Own nothing, lose nothing. That’s always been my motto.
This apartment building has a strange rule. Leave something sitting around untouched long enough, and it starts going thin, fading, until one day it’s gone for good. Doesn’t matter whether you use it or not — just sitting there is enough to trigger it. And the small things go first, the rare ones, the one-of-a-kinds. The building manager, Mr. Sako, explains it this way: “When there’s only one of something, there’s nothing around it to blend into. Makes it easy to spot — from space.” I don’t really follow the logic, but that’s how it works around here.
So I don’t own anything, full stop. One bowl. One pair of chopsticks. Nothing to lose means nothing to grieve over. See? Perfectly rational.
Old man Tome across the hall is the exact opposite. His room is wall-to-wall junk — yellowed newspapers, kokeshi dolls, a grandfather clock that stopped ticking years ago, one rubber boot with no partner.
“Tome, you ought to throw some of that out. It’s embarrassing.”
“Oh, is it? Funny thing, though — not a single piece of mine has ever disappeared.”
“That’s just because you’ve got too much clutter. Your turn in line never comes up.”
“Exactly. So it all just stays. Forever.”
Ridiculous, I thought.
And then, one morning, the one good watch I owned had gone see-through. By noon, it was gone entirely.
Fine by me. Who needs a watch anyway — your stomach tells you when it’s dinnertime. One less thing to lug around. That’s freedom, right there.
Next to go was my one decent cup, the one my late wife had agonized over picking out.
…Fine. Tea tastes just as good scooped up by hand. One less thing.
And then, finally, her photograph vanished too. There was only ever the one copy, so I suppose it was bound to get found first.
Fine. It’s fine.
Before I knew it, my room held nothing at all. Less than nothing. The only thing left standing was the one piece too big to ever fade — the built-in cabinet against the wall, the ugly thing I’d hated for as long as I could remember.
“Look at that, Tome. Nothing left to lose. I win.”
“Sure, sure. Congratulations.”
That night, I picked up a single nail. I carried it over to the corner of that cabinet — the one thing in this whole building guaranteed to outlast everything else — and carved my name into the wood, one stroke at a time, deep enough to hold.