I signed the divorce paper with my real mother.

 (Note: The setting of Japan in the past. So some illegal stuff was common back then.)

At sixteen, I signed divorce papers with my biological mother.

At the age of sixteen, I signed divorce papers. The other party was my biological mother.

In the spring of 1990, the azaleas that were in full bloom in the tree belt withered all at once under the scorching sun of spring's midsummer, changing from delicate pink to a dirty brown. A white pigeon with ruffled feathers took flight from the twisted fence adorned with election posters, cutting through the cloudless blue sky like a slice of blue, creating a beautiful scene.

I was attending a local third-rate prefectural high school. That day, as soon as I arrived at school, I noticed something unusual in the classroom. Huh, what's with this heavy atmosphere?

Wait, there's a vase with a single flower placed on the desk. Could it be, did someone die? Who, who died? Wait, this is my desk, right? Huh... that's strange. Did I... die? Hey, wait a second. Hey, everyone... Oh no, my classmates aren't making eye contact with me. They're not responding when I speak. I'm being completely ignored by everyone in the class.

The cause of the bullying is probably from what happened yesterday. During the break after the third period, two popular male students in the class were loudly badmouthing the English teacher. From what I overheard, it seemed clear to me that the two boys were more at fault, and I felt that the English teacher was blameless. So, I faced them and made a statement defending the English teacher.

"Hey, hey, Teruo, are you really defending that teacher?"

"That guy always treats you like a pest, Teruo-chan. He doesn't treat you like a human."

"Sure, he's annoying. Sure, he's a frustrating teacher. But that's beside the point. This is about this incident. You guys are in the wrong. The teacher isn't. That's what I think."

"...I see."

"...You really get annoyed over little things."

As a result of my confrontation, those two who held power within the class seemed to issue a command for everyone to ignore me.

To be honest, if they wanted to ignore me, I'd let them do so until they got tired of it, but when you're being so thoroughly ignored like this, can anyone truly ignore others under any circumstances? I'm starting to feel like conducting an experiment.

Today's tasks shouldn't be postponed until tomorrow. During the first English class of the morning, I calmly stood up from my desk and proceeded to take off my pants.

As expected, all my classmates turned their attention to me.

I went a step further and took off my underwear.

Yep, there you have it. The female students screamed.

On this day, I learned the valuable lesson that people can't ignore someone who is publicly removing their pants.

――――

"Don't laugh!"

I stood in a dimly lit student guidance room's corner, being slapped by the English teacher who I had disrupted during class.

With every slap, an intense mothball odor emanated from around the sleeves of his suit. Behind the English teacher, the student guidance teacher, who had a strong body odor, sat at a desk, arms crossed, eyes closed, and remained silent.

"Answer me! Why did you do something like that?"

Slap.

"Why did you take off your pants on top of the desk during my class?"

Slap.

Truth be told, it was because I had defended you. I wanted to honestly say that. However, explaining the sequence of events that led to me taking off my pants on the desk during class to this teacher, who usually only regarded me as a nuisance, would likely be futile, so I chose not to speak.

The situation I found myself in was clearly no laughing matter, yet somehow, the English teacher, who reeked of mothballs, seemed to perceive me as laughing since earlier.

"Don't laugh!" Slap.

"Don't laugh!" Slap.

"Don't laugh!" Slap.

"...I'm not laughing."

"Oh, you laughed again!" Slap.

"...This is just my face."

"That's why I told you not to laugh! This brat has no respect for teachers!" Slap. Slap. Slap.

My mouth was cut. It tasted like I had bitten a ten-yen coin. I could feel the blood that had overflowed in my mouth trickling down my throat.

It's strange. At this point, I strangely had the leisure to view my situation from above and the overwhelming patheticness of it made me burst out laughing.

"...Hehehe."

"Don't laugh!" Slap.

"...Hehehe."

"Don't laugh!" Slap.

"...Hehehe."

"Don't laugh!" Slap.

"...Um, excuse me. At this rate, I might die from laughing too much. I don't think I can die from excessive laughter. Please, could you stop repeating 'Don't laugh!' like some kind of memorized line?"

The student guidance teacher who had been listening from behind suddenly stood up, forcefully slapped my cheek, returned to his desk, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

He was what you'd call a passionate teacher, someone who was usually very caring towards students and popular among both the honor students and the troublemakers.

 However, there was also a side of him that spoke candidly, as he did when we were alone in this room after my recent school suspension. 

He had said, "You're not suited for group life. Drop out quickly, you fool. Get to work and disappear, you good-for-nothing. Vanish, embodiment of all evils. Just looking at you makes me sick," with that kind of clarity.

I had always found the English teacher who easily became irritated to be unpleasant, but I quite liked this student guidance teacher, so it was quite disappointing to hear him speak in such a manner.

Oh, there's someone trying to forcefully open the poorly fitted sliding door of the student guidance room.

Ah, it's my mother.

　My mother, wriggling her way through the partially open sliding door, entered the room of the dimly lit student guidance office. As the guardian of a student causing trouble at school, she had come to pick me up.

"I apologize for this. My child always seems to be causing trouble..." She awkwardly bowed her head to the two teachers. With my mother's sudden appearance, I felt extremely flustered. Please, Mom, I'm begging you. Please don't argue with the teachers today. Whenever my mother starts apologizing like this, it's only at the beginning. If she senses even a hint of disagreement in the teachers' words, she'll immediately seize on that and it'll escalate into a heated argument.

"...Hehehe."

Oh no, this is bad. Even at this point, I can't stop laughing. This complicated situation in front of my mother. It's a dire situation indeed.

"Hey, Teruo, what are you laughing at? This is no time to be laughing."

"...Hehehe."

"Hey, seriously, cut it out. Even I will get angry. Hehehe..."

"...Ahahaha."

"...Ahahaha. Seriously, stop it. Please. I'll start laughing too."

"Ahahahahahaha."

"I can't take it anymore. Ahahahahahaha."

"Hahahahahahaha."

"It hurts, it hurts, my stomach hurts, my stomach hurts. Hahahahahahaha."

Like parent, like child. Blood will tell. In a sense, it's in our pedigree. Subjected to such taunts, we were kicked out of the student guidance office.

As we were leaving the classroom, the English teacher kicked my back forcefully right in front of my mother. Enraged, my mother swung her bag at the teacher. The teacher, who had retreated into the room, forcefully closed the poorly fitted sliding door and locked it from the inside, making a clattering sound.

---

Facing suspension from school and heading home, along the way, my mother seemed to forget about my presence entirely, walking ahead briskly on her own.

About ten meters ahead, my mother turned around.

"Right, Teruo. Perfect timing. Look, the city hall is right in front of us. Hey, can you stick with me for a bit? I'm going to get a divorce from your father."

In broad daylight on the main street, my mother loudly spoke to me. Given the subject matter, I rushed over and covered her mouth.

――――

About six months ago, my father had stopped coming home.

Perhaps he didn't like how my mother and I had relentlessly pressured him, an unemployed man, saying things like "Instead of just drinking all the time, get a job already, you societal misfit."

His whereabouts were unknown. Not a single word from him. There was no sign of him stealthily sneaking in to pocket the loose change left in the drawers or corners of the bookshelf.

Recently, intimidating-looking adults had started visiting our house. They came to collect on the debts my father had accumulated. These adults were different from the rough and tough characters my father used to hang out with; they had their own unique and unsettling aura. Their cold, ruthless eyes could take a life without changing their expressions, even if it was a woman or a child. It was hard to tell at first glance, but from their intonation during conversation, I could tell they weren't Japanese.

"No, please leave. He's not here," I explained to them multiple times, but they persistently returned. While they didn't resort to violent threats, their actions were becoming increasingly bold. Just the other day, they entered the house with their shoes on, searching through closets and the ceiling for any trace of my father. With each visit, they grew more familiar with my mother, who seemed to be feeling a growing sense of danger. I began to worry that she might be sold off to some sex industry.

"The best thing to do is for Mom to divorce Dad as soon as possible. Luckily, Mom isn't a guarantor for Dad's debts. Once they're divorced, she'll have no connection to him. Those guys won't be able to touch Mom. 

If we get divorced, it'll all be settled. Mom, you should go to the city hall soon and get the divorce papers. I'll sign on behalf of Dad. If Dad ever shows up, we can explain the situation. First and foremost, it's about your safety. Nothing matters more than your life."

And so, the suggestion I had been making for a while was suddenly put into action on that day.

"It's probably safer to use different personal seals for each of us, rather than the same one," I remarked as we stopped by a nearby stationery store and bought two hanko seals with the same last name. Then we headed to the city hall on foot.

---

On the way to the city hall, my mother stopped just before a crosswalk, stood up straight with her back erect, and raised her right hand straight up, signaling the cars in the street to stop. It was her customary action when crossing the road.

Embarrassing. Ever since I was a child, I felt embarrassed when my mother did this in public. Just a few hours ago, I had no qualms about undressing in front of my classmates, but it seemed intentional acts like this and this feeling of embarrassment were entirely different things.

Up until now, I had never really given my opinion on my mother's daily behavior, but starting today, I felt a responsibility to protect her.

 Along with that, I found myself paying closer attention to the subtle aspects of her behavior. At that moment, I subtly offered her some advice.

"Hey, son. Being an adult isn't about what you find beautiful; it's about what you find embarrassing. You're embarrassed to raise your hand at the crosswalk, right? Being with me is embarrassing for you too, right? But for me, it's embarrassing when you don't raise your hand at the crosswalk. 

It's so embarrassing, it's unbearable. Why don't adults raise their hands at the crosswalk? That's what I used to ask as a child. The adults back then laughed. Now, the current adults laugh when they see me, an adult, raising my hand at the crosswalk. But you know, there was just one adult who didn't laugh at me. There was one adult who raised their hand at the crosswalk alongside me."

"...Dad, right?"

"Yeah."

What is this? It's hitting too close to home. I wish I could take back that thoughtless comment from earlier. I wish I could pretend it never happened. I want to rewind time and redo everything, starting from when the English teacher kicked my back in front of the student guidance office door.

"Yesterday, I read a book about monkeys at the library, Teruo. Did you know? Among monkeys, there's a type called 'rogue monkeys' that just can't belong to a group no matter what. You see, Dad and I are like those rogue monkeys. I thought deeply about it. But don't worry. You're not a rogue monkey.

 Even though you might have done things like taking off your pants in the classroom today during class, ultimately, it's just an act of pretending to be a rogue. Because you're young, you're forcing yourself, being reckless, going to extremes, and deliberately acting like a rogue. You'll eventually return to the group of monkeys. Dad and I are different monkeys."

Wookiee. Ooh ooh. My mother mimicked the form of a monkey, moving her hands above her head and under her chin.

"Since you're smart and unlike us, read lots of books, study a lot, and someday become a respectable adult who doesn't raise their hand at the crosswalk."

For a while, I couldn't look my mother in the eye.

At the city hall's citizen services counter, we obtained the divorce papers. It was a thin, almost transparent sheet of paper. While having coffee at a café, I filled in my father's name in the husband column and my mother filled in her name in the wife column.

 Then, we stamped the papers with our hanko seals. My mother took custody of me and my missing sister. We returned to the citizen services counter and submitted the divorce papers. And thus, my parents' divorce was finalized.

---

At the age of sixteen, I signed a divorce paper. The other party was my own mother.

Yes, I forged my father's signature.

I didn't know the true form of a proper family. By the time I became aware of it, it was already shattered. Even so, there were occasional fragments that seemed to be remnants of what might have been a family.

 Yet, even those precious fragments were shattered into smithereens on this day, at the reception of the city hall's citizen services counter, due to the cunning forgery I suggested to my mother.

On the way back from the city hall, my mother, walking ahead of me, once again stood up straight, raised her right hand high, and marched across the crosswalk.

At that moment, I hurried to catch up to my mother, tried it out, and crossed the crosswalk with her, standing up straight and raising my hand in an exaggerated, unnatural smile.

Suddenly, it made sense. I felt like I was shouting without a voice, "Here I am! I'm right here!"

A woman in her forties and a high school student in a school uniform marched side by side, raising their hands in the air in unison, crossing the crosswalk with a cheerful rhythm.

On a certain spring day that felt like summer, I crossed the world together with my mother.