He had turned the page and just focused his eyes on the words of the next chapter of his book when the door to his room began to open slowly. In the deep quiet of an early Sunday morning, so slight a sound as the turning of a doorknob was noticeable. Sato lifted his gaze, not surprised when his mother’s head came around the edge of the door.
“Not disturbing you?” she asked, a little disappointed to find her son already awake. She knew she shouldn’t be walking in on him, that the time when it was acceptable was very long past, but she’d never been able to resist the opportunity to sit nearby while he slept and remember. One day he would marry, putting a real end to this kind of maternal indulgence.
Sato closed the book and set it down on the bed. He shook his head, patting the space beside him. “A dream woke me up and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I’m just killing time, really.”
“Excited?” Mrs. Sato crossed the short distance to the bed and sat on the edge, a warm, teasing smile brightening her face. She took her advantage of being his mother a little further and swiped the fall of hair off to the side to get it out of his eyes, hoping his wakefulness was just that and not still the tension of yesterday.
“Excited, nervous, impatient,” he ticked off the list then grinned sheepishly. “Scared.”
Mrs. Sato nodded her head, understanding he must be feeling even more than he realized. After so much waiting, so much pressure, there had to be a degree of unreality about it, like seeing the summit of Mt. Everest. “I wish I could help,” she said and brought her hands to lie in her lap, resisting petting the silky hair. It wasn’t the kind of comfort he needed from her anymore.
“You do,” Sato assured her, resting one of his own hands atop hers. “In quiet ways. All I need most of the time is to know someone is on my side. I might lose the fight, but I’m not completely defeated.”
“I’m surprised you’d say that… about me, that is.”
Sato gave her a curious look. “Why?”
“All those blind dates. My matchmaking,” she added with an embarrassed grin.
“Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly quiet about that, were you.” He laughed lightly, patting her hands before stretching back against the pillows and folding his arms across his chest, feeling more relaxed. “I like to think I get my stubbornness and determination from you.”
“You probably do,” she laughed with him, “but you’ve got your father’s way of showing it.” She shrugged, deciding, “Maybe it’s only because you’re a man. Neither one of you can withdraw from a disagreement without a display of temper. That causes more problems,” she added, prodding him in the chest with a finger.
“Would you rather I ran away crying?” Sato could just imagine how well that would go over. Mary already thought he looked sweet in an apron and Ken would never give up on the stereotypes of a California lifestyle. At least at this point he didn’t think his father entertained any notions of him in that direction, but he surely would had he ever walked out of an argument in tears instead of like a barely contained volcano. Mary’s suggestion in the kitchen came to mind. “Wonder what he’d do if I did?” he mused aloud.
“Your father?” Mrs. Sato leaned back and sighed with thought. “I don’t think he’d know what to do. I don’t remember you ever crying in front of him since you were very, very small. Sometimes I think now you did it then only because you hadn’t learned how to fight back yet.”
Sato thoughtfully regarded his mother for a moment, wondering if she wished he had never learned. “Any regrets?” he ventured to ask. “That I grew up refusing to give him the satisfaction of my tears?”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t have changed his mind. Tears don’t have that kind of effect on him. What it would have done is probably made him worry about you more.”
Mrs. Sato sighed again, heavily this time from a deep sorrowful wish that her husband could’ve been more relenting towards his eldest son. It wasn’t giving in to him or having her head turned, as he was too fond of resorting to labeling her accedences, but acceptance that their son’s decisions had merit. Like Paula — as soon as she knew Jim was certain this was the one, she’d accepted.
And she’d accepted something else through the years. “It was for the best that you met his anger with your own. He could respect that, at least.” Emotional with the memories and remembering that in a few hours he’d be gone, flying off to what she hoped was a new kind of future, she reached out and caressed her son’s broad cheek as if she’d never be able to again. “I knew you had a heart… that your true nature was softer, gentler than your father’s. I heard and felt my sons’ tears behind the closed doors.”
Sato let his head fall back to the pillow. He held his mother’s hand to keep it against his face and smiled. “We knew you did,” he spoke softly. “We both remember the little things you’d do when we came up short of Dad’s expectations. Quiet comfort,” he reminded her. “It might seem like we take it for granted now, but… we know you’re still there for us.”
He quickly sat up and took her in his arms, giving her a strong hug, like she used to do to him when she’d come in to talk things over and quell his anger and frustration. After the tears had passed, he suddenly realized and hugged her a little harder. He’d have to remember that, he decided, for when he had children. She’d always given him comfort, but always careful not to damage his pride.
“It’s not fair, you know,” he commented, still holding her. “I’m going to have the jitters all morning and Paula’s probably sprawled all over the bed back in L.A., obliviously calm.”
ooooo
The coolness of terminal four* did nothing to staunch the continued dampness on Sato’s skin. The sweat had begun as soon as he had started his packing. He’d hardly even noticed the already formidable noon heat when he’d stepped outside of the house to load his suitcase into the car for the drive to the airport. The desert sun was no match for the adrenalin acting like heating oil as it rushed through his veins.
He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, beating stronger the closer they got to the gate. Seven years ago, he’d felt just this way when his parents had walked him to the plane that would take him to Los Angeles and another kind of hope, then the hope of the beginnings of a career he wanted. He could never have imagined then that something else could make him feel even more anxiety ridden than an interview for a faculty position. Awareness of the little velvet box tucked in the breast pocket of his sports jacket enlightened him.
His parents stood off to the side as he walked up to the desk and handed his identification and ticket to the attendant. He looked over at his mother, smiling to himself at the mix of worry and joy in her expression, perhaps a little more pronounced this time than it had been all those years ago when it had only been a job prospect. He glanced at his father and gave a little snort. Same old look of cool disinterest, only doing his parental duty. Sato doubted it would be any different if the old man had been aware that this flight was taking him to a marriage prospect.
“Interesting name.”
“Hmm?” Sato turned his gaze from his parents and onto the young female attendant. He looked straight in to her eyes to strengthen his words. “It’s Japanese in origin.”
“Yes, I know,” she smiled. “Hajime Sato. Do you watch animé or read manga?”
“No,” he sighed, “but I know where this is going.”
It didn’t surprise Sato to see her nudge her coworker’s arm and show him the name on the ticket in her hand. It did, however, to see the look of confusion on the man’s face. He instantly thought he might like this guy.
“You know,” she prompted the clueless attendant, “the cop in Rurouni Kenshin… hates Kenshin… always giving Sano a hard time. This guy’s name is almost the same as his.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation at the lack of recognition and finished the paperwork, complaining as she collected it all together with his boarding pass. “I thought all guys were into animé.”
“Is there a problem?” Sato heard his father ask at his shoulder.
“Yes,” Sato answered, taking his identification, ticket and pass and leading his father back to where his mother stood watching with concern. “I wish you and Mom had read up on Japanese history before you decided to name me Hajime.” Both parents looked at him in an almost identical look of confusion as the man had. “Wait a few years… when Tim and Jimmy and Danny are all into animé. Then you’ll understand.”
It could’ve been worse, he reflected for a moment. After all, his family name could’ve just as easily have included that one, simple letter’s difference and his parents would’ve been just as ignorant when they named him. Bringing up his nephews now made him wonder what was facing him when the boys did grow up, saw this animé that brought him attention — and they would — and were introduced to a character from real history with a name that could sound so like their uncle’s. It might be worth the time and effort to look into it, he thought — just to be prepared. With his luck, the guy was a total asshole all around.
Any furthered discussion about the frustration with his name was pre-empted by the call for boarding to begin. He grasped his father’s hand within his own, the only intimacy he’d realized a long time ago the man would ever permit him, and gave it a brief, short shake. His mother, however, was an entirely different experience.
He could feel the sting of the tears forming in her eyes, the pull of the smile across her face. His own eyes stung and his own face was stretched tight in recognition of the secret they shared. The pack slipped from his shoulder to rest at his feet as he reached and pulled her into a close embrace.
“Thanks, Mom,” he spoke softly against her still dark hair, letting her move him to and fro in a familiar rocking gesture of farewell. “For everything.”
“You know you’re welcome,” she answered, holding her son tightly, suddenly not wanting to let him leave without her. Four hundred miles was such a long way away and no technology could make up for it when he really needed her. She patted his back, rubbing it as she forced herself to begin to pull away from him. She put another smile on her face when their gazes met again and tried to wink at him. “Next trip, bring Paula. In fact,” she whispered, leaning close to the ear away from her husband, “don’t come home unless she’s with you.”
Sato chuckled and kissed the side of her wet face. His wink was more successful than hers. “I’ll call you,” he said, knowing she understood he’d have some kind of news for her.
ooooo
On such a short flight, there was no need for his backpack. On such a momentous flight, he’d be needing the little bit of extra room to either squirm or stretch out his legs.
Sato pushed the pack into the overhead compartment and took his seat. Buckled in, he felt the constraint more than usual. He looked out of the small portal, disappointed that he couldn’t see the terminal windows. No matter how impatient his father might be to get back home, he knew his mother would be there, watching until she could no longer see the plane in the sky. This time she would be sending him all the hopes and prayers she could muster.
This time, he was glad for them.
