Amanda Sun - Ink

“It’s no big deal,” I said, which meant don’t say any more or I’ll start bawling in the middle of Narita Airport.

I guess she got the message, because she closed her mouth and stepped back.

“Bye,” I choked.

“You’ve always got a home here,” she said. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

I turned and went through the security check. Once I stepped through the metal detector, I turned to look back at Diane, but she was lost in the crowd.

I adjusted my backpack and rolled my carry-on toward the empty benches near my gate. I wished the floor would open and swallow me up so I wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.

I sat down on one of the hard leather benches by the door. Clusters of gaijin and Japanese tourists sat in the rows around me, while two flight attendants talked in hushed tones. I stared out the giant windows at the planes moving slowly around the concrete plaza.

The whole thing felt surreal. To think that five months ago this was what I had wanted. To go home.

But home wasn’t there anymore, and it wasn’t even Japan, really.

I think it was inside myself

And it was in him.

And that’s why I had to leave. Because I couldn’t stand to break him.

I pulled out the envelope and tapped it against my top lip, staring at the luggage trains and the clumsy maneuvers of the planes. They looked so awkward on the ground, big, flailing machines that tipped from side to side as they stumbled forward.

I looked down at the envelope in my hands.

I was practically on the plane. It was close enough.

I pulled the edge of the envelope up and slid my finger

along the top, the paper ripping into litde puckered edges. I pulled out the note, a plain piece of white paper, and unfolded it carefully.

I’d wondered what he would say to me, agonized over what he would write and what it would mean. And here in red pen was a single word at the top of the page.

いてい てい

Itterasshai.

Go and come back safely.

Like I was leaving on a vacation and returning to him.

A sketch spanned the rest of the paper, a haunting black-and-white rose chained to the page by five thick X marks, the lines scribbled and rescribbled to bind the drawing. Even then it was risky, but it was only pen, and he’d always managed to keep tabs on his school notes and doodles.

The rose barely moved as I looked at it, its petals fluttering softly in the drafty airport. It almost looked normal. In fact it was beautiful, the same beauty I saw in Tomohiro’s eyes when he gazed at the wagtails or the sakura trees, when he gave them life in his notebook. The look in his eyes when he gazed at me.

The tears rolled down my cheeks, curving under my chin and dripping onto the paper. The ink ran where 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.

“ Okyaku-sama, we apologize for the wait. This is your boarding call for Flight 1093 to Ottawa.…”

The blood trickled down the side of my finger and fell onto the page with a sound like someone flicking the paper.

Tak, tak, tak.

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.

Tak.

I couldn’t do anything now. Nan had bought the ticket.

Diane had left for the bullet train back to Shizuoka.

Tak.

I’d promised Tomohiro I would leave.

If I stay, I might die.

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.

Itterasshai.

Come back safely.

Come back.

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.

Tak.

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?

Please…live.

Come back safely.

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.

There’s only one chance. I only get one life. If the ink reacts to me, then maybe I can stop it. And if I don’t, then we’re not the only ones who are going to suffer.

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, etc.

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 Ink, “Hi” or “Hey” Dou:

The breastplate of kendo armor

Faito: