The Day Ayame Makino Transformed into a Guitar

A short story about work, music, and magic

Image generated by Midjourney

Ayame Makino thought about the day she transformed into a guitar. 

It began on her way to the company’s fifth-floor supply closet to pick up a clear folder for her report about downsizing their flagship product, Zebra Rounds, a brown and white striped caramel candy chew with hints of vanilla and chocolate. It was hard on the outside and soft in the middle. Kids loved Zebra Rounds. Adults did, too. 

Ayame was a project manager. On weekends she performed guitar. More than anything, she wished to be a full-time guitar player. Guitar wasn’t just Ayame’s life; guitar gave her life. 

Ayame had slaved for twenty nonstop weeks, evaluating the pros and cons of shaving nine grams off Zebra Rounds. She slept in fitful two-hour increments, waking in the darkest hour of the night drenched in sweat and then running to her computer, where she worked until it was time to get ready for the office.

On the day she changed, explosions of pride and accomplishment burst inside Ayame Makino. She held the six-color, eleven-page report tight against her chest. In another minute, when encased in the clear folder, the report would be officially completed. Her boss would congratulate her, tell her to rest, and she would go home and play her favorite songs. 

Ayame was so lost in anticipation that she didn’t see Kenji Ogawa as he turned the hallway corner. She crashed into her boss. 

“Ogawa-san.” Ayame bowed. “I am sorry. I should look where I am going.”

Kenji tugged on his jacket sleeves to snap away any wrinkles the collision had caused. His fingers then flew to his tie to straighten the knot. He glared at the black leather shoe Ayame had stepped on. 

Ayame knelt to the floor and buffed the shoe with her skirt. When she was done, she stood and bowed again.

“I’m glad we’re having this impromptu meeting, Makino-San. This saves me time because I don’t have to email you. I have decided not to change Zebra Rounds’ size. There’s no need for your report.”

Ayame did not scream, though she wanted to. 

Her mind sought refuge in the memory of the previous Saturday when she performed at the coffee shop around the corner from her apartment in Shinmaruko, a small, cozy place that seated twenty people—and that’s only if some sat on the floor with their backs against the window. 

Shikoku Coffee was a place out of time: Patrons sat on thick-cushioned chairs, while statues of random animals, samurai, and mythical creatures guarded the spaces between the glass-topped tables. Turkish carpets covered the floor. Paper lanterns outside Shikoku Coffee’s windows illuminated most of the shop. 

While her audience was small, half were regulars. That even ten people enjoyed Ayame’s music enough to come every weekend made her heart flutter. 

“I adore all your music, Ayame, but I especially liked Fly Me to the Moon. It’s my favorite,” said one of Ayame’s fans after last Saturday’s show, a woman in her seventies with long, white hair and black glasses shaped like bird’s wings. “Your music makes me happy and sad, joyful and melancholy—your music makes me feel.”

“Thank you. I like Fly Me to the Moon, too. But I made a mistake.”

The woman smiled. “I didn’t hear a mistake. You played perfectly.”

“I’ve had so much overtime work I haven’t had time to practice, so I played a wrong chord.”

“Why do you have so much work?”

“My boss.”

The woman nodded. Her glasses slipped off her face, but she caught them mid-fall, like an outfielder snatching a baseball just before it flew into the stands. “Your boss assigns you too much?”

“I barely sleep.”

“Bosses. That’s how they are—all bosses do is look out for themselves. Staff is like ladders, just something to step on on their way up, nothing more than an expendable tool.” She folded her hands together. “But sometimes the ladder collapses.”

Ayame scrunched her eyes. “What do you mean?”

The woman brought her lips to Ayame’s ear. “I had a boss once, the worst of the worst, who gave me endless work at the law office where I was a researcher. Because of him, I didn’t have time for a boyfriend or anything. I’m amazed I’ve lived to old age because I only had time for convenience store dinners."

“What happened?”

“I turned my boss into a tanuki. Maybe you’ve even seen the raccoon dog that used to be my boss wandering around Tokyo at night. He’s still aware he was human, but his life is that of a lowly four-legged animal who lives off frogs, fruit, berries, insects, and slugs.” She clasped her hands together. “It was the most satisfying spell I’ve ever cast.”

“You’re a witch?”

“A Yamamba from the Kyushu mountains.” She paused for a beat. “Would you like to learn the spell that can transform your boss into a tanuki?”

Ayame took in a long breath of coffee-flavored air. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think I could ever do something like that.”

“You don’t have to cast a spell on him. Sometimes, knowing you can is sufficient to make your life better.”

“Okay then, teach me.”

The boss's words, “There’s no need for your report,” burned like fire under Ayame’s feet. She had spent months on the project, and now her capricious manager deemed her work worthless. He deemed her worthless. 

The fire bubbled her blood. Rage reddened her cheeks. She balled her hands into tight fists. 

Ayame locked eyes with Kenji and blurted the spell the old woman taught her.

But because she was sleepy, she made a mistake. Instead of turning her boss into a raccoon dog, she transformed herself into a guitar. 

Twelve-year-old Hoshiko gently removed her guitar from its felt-lined case. Her parents had bought the guitar at a used musical instrument shop in Ochanomizu for her birthday. 

She sat at the edge of her bed and ran her finger along the guitar’s spruce-wood neck and then around its body. Hoshiko’s delicate touch made Ayame giggle, her six strings jiggling synchronously. 

Hoshiko asked her guitar, “What shall we practice first?”

Ayame vibrated her strings to the tune of “Fly Me to the Moon.” 

“Fly Me to the Moon,” Hoshiko said. 

Ayame thought her mistake was the best magic ever.  

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If you enjoyed The Day Ayame Makino Transformed into a Guitar, I think you’ll also like my story, Sakura Petals.

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