I Love You So Mochi

by Sarah Kuhn

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said …” Akira flushes. “That he does not need me as much as I seem to think he does and I should stop being a fool and go after the girl who pounded the usu so well.”

  There’s so much happy fluttering around my heart, I can barely stand it.

  “Wow, she sounds awesome,” I say, giving him a teasing look. “But, you know, she might be super busy. After all, tomorrow is her last day in Japan.”

  “Oh …” he says, his face falling.

  “I’m kidding,” I say, laughing. Then something off to the side catches my eye. “Oh, look. We’re by the stuffed tanuki again. The one who told me to give you my phone number.”

  “Ahhh, yes,” he says, smiling. Oh god, that dimple. I’ve missed it so much. “I am hearing him again. This time, he has a message for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  He leans in closer. “He’s telling me to kiss you.”

  “Akira!” I shriek, because we’re about to engage in some pretty massive PDA and I see quite a few old people giving us disapproving looks.

  “Come here,” he says softly. He pulls me behind the tree with the tanuki, out of sight.

  “The tanuki can see us,” I murmur against his mouth.

  “The tanuki approves,” he retorts.

  And then he kisses me so thoroughly, I forget where we are in the first place.

  It’s my last day in Japan.

  I’m trying not to think about it too much, honestly. I have breakfast with my grandparents, then putter around my room, getting ready for my date with Akira. I force myself to start packing and can’t help but get a little misty when I stow away the bag of limited-edition candy Ojiichan got for me yesterday.

  I felt so lost and discombobulated when I first got here, wondering if I’d made a huge mistake. Now I don’t want to leave. Especially since I’m not totally sure what’s going to happen when I return to the States, my mother, and all the uncertainty I left behind.

  But I’m not going to dwell on that right now. I want to enjoy my last day with Akira. I know that after today, there’s a very real possibility we’ll never see each other again. I want to savor every second, every touch, every memory I’ll take back with me. I want to be in the moment with him and have as much fun as humanly possible.

  In other words, I’m going to pretend like it’s totally not my last day in Japan.

  Akira and I meet up that afternoon in front of his proposed spot for a last bit of sightseeing: Fushimi Inari Taisha, one of the most famous shrines in Japan.

  “How is it you have you not been here yet? It is maybe the most popular site in Kyoto.” Akira grins at me.

  I’m too busy being in awe to respond. My jaw literally drops as I stand in front of the big red gate that stands at the entrance of the shrine. It’s a torii, a traditional Japanese gate usually found at Shinto shrines. It’s actually kind of an orangey-red—scarlet? Vermillion? Some gorgeous, vibrant color I haven’t seen anywhere else. The gate consists of two tall poles connected by a pair of long bars on top of them—like two letter Ts that have been joined together. And all in that bright, beautiful shade of red. A curving black swoop sits on top of the structure, giving it a dramatic accent. The whole thing is a vivid splash of color against the breathtakingly blue sky.

  “There are supposed to be ten thousand torii gates on these grounds,” Akira says. “Although I have tried to count them and I always lose track before the first thousand.”

  I take it all in, giddiness bubbling in my chest at the thought of another adventure. I turn to him. “Before we go in: Can I ask you for something?”

  He gives me a smile, flashing that dimple. “Anything.”

  “Can we pretend it’s just another day? Not my last day. I want to feel like … we could just keep going after this. And if I keep thinking about it being my last day, I’ll get too sad.”

  “Uhhhhh, okay,” he says, his eyes shifting back and forth.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he says. “Except …” More eyes shifting back and forth. “I might have, ahhh … got you something. To remember your last day by. Do you still want it?”

  I smile. “I’ll never turn down a present.”

  He reaches into his backpack, pulls out a small box, and hands it to me.

  “What is this?” I turn the box over in my hands. “Another Ebi Filet-O in a cunningly designed package?”

  “No,” he says, grinning. “Open it.”

  I carefully remove the lid to reveal … mochi. Four perfect, round blobs of it, each one nestled in its own square of the sectioned-off box.

  “Ojisan helped me make those. They all have different fillings,” Akira says. He’s talking fast and looking at the ground, like he’s suddenly unsure as to whether I’ll like it or not.

  As if I’d ever not like any gift involving food.

  “I love it,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile. “And I’m starving, so it’s extra perfect.”

  “Wait!” he exclaims as I reach for the piece in the upper left corner. “Eto … There’s an … order. Eat that one first.” He points to the lower right.

  “Your gift comes with detailed instructions?” I cock an eyebrow and reach for the correct piece. “That’s very you.”

  “One instruction.” He rolls his eyes. “I would not call that ‘detailed.’ ”

  I giggle and pop the mochi into my mouth—red bean paste. A little sweet, a little earthy. A lot of yum.

  As I’m chewing, I glance down at the box and see there’s a slip of paper where the mochi was—it must have been nestled underneath. I pick it up, turn it over, and see a carefully written kanji character.

  “That means ‘climb,’ ” Akira says. He gestures to the shrine gate. “Which is what we are about to do.”

  “Ah, yes. I’m glad you filled me in on that part beforehand.” In addition to being a revered shrine, Fushimi Inari also offers something of a workout: Visitors can hike up Mount Inari, passing through those famed rows of ten thousand torii gates. Those who make it to the top are ultimately rewarded with an amazing view of the city. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve worn comfortable shoes, packed light (I even left my sketchbook behind), and am prepared to climb like I’ve never climbed before. Especially now that I have mochi.

  “And let me guess, there’s a different kanji under every mochi,” I say, eyeing the box.

  Akira smiles. “I thought it might be fun for you to learn a little more Japanese before returning to the States. You know, try to impress the Aunties.”

  “Nothing will impress the Aunties,” I say, laughing. “But thank you—I’ve been thinking about taking some classes when I get back.”

  I reach for another piece of mochi and he covers my hand with his. “Do not reveal them all yet. There are, ah, specific places where it will make the most sense for you to uncover them. Which I have planned out.”

  “Of course you have,” I say, giving him a teasing look. “But hey, that’s at least two instructions. Definitely counts as detailed.”

  He pauses, his hand still on mine, and his face goes all serious. “I want to make your last day special,” he says earnestly. “I tried to include kanji that will mean something to you.”

  Oh. Dammit. Here I am trying to pretend like it’s not my last day, and of course this adorable boy wants to go out of his way to make it special. Where does he get off being so perfect? I almost say that out loud.

  “But of course it’s not your last day.” His expression morphs to teasing. “It is just another day, ne?”

  “Just another day,” I murmur, my eyes going to the box again. Now I’m really dying to see what’s under the last three pieces. “Are you sure I can’t eat these now?”

  His mouth quirks into a half smile. “Yes.” He inclines his head toward the shrine. “Now we go. Now we climb.”

  Akira leads me to a spot to the left of the main gate, a concrete basin filled with water and topped with an i
nterlocking bamboo contraption containing rows of ladles with long, skinny handles.

  “Oh, Ojiichan told me about this,” I say. “It’s a cleansing ritual, right?”

  “To purify the mind and body before entering the shrine.” Akira nods. “Like this.” He picks up one of the ladles. “Pick it up with your right hand and pour water over your left. Then switch and pour over your right.” He demonstrates. “Then take some water from the ladle”—he pours it into his palm—“and use it to rinse your mouth.” He does this, then spits the water out next to the basin. “Do not swallow the water,” he says, grinning. “Some skip this step because they are not sure of … you know, bacteria. Germs. The things that can exist in water. Then tip the ladle so the water runs down your arm and put it back.”

  “I’ll take the chance and rinse my mouth,” I say, stepping forward and picking up a ladle. “I want to be as cleansed as possible.”

  “Do you need me to help you?” he says, leaning over my shoulder. He’s close enough that his lips practically brush my ear and I flush. This is definitely one of those memories I want to take home with me.

  “I think I’ve got it,” I say, filling my ladle with water. I turn and give him a sly smile. “Also, I might have watched like a million YouTube videos to make sure I didn’t mess up such an important part of visiting a shrine.”

  “Ah, why did you let me go on with my demonstration, then?” He pulls a mock offended face. “You already know what you are doing, ne?”

  “Yours was much better than YouTube,” I assure him. “Also, much cuter.”

  He shakes his head and gives me a look. I just grin at him.

  I go through the purification ritual, carefully rinsing my hands and mouth. Then we proceed up the steps and through the elaborate gate—which is an amazing structure in and of itself. It’s flanked by two green fox statues, who gaze down at us with fierce, watchful expressions. Foxes are the messengers of the god/goddess Inari and therefore a big theme throughout the shrine.

  When we enter the grounds of the main shrine, I am once again overwhelmed by so many amazing sights. This is one of the things I’ll miss most about Japan, I realize. I feel like my eyeballs are constantly drinking in about a zillion beautiful things at once. We pay our respects at the main shrine by putting coins in one of the offering boxes, then ring the bells and go through the basic prayer ritual. I’m especially drawn to a small temple off to the right of the grounds featuring a long wall of paper cranes. They’re every color imaginable and strung together in flowing chains—they look like elaborate rainbow streamers.

  “Ohhhhh,” I breathe, moving in for a closer look.

  “Let me guess,” Akira says. “This will inspire a dress?”

  “It could inspire many dresses,” I say, my eyes glued to the cranes. “So many. Dresses for days.”

  “I cannot wait to see,” he says—and I can’t help but feel a little pang.

  “But you won’t see, will you?” I murmur, almost to myself.

  He’ll be an ocean away. And we haven’t really talked about whether we’re going to keep in touch. I mean, it makes the most sense for us not to talk anymore, probably. Talking to him without being able to touch him, to see him, to be together … it might hurt too much.

  “Hey. Kimi.” He reaches over and brushes my bangs out of my eyes. “Today is just another day, ne?” His expression is so tender, I nearly lose it right there.

  Ugh. Be in the damn moment, Kimi.

  “So can I eat another mochi now?” I say, trying to make my tone light.

  “Not yet,” he says, laughing. “We are only at the base of Mount Inari—still miles to go.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  He leads me up the stone steps, to the beginning of our climb. The endless row of torii extends in front of us, a winding tunnel of scarlet gates. There are quite a few people on the path and I smile as I watch them trying to walk and take everything in at the same time, heads turning this way and that. I make a mental note to try my best not to get so absorbed by the scenery that I trip over my own feet.

  “This gets even more packed at New Year’s,” Akira says as we begin our walk. “It is a mass of people, just trying to pass through these gates.”

  “Still quite a few people here right now,” I observe. “And yet it’s so peaceful.”

  The tunnel of torii is surrounded by lush greenery, a beautiful foothill forest leading into the mountain. The contrast of those bright red gates against the tranquil green is striking, and I’m so swept up in it, I’m able to briefly forget my worries about what happens after today. Soon, we reach a spot where the line of torii splits into two side-by-side paths.

  “Whoa, this feels very momentous,” I say, stopping in front of them and putting my hands on my hips. I cock an eyebrow at him. “Surely this calls for another piece of mochi?”

  “You are so impatient,” he says, giving me an amused look. “Can you wait until we have gotten past this first section of torii—the first thousand—and reached the inner shrine?”

  “Well, that sounds very fancy,” I say, pretending to consider very carefully. “I guess I can wait.”

  “To the right, then,” he says. “Both paths will take us to the same place, but you generally enter to the right because it keeps the flow of foot traffic going in the most efficient manner.”

  The torii in this section are packed so tightly together, we’re surrounded by nothing but that brilliant orangey-red. It’s a bit like being in the bamboo grove, suddenly enclosed in this gorgeous pod that’s a whole world unto itself. But the feeling this pod gives me isn’t soothing—it’s energizing. My creative juices flow, my brain overloads with inspiration. My fingers itch for my sketchbook and I almost wish I had opted to haul it up the mountain with me.

  “More dresses?” Akira says, gesturing around us.

  “More everything,” I say. “This is amazing.”

  We walk for a bit with that crackly silence between us. I savor it the same way I savored the mochi earlier, trying to commit each tiny moment to memory. I’m almost disappointed when we emerge from that first row of torii and into the open space of the inner shrine. I don’t want this feeling of enchantment to end.

  “Shall we get ema?” Akira says, nodding toward a stand piled high with small, triangular wooden plaques.

  “Show me what these are,” I say as we move closer.

  “Oh, you did not watch a YouTube video on this?” he teases, raising an eyebrow. He points to the plaques—which I now realize are shaped like pointy little fox faces. “You write a wish or a prayer on the back of one of these,” he says. “Something you are hoping for, perhaps? And then we go hang it on the shrine wall as an offering.” He gestures across the way, to a bright red wall festooned with countless tiny fox plaques. “And because these are shaped like foxes, sometimes people draw a face on them as well.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  We purchase ema and the woman at the stand offers us markers to write with.

  Akira flips his ema over and starts writing immediately. I hem and haw over my wish. It seems like anything I actually want to wish for would require me to admit that this is my last day.

  “Maybe I’ll just draw a face,” I say, toying with my marker.

  “You must wish for something,” Akira insists. He taps my ema with his marker. “That is the rule.” He smiles at me. “You do not have to tell me or anyone else your wish—remember, it’s on the back. Just write something that is in your heart.”

  I think about that for a long while. Akira finishes scribbling out his wish and turns the ema over to sketch a face.

  What is in my heart? Like, the deepest, darkest places that I’m afraid to show anyone? What would I wish for with no limitations?

  Finally, I write something down.

  Then, before Akira can sneak a peek, I flip my ema over and draw a stylish fox face with long eyelashes and a jaunty hat.

  “Even your ema is fashionable,” Akira says, smili
ng at my handiwork.

  “And yours is so cute and inquisitive,” I say. “Look at those googly eyes.”

  We cross over to the wall and hang our ema among all the others. There are so many different faces, so many styles of drawing. There’s one I can tell must have been drawn by a small child, crude scratchings and a big curvy line of a smiling mouth. Another one looks like it was done by a professional manga artist—so much detail contained in such a small canvas. I find myself wondering what kind of ema Mom would draw, if it would practically leap off the wall with her trademark big, bold shapes.

  “Would you like to have another piece of mochi?” Akira asks.

  “Yes!” I exclaim, my train of thought immediately diverting to what flavor I’m going to get, what kanji is about to be revealed. I pull the mochi box out of my bag and open it.

  “This one,” Akira says, pointing to the lower left corner.

  I make a big show of plucking it free and take a bite. This one is black sesame, rich with deep, savory flavor.

  “So good,” I murmur. I gently extricate the slip of paper underneath and flip it over.

  “This is ‘hope,’ ” Akira says. He gestures to the wall of ema. “Because that’s what this wall is full of. And …” He hesitates, turning to face me. His eyes have that earnest cast. “Because that is what you gave me, Kimi: hope. The incredible jacket you made for me helped me remember what it is like to dream of the future I really want.”

  “Does that mean you talked to your ojisan, your family?” I didn’t want to press the subject until I knew he was ready to talk about it.

  “Ojisan called me a fool again,” he says, smiling. “Said he can manage just fine without me. I think he is going to try to set up at another location—perhaps not as well trafficked, but the rent is much cheaper.”

  “Not as well trafficked yet,” I correct. “Once word gets out about your uncle’s mochi, that place will be mobbed.”

  “And he may try to expand into mail order,” Akira says. He taps my mochi box. “Doing boxes like this one.”

  “That’s a great idea!” I exclaim. “Ooooh, if he gets a website set up—I mean, I see so much potential.”