Somewhere Among

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Somewhere Among Page 12

by Annie Donwerth-Chikamatsu


  more than ever

  everywhere I go.

  From the clump of trees,

  Masa pounces

  my heart flops

  I squeal like a mouse under a cat’s paw.

  He laughs

  dances like a demon

  and tosses something at me . . .

  a cicada shell.

  Dazed,

  then tuned in,

  I watch him and think,

  Someone needs to throw salt on him.

  I look beyond him, ignore

  his dancing

  his rattling hands in front of my face.

  He starts calling me God of Hell.

  I ignore him, but

  his fingertips graze my cheek.

  I slap slap slap at his arms,

  and scream,

  “For sure I am God of Hell! Watch out!”

  He steps backward.

  I step forward,

  crushing the cicada shell under my shoe, and shout,

  “I will spirit you away!”

  I charge him

  grab his arm

  pull.

  My aggression is stunning.

  He pulls free,

  scrambles, runs.

  Now who’s the bully?

  INSTANT KARMA

  I stomp to the shops.

  I march back

  realizing at the gate

  I forgot to buy tea.

  Just let Obaachan say something about that!

  I will not walk

  all the way back to the shop

  to buy tea.

  Obaachan is still not talking to me

  even after unpacking the groceries.

  I miss the hot cup of tea at dinner.

  ON THE BUS WITH OBAACHAN

  Standing, tired after hospital visits,

  I know what she is thinking:

  Younger generations don’t give up

  their seats for their elders

  these days.

  Obaachan is fuming

  but she isn’t showing anything

  but manners.

  We are standing over

  a man cutting his nose hair.

  The bus jostles.

  I can barely stand

  Obaachan not saying anything

  not even looking at him

  even from the corner of her eye.

  Manners.

  Obaachan seems smaller outside the house.

  These days, I am not so sure

  I am the same person

  anywhere I go.

  THE WORST NIGHTMARE

  I am the giant chasing Masa.

  GROUNDING

  Our class

  snakes along the street

  heads toward the river

  to a small field.

  Masa is sticking to the farmer

  studying his every move

  as he instructs us how to

  pull daikon.

  Two groups form.

  Masa’s group pulls.

  Most struggle to free

  the long, thick radishes

  from the soil.

  The farmer tells Masa

  “Good job!”

  Masa is happy.

  My group sits

  waits

  snaps off the tops.

  We all have green fingertips.

  Today is our civic lesson

  for appreciation.

  The farmer thanks us

  tells us to fill the plastic bags

  we brought from home

  with the greens.

  Back at school we divvy up

  the leaves to make sure

  everyone gets a fair share.

  Obaachan seems pleased to receive it

  even though it is a muddy mess.

  Before her first bite, she says,

  “Itadakimasu.”

  She says it at every meal but

  today it is the first time in a week

  she says something in my direction.

  Papa has always translated itadakimasu as

  “Thank you, farmers!”

  THANKSGIVING

  Papa has a day off

  Labor Thanksgiving, giving thanks to workers!

  Mom and Papa and I celebrate

  America’s Thanksgiving on this day.

  This year, because of the time difference,

  they’re on the same day.

  Papa will spend the day with us.

  This year will be spent in hospitals.

  MOM’S THANKSGIVING

  Mom asks about Jiichan and Obaachan

  and shows us a plate of Thanksgiving

  dropped off by American church ladies.

  She is thankful to have a taste of America.

  She gives me and Papa a nibble

  puts the plate in her room refrigerator

  and says she will save a bite of pumpkin pie

  to eat with Grandpa Bob and Nana

  on the phone on Thanksgiving Day

  California time.

  Mom tells us she’s tired

  of the hospital milk-producing diet

  even though it is tasty.

  “They make the best miso soup here,” she says.

  Complaining

  about the long hospital stay

  —“doctors here are so conservative” —

  she quickly adds

  she is “thankful to stay with Miki.”

  NOVEMBER 23, 2001

  BABY’S FIRST THANKSGIVING

  We circle Miki

  in her glass box

  and list our thanks.

  I am thankful Masa ignores me,

  but I wish I hadn’t hit him.

  I don’t say any of that out loud;

  I’m keeping it to myself.

  I am thankful Miki is a girl.

  I am thankful Miki is getting stronger.

  I am thankful Miki is healthy.

  Mom and Papa say the same

  (except the girl part).

  We all agree

  every day with Miki is Thanksgiving.

  Papa and I have a hard time

  leaving Miki

  leaving Mom

  but we have to go.

  JIICHAN’S THANKSGIVING

  Late afternoon,

  lunch of

  stewed vegetables

  fish

  miso soup

  a bowl of rice

  and tofu

  is pushed aside on his tray table.

  Papa sighs and says, “Looks good.”

  “Not like Mother’s,” Jiichan says.

  Papa agrees and doesn’t say

  anything about eating at the ramen shop

  three times a week since we’ve been gone.

  My mouth waters

  my stomach begs

  Obaachan and I aren’t eating many hot meals.

  I hand Jiichan his rice bowl

  humming a song I know he likes,

  “I Look Up as I Walk.”

  Papa asks, “Do you know

  Americans call it ‘Sukiyaki’?”

  “A beef dish song!”

  Jiichan smiles.

  I tell him, “Please get strong.”

  He eats for me.

  WALKING TO OBAACHAN’S

  Papa flags the yaki imo truck.

  Its recording blasts encouragement to buy

  but the toasty aroma is encouragement enough.

  The seller bags three of his biggest roasted potatoes.

  Papa hands them to me.

  They warm my heart all the way back.

  A HOT MEAL

  Obaachan presents us

  a home-cooked meal.

  She dragged out the kotatsu

  to replace the dinner table.

  Our legs are cozy

  draped by the blanket at the table edge and

  toasted by the heater underneath the tabletop.

  I am thankful for this tasty hot meal

  with Papa.

  O
ver steaming teacups, we view

  a ray of sunset in the maple tree,

  deepening to valentine red.

  He doesn’t want to leave,

  but he has to go back.

  Off on Friday for Labor Thanksgiving,

  he has to work all weekend.

  I am alone with Obaachan again.

  Now there is a heater

  to warm up to, but

  that doesn’t mean she’s going to turn it on.

  GIVING THANKS ON THE PHONE

  Grandpa Bob and Nana on one side

  of the Pacific Ocean,

  me on the other side

  waves of electrical pulses

  bounce off a satellite

  circling Earth

  between us

  the connection is clear.

  We talk about the things

  we are thankful for

  warm and cozy things

  we remember

  driving down to San Francisco,

  the coldest summer vacation ever,

  flying out to New York City,

  the coldest spring break ever, and

  being together.

  A WARM AND COZY THING

  Without my complaining,

  Papa sends a cloth cover

  to warm up

  the toilet seat.

  SCHOOL ART EXHIBITION

  Papa cannot come

  Mom cannot come

  Jiichan cannot come

  I do not want Obaachan to come.

  We carry our projects to the gym.

  Masa is proud of his Sun painting even though

  he used crayons, not paint.

  His exploding Sun is yellow and green.

  I heard him tell Yuta, “The inside of the Sun is green.”

  Our class table is crowded with projects.

  Sachiko’s bandaged tower and my purple heart

  sit side by side.

  I tell her I like her tower.

  She thinks my heart is good.

  NOVEMBER 29, 2001

  GUITARS GENTLY WEEP

  Every night

  on the phone

  with Papa,

  I want to tell him

  everything bothersome.

  I talk,

  but I don’t say

  anything worrisome.

  Tonight

  I hear

  in Papa’s voice

  something sad.

  His favorite Beatle died.

  George Harrison passed away in California

  on November twenty-ninth.

  “He was a man of peace,” Papa says.

  “He knew how to treat people.”

  This would not be a good time

  to tell Papa I hit Masa.

  NOVEMBER 30, 2001

  DECEMBER 2001

  SAD AND HAPPY IN ONE DAY

  Today,

  America’s seventh of December,

  our eighth,

  is a very sad anniversary—

  Pearl Harbor.

  Prayers are said

  on all shores.

  Today

  sixty years later

  the American president says

  Japan and America

  “are working side by side

  in the fight against terror.”

  Today,

  our eighth,

  is a happy day—

  the royal baby Aiko,

  the late Emperor Hirohito’s great-granddaughter,

  leaves the Imperial Household Agency Hospital

  in the arms of her smiling mother, Crown Princess Masako,

  with Crown Prince Naruhito smiling by her side.

  DECEMBER 8, 2001

  ABOVE IT ALL

  My thoughts are lost in space with

  Grandpa Bob’s NASA news:

  Over six thousand small flags, and

  flags from the towers,

  the Pentagon

  the Pennsylvania Capitol

  are orbiting Earth in the Endeavor space shuttle

  along with possessions of victims,

  firefighters, and police officers.

  A ceremony will be held

  on December 11, 2001, New York time

  in the International Space Station

  to commemorate the loss of life on September 11.

  It will be on NASA TV.

  I cannot watch

  without Internet access here.

  I look up as I walk along

  to the train station with Obaachan.

  BACK TO EARTH

  I stop in my tracks—

  Masa!

  and his mother

  are standing outside a cake shop

  the one with the best Christmas cake

  the one with the dancing Santa

  the one with the sign saying,

  Please do not touch Santa.

  Masa is pointing at Santa

  leaning in too close

  about to touch him

  but doesn’t.

  Bashi!

  His mother smacks him on the head.

  Obaachan nudges me

  tells me not to linger

  or to watch.

  She doesn’t know

  who this boy is.

  And I don’t tell her.

  SITTING NEXT TO OBAACHAN

  On the train

  my brain

  rushes—

  MASA’S MOTHER hits him.

  Masa’s mother HITS him.

  Masa’s mother hits HIM.

  clatters—

  MASA hit me.

  Masa HIT me.

  Masa hit ME.

  screeches—

  I hit Masa.

  I HIT Masa.

  I hit MASA.

  My stomach sinks with motion.

  My heart is sicker.

  My face is an open book.

  I feel

  a woman

  Obaachan’s age

  looking at me

  looking at

  Obaachan

  looking

  at us

  watching

  seeing

  feeling

  sensing

  knowing

  I am about to leave

  she slips something

  into my hand.

  ON THE PLATFORM

  I look down into the face

  of a small origami doll

  smiling up at me

  her arms open wide

  a heart glued to her sash.

  She is mostly heart.

  Covered in plastic

  a slit of paper stuck on the outside

  says

  May Peace Prevail on Earth

  in English.

  Obaachan bends over the doll,

  looks me in the eyes,

  asks,

  “What is the meaning?”

  The meaning.

  I don’t know “prevail.”

  I look at Obaachan

  in her eyes

  for the first time

  I see black spokes around her pupils.

  Like mine.

  I am like Obaachan.

  But worse.

  She doesn’t hit.

  I do.

  THE MEANING

  I look down

  and

  see the big heart.

  Without translation,

  without hesitation,

  without intimidation,

  I tell Obaachan, “Put peace in your heart.”

  She looks like someone has seen her

  sweeping with the wrong broom.

  She shrinks,

  recoils,

  strikes out

  toward the exit.

  This stranger has seen into our hearts.

  OBAACHAN’S UNFOLDING LOVE

  Between Earth and Sun

  Moon is passing

  in an annular solar eclipse

  we cannot see from Japan.

  I am watching

  looking for

&nbs
p; and seeing

  cosmic changes

  in this house.

  DECEMBER 14, 2001

  WITHOUT FUSSING

  Obaachan and I prepare for Mom and Miki

  to leave the hospital.

  We dust,

  vacuum,

  and pull out a space heater

  for Great-Grandfather’s room.

  Obaachan doesn’t notice the messy-looking ceiling.

  She doesn’t fuss once all day.

  That’s cosmic.

  AND A TOASTY MOMENT

  Obaachan doesn’t notice

  the hole at the big toe

  of my sock

  before I slide my legs

  under the heater table.

  Drinking tea alone

  together

  for the first time

  ever

  she notices

  I fold back the peel of a mikan,

  into one star-shaped piece

  and use it as a plate

  for the juicy orange wedges I pull apart.

  She tells me

  for the first time in my life,

  “You know manners.”

  I tuck the sock hole

  between my toes

  and smile.

  RED RICE

  Obaachan places one thousand yen in my hand

  scoots me out of the house

  tells me where to go

  to buy sekihan for Mom and Miki’s

  “homecoming.”

  Mom would prefer Western cake,

  Obaachan knows that, but

  I know red rice is for celebrations.

  I go all the way to Mr. Iida’s shop

  to give him our business.

  I pass

  Mr. Tanaka’s cake shop.

  Western cakes. New York cheesecake,

  Mom’s favorite

  three hundred yen a slice.

  I open Iida’s shop door

  shouting,

  “Excuse me!”

  He clamors downstairs

  slips into slippers

  stands behind the counter

  wiping his mouth.

  I smell salty soy rice crackers on his face.

  I have interrupted his teatime.

  “Red rice,” I say.

  He says, “Congratulations.”

  PRESENTATION

  Mom’s bags are packed

  waiting for Papa

  I am there

  with Obaachan when the nurse

  presents Mom with a small wooden box.

  I ask if I can open it.

 

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