Thursday, February 17, 2011

Write about... Something Under Lock and Key

The lantern spread its warm fingers of light across the futon and wrapped them around the papers that Mi Chai held her in her hand. The photograph was dim and pale; the shades of black and white were all but fused into a hazy apparition. The faces were barely discernable, yet she studied them. She leaned closer to the paper shell that held the candle and her eyes traced every ghostly line of the man and woman that lay in the palm of her hand. Though a distant memory, the couple was held captive and confined within the narrow frayed border. The pair was never straying, ever steadfast within the creased and wavy edges of their boundary.
The woman there was small, elegant; she wore the traditional shiro-maku, a wedding kimono. Its straight, angular lines betrayed the gentle curves and soft skin that trembled beneath the silk. She stood with her back nestled against her man; he tall, strong and bearing a courageous kind of good looks. An American flyer standing proud in his dress uniform, he had enveloped his bride, lifted her to a tallness of which she had only dreamed. Mi Chai thought about the meanings of the words shiro-maku... white and pure. Those were the words that defined the love that poured out of the faces and spilled from the tattered print. Mi Chai moved her gaze around the ragged snapshot and was lost in the hugeness of all that it held.
A small fan was tucked inside the wide obi sash that was wrapped around the woman’s tiny waist. Mi Chai’s mother had told her time and again of its significance; the gradual widening of the open fan implies happiness and thus brings a happy future. A small sack-like purse dangled from the belt and promised prosperity. An undersized sword encased in satin was hidden in the folds of the obi and offered up its oath of protection. Mi Chai sank into a watery stare that echoed,” Why?” The man and woman smiled on. Even though it had gone so wrong... they smiled on.
What horror had destroyed the powers of the tokens... good luck charms gone grievously awry? Mi Chai was only six when Yumiko had wailed and fallen to her knees under the weight of despair. What smallness of minds and hearts had ruled that the magnitude of love could be whittled and chiseled down to the confines of a law? Marriages not recognized by the American military; Japanese spouses... outlawed, banned... destroyed. They had carried her man away; the love of her life, the father of her child. An earthly redeemer and now, he was gone.
Many years had passed since Yumiko had given up hope of ever again being with the one she loved. She had sunk into a grief so profound it had swallowed her and dragged little Mi Chai’s joy behind. Finally, in total emptiness, she died.
Yumiko left a gift; a gift for Mi Chai. Abiding by ancient custom, she had carefully fashioned her wedding kimono into a futon cover for her daughter. For almost fifteen years now the white embroidered silk that graced her bed was the tie that bound her to the mother she had lost and the father she had barely known.
But the greatest gift was the folded parchment she had found situated inside the lining of the bed covering. It was neatly folded around the wedding picture and a paper listing the name of her father; where he was born, when he was born, his favorite things and best of all, his vow that someday, he would return.
For the millionth time, Mi Chai blinked back the tears and placed the papers inside the small wooden box and turned the key.

1 comment:

Ed of Chesapeake said...

This story almost always fills me with sadness. I guess it is because of all the troubles Pop and Michiko went through to get married. I think another reason is the heartache contained in the human condition that you captured so well. Good job! I love you.