyelids. A smaller nose. Cheekbone and jawline reduction.
She wanted to give up being his daughter. That was how it had sounded. He had pushed Minako, who had taken her daughter by the arms, aside and slapped Ayumi across the face. Ayumi had howled at the wall. He’d never heard a woman scream like that before.