Short Story "As You Are" (1966 characters)

Not far from the nearest station, there was a bar I frequented. The bar is located on the second floor of a dilapidated building. If a drinking acquaintance hadn't told me about it, I would have walked past it, thinking it was still an abandoned ruin.

The interior was dim, and empty bottles of every kind of liquor served as decor, reflecting small light sources as if sharing them with each other.
"Is this seat taken?"
The one who spoke was an ant.
The ant, wearing a disheveled suit, stared at me listlessly with sunken eyes.
"Of course."
"Thank you. Then, if you don't mind."
The ant headed to the counter and took the seat next to me, bowing deeply.
"Are you alone?"
I said that to the ant. It wasn't that I was particularly interested.
"Yes. Do you come here often?"
"Occasionally. When I come here, I can usually talk to someone."
"In other words, you come here to distract yourself from loneliness?"
"I suppose so. Today is a weekday and it's still early, so there aren't many people, but even at times like this, the bartender over there is a good listener."
I pointed with my gaze to the middle-aged man carefully polishing glasses on the other side of the counter.
"That's good. Maybe I'll start coming here a bit more often, too."
"By all means. If I'm good enough for you, I'll be your conversation partner."
The ant stared at the droplets on the beer glass as if checking them carefully.

"Actually, I'm thinking of quitting my current job."
"Oh? If you don't mind me asking, what do you do?"
"I can't say in detail, but generally speaking, I'm what you'd call a middle manager. I convey requests from above to those below, and I smooth over complaints from below. That's the kind of work it is."
"That's a tough role. Though, in a way, you could say that's true for everyone's job."
"Yes. Even if it is work, having someone vent their frustrations at you makes me feel like I'm getting an ulcer."
The ant downed the lukewarm beer in one go and ordered a whiskey on the rocks from the bartender.
"When I was a child, I felt like I could become something special. Someone different, someone recognized by everyone. But I didn't know what that was. Without any basis, I kept putting off the decision, and before I knew it, I was raising a child of my own. Every day I just finish my tasks, and the days go by driven only by pressure from above and below. That's my daily life."
"I think that's also something to be proud of."
"Yes, on days when I feel like I'm going to be crushed by stress, I've gone to a sand bath or something similar and told myself that. That I am fulfilling my responsibilities admirably. That I am contributing. But I'm reaching my limit with that, too."
The ant received the whiskey glass from the bartender and touched his lips to it as if licking the surface of the round ice.
"So, you're quitting your job."
"Yes. But I haven't even made up my mind about that yet. My son is still in second grade. Things might get even harder from here on out."
"Whatever you do, children cost money."
"But I wonder if there's an end to it. By the time my son goes to college, graduates, leaves home, and gets a job, how much will I have left that I can do? When I think about that..."
The ant cut his sentence short there and loosened his pale blue tie a little. During that time, I silently swirled the ice, which looked like an old globe, floating in the center of my glass.

"May I offer my opinion?"
The ant said nothing, but his gaze was directed toward me.
So I continued.
"You used the word 'contribution' earlier, but I feel that no matter what I am doing, I am contributing to something."
"No matter what you're doing?"
"Working for someone else like you do, of course, but even drinking here at a bar like this is the same. No matter how one lives, one is forced to contribute to something. Even in the moment you are sitting in a sand bath."
"How am I contributing to anything here?"
I could see the outline of the ant's pupils more clearly than before.
"As long as you are sitting here, you are contributing to the bar's sales."
"To the sales."
The ant stared intently at the glass placed in front of him.
"And you are contributing to me."
"To you?"
"Yes. I write songs. I can't write songs without meeting people. The fact that I talked to you here will bring some kind of change to my songs. Perhaps I might portray you as a protagonist, or have you pass by as a side character on the street. But that is undoubtedly a change you brought about."
"I see."
The ant sat back deeply in his stool. The creaking sound it made felt unusually loud.
"That is why I think you should just live as you are. Because you are the only one who can bear that responsibility."
"As I am... I'll think about it."
We finished the slightly diluted alcohol remaining in our glasses.

End