by Leza Lowitz
we’ve lost
are looking down
from heaven,
praying for us.
MY TANABATA WISH ALWAYS HUNG
on my bulletin board,
next to Dad’s:
I want to be a soccer player.
I don’t want to be
a soccer player anymore.
Don’t think
I’ll ever see
Dad again.
Don’t know
if Mom’s
ever
coming back.
Just want to leave
this place
like they did.
So I make my plan.
*1 hikikomori—a shut-in, someone who refuses to leave home
*2 tengu—Japanese mythological being, usually a human and avian mixture depicted with a red face and a very long nose
I SHOVE CLOTHES INTO MY PACK,
grab water and food,
wait for my chance.
It arrives the day
a comedian comes
to make soba*1
and everyone crowds
around the pots,
enjoying themselves
so much
that no one notices
me slipping away.
RUNNING THROUGH MY RUINED TOWN,
pack flapping
winglike
against my back.
Plowing through blocks
strewn with heaps of
refrigeratorsblackboardsbicyclestaxis
bustedpianosshelvesdesksstairs
allmixedtogether
in a marshland
grave,
waiting to be taken away.
Down by the ocean
I pass the park
where twisted swing sets creak,
moving with the wind.
I run along the broken seawall
where we’d planned
to skateboard
that day the sea
stormed up
to land.
I jog along the coastline
where black pines once
crowded the edges—
now just one remains.
I keep running
and don’t look back.
Can’t look back.
IN A NEIGHBORING TOWN
I sit at the beach
in the midday sun,
catch my breath
amidst the ruins.
The log
next to mine
starts to move.
Huh? I jump up,
heart racing.
What the…?
It’s a man,
covered in sand.
I tap him softly
with my foot.
He lifts his head,
squints against
the sun.
Are you okay? I ask.
I’m not dead.
Just drunk,
he croaks.
That’s good, I say, relieved.
Drunk is good? he asks.
I laugh.
Combing his hands
through the sand,
he takes a beer
from a buried six-pack,
hands it to me.
My first beer—
Mom wouldn’t approve, I know.
But I smile
and raise the can
to say kanpai.*2
I’m toasting
Ojiichan—
it’s his favorite
brand.
My wife and baby died,
the man says,
voice dry
and cracked.
That’s horrible.
I spit the warm beer
out of my mouth.
Yeah. He laughs
darkly.
Why is he laughing?
I want to ask.
But he catches my startled expression,
reads my mind.
I’m laughing to thank you
for not saying
I’m sorry.
My son had just been born.
I had to register his birth
and his death
on the same day.
And the worst thing?
I wasn’t the only one.
He looks at me,
then out to the sea,
pops open
another can.
We sip together,
listen to the waves
for the longest time.
I think my mom’s dead, too, I say.
He nods, sighs, then sighs again.
I TELL HIM ABOUT RYU,
who I might never
see again.
I tell him we were going
to go skateboarding that afternoon,
were going
to go to college together someday,
were going to be friends forever.
I tell him about
my grandparents,
and everything—
even my AWOL Dad.
Once I start talking,
I can’t stop.
He listens, sighs,
kicks the sand.
Drinks a beer.
Then another.
YOU’D BETTER GET BACK
before dark, he says.
I’ve nowhere to go.
In that case, he says, laughing,
pull up a futon.
Eventually,
he falls asleep,
snoring.
I stay there
for a while,
shivering in the cold.
Then I think I fall asleep,
but I’m not sure.
Maybe I’m drunk.
THE MOON ON THE WATER
looks so peaceful.
I want to be
peaceful, too.
Before I know it,
I’ve stepped
into the sea,
walked farther
and farther out.
Out to where
I cannot hear
the chatter
in my mind.
Out to where
I can only hear
the sound
of the waves.
So loud,
so quiet
at the
same time.
ARM OVER ARM
I keep swimming out.
Right hand
pulling me
toward the moon,
left hand
pushing me
away from land,
as far out as I can.
Then I roll over,
let
myself
go.
The waves move
my floating body
gently,
rock me
here and there.
DON’T KNOW
where I am
or how long
I’ve been here
when I hear
splashing near me.
Is it a shark?
A whale?
A spirit?
Red-faced,
weather-beaten,
water dripping
from face and hair,
someone rises up
in front of me,
shoots his arms
up from the water.
What are you
trying to do?
he shouts,
yanks me up,
hauls me back,
shakes me dry
as if I were
a strand
of seaweed.
TARO NISHI, THAT CRAZY NINJA,
hauls me
toward the shore,
shoves me down
onto the sand.
Then he
kicks me
hard,
because
he can.
WHAT DID YOU COME HERE FOR?
I yell.
You! I’m here for you!
he shouts,
shaking off the water.
What?
I kick him back.
He pushes me down.
I push him back.
And then we’re wrestling
on the sand,
like we did
in the school yard
and in the shelter
and on the soccer field—
like we’ve done
so many times before.
Get out of here!
Leave me alone!
Idiot! he says.
He’s cursing
and shouting
and I’m cursing
and shouting.
Let me go! I yell,
take off running
again.
He comes after me,
grabs my soaking sleeve,
pulls me down.
There’s nowhere to go,
he says.
She saw you pack your bag…
couldn’t let you do
something so stupid.
Who? I ask.
Keiko. She asked me to
find you.
Keiko? This is about Keiko?
What’s it to you? I sputter.
Nothing to me, but…, he says,
looks into my eyes.
I stop fighting.
I take a breath.
I look around
at the ocean and the ruined land.
The ocean can’t bring back
my mom
and I can’t bring back
the past,
but it’s just Taro’s bad luck
that bringing
me back
helps Keiko,
and that’s what he wants to do.
Now I get it.
Throwing me over his shoulders
like he slung
Keiko after the quake,
Taro carries me
back to town.
And for once
in my life,
I let him.
OLD MAN SATO IS AT THE PIER
washing down his nets,
like always.
He waves his wrinkled hand,
veins like maps on his skin.
Oi! Come here!
Taro puts me down.
If you’ve got
more bad news, I say,
I don’t want
to hear it.
Old Man Sato smiles,
shakes his head.
No more news.
This story’s old.
He motions to his paint-peeled boat
anchored just offshore.
Have a seat, he says.
THERE’S A SAYING IN COASTAL TOWNS—
inochi tendenko—
save your own life first.
A long time ago,
if you wanted to
marry someone from the coast,
the elders asked:
“If a tsunami came,
who would you save first?
Your wife and child,
or yourself?”
“If you can’t save yourself first,”
they said,
“you can’t marry anyone here.”
They’d lived through a tsunami,
knew its full power.
It’s true.
If you can’t save your own life,
the town will disappear.
And if that happens,
the future, too,
will disappear.
So don’t you dare
feel guilty for being alive,
Old Man Sato says,
looking from me to Taro
and back again.
We’ve got the future
to build.
KEIKO RUSHES TO THE AUDITORIUM DOOR,
eyes red, face flushed.
Where’ve you been?
Are you all right?
Thank god!
He’s fine, Taro says,
eyebrows up.
We’re fine.
I hold his gaze, nod.
Taro looks at Keiko
and back at me.
Her face lights up.
My lips crack into a grin—
first one in months.
She likes me!
And Taro is right.
I’m an idiot
for not noticing
until now.
KENJI CAME BACK, TOO,
Keiko says.
He wants to know
if you’re going
to New York.
Huh? Kenji?
New York? I mumble.
He needs an answer.
I’d totally forgotten.
Keiko glances to the back
of the auditorium,
where a tall, broad-shouldered man
is sitting at a folding table,
drinking tea.
When he sees me,
he waves,
stands up,
walks my way.
I’M KENJI, HE SAYS,
holding out his hand.
You must be Kai.
Uh…
I want to pull away,
but he doesn’t
give me a chance,
just pumps my hand
up and down
American-style.
Then he tells me
that kids from the devastated towns
will go to New York
to meet kids
who lost their parents in 9/11,
when hijacked airplanes
crashed into the World Trade Center
ten years ago.
WILL YOU COME? HE ASKS,
soft black eyes
looking straight at me.
I don’t know, I say.
Shin needs me here.
And Guts.
I look around,
see past the window,
where the kids are outside
with Taro,
kicking the flat ball around.
Kind of ruins my argument.
I’ve already talked to them,
Keiko says.
They think you should go.
Kenji nods, agrees.
Those kids in New York
have been through something like
what you’re going through.
They might know how you feel, he says.
KENJI KNOWS, TOO.
He was a baby
when the Second World War
broke out.
His parents sent him
to the countryside for safety,
like so many others.
Like so many others,
he lost his mom and dad
when Tokyo was destroyed.
He grew up
in an orphanage.
For a long time,
he felt sorry
for himself.
But then he got tired
of feeling helpless,
tried to help others.
If I hadn’t suffered,
I wouldn’t have
known or cared
how those kids felt,
he says.
But since I went
through it,
I know how tough it is
to come out the other side.
That’s where I want to be for others.
KEIKO WATCHES,
listening.
I watch her,
see the streak
of dirt on her nose,
a hundred freckles
I’ve never noticed.
And then I see her dad
in her face,
the way people
saw my dad
in mine.
Coach Inoue—
who believed in me,
stood up for me,
gave me a chance
before I blew it.
I know Keiko’s
counting on me
to go for her,
for all of us.
Will you come?
>
Kenji asks.
I TAKE DEEP BREATHS,
try to remember the calming steps
Coach taught me.
1. Take three deep breaths.
2. Watch your thoughts for five counts.
3. Think of what someone you trust would do.
I get through #1 and #2,
get stuck on #3.
What would Mom do? I wonder.
She would go.
She taught me perseverance—
that’s how she lived.
You put a shell in the water
and you wait.
Sometimes an oyster grows;
sometimes it doesn’t.
But you lower the line
just the same.
What would Dad do?
I ask myself.
I thought Dad taught me
how to follow
my dreams.
But now I see
that what he really
taught me
was how
to run away.
If I say no,
I’ll be
no different
from him.
So I say,
Y
e
s.
KEIKO JUMPS UP,
gives me a hug—
my first hug—
then shouts my name.
Shin and his dad
come over,
ask what’s going on.
Kenji tells them
I’m going to New York.
Wow! Cool!
Shin says,
grinning wide.
Shin’s dad
puts his arm
around me.
Good for you! he says.
This time,
I don’t push
him away.
WE LEAVE SEPTEMBER FIFTH,
Kenji says,
hands me a
Japanese-English dictionary
with a worn
brown leather cover.
This was mine
when I was your age.
I take it in both hands,
carefully, as the pages
are coming apart.
I bow low and long.
Good luck! he says in English.
I’m gonna need it, I reply.
THREE WEEKS TO ENGLISH
feels like three minutes
but it’s all I’ve got.
Maybe it’s better that way.
I’ll be so busy getting ready to go
that I won’t have enough time
to talk myself out of it.
At night,
I pull the blankets
over my head,
wrap my mouth
around words
I used to speak
when I was little.
Hello,
Good-bye,
Nice to meet you,
My name is Kai.
I’m Japanese.
