My neighbor is 78, she lives alone

My neighbor is 78, she lives alone. A kind and quiet woman. I noticed that a young man started coming to see her. It would have been nothing, but after he came I would hear screaming. I started to worry, so one day I knocked on the door. They’re quiet. And then the door opens and there’s this old lady wearing…

…a long, flowing kimono with a bright floral pattern. The fabric shimmered in the afternoon sun, and, as surprised as I was to see her dressed that way, what struck me more was the radiant smile on her face.

I stammered, “Oh, hello, ma’am. I, uh, I just wanted to check on you. I heard…” My voice trailed off. She looked at me kindly and said, “The screaming, right?” I nodded, feeling a little awkward for having jumped to the worst conclusion. She stepped aside and invited me in.

had never been inside her home. The living room was small but cozy, filled with an assortment of items that reflected a long, eventful life—old photos, porcelain figurines, and books on history and culture. The young man I’d seen earlier stood in the corner, his posture tense. I wondered if he might be related to her somehow—perhaps a grandson? But before I could form a complete thought, she introduced herself.
“My name is Kiyoko,” she said, bowing slightly, as one does in formal Japanese introductions.

“And this is Vincent.” The young man gave me a respectful nod. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with dark hair tied back in a short ponytail and a kind expression that suggested he meant no harm. Despite my relief that there didn’t appear to be any immediate danger, I couldn’t shake the memory of those screams