Episode 224: When You Have a Fever, the World Suddenly Shrinks

In the morning, the moment the alarm went off and I tried to sit up, I noticed something was wrong.

—It was heavy.

I thought, 'Something foreign has definitely entered my body.'

Usually, I wouldn't even bother taking my temperature if I just felt a little sluggish. But that day, I immediately tucked the thermometer I keep by my bedside under my arm.

Though, you might ask why I have a thermometer by my bedside in the first place.

I’m the type who is reasonably thorough when it comes to being prepared for anything. By my pillow, I have headache medicine, adhesive bandages, a flashlight, and even candles.

Back to the story.

The number displayed along with the electronic beep.

38.1.

“Oh...” I thought, “That’s a pretty serious one.”

Still, I thought maybe I’d feel better if I ate breakfast, so I moved as I usually do in the morning. I opened the window, made the bed, and drank some water. Then, I opened the microwave to heat up some rice, but I couldn't take it anymore and stumbled back into bed.

Lying on my side, on my back—no matter how I positioned myself, it was painful. My shoulders, my lower back, my hip joints—everything hurt, as if I had muscles in places I didn't even know existed.

This is impossible.

I popped two antipyretic painkillers from my bedside into my mouth and swallowed them with saliva. People say you shouldn't take them on an empty stomach, but I couldn't afford to worry about that. Because when you live alone, having a fever is all about how you survive the situation.

What was in the fridge again?
My head isn't working right.
Ah, I think I had a pouch of jelly.
The one that expired a year ago and has been aging.
Is it finally time to eat it?

More importantly, the hospital.
Damn it. It’s Sunday today...

At times like this, people are quick to fall into despair.
But I know.
This sense of despair is mostly just because of the fever.

When you run a fever of 38°C, you easily slip into a 'maybe everything is over' mode. Even though I know it's irrational, I search my symptoms online, and every time I close my eyes, I have nightmares. This time, I had many nightmares where I kept saying sad things like, 'I can never go back to how things were.' My mental state at times like this is unnecessarily dramatic.

But the human body is tougher than you’d imagine. If you take painkillers and sleep, a day or two is nothing. Sometimes you end up feeling perfectly fine before you know it.

Even though I’ve experienced that many times before, every time I get a fever, I end up spiraling over things I don't need to think about. But, I feel like there are some things you can only see precisely because you're in that state.

In the hazy space between sleeping and waking, I remembered things from the past.

On my final day at work, after my AV career was exposed and I had to quit, a senior colleague I had worked with for a long time said this to me.

"If there's ever a time you feel like talking to someone, call me anytime. Let's go to Gyoza no Ohsho again."

At the time, I had hidden the fact that I was working in the AV industry and told them I was going to be a ballet instructor. It was a half-lie. So, even if we were to meet in the future, there would be limits to what we could talk about. Even if I had something I wanted to consult them about, I would ultimately have to handle it myself. So, I thought we probably wouldn't meet again. I believed that, and in reality, that probably wasn't wrong.

However, now I think otherwise.

Perhaps when people say, "I'll listen to you," it doesn't mean "Let's solve the problem together." It might have been a sign that "You don't have to carry it all by yourself." I have brushed away the hands extended to me like that many times. Ah, I feel discouraged now, too late.

I have a tendency to look for a "reason" when I meet people.

Like, what will this conversation eventually lead to?
Or, why is this person meeting with me?

Especially since becoming an adult, I've started to worry about that kind of "productivity" somewhere in the back of my mind.

But now that I have a fever,

Just wanting to talk,
Or just wanting to see someone's face,

Those kinds of feelings emerge, and the people who come to mind at those times suddenly seem incredibly precious.

Maybe human relationships are actually supposed to be like that.

I feel strangely sentimental, and my own standards are blurring.

While thinking about that, I also remembered something someone once said to me.

He was a man around 40 who kept hinting that he "wanted to get married" or "wanted a partner."

I asked him, "Why so much?"

"Because, when you get a serious illness, it's a problem if you're alone, right? Like for surgery consent forms."

Hearing that, I felt a bit cold.
I thought, he should just be more honest. He's actually just lonely, and he's just trying to sound cool by saying something dramatic like surgery consent forms. But now that I have a fever, I'm somewhat regretting that I felt cold toward him. When you're sick, being alone is lonely. And above all, you struggle with even the smallest daily tasks.

People sometimes disguise their true feelings with strange ways of speaking.

I have that side to me, too. Even now, somewhere in my heart, I'm thinking, 'Ah, I wish someone would worry about me.' But I don't reach out to anyone. Being worried about won't make my fever go down. Yet, I just want to hear one word: 'Are you okay?'

When the body is weak, the heart is full of contradictions and quite pathetic.

At 11 p.m., when my fever finally started to subside, I was staring at the ceiling of my pitch-black room. My shoulder and lower back muscles were still aching. Unable to sleep well, I listened to the sound of water running in the next room and the sound of a cupboard closing.

'Buzz.'

My smartphone on the pillow vibrated. Blue light in this situation is definitely not good. However, my heart had been in 'I want someone to worry about me' mode for a long time, so I opened my phone.

'I read Naked Swan.'

It was a LINE message from an acquaintance I hadn't been in touch with for about a year.

Huh?

I was wide awake. I hadn't told him about my work, and of course, I hadn't told him I'd published a book.

—Then how did you end up at 'Naked Swan'?

When I asked, it turned out he happened to see an online article, got curious, looked it up, and arrived there.

And the deciding factor was,
'I was convinced the moment you said "Yaro?" (Right?) in Kansai dialect on the Abema program.'

I thought, 'No way.'
At the same time, I felt a chill.

Like this, old acquaintances, friends.
Perhaps, even my parents—

No, maybe everyone already knows and is just pretending not to. Maybe while I think I'm being considerate, it's actually those around me who are being considerate and accepting me.

Thinking that made me feel embarrassed and pathetic.

Acting like I've survived on my own, I've been supported by someone all along. Thinking about that with a feverish head was a bit exhausting.

'While reading, I thought the whole time, so that happened, you felt that way—'

His LINE message contained a polite, long-form review.

'A body that has been flying for a long time might have many small wounds that are invisible to those around it. But there must surely be someone who will heal those wounds,' he wrote, using an expression that played on the word 'swan'.

Quite a poetic sentence. Wait, is this AI? No, let's stop with such cynical guesses. The intention behind wanting to convey these feelings is genuine.

There are many people who change how they treat me the moment they find out I'm an AV actress.

Some become abusive, saying, 'Don't get cocky, you whore,' while others look away, saying, 'I don't want to know about your actress side.' But he got to know 'me,' and he tried to get to know 'Kanna Fuji' as well. And yet, I already pushed him away a year ago, telling myself I couldn't find a reason to see him.

Ahhh, I let out a sigh.

However, in the messages that followed, there was a line that made me calm down.

'I thought life was interesting. Both subjectively and objectively.'

What does this mean, I wonder. Of course, there's no malice in it, but it feels like déjà vu—

I get it.

It's that feeling of being subtly drawn a line against, as someone who is 'already from a different world.' Like watching from afar. The kind of 'I'm rooting for you from the shadows' thing.

That's why nothing will ever happen between him and me.

Knowing someone and getting close to them are two different things.

Surely, not all human relationships have a reason. Just wanting to talk, just wanting to meet. And most people just brush past each other.

But among them, there are people who try to 'know' you.
I think that act is a form of kindness.

Once I'm feeling better, I'll probably go back to living my life alone and carefree. But on this day, with a fever, it's true that his words, 'I read Naked Swan,' sank in deeper than usual and made me happy.

When you have a fever, the world suddenly shrinks.

Perhaps that's why even a small kindness can look so incredibly large.