In a house better suited to a vacant motel next to the bayside blue is a girl and her mother. The little four-year-old girl sits on the edge of the bay, eyes locked with the stars and the song of seagulls calling in the distance. The little girl jumps to her feet, the steel flooring shimmering around by a poor man’s handiwork.

“Yasui? Yasui, come on in.”

“Yes, Mommy,” she says, rushing herself home. The scent of warm, fresh udon blesses the air, and her mother, tied together with her apron, smiles back at her.

“Dinner time, Yasui, I made your favorite.”

“Yay! Thank you, Mommy, udon nom noms!”

The little girl is gleefully jumping up and down.

“Oh, careful, Yasui, don’t want to make a hole in the kitchen floor now, do we?” Her mother chuckles as she sets a bowl down for her and herself. She sets one more by the wayside.

“Oh goodness…” Her mother says before taking the third bowl away and putting it quickly into the rack once more. A mistake she repeats often.

The little girl runs to the table and sits herself down. She looks at her mother for a moment, whose smile seems to have faded before returning a moment later.

“Let’s have a wonderful dinner tonight.” Her mother joins her daughter. The first bowl to be filled is her and then herself. The steam rises to the steel-bolted roof.

“I can’t wait! I can’t wait for seconds either!”

“My, you are hungry tonight, aren’t you?” Her mother laughs softly.

“Oh dear, I forgot to ask. Can you get me a hairbrush? I took a bath, and it must have slipped my mind. You know how my hair gets,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am!” She has always been a good listener.

She returns with the hairbrush, and her mother takes it, brushing her hair.

“Thank you, my darling.”

Upon sitting back down, she could see that her mother had finished eating already.

“Wow, mommy, I wasn’t the only one hungry tonight, was I?” She giggles. Her mother shares in her enthusiasm.

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“Yes, I was indeed. Now eat up, and I’ll give you seconds, love, plenty of nom noms for you tonight.”

She gets up to wash her dish, and then she leaves to eat.

#

Thirteen years later, the same little girl is grown up. Her style has set in from the two years she spent overseas with her father in the United States. She has become narrowly fluent in the language and picked up the culture, bringing it back to Japan. She is happy to be home, but the adventure of a lifetime sticks with her as she exits the airplane and heads down to her mother, who is waiting for her and her father.

The mother and father embrace one another, a feeling of longing now concluding coming back together.

“Yusui. I’m happy to see you both back,” her mother happily states, grabbing the bags to help.

“Oh, no need to do that at all, Mom. Here, let me get it.” She picks them up herself effortlessly.

“Picked up a few things in America, one being lifting a bit. Did you know America is a mix of some of the fittest and unfit people I have ever seen? They’re also so tall, land of giants, ya know?” She giggles and rushes to the cab. She packs her bags in the trunk and turns her attention to a group of people. They’re holding a sign that says, ‘Welcome back, Usagi.’ Her friends, Takei, Keiko, Ishimoto, Okazaki, and Shoji, stand with a warm welcome.

“Welcome back!” they all say in unison.

Later that day, they all find themselves in a fast-food restaurant. Her mother and father went about at a fancy dinner place, seeking to make up for lost time. She and her friends are eating burgers and fries and discussing her stay in America.

“So you’re saying they got these here in America, only more deep-fried, cheesy, and greasy? You gotta be joking. These things already hold a candle to a grease factory full of, well, grease,” Shoji declares.

“Yeah, and they have so many different kinds of trees, yellow trees, green trees, tall and small trees, palm trees and evergreen trees, mahogany trees, an—”

“Treeeess? Come on, Usagi, that’s boring. Tell us something interesting. Come on, come on, like, for example, did they have arcades over there? Oh, or maybe even comedy clubs? I know lots of famous comedians come from there. I bet I could win a comedy off with them!”

“I’m not so sure, Keiko. Those comedians train their whole lives to be funny,” Ishimoto butts in.

“Nah, bet some of them were born funny and didn’t have to put in any work at all, just like I don’t have to put in work to look this good,” says Okazaki.

“I hardly think that’s a birthright worth being proud of at the end of the day. Seems superficial.” Ishimoto says with emotion.

“Ah, whatever, buddy!” He gives a hearty laugh, slapping him on the back. Ishimoto keeps on eating, showing a bit more weight lately on his belly.

“Speakin’ of good things, ya picked up a style similar to mine over there, huh? Lookin’ hella good, Usagi.” He admires her new style.

“Yeah, needless to say, I finally converted. It seems to be pretty common there, especially among what the American boys call pretty girls.”

She had gone from an average girl to one with a darker aesthetic. Her shirt was a long gothic-inspired design, and her shorts resembled a half-cut pair of jeans that went close to the knees.

“It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

“It is. It fits you so amazingly,” Takei happily states.

“Yeah, but I missed all you guys, so I’m happy to be back home. It just wasn’t the same without you all.”