by Leza Lowitz
he beats the ball
back down,
slaps it away.
Then the Phoenix midfielder
snags it,
races down the field
to the goal,
tings a shot
off the crossbar.
Safe!
But the striker
heads the ball
high into the net—
how did that happen?
0–1.
At center circle again,
we start,
cluster too close,
fall apart
trying to stay alive.
#3 steals the ball from Taro,
Shin steals it back,
sees an open road,
passes it to me.
I kick it in.
Offside!
The goal doesn’t count.
Don’t mind, don’t mind,
Aki-sensei calls out.
I try to keep
my head up
for the team.
Ten seconds to halftime.
We fight off
more Phoenix attacks—
then Guts sails one
between the keeper’s legs,
straight
into the center.
Woo-hoo!
Woo-hoo!
1–1!
Go, Seaside Eleven!
the crowd calls out.
Halftime
whistle blows.
BEFORE I EVEN SEE HER,
I know she’s there.
Keiko!
She’s come outside!
And what is she carrying?
My old ball.
It just arrived,
she says,
tossing it over.
What? No way!
I catch it,
cradle it
to my chest.
Someone even cleaned it,
pumped it up.
The seams are unraveled,
but it will still work—
it has to still work!
Shin gives me a thumbs-up.
I knew it! he says.
I roll my eyes.
But maybe he’s right.
Maybe it is
a sign.
WHEN HALFTIME ENDS,
I take position
with my old ball
just like I did
hundreds of times before.
The whistle blows
for kickoff.
I pass it to Shin,
run full speed ahead.
He slices it back,
but a Phoenix defenseman
sweeps it away.
Shin shouts my name.
I see their striker
rushing toward
the goal.
Gotta stop him!
I deepen my breath,
run straight
for the player,
straight for that ball.
Burning my gaze into the ball,
I slide my foot
beneath the striker’s
foot,
swoop my feet around
the ball to
make it mine.
Keeping it on my toes,
I turn around,
feint left,
fly down the pitch,
shoot a pass
to Shin,
head toward
the goal.
He traps the ball,
volleys it back to me,
and I launch it
at the net,
but it’s too wide—
No!
Then midair it curves
in the wind,
like it has a mind
of its own,
heads straight
into the net.
What?
The keeper jumps high
and the ball soars
over his glove,
out of reach.
YES!
Goal!
Keiko’s calling out my name
and everyone cheers
and high-fives
and I’m soaring, too.
2–1
Not much time left
when Guts
sticks out his hand
in a mash-up,
and the ref yells,
Foul!
The Phoenix
get a free kick.
#6 slams the ball
past our keeper,
just barely into the corner
but into the net
just the same.
2–2.
THEN SOMETHING CHANGES—
I feel it in the way
the air shifts
like it does
when someone you like
comes into a room,
changing
everything.
Keiko left the shelter,
but that’s not
the only thing.…
I HEAR HIM BEFORE I SEE HIM,
calling out my name
as if he’s always done that
from the sidelines.
I look up, see him
standing in the bleachers,
smiling, waving,
beaming
at me.
Those eyes—
deep blue, shining,
though his face
is older now.
What the—?
How the—?
Too many questions,
no time to ask.
Clock’s ticking.
We need a miracle.
Wish Ryu were here.
I WAVE, AND DAD WAVES BACK.
Have to keep my focus.
Breathing.
Running.
One foot
in front
of the
other,
have to
be on
my game.
SOMETHING TAKES OVER
and it’s just
the boys and me
dribbling and
passing the ball,
just like Dad
and I used to do,
like nothing
ever happened—
I mean like
nothing bad
ever happened.
Everything goes quiet
like it did inside
the water,
but this time
I know
I’ll come out
the other side.
Flying down the pitch
I shoot the ball
toward the net,
putting everything I’ve got
behind it—
WHAM!
The keeper
catches it in
his arms.
No way!
The Phoenix take
possession
and it looks like we’re sunk.…
But just when I think
we’re done for,
Taro appears
out of nowhere
like the ninja
that he is,
gets the ball,
and fires a long shot
all the way
in.
Goal!
3–2.
Whistle blows,
twice short,
once long—
tweet tweet
tweeeeeet.
Taro does a backflip,
we slap high fives
around the team.
After losing
so much,
our team,
our town,
has won!
NOTEPADS IN HAND
newspaper reporters want to talk to us—
TV stations, too.
All I can see
is my dad,
and Keiko
behind him,
cheering.
He’s pushing his way up
to the front of the crowd,
pushing his way
to me.
&nbs
p; He wraps his arms around me
and I hug him
right back
(Thank you, Tom!),
as if we’ve done
this every day
for years.
As if
he never left.
REPORTERS COME CLOSER,
ask for a statement.
I tell them
to talk to Guts.
I tell them
to talk to the people
who donated
all the stuff
that made
our game possible.
I tell them
to talk to
the village women
and the fishermen
and Old Man Sato
and all the people
in the town
and all over the world
who cheered us on.
I say this team
is dedicated
to my mom
and grandparents
and to all the kids
who’ve lost someone they love
to a quake or a tsunami,
to hunger
or sickness
or war.
I say it’s dedicated
to our little coastal town
and to all the other towns
in the world
struck by disaster.
The ones that never
make the news.
WE LINE UP TO BOW
low to the field,
thanking the spectators,
thanking our town.
Arigatou gozaimasu!*2
we shout in unison.
Arigatou gozaimasu!
Arigatou gozaimasu!
THEN DAD’S NEXT TO ME
and I’m next to him,
taller than him—
not a little boy
anymore.
He says he’s proud of me
for helping to make the team,
but I don’t think I’ve done
anything special.
You’d have
done it, too, I say,
if it was your town.
Anyone would.
GUTS RUNS UP TO GIVE ME FIVE.
I push my palm into his,
then push my old ball
into his arms.
Here. It’s yours! I say.
He tries to give it back.
No. For you!
I wrap his fingers around it,
make him take it for good.
Hope his wishes come true.
Mom was right:
If you love something,
set it free.
DAD AND I GO OUT FOR RAMEN
at a temporary
ramen stand.
We slurp the warm noodles
loudly,
just like we always did
after games.
Except this time
Dad doesn’t have a beer
like he always did.
His words come out in a rush
I struggle to keep up with him.
I’m sorry
it took so long.
I came as soon
as I could.
But…, I say, not understanding.
It took months.
Why?
He says he went into rehab—
but I don’t know
the English word.
Rehabiri?—Rehabilitation?
Were you hurt?
He tells me what it means,
says his second wife left him
and he fell apart.
When the tsunami struck,
he wanted to come here,
but he couldn’t face me,
couldn’t face himself.
The tsunami woke him up—
no more excuses.
I lost you once,
didn’t want to lose you
again, he says.
I want to say,
Too little, too late,
but I know he did
the best he could.
And he’s my dad,
after all.
He’s all I have.
I had to get clean.
Once I decided to come,
I wanted it to be
a surprise.
Well, it definitely was,
I say.
He says he’s sorry,
so sorry
about Mom.
Then he puts his head
in his hands
and I put my hand
on his back,
and it’s me
who’s comforting
him.
It’s okay, I say.
You’re here now.
DAD STAYS TO HELP ME
arrange my new room
at Shin’s family’s
temporary house—
fresh tatami mats,
brightly painted walls,
brand-new bookcase,
brand-new desk,
brand-new pencils
and sharpeners,
plenty of erasers,
notebooks, and a lamp.
I place the photo
of Dad and Mom
on my dresser
with my diploma.
I place the snow globe from New York
next to the rice bowl
I picked out from the rubble
of our house.
I tell him how
Aki-sensei made us promise
to meet at the school
when we’re twenty-one,
on March 11 at 2:46 p.m.,
the exact time
the earthquake hit.
This is the last homework
I’ll give you,
he said,
finally breaking down
after finishing the speech
he’d stayed up
all night to write.
PRINCIPAL KUNIHARA HANDED US OUR DIPLOMAS
one by one
on graduation day,
bowing long and low.
Ours was the only school
to have a graduation,
since volunteers
worked nonstop
to clear away
the mud.
The self-defense forces
found our diplomas
in the debris,
tried to clean them off.
They were torn
and smudged,
but we didn’t want
to wash them off.
We wanted to keep them
the way they were.
I TELL DAD THIS
as we walk up
to the shrine.
His guitar is slung
over his shoulder,
just like before.
Soon we’re high
above the village
in the forest
where he used to sing.
I still play this old thing,
he says, smiling
as he sits down
on the ground.
He asks if he can play
a song he wrote
for me.
I say okay.
His fingers slide
along the strings
just like they always did,
but a little slower.
Time
went by
and the years
began to fly,
but you came
to me
and made
me see
how much
I missed
when I missed
you.
So please
forgive me
and let me be
your dad.
He looks up at me,
then looks down
so I don’t see him cry.
I tell him
I’m glad
he came
back.
And then
I use my new cell phone
to take a p
icture
of the two of us—
Dad and me.
LOOKING AT THE PHOTO
later,
I can see
I look like Dad,
it’s true.
I also look
like Mom.
But mainly
I look
like
me.
THAT NIGHT
Dad gives me
a soccer ball—
thermal bound,
the web of fibers
heated to make
a bond so strong
it will never
come apart.
Not old-school style
because stitches
unravel.
I put it by my bed
and sleep soundly
in my new room.
I DREAM OF MOM
in her kitchen,
wearing a striped blue apron,
bangs framing
her heart-shaped face,
dark brown eyes
soft and strong.
I can almost hear
the sound of her palms
cupping rice
as she tossed it
from hand to hand
to make my onigiri
perfectly round.
I can almost smell
the salty sea
on her fingers,
that oyster smell
I used to complain of.
I can almost hear
her telling me
that what she loved best
about oysters
was the way some made
a pearl—
when dirt gets into
an oyster shell,
the mother-of-pearl
wraps around it
to create the
treasure inside.
Without the dirt,
there would be
no pearl.
WHEN I WAKE UP
I feel her here with me,
know
that every
morning
she’ll live
in me,
rising
like
the sun,
up
from
the sea.
WHEN DAD ASKS IF I’LL GO BACK
to New York with him,
it’s like a dream
come true.
Go to New York for good.
Live with my dad.
Leave this town!
It’s everything
I’ve wished for
in the back of my mind
for so many years,
finally coming true.
But now my dream
has changed.
Maybe I went to New York
to find my dad,
but I found myself
instead.
I THINK OF ALL THE PEOPLE HERE—
Shin and Keiko,
Guts and the soccer kids,
Old Man Sato,
even Taro Nishi.
And when I think about
all the things
we’ve done
to help each other
