Mother yells back,
Maya, you’re late!
she sets aside time
on Wednesdays, my break from cram school,
to give me English lessons in listening
reading
writing
and computer skills in both languages
she was born in America
grew up an orphan in foster homes
came here
married Father, the language, and the culture
and opened a translating service
I have two languages
two cultures
two passports
I have roots and wings
(Mother tells me often)
but
I have only been to America once
still
I know it pretty well
its food
its music
its history
Mother chooses my favorite subjects to research, too
today
she has prepared a research and
note-taking exercise from a video
about
the smallest, most delicate bird in the world
it can fly through bad weather
balance midair
and
hover
paddling its wings in infinity symbols
it can sip from breeze-blown flowers
darting to adjust to their sudden movements
it is strong and cute and beautiful
at the same time
its feathers sparkle and
change with the angle of sunlight
like a rainbow
its name is “Humming Bird”
(Mother corrects my spelling)
sadly
this bird, this jewel, stays only in the Americas
MARCH 10, 2011
near the end of the school year
it’s not easy to stay
on the same page
in class
and
on the same note
in choir practice
and
on the chair
in cram school
after trying to stay awake in cram school
I rush to do homework
I sip tea
from my favorite mug
the mug Yuka gave me in second grade
when
we had time for fun
before
we started cramming for
junior high entrance exams
MARCH 11, 2011
in the morning rush
07:44 Earth shudders
enough
to make us pause
note the time and
watch the pendant light stir the air
above the dining table
my cell phone dings from its drawer
Yuka texts
I text
I put my phone back in its place
and run to meet her
it’s a perfect spring day
who wants to be inside?
at morning practice
the thrush is not outside the music room
we are all on the same note
but our hearts are still not in the song
at recess
no wind to push us down
Yuka and I join others
for a game of circle catch
at afternoon practice
in the gym
we are caught up in song
we are ninety fifth graders in tune
our voices flow
blend
soar
Sakura! Sa———ku—
a bell rings
lights flicker
the gym clock says
Earth
d
r
o
p
s
below me
midair
toes off the floor
hovering
arms paddling
free-falling
feels like an eternity
before
I drop
Out!
the playground clock tells us
five minutes have passed
we fifth graders are sitting on the playground
caught without our emergency hoods
wearing our indoor shoes
no one mentions it
14:54
we are still
14:55
14:57
14:58
whirling
15:01
everyone is calm
15:02
cooperative and
15:03
mostly
15:05
quiet
15:06
even when Earth
15:07
15:08
us
15:08
15:11
we are following the rules
15:12
15:13
other students file out of the main building
wearing their emergency hoods
scooting into their outdoor shoes
15:15
everyone drops to the ground
at the school gate
Yuka’s mother, other mothers
are suddenly there
waiting for the signal to enter
like they’re supposed to
fifth-grade teachers stand
do head counts then
call roll
some mothers squat close to the ground
to avoid
15:18
falling down
others
15:19
squeal and fall
most try to stand ready
all of them look
15:20
worried
15:21
15:23
stunned
15:25
scared
school staff bring our outdoor shoes
from the entrance
telling us we will not go back inside
we put them on
using a foghorn
Principal tells us the epicenter was up north
praises us for cooperating obediently
moving quickly
sitting quietly
says we can check out with teachers
if a family member is here
tells us to be careful
watchful
helpful
wishes us well
Yuka’s mother leads her away
we wave
Grandmother is in line
my first word to her
after Teacher signs me out is
Mother?
she’s watching the house
we take a back way
away from the shopping area
like Grandmother tells me to do
in emergencies
to avoid falling plaster, signs, glass
we stay in the middle of the street
no cars, no bicycles, no people
around
it’s quiet
except
for a rumble starting
moving along the street
15:28
pushing streetlights
trees
houses
garden gates
walls
electrical lines
high to low
we drop down
with
no cover
Grandmother shields me
I hold on to her
15:29
my head spins
15:30
stomach churns
15:31
is Earth still spinning?
15:33
we wait until the lines barely swing
we walk on
arm in arm
stop
15:34
drop
15:35
15:36
the wires keep moving
15:37
up
15:37
down
I cannot feel the ground beneath my feet
so
I let her guide me
knowing she is mindful of all above us
below us and
around us
she keeps our distance from garden walls
15:38
we drop
wait
walk
15:41
drop
wait
walk
15:42
drop
15:42
wait
walk
15:44
a brick crashes near us
like the wall threw it
15:48
everything feels like it’s spinning
15:49
15:52
it’s all a blur
15:54
15:54
15:55
until
we make it to the fields
15:57
we drop
Great-grandfather is sitting behind the tiller
he waves to us
he’s okay
we’re okay
we move on
near the park
15:59
tree limbs and
electrical wires flap
we wait
to head toward our gates
16:00
I feel I am floating
16:01
16:03
my feet never
16:03
touch
16:03
16:04
the
16:04
ground
until
we reach our porch
we step over something
dark, crumbled
the swallows’ nest
smashed when it crashed
from the eaves
Grandmother says, take care
hugs me and
heads next door
I drop my school indoor shoes
push out of outdoor shoes
into slippers (in case of broken glass)
run to the living-dining room
16:09
the pendant light is circling the table
everything is in place
except
Mother is under the table
typing
e-mailing
texting
Skyping
helping foreign clients
she looks up
shouts,
come!
16:10
I drop down
take cover beside her and
hold on to her
she hugs me
and
says,
glad you’re home
there’s no cell phone call service
Father hasn’t answered her texts or e-mails
but she knows
he’s okay
he always forgets to charge his battery
his building is new
earthquake proof
far from the bay
we’re not getting the worst of it
she switches on the TV
the TV is stable
anchored to the wall
at the top of the screen
a map of Japan flashes
tsunami warnings
for
all
eastern coasts
we are secure under the table
miles from the epicenter
miles from Tokyo Bay
we are safe from the ocean
newscasters are reporting updates
16:12
their floor groans
their desk rocks
16:12
their chairs tumble
16:12
they struggle to sit up
the camera cuts to a map
showing the epicenter of the quake
northeast
far from us
then cuts to footage of
water spilling over a seawall up north
news offices shaking
a fire raging at an oil refinery near Tokyo
they tell us to take care about aftershocks
and home fires
16:13
everything rattles there
16:13
our
