うちの
I had this crazy dream. It was all in Japanese. And so was I.
I was taking care of Kenny and Saki's children. They'd kept them secret for years, in a small but tidy house on the corner of a run-down neighborhood.
"So this is what you meant when you said that you had a difficult and troubled history," I had thought to myself.
Saki had left dinner for them in the fridge - sandwiches of bread, mustard, a slice of ham and a leaf of lettuce. I guess she was too busy to do more, but I was not impressed, and upon asking the children about their favorite tastes, I found out that their diets were essentially ramen and gyoza and donburi. "No, that's terrible!" I cried. "They need to eat more healthily than that -- I should cook bentou for them, at least, and for tonight something like... Like buta kakunin."
"But you only have three hours!" exclaimed Kenny. He was leaning against one of the counters.
"I guess that would be all right," said Keita, encouraging. "As far as time is concerned. But the taste...It just wouldn't be the same as the Iwazumi taste..."
"I guess you're right," I said, abashed. "I'll make something else."
But I couldn't think of anything else that I knew I could cook so well, really...
In the end I don't think it mattered. When the time came for me to go, I remember holding the little boy to my chest, saying,
"Don't worry about anything, I'm here for you, I'm never going to leave you. It's going to be okay. Now go to your father... He cares about you... Your momma too..."
The whole time, it wasn't like I was interested in Kenny; not jealous of him and Saki, even. But I cared about him. I cared about the kids. I cared about Keita, and wanted to be close to him more.
The whole dream was layered with a sense of maternal instinct, this jolt of knowledge that "I need to be responsible for these people--
"These people who are my family now."
I was taking care of Kenny and Saki's children. They'd kept them secret for years, in a small but tidy house on the corner of a run-down neighborhood.
"So this is what you meant when you said that you had a difficult and troubled history," I had thought to myself.
Saki had left dinner for them in the fridge - sandwiches of bread, mustard, a slice of ham and a leaf of lettuce. I guess she was too busy to do more, but I was not impressed, and upon asking the children about their favorite tastes, I found out that their diets were essentially ramen and gyoza and donburi. "No, that's terrible!" I cried. "They need to eat more healthily than that -- I should cook bentou for them, at least, and for tonight something like... Like buta kakunin."
"But you only have three hours!" exclaimed Kenny. He was leaning against one of the counters.
"I guess that would be all right," said Keita, encouraging. "As far as time is concerned. But the taste...It just wouldn't be the same as the Iwazumi taste..."
"I guess you're right," I said, abashed. "I'll make something else."
But I couldn't think of anything else that I knew I could cook so well, really...
In the end I don't think it mattered. When the time came for me to go, I remember holding the little boy to my chest, saying,
"Don't worry about anything, I'm here for you, I'm never going to leave you. It's going to be okay. Now go to your father... He cares about you... Your momma too..."
The whole time, it wasn't like I was interested in Kenny; not jealous of him and Saki, even. But I cared about him. I cared about the kids. I cared about Keita, and wanted to be close to him more.
The whole dream was layered with a sense of maternal instinct, this jolt of knowledge that "I need to be responsible for these people--
"These people who are my family now."