by Sarah Kuhn
My bubble only gets bigger when I pick up my phone and see a text from Akira, with an invitation to meet him at a spot that he believes will provide “case-cracking clues” in the mystery of my journey of self-discovery.
Of course, as soon as I send a reply agreeing to meet him, half a dozen texts from Atsuko and Bex pop up on my screen, all saying the same thing.
KISS!
HIM!
KISS!
HIM!
How did they know?
I almost reply to tell them not to eat up my international data with separate texts for each word. Then I realize I’m smiling too much to care.
“Is this a clue?” I turn to Akira and put my hands on my hips, cocking an eyebrow. “Because if it is, it’s maybe the most majestic clue I’ve ever seen.”
We’re standing in front of a giant, beautiful temple—it has a multi-level roof that swoops into curling flourishes and huge wooden doors and gives off the stately air of a building where Important Things Happen.
“It could provide us with a clue,” Akira says. “It is also one of the most scenic spots in Japan—I thought just being here might help you get your mind in the right space to figure out your future. To find your passion.”
“Do you think my passion could just be staring at this awesome temple forever?” I say, swooning a bit. “And if so, what kind of career do you think I could make out of it? Wait a minute.” My brow furrows. “What about an architect—could I be an architect?” I roll that around in my mind, trying to see if it fits. Does the idea of designing buildings ignite some kind of flame inside of me? Does it—
“Kimi.” Akira laughs a little. “Yes, that is a possibility. But why don’t you relax a little and see what comes to you instead of trying to seize the answer immediately?”
“Right,” I say automatically, even though I’m still stuck on the question of whether buildings are my passion. Suddenly I feel something cold and wet bump up against my hand and I let out a little shriek and dance to the side, my other hand shooting out to grab Akira’s arm. I whirl around and catch the culprit in action—an indignant-looking deer, who snorts at me and trots forward, bumping my hand again with its cold little nose.
“Oh, right, I’ve heard about the deer in Nara,” I say, relaxing. “They’re just roaming free all over?”
“Yes,” Akira says, giving me an amused look. “That one clearly thinks you have food to offer her.” The deer cocks its head at us inquisitively. “The deer will pester you relentlessly if they believe you can feed them.”
“Oh, can we?” I say, my face lighting up. “I mean, can we get deer-appropriate food and feed them? Because that sounds amazingly fun and adorable and … hey, maybe deer-feeding is my passion? Could that be a thing? I mean, I’m feeling pretty excited about the prospect. Maybe passion-level excited.” My brow furrows again.
“Once again, I think perhaps you need to relax,” Akira says. “Yes, we can feed the deer—that is actually one of the main attractions of Nara. There are vendors closer to Nara Park who sell these, ah, they are like … hmm, eto …” He makes a circular motion with his hands. “… cookies? Called shika-senbei. You feed them to the deer.”
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaim. “Let’s do that right now.” The thought of feeding a deer fills me with such giddy glee—maybe that is my passion, is that so weird? But what kind of career can I get out of that? Maybe I can learn how to make shika-senbei? I could be the greatest shika-senbei maker in all the land—
“Kimi,” Akira says, laughing, and I realize then that I’m still clutching his arm in a death grip. Somehow, I just can’t bring myself to let go, even though the threat of the nefarious deer and her cold little nose are well behind us. She seems to have frolicked elsewhere—probably found someone who was ready with the shika-senbei.
Akira’s wearing a light cotton jacket today and I can feel the warmth of his skin and the muscles of those incredibly nice arms through the thin blue material. My cheeks flush as Atsuko and Bex’s chant wafts through my brain.
Kiss. Him. Kiss. Him!
No. Not yet. I mean, I want to. But the moment isn’t perfect.
“Kimi?” he repeats. He turns toward me and raises his hand, his fingertips brushing my elbow—though I can’t tell if that part is an accident. I reluctantly let go of his arm and sternly order my brain not to spiral into eight million fantasies of what that perfect moment might entail.
“I was thinking we’d feed the deer once we get to the park,” Akira continues. “But first, why don’t we walk through the temple? Maybe something inside will inspire you.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, falling into step with him and heading toward the temple’s grand entrance. My brain feels like it’s overflowing with amazing sights and we haven’t even really gone anywhere yet. I can’t help but imagine a sweeping gown based on the shape of the temple, maybe with a skirt that has some interesting texture to it—mimicking the look of the tiling on the roof. I’m also imagining a fun fabric with a cute deer print, something that could be cut into a variety of everyday silhouettes. Bex would absolutely love that. “What is this temple called?” I say to Akira, trying to get my head back in the present so I can be open to all the important inspiration I’m about to receive.
“Todaiji Temple,” Akira says as we enter the giant wooden doors. “It is known for … well, you’ll see.”
We step into a huge, ornate room—really, it’s so grand, “room” hardly seems like an adequate word for it. Its high ceiling is held up by red wooden pillars, which are decorated with green and gold flourishes. Pretty much every piece of this glorious room is breathtakingly beautiful on its own, but the clear main attraction is the massive bronze Buddha statue in the center. He must be at least fifty feet tall. His right hand is raised, his face is peaceful, and there’s a pair of flat gold sculptures behind him edged in carvings that look like flames—like he’s sitting in front of a pair of fiery suns. He’s flanked by more golden statues—honestly, there’s so much to look at, I feel overwhelmed. Like my eyes are totally excited to be receiving all of these stimuli, but also kind of can’t handle it.
“Wow,” I murmur.
“Daibutsu,” Akira says, gesturing to the Buddha. “This is supposed to be the largest bronze statue of the Buddha Vairocana in the world.”
“I believe it,” I say. “It’s … well, honestly, I can’t even think of the right words to describe it.”
We stand there for a moment, staring at the gigantic Buddha. There are tons of tourists milling around, making various noises of awe. But all of that fades to a burble and I suddenly feel like Akira and I are the only people in the room. I allow myself to be swept up in the scale of this place, the impossibly high ceiling, and the huge Buddha staring back at me. I don’t get caught up in thoughts of how this is helping us solve the mystery of my future or worry about the fact that neither of us have said anything for several minutes and could possibly be heading into Awkward Silenceville.
The thing is … it’s not awkward. It doesn’t feel weird standing here and being quiet with Akira and enjoying the awe-inspiring sight of something I can’t imagine seeing back home. It feels … nice.
I wouldn’t exactly call it a comfortable silence—it’s more like there’s this invisible energy crackling between us, goosing all of my senses and turning my awareness up several thousand notches. It’s like I’m getting even more accustomed to the good itch from the other day. I welcome it, even.
I sneak a sidelong glance at Akira and see that he also seems to be deep in contemplative thought.
“What are you thinking?” I murmur.
He turns and grins at me. “Ahhhh. It’s weird.”
“I’m sure it’s not weird,” I say.
He rubs the back of his neck, his face turning sheepish. “I was thinking about how I came here with my parents when I was a kid and I couldn’t stop thinking about what the Buddha’s insides looked like underneath that shiny skin—you know, his guts, his organs,
his heart. I wanted to know if it was like what I’d seen in those old medical textbooks I was so obsessed with, only on a bigger scale.”
“You come to this beautiful, sacred place for the first time and the only thing you can think about is Buddha’s guts?” I giggle. “Okay, that is pretty weird.”
“Excuse me,” he says, putting on an indignant face. “You encouraged me to share and now you’re laughing at me?” He leans in close. “Why do you enjoy laughing at me so much, Kimi from America?” His mouth is mere centimeters from my ear, his breath tickling my cheek. In spite of the warm spring air wafting into the temple, a little shiver runs through me. “Maybe that is your passion.”
“Maybe it is,” I say, my voice coming out thin and high. “Which means I’m also weird.” I take a tiny step to the left, so I’m not quite as close to him.
“Hmm. Weird can be good, ne?”
“Definitely,” I say, trying to calm my skyrocketing heartbeat and get my voice back into a normal vocal range. “It definitely can be.”
“I have something else to show you,” he says, his mouth quirking into a half smile. “Something else that may qualify as ‘good weird.’ ”
He leads me around to the side of one of the gold statues flanking Buddha, to a particular pillar people are lined up next to.
“Whoa, what’s this line for?” I say. “Or is that the good-weird—that people are lined up next to a random pillar for no reason?”
“Watch,” he says, laughing.
The small child at the front of the line crouches down and—oh! Now I see. There’s a small opening cut at the base of the pillar, sort of a square-shaped hole. As I keep watching, the child lies down on her stomach and carefully maneuvers herself through the opening headfirst. She wriggles through the pillar, her head popping out the other side triumphantly. It’s a comical sight, like the pillar has swallowed part of her tiny body. Then she wriggles the rest of the way through and slides out onto the temple floor, grinning.
“Yatta!” she exclaims.
“The hole is the Daibutsu’s nostril,” Akira says.
“What!” I yelp. “Like the pillar is a giant nose or something?” It’s such a funny juxtaposition, the idea of a big wooden nose plopped down in the midst of such a meaningful, reverent place.
“Not exactly,” Akira says, giving me a slow smile. “The hole is the same size as the giant Buddha statue’s nostril. If you can squeeze through, supposedly you will be granted enlightenment in your next life.”
“Next life?” I say, shaking my head. “I really need enlightenment in this one.”
We watch as a few more children squeeze through the nostril. Then a very tall, white, adult man is at the front of the line—he slides in more carefully and wriggles around, grimacing. It’s another strange, almost funny sight, his arms and head emerging out of one end of the nostril, his feet dangling out of the other. He stops wriggling for a moment and his grimace deepens.
“Oh no,” I murmur. “Is he stuck?”
“I think just resting,” Akira says.
“This must have also fascinated you when you were younger,” I say. “The idea of being able to crawl through someone’s nose? Did you pester your parents with endless questions about that pillar and if it actually contained a complicated nasal ecosystem?”
“I did,” he says, grinning at me. “So many questions. I think they were worried I was about to march over there and try to dismantle the entire pillar to see what was inside.”
“Aww.” I’m picturing a tiny Akira striding purposefully toward the pillar, his eyes flashing with that intensity he has, his shaggy hair sticking up in that mussed little kid way. The image is so cute, I almost can’t take it. “So destructive and at such a young age.”
“I didn’t actually do it,” he says, laughing. “But I thought about it.”
We turn back to the pillar. The tall man has finally managed to squeeze through the nostril and his friends are patting him on the back in congratulations. His face is flushed from the exertion of wriggling through such a small, child-sized space, but he’s grinning from ear to ear, his eyes shining with happiness. He doesn’t look tired, he looks exhilarated. Like he’d do it all over again right now if he could.
“I want to do it,” I say suddenly.
“Dismantle the pillar?” Akira says. “And I am the destructive one?”
“No, I want to squeeze through the nostril!” I say, smacking him on the arm. (Which, okay, gives me an excuse to touch him again.) “Maybe the Buddha will see fit to grant me a little enlightenment in this life—just a little bit?”
And … I mean, I don’t want to say it out loud because it sounds super cheesy. But the look on that man’s face … well, he looks like Mom after she’s just completed a particularly grueling painting. Like Dad after he’s perfected a new experimental dish. I suddenly want to feel that so badly, I can taste it.
“Then let’s get in line,” Akira says, gesturing to the pillar.
“You want to do it, too?” I say.
“Absolutely not, no way,” he says, waving a hand. “I passed through the nostril years ago; my next life’s enlightenment is guaranteed. Now I am much taller. I think getting through might be more of a task. But I will wait in line with you and offer you my support.”
We get behind a cluster of schoolchildren who seem to be part of a tour group, all wearing matching T-shirts. They’re high energy, bouncing up and down and chattering among themselves.
Akira and I don’t talk as the line moves forward—it’s another moment of nice crackly silence and I feel a rush of gratitude. I like that he doesn’t seem to think these patches of quiet between us need to be filled or explained. They can just be.
I watch as the tour group kids crouch down and squeeze themselves through the nostril one by one. And as we step closer and closer to the pillar, my heart rate ratchets upward, apprehension rising in my chest.
That hole is really small—even the tiny children have to wriggle to get through. What if I get stuck? I have a sudden, horrific vision of a crew of workers coming in to dismantle this beautiful, ancient landmark, all because some tourist girl was trying to claw her way to enlightenment. Maybe this is one of those things that’s better left to fantasy—an experience I should most definitely not make real.
“Kimi?” Akira’s voice snaps me back to the present and I realize the chatty kids have all squeezed through. Now it’s my turn.
“I …” I stare down at Buddha’s nostril. Which I have to say looks way, way smaller up close. My hands are all clammy and sweat beads my brow. I swallow hard.
“Kimi,” Akira says again. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“No, I … I do,” I say. The tall man’s triumphant, beaming face flashes through my mind. Dammit. I do want to. But I can’t seem to make the first move toward actually doing it.
“Here,” Akira says, crouching down. He sets his backpack to the side of the pillar. “It’s okay. I’ll go first.”
“But I thought you didn’t want to!” I squeak. “Y-you said you were taller now and it would be more of a task—”
He shrugs, smiles at me, and touches my hand. “I changed my mind.”
Before I can protest any further, he turns and plunges headfirst into the nostril. He stretches his arms in front of himself, like he’s diving. I watch him wriggle inside the pillar. The bottom half of his body twitches back and forth—all I can see are his legs and his feet, clad in those neon orange sneakers. He looks like an awkward mermaid, trying to swim through a particularly tough wave. This would be funny if I wasn’t all freaked out about him getting stuck inside a historical landmark while doing something he didn’t actually want to do. And he’s doing it for me.
Now that’s a declaration! Bex’s voice crows in my head.
I feel so guilty and so swoony all at once.
His legs go still for a moment and my heart jumps—is he stuck? But then he starts wriggling again, his bottom half di
sappears through the pillar, and I hear a thunk on the other side.
“Kimi!” he exclaims, breathless.
I crouch down and peer through the nostril. Akira’s grinning face beams back at me from the other side of the pillar. That adorable dimple is on full display and makes me feel momentarily soothed.
“Come on!” he says. “If I can do it, you can—ne? You have—eto, what’s the expression?—you have got this!”
I think he’s making a fist-pump motion, but the hole in the pillar is so small, I can literally only see his face.
I take a few deep breaths. Okay. He’s right. I can do this. Didn’t I travel halfway across the world to try to freaking find myself? Surely I can travel through a single pillar. I set my bag next to his backpack.
I stretch my arms in front of me, like he did. Then I plunge into the nostril. It’s dark and snug and a little dusty, but I shuffle forward on my stomach and focus on plunging myself toward the light—which, once I’m inside, I realize isn’t that far away. I wriggle through so that half of me is on one side of the pillar and half of me is on the other, the middle section of my body housed in the nostril. Having my head and arms sticking out makes me breathe a little easier. I look up and see Akira standing over me, smiling from ear to ear. There are also a bunch of people gathered around, cameras and phones at the ready—probably waiting for their own friends and loved ones to emerge from the nostril so they can snap a photo.
“Yes!” Akira says, nodding encouragingly. “See? You’re almost there.”
I settle my palms on the base of the pillar and push myself forward, trying to give myself leverage.
That’s it … That’s it …
It’s a snug fit, but not unmanageable. Wriggle, wriggle … thud.
Suddenly, I’m not moving forward. Not even a little bit.
