Flying the Dragon

by Natalie Dias Lorenzi

  Right. That made sense, then. Although Skye understood whatever her dad said in Japanese, answering him was just easier in English. But she could try. “Okay, then. I’ll speak in Japanese more.”

  Her parents still didn’t look thrilled. Her dad let out a slow breath. “Skye, speaking with me in the evenings and on weekends is not enough. I’ve signed you up for Saturday Japanese school.”

  “School? On Saturdays?” Skye shook her head. “But what about soccer?”

  “You can still finish out this season,” her mom said. “The current Japanese session won’t interfere with spring soccer.” Skye relaxed. “But with the summer session—” Her mom sighed. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m afraid you won’t have time for the All-Star team.”

  “What?” Skye stared at her mom. This can’t be happening.

  Her mom squeezed Skye’s hand. “I know how much the team means to you, Skye. But we’ve checked into every school in the DC area, and the summer classes you’d qualify for are in the mornings.”

  “The classes I qualify for? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Beginner and intermediate classes are in the mornings,” her dad said. “Only advanced classes are in the afternoons.”

  “But I’m advanced. I understand Japanese.”

  “It’s not enough, Skye.” He shook his head. “Your spoken Japanese is not advanced.”

  Skye snatched her hand away from her mom’s and stood, tears already forming. “I won’t go, then. I’ve waited forever to make the All-Star team, and I’m not going to miss it for a bunch of stupid lessons. I can speak enough Japanese to get by.”

  Her dad stood, too. “You need to learn more. To get to know your relatives.”

  “But they’re moving here! I’ll have plenty of time to get to know them.”

  Her dad looked sadder than she’d ever seen him. “You don’t have plenty of time, Skye.” He turned to go, and then stopped. Without looking back, he said, “You’re going to the Japanese Saturday school. And that’s final.” He strode from the room and out onto the back deck.

  Skye fought to stay calm. Her mom could smooth things over. She wouldn’t really make Skye do this. Would she?

  Her mom shrugged. “I’m sorry, honey. But your dad is right.” When Skye opened her mouth to protest, her mom held up her hand. “Wait, Skye. I know this is hard for you. But the reason the family is coming is because your dad’s father—your grandfather—is sick.”

  Skye’s anger cooled, but only by a few degrees. “He’s coming here to get better?” Her mom hesitated, then nodded. Skye shrugged. “Okay, so he’ll come here, get better, and I’ll play on the All-Star team. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  Skye’s mom took her hands. “The director of the Japanese school has agreed to let you enroll in the intermediate class mid-semester, starting now. There will be several exams at the end of this semester that will determine whether or not you’ll go on to the advanced class this summer. If not … “

  “If not what? I can pass the exams.”

  Her mom looked doubtful. “Skye, I don’t want you to set yourself up for disappointment. You can try out for All-Stars again next year and every year after that, if you want to. Your dad’s right. You need to do this.”

  Skye couldn’t believe it—wouldn’t believe it. She sprinted out of the room, flew up the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door. But she didn’t cry. There was no need to cry: she was going to play on that All-Star team. No matter what.

  4

  Hiroshi

  “Come sit with us, Hiroshi,” Father said.

  Hiroshi sat, looking from one parent to the other. “What is it?”

  Mother glanced at Father, then nodded once. Father cleared his throat. “Hiroshi, we have something to tell you.” Whatever it was, the news couldn’t be good. Hiroshi forgot about being hungry.

  Father rested his hands on either side of his plate. “Do you remember the business trip I took last month?”

  “Yes, I remember.” Father had brought Hiroshi a snow globe of the US Capitol in Washington, DC.

  Father paused, the lines in his forehead deepening. “I’ve received a job offer. We’re moving.”

  Hiroshi blinked. For a moment he stopped breathing. “W-what do you mean? Where? When?”

  “Your father has accepted a job in Washington. Grandfather will be coming with us, of course.”

  Father placed his hand over Mother’s. “I’ve found a furnished house that we’ll be renting for the first year. I’ll need to report to work next month.”

  “The first year? Next month?” A million thoughts tumbled through Hiroshi’s head like stringless kites in a storm. “But the kite battle is next month. I can’t miss it!”

  “I’m sorry, Hiroshi. But it’s for the best,” Father said.

  Hiroshi gripped the edge of the table to steady himself. “For the best? Not for me. Not for Grandfather—he’d never leave Japan!” He searched his parents’ faces. Mother lowered her head, but not before Hiroshi saw a tear slide down her cheek.

  “That’s enough, Hiroshi. You’re upsetting your mother.”

  Hiroshi bowed his head. The plate of yakisoba noodles in front of him turned his stomach. He had to get out of there. He scrambled to his feet and ran out the door.

  “Your shoes!” called Mother, but Hiroshi left her words behind.

  The gravel on the road stung Hiroshi’s feet, but he didn’t care. He raced down the lane, past Yakura-san’s fruit and vegetable stand, past Taiko-san’s dry cleaning store, past the sento—the public bathhouse, where men entered carrying plastic buckets filled with soap, shampoo, and towels. He heard neighbors call out his name, but he kept running.

  Hot tears pricked his eyes, and his legs burned. His head didn’t know where to go, but his feet knew. They carried him to the place where he had always known peace—Grandfather’s workshop.

  Hiroshi stopped in the doorway, his chest heaving with every breath. He pressed his hands against either side of the doorframe.

  Silence. He stepped inside, and the sweet smell of bamboo greeted him. Muted light from the eastern window illuminated the squares of washi paper that stood in a stack below the shelves of paint—red paint mostly, the lucky color of the dragon. Hiroshi’s pounding heartbeat started to slow. He walked over to the box of bamboo poles and ran his hand along their cool, smooth surface.

  How can we move to America? Everything is here.

  He sank onto Grandfather’s stool and gazed at the kites hanging from the ceiling. Colorful geometric designs and fierce ancient warriors stared back at him—designs that Grandfather had painted for his customers. The warriors’ glares had always spooked Hiroshi. But today he read fear in their eyes—fear that they’d be left behind in Japan.

  “Don’t look at me,” Hiroshi said to the kites. “I’m not the one who wants to go to America.”

  Hiroshi heard footsteps shuffling up the path. Only ancient Hakata-san shuffled—he must be coming for late morning tea with Grandfather. Hiroshi stood to greet the old man. But when the footsteps stopped, it was Grandfather’s face that appeared in the doorway.

  “Hiroshi?”

  “Grandfather?” Hiroshi took a step forward, expecting to see Hakata-san over Grandfather’s shoulder. But Grandfather was alone.

  Hiroshi swallowed hard. “Did you know?”

  Grandfather sighed. “They told you, then,” he said softly as he stepped into the shop. “I knew about the job offer, yes.”

  Hiroshi focused on his bare feet to avoid Grandfather’s gaze. Grandfather knew all along and never said a word. Anger seeped into Hiroshi’s heart. He met Grandfather’s eyes. “Then why were we at the hill this morning, practicing for the kite battle?”

  Grandfather lifted his hands then let them drop. “I was sure your father would wait until after the battle. I was hoping …”

  He had never seen Grandfather look so frail. Hiroshi’s anger began fade. “But he’s your son, Grandfather. He should listen to you
.”

  The beginnings of a smile played on Grandfather’s lips. “Your father is a grown man, and he is doing what he thinks is right for his family. The right way is not always the easiest.”

  “You don’t want to go, either, do you?”

  Grandfather stood so still that Hiroshi thought maybe he hadn’t heard the question. Then Grandfather said, “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

  They followed the path in silence up to the practice hill where they had flown the dragon kite earlier that morning. Now that the kite fliers had returned home for lunch, the seagulls had the sky all to themselves. Hiroshi tried to memorize the slope of the hill—the way it rolled down to the village that touched Tachibana Bay. Boats bobbed as fishermen hauled their nets into waiting hulls. The sun glinted off silvery fish that flopped and squirmed in the bottom of the boats. Shouts of the fishmongers and the scent of salt water drifted up the hill with the wind. How can we live anywhere but here?

  Grandfather and Hiroshi lay side by side on their usual spot in the grass and studied the sky.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter what the wind does today,” Hiroshi said. “Or tomorrow.”

  “There is wind in America, you know.”

  But it would be different from Japanese wind, Hiroshi was sure. “We will bring the dragon kite with us,” Grandfather said.

  “What about your workshop?”

  “I can ship all of my things. We shall still make kites, Hiroshi. You will see.”

  “But it won’t be the same.” Grandfather didn’t reply. “I won’t know anyone there. I won’t have any friends.”

  “Your uncle lives in Virginia.”

  Hiroshi’s father had three brothers—Second Uncle lived in Tokyo, Third Uncle lived up north in Hokkaido, and then there was First Uncle—Father’s twin. The brother whose name appeared on many of the rokkaku trophies in Grandfather’s workshop. The one who had moved to America before Hiroshi was born. The one no one ever talked about.

  Grandfather spoke, his eyes closed. “You will meet your American aunt and your cousin, Sorano, who is your age. They are already making plans to help us settle in.” He opened his eyes and smiled at Hiroshi. “Sorano will be in your class at school. So you see? We will be with family.”

  Great. The only person I’ll know at school will be a girl. Hiroshi turned his gaze back to the clouds. And then he saw it.

  “Look!” Grandfather turned his head, following the line of Hiroshi’s outstretched arm. “Do you see it?” Hiroshi whispered.

  “I see it.” Grandfather pointed. “There’s the head, the body, and there … there’s the tail trailing behind him.”

  “I’ve never seen a dragon-shaped cloud before.”

  “Neither have I, in all my years.” They watched the dragon parade across the sky. “The dragon is a creature of the sea,” Grandfather said. “When it takes to the sky, it is looking for something precious it has lost. When it finds what it was looking for, it returns to the sea in the form of rain.”

  “Do you think it’s looking for us?”

  “I don’t think so, Hiroshi. If it were, we would feel it in our hearts.”

  “But maybe he knows you and I were both born in the year of the dragon. Maybe he knows we’re—”

  “Two of a kind.” Grandfather smiled. “Maybe.” They watched the wind carry the dragon out to sea. “Hiroshi, there is something I must tell you.”

  Hiroshi didn’t take his eyes off the cloud. “What is it?”

  Grandfather sat up. “I am afraid it is my fault that we are moving to America.”

  Hiroshi sat up, too. “But I thought we were moving because of Father’s job.”

  Grandfather nodded. “He did ask to be transferred to Washington, DC. His company has an American branch there.”

  Hiroshi frowned. “Then I don’t understand. Why would Father ask to go to America?”

  Grandfather plucked a blade of grass. He twirled it between his thumb and finger, then opened his hand to let the wind carry it across the hill. “I am not well, Hiroshi.”

  Hiroshi frowned. “But why do we have to go all the way to America? Can’t you go to the doctor here?”

  Grandfather picked another blade of grass. “The doctors here say they cannot help me. But we have spoken with some American doctors who have developed a new treatment. They say I am a good candidate.”

  A gust of wind slammed into Hiroshi, and he braced himself. “But … I mean, you’ll be okay, won’t you?”

  Grandfather didn’t speak as the gulls cried out. Then he turned to Hiroshi and said, “I am sure I will be fine.” Grandfather smiled, but it wasn’t a true smile.

  The wind paused, leaving Hiroshi’s unspoken questions hanging in the air.

  5

  Skye

  Skye shivered as she stepped out of the warm car into the cold February drizzle.

  “Don’t forget this.” Her mom handed Skye a water bottle through the open window. “We’ll park and then see you out there.”

  Her dad leaned forward. “Good luck!”

  Skye nodded her thanks, still barely awake, and wondered who was crazy enough to schedule a soccer game this early in the morning. At least these Sunday scrimmages didn’t interfere with Japanese class. Why did the summer All-Star games have to be on Saturdays?

  She trudged toward the field, pulling her sweatshirt hood up over her ponytail. Saturdays or Sundays—it didn’t matter. She would pass those stupid exams and qualify for the afternoon Japanese class this summer. She had to.

  “Hey, Skye! Wait up!” She turned to see Amber jogging toward her. It was too cold to stop moving altogether, so Skye shuffled backward until Amber caught up. “I love morning games,” Amber said, stretching her arms above her head. Of course you do, Skye thought. Amber could afford to be perky—her All-Star spot didn’t depend on passing any Japanese exams.

  “Let’s go, girls!” Coach Tess waved them over. “All right, practice your passes in groups of three—five minutes, slow and easy,” Coach Tess said. “Then I want four laps—straight jogging for the first lap, pick it up for the second, then dribble the ball around for the last two. Off you go!”

  After the warm-up, Skye knew she’d pushed herself harder than usual. With every kick, she’d tried to imagine herself scoring a goal on the All-Star team. But visions of Japanese kanji characters swam in her head. At least now she wasn’t cold, and she was ready to go. When the whistle blew, Skye blocked out anything and everything Japanese. She’d earned her spot on the summer All-Star team, and she would show her parents she couldn’t let it go.

  The first half sped by, and the score was tied—so were Skye and Amber, at two goals each. Now their team needed one more goal for the win. When the whistle blew for the second half, Skye heard her parents cheering. She frowned. If she lost her spot on the All-Star team this summer, it would be their fault. But seeing them huddled beneath their giant rainbow umbrella, grinning and yelling her name, she couldn’t stay mad. She gave them a wave, then jogged onto the field and into position.

  After almost thirty frustrating minutes of more drizzle and no goals, Skye finally saw her chance. The ball sailed toward her and she leaped, trapping it with her knee so it dropped right in front of her. Dribbling and weaving, Skye kept the goal in sight—twenty yards, fifteen, ten … With her focus on the goal, she almost missed seeing the defender bearing down on her from the left. Skye faked right, then skirted around the defender and took the shot. GOAL! The whistle blew, and Skye’s teammates raced to her with grins and high fives.

  She headed back toward the bench, where Coach Tess was waiting. After their consolation cheer for the other team, both teams lined up midfield for high fives. Skye walked over to her parents on the sidelines.

  “Congratulations!” Skye’s mom said, pulling her into a hug.

  Her dad smiled. “Skye! That was hands down the best game I’ve ever seen you play.”

  Skye grinned. “I felt great out there. Coach Tess says I’m totally ready fo
r All-Stars this summer.”

  Her parents’ smiles faded. “Honey,” her mom started, then sighed.

  Skye shook her head and flung her backpack over her shoulder. “Don’t say it, Mom.” She strode toward the car, leaving her parents behind.

  6

  Hiroshi

  Hiroshi spotted First Uncle right away. Most people waiting at the airport had smiles or balloons or bunches of flowers, calling and waving as loved ones came through the doors. Others held name signs, scanning the arriving passengers for any raised eyebrow of recognition.

  First Uncle belonged to neither group—maybe that was why he stood out. He kept shifting from one foot to the other, crossing his arms one second, then putting his hands in his pockets the next.

  Mother placed her hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. “There he is,” she said, leaning down to whisper. “Your father’s brother.”

  First Uncle hadn’t spotted them yet, which gave Hiroshi more time to study him as they made their way across the scuffed floor. First Uncle and Father were fraternal twins, so Hiroshi knew they wouldn’t look exactly alike. But how could two brothers look so different? Father was tall and lanky. First Uncle was at least a hand shorter, and stocky.

  Hiroshi slowed. What should he say to First Uncle? What would First Uncle say to him?

  But when First Uncle spotted them, he didn’t seem to notice Hiroshi at all. He was looking at Grandfather, like he was trying to figure out who he was. Maybe after twelve years, he’d forgotten what Grandfather looked like.

  Father greeted First Uncle with a bow. “Brother. You are looking well.” He sounded formal, like he was talking to one of Hiroshi’s teachers.

  “As are you, Brother.” First Uncle matched Father’s bow. “Irrasshai. Welcome to America.”

  They sure weren’t acting like brothers—more like strangers. Nothing like the easy, friendly way Father acted around his other brothers.

  First Uncle’s nervous smile melted into a real one as he greeted Mother. Whatever family argument there’d been all those years ago must not have involved her.