Hiro Loves Kite

by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

  When she jumps up, she nearly sends a bag of fluids sailing across the room with my arm attached to it. Biting down to stop from screaming, I press my hand to the vein and tube to stop it from popping out. “And Kettle and Kelpie? And Keg and Krow and…”

  I bat my hands. “Calm down. Calm down. I don’t know about that.”

  Her face falls, and she purses her little mouth. “I ain’t goin’ without Kelpie. I promised he could sleep in ma room.”

  I exhale through my nose loudly. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  A wobbly cough makes us both look up. Marie waddles into the room. Apologies all over her face. One faded black eye I know and envy. It’s of a swing out and an almost miss. I rarely got one of those. And if he missed, he came back around. I feel that hardening of my shell, and I try to relax.

  You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. Words I nestle into every available space. Between the blinds, under my pillow, on the windowsill.

  I do know that when Marie looks at my face, all she will see is gratitude.

  48

  KITE

  “Marie!” Frankie slams into Marie like she’s found the cloud she’s been chasing. She squeezes the poor woman until she emits an odd-sounding grunt. Air forced up and out from the pressure.

  I raise my broken arm carefully. “Frankie, please stop trying to squeeze all the air out of Marie.” She releases her a little, and I see a heave of relief from the plump woman’s breast.

  She pats Frankie on the head, smiling warily. “It’s good to see you, Miss Frances. Where have you… I mean, how have you been?”

  Frankie chomps at the air with her teeth. It makes an awful noise, and we both grimace. “I been good. I been makin’ friends…” She starts counting them on her fingers. “Kelpie, Keg, Krow… an…an… Kettle!” she shouts through the doorway. I don’t know where he’s disappeared to. “What’s tha name of the new kid?”

  Small puffs of pride fluff the lining of my chest at her adaptability. Her reference to the “new kid” like she’s an old member of the Kings.

  Marie, stunned by all the names and information, clucks her tongue. “Goodness, child. That’s a lot of new friends. With some very interesting names.”

  Frankie nods like a toy on a spring. “It is. It is. It is.” She wiggles her fingers. “I hef a new name, too. It’s Kricket.” She squats down and frog leaps.

  Marie laughs nervously. “Kricket suits you very well.”

  Hiro’s head appears in the doorway, his expression darkened. Maybe it’s Marie. The last time he saw her, she closed the door while I was being beaten with a coat rack.

  Small shivers try to creep up my spine. I make a concerted effort to stop them. This is hard.

  I whisper to myself, “You’re safe.” And tap my heart.

  “What’s the new kid’s name?” Frankie asks, running to Hiro and slamming into him like a quarterback. He stumbles back playfully.

  “Krafty,” he mutters in a guarded voice.

  I was only gone a few days, and there’s already a new kid. Frowning, I pick at loose threads on my cast.

  Frankie buzzes around the room. Too excited to sit. I give Hiro a look, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Marie. He sweeps Frankie up, carrying her out of the room.

  “Let’s see if we can come up with a really keen drawing for your sister’s cast.” His voice gets further away. I breathe in and out deeply. Taking in the calm air for a moment.

  Marie steps forward, producing a tin of cookies from her large bag. “Here,” she whispers. “I made these for you. I know they’re your favorite.”

  I open the lid, the smell of ginger and butter drags me backward. Presses my back into a Christmas pine tree, needles puncturing my clothes. The ornaments rattle as he approaches. Hand already in back swing. Swallowing, I shut the lid. “Thank you, Marie, that’s very kind of you.” These memories aren’t easy to shake. Maybe I’ll never quite be rid of them. The important thing to hold onto is the knowledge they are only memories. Pictures and plays of the past. They will never be repeated. There will be no more to add to this album. They can be filed and stored, wherever I choose.

  Wherever I choose.

  She bows. Like I’m a princess. Like I should be fussed over and treated. “I want to say…” Her words dissolve. She’s so frozen in the way things are supposed to be. Maids and masters. Parents and children. She stepped out of that cast once. It means she can do so again.

  I’m going to need her help if my plan is to work.

  “Marie. You don’t need to say anything. I know how hard it was to stand up to him. I know why you didn’t in the past. I am forever grateful for what you did. You helped me end it. And… you saved my life.”

  Tears are forming in the soft, crinkled corners of her eyes. Like dew on curling autumn leaves. “I still want to say I’m sorry. I did wrong by you and your sister. And I will never forgive myself for it. I won’t.”

  Wringing her hands, she stares at the floor. “Please, Marie. Don’t hold onto this guilt. It will do you no good at all. If you must hold onto something, hold onto to the good you did.”

  I reach for her hands. My fingers just brushing the tense ball of fingers.

  “Yes. At least he can’t hurt you no more.” She sets her mouth and chin hard. There is no sympathy for my father in there. “Now, Miss Nora, when are you coming home? I’ve cleaned the house from top to bottom, so it’s nice and fresh for your homecoming.”

  I’m unsure. Nervous of what Hiro might say. Scared of how I might feel gazing up at those terrible stairs. “I don’t know.” She looks concerned. Not sure which way to turn. “Marie. Are you still receiving your wages? Is our driver and the other staff?”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t you worry about that, Miss. We’ll manage.”

  I purse my lips. This new coat of adulthood alighting my shoulders. “I certainly will worry about it. I will speak to Mr. Inkham to have you all paid by the end of the week.”

  “Thank you, Miss. And then, when you come home, we can set about making the place your own.”

  My own. My. Own. I own the brownstone.

  I nod. Still wrestling with the truth. Maybe the only way to rid myself of him is to clear him out. Stand in the house and at the helm, and take ownership.

  Straightening my bedding, she offers one last thing. “Let me look after Frankie for you while you recover, Miss. I promise, I’ll take good care of her. She hasn’t missed too much school. I’m sure she can catch up.”

  As if on cue, Frankie coughs and re-enters the room. “I ain’t goin’ without you.” She crosses her arms over her chest. Eyes stormy. Hair raising, anticipating a lightning strike.

  I stroke her restless head as Hiro’s face reads through emotions like a runaway scroll. “You should go. You can sleep in your own bed. Eat Marie’s delicious pancakes.”

  Frankie shivers, and the lightning is absorbed by the earth. “But what about you?”

  I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  She leans into my palm. I’m always right behind you.

  49

  HIRO

  This is where it was always supposed to end. With the rich girl going back to her brownstone and me going back to my life as a King. But when I heard her say, I don’t know about that, it’s like she’s clamped a hand around my heart and tugged as hard as she could.

  Love is there. But love doesn’t lead us. Practicality does.

  They say goodbye, but Marie, the round housemaid, promises to bring Kricket back for daily visits. Kite’s face swings to mine. Physical and emotional pain wreaking havoc on her stretched face. “Will you drop Frankie’s things to the brownstone?”

  “Sure.”

  She looks smarted by my one-word answer, but I don’t know what to say. Of course, I knew she wasn’t going to stay in the tunnel forever. Hell, I knew I couldn’t stay there forever. But I was hoping for a little more time.

  I watch her expression react and release. A
new sharpness to her eyes. “Hiro, I need to tell you something…”

  I cut her off. “It’s okay. You’re going back to your home. To the brownstone. You should. It’s where you belong.” I start packing things that don’t even belong to me just for something to do.

  Her eyebrows draw together. Her hand shrinks to a fist. “Where we belong. You, me, and Frankie.” She thumps the mattress weakly. She’s still so damaged. “It has to be our home, or it’s nothing.”

  “What?” I scrunch a plastic cup in my hand.

  She continues to thump the mattress. Soft but strong like a battle march. “I don’t belong anywhere if you’re not with me. I would sleep in an abandoned subway tunnel or a cardboard box in a dirty alley til’ the end of my days, as long as I’m with you.” She gestures wildly, hands still fisted like she’s holding onto her words for dear life. I take them and still them, laughing a little at her grim expression and determination.

  She is the light that we follow up the stairs to the outside. Unwavering. Golden and hopeful. I chuckle. “That won’t be necessary. But I don’t know what I’m going to tell the Kings.”

  A wicked smile breaks across her lips like treasure is hidden behind her teeth. “You can tell them the Kings have a new hideout.”

  My heart punches out a new rhythm, a ‘this can’t really be happening’ kind of song. Can I really take what she’s offering? I look into her eyes, solid amber, bright sparks of stardust. Solar systems forming. Infinitely stubborn. I don’t think she’s going to take no for an answer.

  I lean into her. Our noses touching.

  “Are you sure about this? You just said you weren’t only five minutes ago.” She gives me quizzical look, lips quirked. Eyes just dancing. Twirling like a ballet.

  She pokes me in the chest. “Eavesdropper. I was thinking I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be back there. It holds a lot of bad memories. I would never leave the Kings. They’re my family, I’m not going to leave them behind.”

  “We’ll chase them out together,” I say goofily, and she giggles.

  “I was hoping you’d say that. And there is something else. Someone else we need to talk to…” She watches my face, waiting for something.

  When it dawns on me, she laughs loudly, touching her chest when it stings her injuries. “Kin…”

  She grins. “Tell your brother to pack his belongings.”

  I’m boundless. Weightless. In a good dream. An actual good dream. I clasp her hands, kissing them. Looking up, I search for doubt. “You know this will cause a huge scandal. Us living in sin and housing a bunch of street urchins…” I find none.

  She gobbles up all the light. This bright, new star shining through her, around her. “Sounds like good fun to me.”

  50

  HIRO

  I have several tasks to perform.

  Talk to the Kings. Get Frankie’s stuff and bring it to the brownstone. Our new home. Those three words seem impossible, like three animals destined to be enemies all lined up in a row.

  I observe my brown hands, turning them over. It has been a while since I’ve looked at myself this way. Color and difference. That’s Kite doing. She’s worked her way into my mind. Changed things that needed changing, and loving all of me anyway.

  It may seem strange, but I don’t mind the idea of living in sin. I do want to marry her. But I want her to be in control of her life first. She needs to run the show. That’s the only way I see it working.

  I hesitate as I reach the turnstile. Hands clutching the metal. She’s offering me the world. I will make sure I am worthy of it. A man shoves me in the back, and I curve over the turnstile like a folded tortilla. “Move it, Jap traitor.”

  This is where I should pull my hat down and step aside. Change is in the air. I turn around to face the man. “Excuse me?” I stand tall. I stand up. The man growls and places a hand on my shoulder, shoving me aside like I’m an obstacle, not a person.

  “You heard me.” He spits on the ground.

  I smile. Tipping my hat at him, I say, “I’m a Japanese American. I’m no traitor. I work hard. I take care of my family. I deserve your respect. Not your hate.”

  The jostle of people is making it hard to see. Hard to be heard. But my eyes are steel glinting in the sun. My face is proud and strong. I will not hide anymore.

  The man’s burly fist hits me like a brick. I manage one break-out punch before it goes dark as tar paper.

  Cold concrete beneath my ear. The rush of blood swirling against the drums. I scrunch my eyes. It was always boards, not concrete. Tar-papered thin, thin boards that barely kept the cold out. Ironically, it was like living in an origami box. I’m not there. I am here. Though I don’t know where here is. I don’t want to open my eyes to find army greens and distrusting expressions. I press my palms to the ground.

  The sound of metal being brushed is foreign. Foreign is good.

  A voice like popcorn in a paper bag. Amused and buttery. “The kid’s alive!” Hands clap. Boots tap out warning messages on the floor.

  Feet shuffle close by. Open your eyes.

  “It’s a mean trick, Officer. Putting him so close, yet so far away.” Papers ruffle. A telephone rings.

  I breathe in, the slow ebb of panic building to a wave. They have me. They caught me. It will be over so fast. Memories of car doors slamming, black shine, and gasoline. People discussing my life like it’s not my own. What to do. What to do. What to do. With the Jap kid. The Nip. The traitor. The spy.

  I push up, and my head whirls. My eyes adjust to the white light. The dark wood desks and disarray of a police station. My mind closes in as the bars surrounding me seem to press into my chest and stripe my skin. Make it hard to breathe. My jaw smarts, and I lift my hand to it gingerly.

  Oxygen is tight. I swallow small gulps of it like it’s running out.

  The police officer steps closer and squats down. Frowning, he wipes black, floppy hair from his forehead. “You took a pretty hard knock to the head, kid. Just take it slowly.”

  His words seem kind enough. I know my face is whitened and coated with confusion as I try to absorb my surroundings. I’m in the center of a holding cell surrounded by black bars. There is no way out.

  I try to compress my fear, but it does the opposite. Expanding past my body. Filling the room with a dark, hopeless cloud.

  The cop still watches me with several degrees of fascination. Head tipped, squinting like I’m the bull’s-eye of a shooting target. “What’s your story?” he asks, filling a cup with water and passing it through the bars. “You Chinese or something?”

  I take the cup with shaky hands. “Or something.” I don’t want them to know my true heritage. I don’t want to give them any reason to look into my story any further.

  Standing, he shakes his head. “No need for the bad attitude, son. I was just curious.”

  After I place the cup down, I scoot backward until my back is against the bars. The cop turns away from me, and his partner chuckles. “Why don’t you get him to teach you some of those Kung-Fu moves. Though, he’s clearly no master.”

  Shadows in the corner. Sour, whiskey-stink breath. An arm wraps around my throat before I have a chance to react. I scratch at the arm as it pulls me hard against the bars. “It’s be Karate. He’s a Jap,” the owner of the arm shouts with hate and disgust. My airway is crushed. I can’t even scream. And my thoughts turn to impressed that this drunk knows the difference between Kung Fu and Karate. “I should know. I’ve killed enough of ‘em.” Then they sour.

  Maybe this is how it ends for me. Choked by a drunk in the opposite cell. My face the cause. The war the reason.

  My eyes start to fade black at the corners like the end of a movie.

  The cops scramble to the cell. Doors swing open, and the muffled bash and crash of the drunk being subdued flies over my head. The arm finally releases and I fall to the floor, hands out, coughing and spluttering and crawling forward, out of reach.

  “Marvin, we warned you,” the cop s
ays as he cuffs the drunk to the bars. “You just never learn, do you?”

  Marvin spits on the floor and sneers. “His kind shouldn’t be allowed to jes’ walk the streets like they own the place.”

  The cop shoots me a look I don’t know how to respond to. It’s sort of an eye roll and it’s also like he’s bringing me in on it, like he wants me to join him. I just stare, eyes round as dinner plates. I’m waiting for them to make the call.

  “He’s just a kid, for Christ’s sake.” He points at me. “How old are you?”

  Lie.

  “Eighteen, sir.” My eyes find the warm corners of the room. I’m so scared he’ll know I’m lying that my knees shake.

  This is all my bad past gathered in one room. Incarceration is the nightmare that’s been chasing me my whole life. I don’t know how to act. I don’t know who to trust or what’s real.

  Ignoring Marvin’s cursing, the cop slams the door to his cell and locks it. “See, eighteen. Now, I’m not great at math, but even I know he would have been a little kid when the war started. Hell, when it ended, too.”

  Marvin continues to say horrible things. I know this kind of man. There is no appealing to his rational side.

  The cop comes back to my cell and stares. “So, you’re Japanese…” He’s assessing my face. My clothes. He’s trying to make sense of me.

  “Half.” I pull my knees up. Rest my elbows on them. I want to hide. Bury myself under the concrete floor. It can only be a matter of time before they come.

  “Half Japanese, jeepers. You must have had an interesting life.” Interesting? Hard.

  His partner snorts. “Come finish your paperwork.”

  My hands wrap around the bars tightly. I pull. Not because I think I can move them. But because I need something to hold onto as my world slips down the drain like laundry water.