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“Genkidesu ka?” he asks me. ‘How are you?’, and a few other phrases, are the only Japanese phrases he is confident with. He can try to understand the little I make effort saying but can barely say them himself.
“Watashi wa genkidesu, anata wa?” I respond.
He places his index finger at the side of his lips, thinking. Then he responds with, “Watashi mo genkidayo ka.”
We both laugh heartily.
“It’sgenkidesu,” I tell him, playfully pulling his cheeks. “You could say,genkidayo, but don’t addka.Kais only when you’re asking.”
“Yes teacher,” he responds, and we both smile.
I get his backpack and lunch box from him, holding his hands as we walk back home. A neighbor spots us and offers to give us a ride. It’s a silent ride back home. Manhattan’s streets bustle with so much life and by four-thirty, the day was just beginning.
We step down from the car in front of a tall building just at the corner. It’s our building. It has a gray brick front and a faded burgundy awning over the entrance.
“Thank you,” I say, turning to the man that has just dropped us off. I beckon Alex to wave to him and we both do. He drives off.
I lift Alex into my arms, and we make our way to the elevator. Our stop would be the fifth floor. Soon, the metal cables begin grinding and groaning above us like it is close to maximum load or something. I fear the cables would break and let us down. But it won’t. It’s been this way for the longest time.
Alex wraps my neck tightly. I feel the warmth from his body course through mine. I never get tired of carrying him like this. In some months, he’d be six. I fear he’s growing too fast. Mother sometimes makes comments about how I’ve devoted so much time to Alex, that I can’t go out, have fun, and find a man. That isn’t going to be me. If true love is going to happen to me, it will find me. Or would it?
The elevator opens on a narrow hallway with pale blue walls. The hallway is covered in a gray rug that’s almost tired from bearing a whole generation’s feet. There are four doors in the hallway, all leading to individual apartments. The aroma of heavily spiced roast tangles in my nostrils. Someone is preparing dinner somewhere. It’s funny how in New York, everyone could know what you were having for dinner by just smells.
I stop at the last door, which leads to our apartment. I slowly drop Alex onto the floor, so that I can fish for the keys to the door from my bag. As I try the keys on the door, I realize that it is already open. Mother’s home probably, I wonder.
I push open the door and allow Alex to walk in. He seems tired. I begin to think of quick dinner choices for him. Mac and cheese it will be. Alex walks to the living room and dives into the largest sofa. He heaves a huge sigh and I laugh.
“Who’s that old man trapped in my baby’s body?” I ask, playfully gnawing at his sides with my fingers. He trembles from the tickle and laughs back.
“It’s Humpty Dumpty,” he answers.
“Oh no, not Humpty. Who would put you back together again?”
“My Aunty Amber will,” he says. I lean over to him and give him a peck. I realize I must have done that over a million times daily. But I don’t care. I love Alex to a fault. So many people think he is my son. Well, he still is.
“Lemme go make you dinner my darling,” I say, walking to my room to drop my bags and painting kit. “Go change those clothes,” I tell him. He stands up and walks to his room, which was once Jess’s room.
I push open the door to my room and throw my bags on my bed. The bed is still the way I left it in the morning—scattered, clothes strewn over, books laid around.
The picture frame on the wall over my bed hangs in an unbalanced tilt. I reach out to put it in place. It is a frame with a white border. The picture in it captures Mount Fuji, in its snowy, white glory. The photographer must have done a good job, capturing the volcanic mount, a Minka, and palmate maple in one photo.
This one photo frame holds hope of some sort for me. Soon, I’d be seeing the same mount regularly, with my own eyes. And not through a frame, maybe except lens frames.
I pull my shoes off my feet, and I slide into flip-flops. I step out of my room and walk to my mother’s room to see if she’s around. Maybe I should have knocked, but I don’t. I open the door as soon as I’m in front of it.
My mother is there. In bed. With a man. I haven’t seen this one before, and I’m sure of that. The man jerks and seems ashamed. But Lisa is not at all perturbed. She probably thinks that because I’ve seen her this way countless times, one more wouldn’t change a thing. She blows a bubble from the gum she chews and bursts it.
“Oh, Amber. You’re back,” she says.
I don’t respond. I give her a burning stare. The sides of her lips drop, and she raises her hands in the air, spreading them as to ask what I am still doing at the door.
“So, this is why you couldn’t pick up Alex,” I say, almost slamming the door after, definitely not wanting to get any answers.
Chapter Two
Derrick
Ikeeprunning.Everyonewith me has been taken down. The gunshots increase. Suddenly, I’m on the ground. I feel a sharp pain in my left leg, and I turn to look at it. A bullet has dug into my femur. It bleeds profusely. I groan as the bandits close in, their machetes gleaming in the dappled sunlight. It’s the same dream, the same nightmare that has haunted my nights for years.
