12th Annual Imagine Little Tokyo Short Story Contest — Youth: My Time With You

By JOSEPHINE TAKIGUCHI

Mondays.

Mamu and Papa.

Every week, that was always the routine. Ever since I was a little girl, Monday was the day to spend with Mamu and Papa.

Not Grandma and Grandpa.

Not just Mamu, or just Papa. Mamu and Papa.

Nothing about Mamu and Papa has changed since I was little. The large house. The tall driveway. The big pool in the backyard next to the looming hill sprouting kaki and nashi pears, or the cupboard stacked with Fugetsu-do mochi. Every Monday, same routine. As the world around us changed, time continued to tick. Time continues to tick, and tick, and tick. But not with Mamu and Papa.

Time. Another one of the many things that never changed about Mamu and Papa. Time and time again, Monday rolls around and we all gather to enjoy Mamu’s home cooked tonkatsu and sunomono. My mom asks Papa how his back is feeling, as Mamu wears her same bright blue apron in the kitchen to listen to her opera and make more tsukemono appetizers.

“So Dad, how’s your back feeling?” My mom says, reaching over to grab a slice of tonkatsu.

“It’s good, it’s good,” Papa says, pouring tonkatsu sauce over his plate. “Went to the doc the other day to check it out. Everything’s normal.”

“That’s great!”

My brother and I quietly slice our food, listening to the chatter amongst everyone else — the same, routine conversations and catch-up small talk. Mamu has changed the radio station to basketball, and turned it on the TV. The Los Angeles Lakers are playing.

Mamu and Papa have loved basketball ever since their youth. Raising my dad and uncle, they helped manage his basketball team to watch them grow up and play. Papa was the coach, and Mamu always prepared the refreshments for the game. Following in their footsteps, my parents now help around with me and my brother’s basketball team. My dad is the coach, and my mom helps bring the snacks.
Basketball is a big part of our lives.

Of course, basketball was our sport. Since the moment my brother and I could run, we were playing basketball every Sunday for the JA League (Japanese American League).

As time continued to tick, we were starting to play more games. Sunday was always game day, and Game Day was always at Terasaki Budokan.

I was never a star-player for basketball, and my brother was always better than me. I only went to play the games for the sake of my teammates and our “after-the-game” walk to Marukai Market, or a quick brunch at Cafe Dulce.

Mamu and Papa were always at my games. I’d be sitting on the player bench the entirety of the game, and they never left. Time, and time again. Mamu and Papa always watched my games.

One day, after one of my games, my parents had left me with Mamu and Papa to spend the day with them. I picked up my oversized basketball bag that made me look like a floating head from the back, and walked over to where Mamu and Papa sat on the bleachers.

Mamu, sitting with her book, and Papa, with his bulky fall-proof iPad, got up from the bleachers and made their way over to me.

“Mamu and Papa! Hey!” I exclaimed, speeding up the pace.

“Hey there kiddo, nice game today,” says Mamu, nodding her head with that same sweet smile she always wears.

“Ready to go?” asks Papa.

“Yeah, let’s head out. Where are we going next?” I say, beaming with excitement.

We walk out the door, and head down the sidewalk back to the parking lot. I grab Mamu and Papa’s hand as we walk slowly together, one step at a time.

We arrive in front of Weller Court, and pass by the Kizuna Friendship Knot on our way to find something quick to eat. After a few loops around the plazas, we decided we wanted red bean manju—Papa’s favorite.

Mamu suggests that we make our way over to a quieter, more peaceful spot to enjoy our manjus. Papa and I nod our heads in agreement, while in reality, the only thing in our heads is that sweet, red, delectable dessert.

Since the beginning of our walk, I haven’t let go of Mamu and Papa’s hands. The only time was to allow Mamu to pick up the bags with the red bean manju.

“Hey, let’s take a break here. I’m getting a little tired, kiddo, the walk has been pretty long.” Papa sighs, slowly coming to a stop.

“Okay, we’ll rest here,” I say, nodding my head as Papa lets go of my hand to pull up a chair and sit under the shady Aoyama Tree.

Mamu, who was a few steps ahead, turned around after noticing our footsteps weren’t trailing anymore.

“Gosh, you guys, you could’ve given me a warning before I started walking too far,” Mamu complains, swinging her arm up out of frustration. She slumps back over to the table, Papa grinning a sly smile.

“Okay now what’s that face for — stop laughing at me!”

“Am I not allowed to smile at my wife?”

“Smile at me again, and you’ll betcha’ no red bean manju!” Mamu says, as she swipes the plastic “Thank You!” bag behind her chair. Papa leans back and chuckles.

I watch the two of them, happy to be here. Happy to be with them. For a moment, time comes to a brief, yet long halt. I sit at this old, still, bench next to two people who have been my life since the start. I’m used to this reminiscent feeling by now. I enjoy my time with them. We all bite into our manjus.

Papa begins to tell stories after we all eat, and I’ve been folding origami with Mamu. We have many conversations about time in the war, and afterwards we visit the Aratani Movie Theater to watch a movie. We watch a movie, and I notice the wall of people’s names I’ve never seen before. In gold, I read Mamu and Papa’s names outloud. Mamu and Papa then talk about how they met at this theater for their first date after college, and they both made the donation to get their names placed on the wall. They got their names on there because even to this day, their names signify that they are still together in the same moment of time, as if they never actually left.

When we finish eating, we make our way past the hall of greenery and toward the Go For Broke Monuments with the list of people’s names. I walk around and Papa shares stories of his time in the war, memories, and moments.

We talk about his childhood, how he remembers driving away from his house and watching the looters raid his home as he drove farther and farther. He talks about his sister being born in the horse stall there because of the conditions, and how hard it was for him to leave behind his home and other friends. Mamu doesn’t remember because she was too young, but her recollection was of packing her things, and she loved her red fancy coat dress. She even wore that little red fancy coat dress in one of the pictures at the internment camps. Her same, bright sweet smile, and short black hair.

I check my phone and realize it’s getting close to the time we were supposed to return home. We absorb one last look at the monument, and walk back to the car.

On the car ride home, we all sing songs together and laugh about our adventures around Little Tokyo. Time is all mine. Nothing can interrupt this endless moment.

When we return to Mamu and Papa’s house, my parents are there to pick me up. In the car, I watch the trees and buildings zoom by and my eyes fall heavy and close.

Tomorrow is Monday.

The school bell rings and I walk to the car to catch a ride home. Once home, I pack my homework and head to the car. Today is Monday.

Mamu meets me at the bottom of the steps and we tend to her garden at the front. We all gathered around to enjoy Mamu’s home cooked tonkatsu and sunomono. Mom asks how Papa’s back is feeling, and Mamu is in the kitchen. Same routine. While we eat, Papa brings up the topic of college and we discuss what I plan to do for my future — which is weird, since I never would’ve considered him to be interested in that sort.

When dinner ends, I help bring the dishes to the sink and put things away.

Papa comes up to me after dinner, which isn’t part of our routine. I normally don’t talk to him apart from dinner on Mondays. He looks up at me.

“I won’t be here much longer, but I’ll try my best to stick around to watch you graduate from college.” Catching me off guard, I process what he says.

For the first time in my life, as I stared at Papa, time started to move differently. Instead of Mamu and Papa, it was my surroundings and the outside world that seemed to stay still and freeze for a moment, and I stared as my time with Mamu and Papa flashed before my eyes. For the first time in my life, I could see the way they aged.

I noticed the missing grey hairs that used to fill the top of his head, and the glasses that changed as his eyesight got worse.

I noticed the creases under his eyes and the corners of his sweet smile that couldn’t reach as high up on his face as it used to.

I noticed Mamu’s hair had gotten shorter, and lighter. I noticed how much slower they walk, how their hearing has worsened.

I noticed how my mom’s normal question about Papa’s back wasn’t such a normal question anymore.

I finally realized I’m not their little girl anymore.

I’m not their little girl who could barely reach the top of the table with my mini pink chopsticks. I’m not their little girl with her high-pitched voice singing in the car ride with them anymore. I’m not their little girl that fits right into their laps anymore and they can tuck me in and read me bedtime stories.

And as I stared at Papa, I thought to myself. For the first time in my life, I had realized — that I was running out of my time with you.

Josephine Takiguchi is an incoming junior at Granada Hills Charter High School. Growing up in Los Angeles, she joined the San Fernando Valley Japanese American Community Center, where she played basketball and volunteered at cultural events. Josephine was a member of the LAUSD Superintendent’s Student Advisory Council, where she contributed as the students’ voice on improving student experience. This year, she participated in the 21st Rising Stars Youth Leadership Program. Josephine also founded a nonprofit for food allergy awareness to advocate for those with food allergies like her. As with most teens, she enjoys spending time with her friends and going out. She also comes from a big family and enjoys spending time with and babysitting her baby cousins.

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