Beyond Me Read online

  To the people of Japan,

  especially

  the people who work tirelessly

  to keep us safe, warm, and fed

  MARCH 9, 2011

  not much time

  between good morning and good-bye

  out the door

  early

  Father goes one way

  to catch a train east to Shinjuku

  then later

  I go another way

  to walk to school

  when all’s clear

  Mother goes to the table

  to work at her laptop

  out into March wind

  I rush to meet Yuka

  my best friend since kindergarten

  Maya! she shouts to me

  we run, grab hands

  lean in, squint, and

  smile into each other’s faces

  we are sweaterless

  kaze no ko

  “wind kids”

  who don’t wear coats

  even in winter

  with no time to spare

  to be on time

  we hurry on

  at recess

  a time

  when we choose

  how we use

  our time,

  Yuka and I run out

  to meet

  under the cherry tree near the gym

  long time no see, I say

  she giggles

  Ready?

  Yuka stands behind me

  waiting

  waiting

  waiting

  for

  the wind to knock me back

  into her outstretched arms

  it takes big gusts and trust

  to fall back

  it’s not easy

  for me to let go

  there’s hesitation

  then panic

  the moment my toes are off the ground

  then relief—

  Yuka’s always there

  to catch me

  today’s wind is not a true March wind

  but

  we wait

  let go and

  fall

  as many times as we can

  until the playground clock says

  our time is up

  back inside

  my class lines up

  carrying our chairs

  to the music room

  we’re out of step

  starting and stopping

  bumping and scooting

  straggling

  before lunch each day

  these last days of fifth grade

  we practice

  for the spring choir performance

  at the city concert hall

  on Monday

  March 14

  five days from now

  parents (mostly mothers) and grandparents

  will come

  at their appointed time

  make their way through the lobby then

  rush to seats

  as each grade files onstage

  takes their places

  sings and exits

  Teacher chose me

  to be front row center

  to clank blocks

  to keep the beat

  with her piano chords

  I love this task

  but

  it’s not easy

  each day

  we get lost

  in bird notes

  a thrush

  high in mulberry branches

  outside the music room

  begins his song when we begin ours

  he is trying to cheer us up—

  our song sounds so sad

  humans are fragile, we sing

  Teacher assures us

  the song will make hearts ring

  it does end on a higher note

  but it is no one’s favorite

  except

  maybe grandparents’

  we struggle on

  with my clank clank

  trying to get them in tune

  life is mysterious, we sing

  walls

  windows

  tree limbs shudder

  the thrush disappears in flutters

  Teacher stands up

  11:45

  earthquake

  we don’t miss a beat

  grabbing our padded emergency hoods

  from the backs of our chairs

  putting them

  on our heads

  in case something falls

  we have earthquakes all the time

  but this time

  Earth rocks us

  in circles

  someone says, this is eerie

  Earth stills

  we settle back into our classroom

  where

  there are desks to slide under

  if it happens again

  it doesn’t

  early afternoon

  in the gym

  all fifth-grade classes

  come together

  to practice

  Moriyama’s big hit, “Sakura”

  a spring song for cherry blossom season

  we will perform at the sixth graders’ graduation ceremony

  after they present us with rice seeds from their school project

  they will stand from their chairs

  to face us

  as we sing

  I know we will see them smile

  we are in harmony

  from the first note

  the thrush does not take a seat

  in the cherry tree outside the gym

  shoulder to shoulder

  within the group

  I lift my eyes to the windows

  singing the chorus

  Sakura! Sakura!

  as these cherry blossoms bloom…

  I see

  sparrows flit and twitter

  twig to twig

  through cherry blossom buds

  not ready to bloom

  after school

  I wait for Yuka

  not in a rush

  on Wednesdays

  we walk and chat

  pass shops and stop

  to count

  pigeons sitting

  in a bare tree,

  bulbuls shredding

  magnolias, and

  city workers pruning

  branches

  the trees are full today, I say

  Yuka giggles

  I giggle back

  we count

  twelve pigeons

  three bulbuls

  five city workers

  then cut along the path

  of Great-grandfather’s field

  past the last cabbage

  daikon and

  broccoli

  he’s pushing a motor tiller

  guiding it

  making a new row of crops

  a starling follows him

  picking out insects

  I call to him

  Yuka echoes me

  then says,

  he cannot hear us

  he doesn’t hear well anyway

  and

  he never says much either

  even back when

  I followed behind him

  helping him

  picking out weeds

  and

  planting bowls of seeds

  buckets of taro tubers, and

  trays of edamame seedlings

  before I got too busy

  with school

  cram school and

  English practice

  Great-grandfather has farmed full-time since age seventeen

  for sixty-three years

  each year I think will be his last

  his customers pass his vegetable
stand

  with bicycle baskets packed

  with vegetables, toilet paper, and detergent

  “one-stop shopping” at the new store

  kills his business

  but still

  he tills, sows, and gathers

  each season

  there is always something

  to do

  he plants less, but

  we always have plenty to eat

  Grandmother pickles the excess

  the starling pecks the softened soil

  a wagtail zigs and zags and wags

  Great-grandfather’s fields feed them, too

  Yuka asks, same birds from yesterday?

  I don’t know

  same from last year?

  I don’t know how long they live

  I only know their names and

  their songs

  mainly

  I just love them

  how they appear out of nowhere

  like an unexpected gift

  how they come and go

  fly in and out

  as they please

  as they need

  over a garden wall

  we hear but do not see

  a bush warbler

  at the park

  two doves

  blink at us from their fence seat

  and greet us with coo

  we stop to inspect the cherry tree

  one branch hangs down and reaches out to us

  the blossom-viewing prediction for Tokyo is right, we agree,

  no way

  this tree will bloom before a new school year begins April 6

  no way

  we will picnic under full blossoms the last days of our break, but

  no matter

  tight buds

  Yuka and I

  enjoy now together

  we take our time

  before

  we have to start our evening schedules

  today

  for her, abacus lessons

  for me, English practice

  see you!

  we say to the doves

  and to each other

  and turn

  Yuka

  left

  I

  right

  * * *

  Grandmother is bringing in laundry

  at the house Great-grandfather built

  I stop at our gates sitting side by side

  the daffodils Mother planted

  the fall Grandfather died

  wait to open

  a breeze through their house

  reaches me

  paper, straw, wood

  cold and dark

  the house smells sunny

  like vegetables

  freshly cut or drying

  Grandmother always takes a break

  from the vegetable stand

  to bring in their laundry

  to greet me when I return and

  to help me while Mother works

  at our house

  doors slam

  the wind, says Grandmother and smiles

  I yell, I’m home, toward our open living-dining room window

  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