Akin to Crackling Fire

The cold winter breeze carried the scent of the mountains through the busy Sapporo streets. And with the mountain wind, an excited young man bursts into the streets on his blue bicycle. The snow-capped mountains and trees framed the tall monolithic buildings. He gave little time to admire the sight, as he raced through the crowd. He turned a sharp corner into a narrow alley, and with a sharp inhale, he grasped his brakes and swerved past a figure. His tires slipped on the icy path and he fell hard on the pavement, skidding straight past the stranger.

“Sorry, sorry–” the boy groaned, slowly coming to his feet, “didn’t mean to startle you–”

“You should be more concerned with yourself,” a sharp voice said.

The boy rubbed the snow off his glasses, letting him see the figure clearly. A girl. She wore a thick white kimono, embellished with pink and red plum blossoms, and a grey obi belt with snowflakes carefully embroidered onto it. The girl’s thin red lips move, but he perceives no sound.

“Huh–what?” He said, dumbfounded.

“I asked if you were alright.”

“Oh, yeah I’m good!” The boy brushed the snow off his clothes. He kneeled and picked up his bike.

He turned around to say goodbye to the stranger, only for her to be right in front of him. She was looking intently down at something. Startled, the boy leaned away from her. “Um, you need something?” As he spoke, the girl wrapped her fingertips around the boy’s wrist and gently pulled his hand towards her. A hint of red touched the boy’s face, which quickly turned pale upon seeing blood drip from a gash on the very edge of his palm. His lips curled as pain crept up his arm.

The girl reached under her belt and pulled out a sash of red silk, and wrapped it around the boy’s hand in one motion.

“Still your worried heart,
And accept this charity.
Let it ease your pain.”

She spoke clearly and confidently. “That will heal quickly,” she said as she finished tying the sash. She took two small steps away from the boy, lowered her hands together, and bowed.

The boy returned the gesture. “Th-thank you, Miss!” He said.

“Tomoe,” she replied. The boy peeked his head up with a puzzled expression. “That is my name.”

“Thank you, Tomoe-san!” The boy said, bowing even deeper. “Oh, and my name is–” He raised his head, expecting to see Tomoe, but she was gone. “Takuya…”

Takuya quietly mounted his bike. He took a glance at the red silk tied around his hand, then rode on.

Shortly, Takuya arrived at an old building and hastily tied his bike to a lamp post. As he approached, a deep, rhythmic thumping rose from the building. As Takuya opened the door, he was greeted by the warm smile of an older man. “Ah, right on time, Taka,” the old man said, “we just started warming up–” the red sash caught his eye. “Are you hurt?"

Takuya gave a deep bow, “I’m fine, I’ll be right out, Oda-sensei!” He said and ran into the locker room. He changed from his school uniform to a white tank top with loose sweatpants. He stored his bag in a locker labeled Wong, Takuya. He came out into the main room. Many large drums were lined up.

Takuya, along with a few other boys, grabbed their long drumsticks and squared up with the drums. The old mentor stands in the center. “Ready,” he said, “and… begin!”

On his command, one of the boys started a slow, rolling beat. Another joins, and another, then Takuya. The last boy, with the speed and power of a typhoon, unleashed a storm of strikes on his drum creating a leading rhythm. As though lightning struck and alighted the earth, the flames grew to match the intensity of the storm, creating a sound akin to crackling fire.

Oda would direct and call out, slower, faster, more power, gentler. The storming symphony carried into twilight. Oda signaled everyone to cease.

“Good, very good everyone!” Oda said with a gentle smile, “I hope to see you all again this Thursday.” Everyone dispersed, panting and dripping with sweat. Some gathered and conversed among themselves, while Takuya went straight for a towel.

“Taka–” Oda called out, beckoning Takuya with a couple of fingers. Takuya swallowed, threw the towel over his shoulders, and apprehensively approached his mentor.

“Yes, sensei?” Takuya asked.

“It’s about the performance next week,” Oda replied. Takuya nodded. “Akira was supposed to play with us, but the poor boy injured his wrist during a baseball game,” he continued. Takuya gave a sympathetic wince.

“Ouch…” Takuya said, “ Is he alright?”

“He will be,” Oda replied, “though he’s unlikely to recover before the performance. Meaning we’ve an empty spot in the troupe. A spot I was hoping you would fill.”

Heat filled Takuya’s face. He stuttered, looking for words, but found none. Finally, he spoke. “I appreciate it, sir, but I think someone else would be better suited–” Oda raised his hand, stopping Takuya.

“Taka, you’ve come a long way. All you need is a little more fire in your strikes, and you’re ready,” Oda said.

Takuya’s eyes stung red as he held back tears. His faint smile slowly turned downwards. “I appreciate it, sensei, I really do–but it’s my last year and finals are coming up…”

Oda nodded solemnly. “I wouldn’t want to tear you away from your studies, Taka, though–” Oda gently grabbed Takuya’s shoulder, “I’ll keep the door open for a bit, in case you change your mind.”

Takuya’s smile found its way back. “I’ll think about it. Thank you,” he said and bowed deeply. “I should be going, sensei, thank you!”

“Anytime,” Oda replied.

Takuya changed back to his much warmer school uniform. He slipped past groups of his peers, mostly unnoticed, and began his lonely walk to his bike. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders–

“Heeeey Wong! How’s it going?” A cold voice said, which Takuya recognized as Daigo Abe, who was noticeably bigger than him.

Takuya shrank himself, trying to look him in the eyes as little as possible. “I-I’m fine, Abe-san… you?” Takuya asked.

“Good, good! Hey, I heard that the old man wanted you to take Akira’s spot, said you might be playing with us–what did ya say?!”

“I… turned him down… school and… such,” Takuya replied weakly.

“Ahh, I get it man, priorities,” Abe said, “besides, it might be for the best–”

As they crossed an alley, Abe shoved Takuya with full force. Takuya slammed into a trash can and hit the ground curled into a ball.

“Wouldn’t want a ‘dogeater’ botching my performance,” Abe said with a piercing apathy, and kept walking.

Takuya lay still for a while. He only got up once he knew Abe was gone. He slowly got back on his feet and dragged himself to where his bike was. Still beneath the now-lit lightpost, casting a spotlight over the navy blue bicycle. Rubbing the pain from his shoulder, he knelt down to unlock the chain, then noticed red markings on the body of his bike. Hastily written kanji covered it. Shina, they read. An ugly word to describe someone of Chinese descent.

Takuya stared. While eying his defiled bike, he noticed the back tire was slashed. So he unlocked the chain, then walked, dragging his bike with him.

The breeze had ceased, and an hour of walking through stagnant city air passed. Takuya took the scenic route home, too embarrassed to cross through the busier streets. His pocket buzzed. He took out his phone and saw a text from his dad.

Just landed in the States. Call you when I can. School better?

Love you (so does mom)

Takuya rubbed the tears from his eyes. As much as he wanted to perform with his peers, he knew he needed better grades.

He put his phone back and continued until he came across a construction site. The mesh gate was left open. The block where he lived was on the other side. The gate was left open. Takuya knew he could cut at least 10 minutes from the walk if he took this shortcut. He squeezed his bike through, the tires along with his shoes crunched over the gravel. It was a straight path to the other side. The only light Takuya had was the dampened moonlight. As he walked, contemplating how he was going to tell his parents about needing bike repairs, he froze. Shadowy figures entered the site on the opposite side of the trail. It was impossible to make them out, and he couldn’t tell how many there were. The sight of them made Takuya’s stomach churn. He decided the extra 10 minutes didn’t seem so bad and turned around. Only for another group to enter the way he came.

Worried they were thugs or psychos, Takuya searched for a place to hide: To his left was the outline of a building, 6 floors of cement and steel. To his right was a declining hill.

Takuya sloppily dropped his bike and ran for the building. The foundation of the building was surrounded by a ditch and a loose metal bridge going over it. Takuya jumped into the ditch. The opening beneath the bridge was just big enough for him to comfortably crawl underneath. Now lying on his stomach, he covered his mouth as he heard faint whispers over crunching gravel.

“...Can’t say it’d be bad for us,” a raspy voice said.

“I’m not sure master Taira would agree,” a gruff voice continued, “even if closing the border is what’s best for us.” The voices came overhead of Takuya.

The heavy steps shook the metal bridge, sprinkling dust on Takuya. Takuya buried his face into his arm and sneezed.

The noises from overhead stopped dead. The only sound Takuya heard was his heart pounding in his ears. Something grabbed his leg and pulled him out from under the bridge. He gave a startled yell. A large, burly man grabbed Takuya by the collar and held his face inches away from his own. The burly man stared into Takuya with an overwhelming menace.

“Uhhhh–hi?” Takuya said.

The burly man slams his head into Takuya’s, completely knocking him out.