“Yameru.”
I stop, staring at the teen boy with sheathed swords at ready. I know a simple shake will have the folded steel blades ready to slice through limb and body. “I was invited.” I say slowly, hoping he understands English.
“Dare ga.”
My Japanese was really rusty. I haven’t lived in this country since I was fourteen, but the half decade my parents were stationed here left their mark in more than one way. One of the reasons I returned when asked. “Watanabe-San.” Likely the boy was a Watanabe but he would understand who I meant within the clan. I squinted a bit and amended the thought to man. I’ve been around white people too long and adolescence sits on the Japanese differently. Early twenties based on the muscle form.
“Namae?”
I run through the names I could use. My fourteen-year-old self’s nickname? My father or my mother’s last names? My present one pending my divorce being finalized tomorrow? In the end I went with how the letter requesting my presence addressed me, “Child of Our Soul.”
The guard stood slowly, tucked the swords away, and formally bowed. “I am called Heir.”
Oh, shit. This is my new intended.
(words 200 – – first published 9/25/2022 – from a picture prompt for a Facebook writing group. Aim is about 50 words)
Come Home Series
- Come Home (9/25/22)
- Come Home Part Two (10/30/22)