they fell, smearing into blots on the leaves and the petals.
But it was done now. He wanted me to go, to be safe. I wanted to be safe, too. The Yakuza and the Kami scared me.
Tomohiro scared me. And by leaving, I was keeping Tomohiro’s power under control and out of Jun’s hands.
I traced the rose with my fingers, trying to imitate the movements of his pen. I’d never been much of an artist, and I pretended that each stroke was mine, that I could capture the soul of a rose the way he had.
My hand ran down the stem, and a hot pain seared through my fingertip.
I yanked my hand backward, flipping it over to inspect the paper cut. A dark bead of blood pooled on the pad of my index finger. It stung like crazy.
I looked down at the sketch.
A thorn. It wasn’t a paper cut—I’d cut myself on the thorn.
“
The blood trickled down the side of my finger and fell onto the page with a sound like someone flicking the paper.
The other guests rose around me, businessmen with leather bags on wheels, mothers with sprawling infants wrapped to their fronts, carry-ons of every color whirling by the glass wall where our bulky, awkward plane waited on the concrete.
I couldn’t do anything now. Nan had bought the ticket.
Diane had left for the bullet train back to Shizuoka.
I’d promised Tomohiro I would leave.
I stared at the blood, stark red on the paper—the only color on the page, except for the single word Tomohiro had left me with.
But it was last call for the airplane. I couldn’t just run out of the airport. That wasn’t the way real life worked. Maybe in Japanese dramas, or the bad Hollywood flicks we watched in English Club. But I had a ticket in my jeans pocket, a suitcase on the seat beside me. You can’t just pick up and leave in real life.
Can you?
I rose to my feet slowly, my whole body shaking. My pulse thumped in my ears, drummed through every vein in my body.
It wasn’t running away. If the decision to leave was wrong…
changing it wouldn’t be running away. Would it?
I balled my hands into fists, the stickiness of the blood against my palm.
It wasn’t about what Tomohiro said or wanted. It wasn’t ever about him, not really.
It was my life and my choice.
Because running away, giving up the life that mattered to me, wasn’t living.
I stepped forward, my legs like stone. I walked away from the row of seats, away from the gate where a few stragglers fumbled with their passports and carry-ons.
I stumbled and then began to run through the mono-chrome pathways of the airport, Tomohiro’s note crumpled around my fingers. I felt alive, the power surging through me stronger than any fear that had pulsed there.
It was my destiny.
I was going to face it.
It was my life.
I was going to live it.
Amerika-jin:
An American
Ano:
“Um,” a filler word telling the speaker you have something to say
A-re:
A word expressing surprise
Bai bai:
“Bye-bye” pronounced just like the English
Baka ja nai no?:
“Are you stupid or something?”
Betsu ni:
“Nothing special” or “nothing in particular”
Bogu:
The set of kendo armor
Chan:
Suffix used for girl friends or those younger than the speaker
Chawan:
The special tea bowl used in a Tea Ceremony
Che:
“Damn it!”
Conbini:
A convenience store
Daiji na hito:
An important person, big shot,
Daijoubu:
“Are you all right?” or “I’m/it’s all right”
Dango:
Dumplings made of rice flour, often sweet and eaten dur-ing flower viewing
Domo:
As used in
The breastplate of kendo armor
Faito:
An encouraging phrase meaning to fight with one’s might or do one’s best
Furikake:
A seasoning to sprinkle over white rice
Furin:
A traditional Japanese wind chime
Gaijin:
A person from a foreign country
Ganbare:
“Do your best,” said to encourage one in academics, sports or life
Genkan:
