Planting Seeds For A New Version Of Myself

Sunsets moved quickly in Tokyo during the late winter months. Often, before one could even finish their post-work commute, the warmth in the sky had vanished and left only the frigid moon. The night Kaho returned home, the sun was gone before they’d even passed the Imperial Palace.

Quiet, soft lit streets welcomed her home as the overhead lamps shone out their familiar bluish hues. By then, most of the elite and influential were already home and preparing for dinner, so most of the roads were empty, save for the occasional evening walker. No one was around to see the well-appointed van returning Kaho to her family sanctuary after her extended vacation in “Europe”.

A stately mansion awaited the van. Modern interpretations of traditional Japanese architecture rose over the perimeter fence, with warm yellow light casting out into the world through enormous glass windows that rose from the floor to the ceiling. It was simultaneously welcoming and imposing. For Kaho, it was simply home.

Her driver retrieved her suitcase for her, allowing her to enter on her own. No one was waiting, which was normal. They might not have been home yet. Cabinet members were frequently involved in late-night hearings and committees and entertaining other diplomats. Being away for 90 days meant Kaho was fully out of the loop on what her father was currently stressed about.

Cautious hands closed the door with gentle focus, as always. Being Deaf meant Kaho didn’t always have awareness of how loud certain actions were, like closing a door or stacking glass dishes. So her family had taught her from a young age to be as silent as possible. If even a hint of a vibration spoke into her hand when she committed an action, she assumed that was too loud.

Shoes were removed and replaced with her slippers, which were still at the doorway waiting for her. Into the kitchen she went. Everything was still exactly as it was when she left. Cabinets were stocked with fine serving dishes and drinking glasses. Polished stone slabs rested on top of custom wood panels. Every piece of space had a purpose, even if it was mostly for show. The staff handled cooking in the back kitchen.

Kaho removed a glass from the same usual cabinet and made her way to the fridge. Being there felt surreal. Just like her, this place was now at once exactly the same, yet felt shifted. Awareness made Kaho feel even more disconnected, even if she was also feeling more calm.

As Kaho poured herself a glass of water, a small, put-together woman entered the room. She was shorter than Kaho, with high cheekbones and short hair. Kaho’s back was to her, so the woman habitually reached for the nearest light switch.

Flickers from the cabinet inset lighting told Kaho she wasn’t alone. She turned to see her mother awkwardly standing there, her face unreadable. Kaho waved and softly set her glass down to speak.

“Good evening, mother,” Kaho signed.

Another foreign sensation arose in Kaho’s throat as she looked at the woman who had birthed her. It felt like shame and a slight humiliation. Kaho knew that she didn’t understand. She was conservative, traditional, never straying from a black and white view of the world. When your husband was a powerful, influential man, complexity had a habit of falling out of focus. That meant that she had little capacity to process the typhoon of sensations her daughter was now feeling after her long journey to present-ness.

Kaho wanted to apologize for everything, but all she found herself doing was standing there as she waited for her mother to greet her.

“Are you better?” was her mother’s reply.

Shame faded and made space for another emotion that Kaho knew was frustration. Even if she was legitimately better in so many ways, the fact that this was her mother’s first sentence to her after almost 100 days felt a little reductive. Insecurity and an awareness of her father’s need for clean optics made Kaho wonder if that question was as much pragmatic as it was caring.

“I am. Hallelujah,” Kaho replied.

If her mother noticed the sarcasm of her daughter’s hand gestures, she hid it well.

“We do not want to have to monitor you day and night. So I will believe you. Scissors and blades will not be hidden like weapons. But I will check your body once a week,” her mother signed.

Shame returned. Kaho knew this was a merciful, practical plan, but it was still humiliating. And she had done it to herself.

Without challenging or complaining, Kaho simply nodded and bowed.

“I am sorry for the stress I have caused. I will be better. I am better.” she signed.

It was a genuine answer, albeit reduced to only a few words. It would be hard to convey to anyone, much less her mother, but Kaho did feel “better”. Maybe it wouldn’t last, but for now, she felt calmer. Not healed. Not healthy. But calmer. And for now, that was enough.

The Surface’s waves were not as choppy as they once were.

Her mother was opaque as always, but a slight clearing of her throat hinted at emotions wishing to be expressed. Kaho noticed but did not press it.

“I am happy to hear that,” her mother replied.

“What will you do now that you are back?” she asked.

Kano glanced at the nearby Western-style bouquet of flowers that was currently at the center of the kitchen island.

“I really enjoyed ikebana. I want to find a class to continue lessons, if that is okay.”

Her mother nodded.

“Very well.”

Kaho had already done her research. There were several options nearby. If schedules allowed it, she hoped to immediately start visiting them to see which she liked the most. Several were in and around Shinjuku.

No objection came from her mother, who soon excused herself. Fatigue overtook Kaho shortly afterwards, and she found herself ready to return to her room.

Entering it felt like visiting a film set. Instead of the real thing, it gave off the sensation of visiting a meticulously rebuilt replica of what she’d known. Still, the familiar comfort of her bed was a welcome bit of respite.

Moments later, Kaho was in pajamas, under the covers, scrolling through her phone for saved addresses on ikebana galleries and classrooms. When the weekend arrived, if the weather permitted, she would begin her exploration. For now, it was time to sleep. As Kaho set down her phone, thoughts of flower petals and unique new basins fluttered into her mind. Along with them came a welcome and unwelcome memory of Shuhei’s hands clemently caressing hers.

Blush filled Kaho’s cheeks as she shook the image away. Shuhei would be nothing but a memory for her. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he had probably already forgotten about her. And that was okay.

But Shuhei had not forgotten about her. Eight kilometers away, as he filled his veins with more whiskey than blood and smiled a devilish smile towards that night’s worshipper, he couldn’t help but think of how Kaho had looked that night in the candlelight.