Cursive and That Certain Ayumi Hamasaki Mark
Back in elementary school, I had absolutely no friends, so I devoted myself to a dull way of killing time: scribbling "cursive" on the back of flyers at home. Little did my elementary-school self know that the special skill I gained from this would end up opening a Pandora's box of delinquents after I entered junior high school.
It was the spring I entered junior high. I was stopped by Senior A, a third-year student in the same club. She was a close friend of my sister, who was two years older than me, since nursery school, and she had beautiful, silky, light-brown hair.
“Hey, I heard from your sister that you're good at English... can you write Toma Ikuta in English?”
she asked, holding out a page of her notebook.
When Senior A said "English," did she mean "Romaji"...? I timidly wrote "Toma Ikuta" in block letters. Then, a deep frown appeared on Senior A's forehead.
“No, write it in English! Like this!”
She pointed to the squiggly letters in the corner of the English textbook. Yes, cursive it was. Ah, I see. Cursive is English itself. While confused by this unique interpretation, I was also afraid to defy her. Desperate to just get away from there, I spelled the name in cursive and handed it back.
“Wow! So that's how you write Toma Ikuta in English!”
Senior A went around showing off the cursive Toma Ikuta like a treasure to the other seniors nearby. I left the club room quietly, projecting an aura of "I'm glad I could be of service" with my whole body.
However, this marked the beginning of a tumultuous period.
A few days later, during lunch break. When I was called by a classmate saying, "The seniors are here to see you," and returned to the classroom, a group of third-year girls led by Senior A had occupied my desk. On the desk were photos and clippings of Johnny's idols and w-inds., along with colorful Posca markers and milky pens set out.
“We want you to write our names on these photos in English!”
Ignoring my confusion, the seniors said with sparkling eyes,
“Look, doesn't it look like an autograph when you write it in English (*cursive)? We also brought photos of Toma Ikuta, so we want you to write his name in English again!”
There was no escape. Pressed by the intensity of the seniors, I wrote the idols' names in cursive in the designated spots.
“Kyaaaa! It looks like the real thing!”
Looking at the happy seniors, I kept quiet because I felt like I would be beaten up if I asked, "Wait, what real thing?", but I felt like I was being crushed by an indescribable emotion. Is this a forged autograph? No, no, this is just a cursive conversion service. I told myself that, wearing a bitter smile.
As some of you may have noticed, the junior high school I attended was somewhat rough. There were students who would ride bicycles through the school building, and others who would throw toilet paper out of the windows. The top of the hierarchy in that world were the delinquents who made sagging pants and thin eyebrows their default look. Senior A belonged to that crowd, and rumors of my "mysterious service that converts names into English (*cursive)" spread through the delinquent network in no time.
And before I knew it, requests started coming in from the top of the top of the delinquents, Senior T. His request was this:
“Write my name in English next to the 'ayu mark' too.”
The "ayu mark" refers to that logo of Ayumi Hamasaki, the absolute DIVA in the delinquent world at the time. Posca markers, which I assume were procured from the student council room, were scattered all over the desk.
Was the main point no longer even cursive, but just copying a logo design? Many questions remained, but I was made to promise to carve "ayu" and the senior's mark into Senior T's Campus notebook.
Half a day later, Senior T came to check on the finished work. When I handed over the promised item saying, "H-here it is...", Senior T checked it and immediately showed it off to his companions, laughing and patting my shoulder hard to thank me, saying, "That's cool! Now studying will be fun!"
After that, Campus notebooks were brought in by all sorts of delinquents, and orders for the same treatment as Senior T followed one after another. A legend had even been born that the combination of "Ayumi Hamasaki's symbol + name in cursive" somehow "has the effect of increasing concentration." In fact, it seemed Senior T had started studying for entrance exams. Am I an exorcist?
Since I didn't want to take them home, I kept doing the side job during class. I became skilled at wrapping the pens in a towel to shake them so the rattling sound of the Posca markers wouldn't be heard, and I became able to control the amount of ink down to the millimeter.
The further despair that awaited me when I finally escaped to my home, my sanctuary, was even greater. My sister was actually sitting at her study desk with a Posca marker in her hand. (*) My sister is the very person who leaked my cursive skills to the delinquent world.
“Welcome home. I was thinking I might try drawing the ayu mark in my notebook too!”
What my sister was clutching were vividly bright pink and orange Posca markers. Once she finished one, she seemed quite satisfied and was busy proliferating that mark on her recorder case and hand mirror. I don't get it. What is the significance of the initiation of drawing the mark of your favorite artist as if it were your own mark? Come to think of it, isn't she also an examinee?
I watched her strange behavior coldly, and then it hit me. That's it, if my sister takes over this role, I might be able to wash my hands of this chain... As soon as I thought of it, I did my best to make my sister master cursive.
The strategy was a success, and I completed the handover to my sister in about a week.
Then, one day a while later, when I got home, my mother's angry voice was echoing. It seems my mother, who was cleaning, had discovered a test with a desperate score of 43 points from the gaps in my sister's notebook, which was filled with that mark.
“Writing nothing but stupid marks like this! You have entrance exams this year, don't you! Study!!”
After being lectured for hours, my sister returned to her room and was crying softly while playing Ayumi Hamasaki's "A Song for XX" quietly on her MD player.
No place to belong / Couldn't be found
I see, so this is how Ayumi Hamasaki speaks for the feelings of delinquents and gals. The diagram with such high resolution was so surreal that I almost burst out laughing, so I pretended to read volume 8 of "Chibi Maruko-chan" in the corner of the room. While gently rubbing the callus on my right hand made by the Posca marker.
This is the end result reached by a girl who made cursive a special skill from a dull way of killing time.
By the way, the following year, my sister devoted herself to mastering the ORANGE RANGE mark and inscribed it on all her belongings.
While watching that and thinking, "She never learns," I, who had never been so passionately "love is supreme!" for anyone, felt just a tiny bit envious.
"A Song for XX"
My sister used to listen to it a lot. It might resonate more with me now.
Volume 8 of "Chibi Maruko-chan"
The story where rumors about Hamaji and Maruko spread is funny no matter how many times I read it.
[Supplementary Note] This is a story from an era when resale services and the like were not developed, and it is a story about a junior high student who enjoyed doodling within the scope of an individual. I will note this for the sake of the seniors' and my own justice.