The day my life changed I bent a spoon with my mind.
No, I'm not a hack! I wish I was but I’m way, way worse. Listen I’m not selling you anything. But! I gotta tell you life’s been really weird since then.
I’d been out of a job for months. Mooonths. Man, I counted stars we owned our house, but how was I going to save up for college? Bing, bing, another auto-rejection on my phone. I did the usual ritual—dragged my feet, shoved my hands in my pockets, and inspected the pavement for nonexistent tectonic activity. When I huffed, cold mist drifted out my mouth like a tepid dragon. Then I trudged to my preferred hangout to drown every thought in sensory overload.
Japantown. Great place, isn’t it? At least I think so.
Not that I could read much kanji, or speak Japanese, or heckin’ forbid write it, but heritage has to count for something, right?
I sludged into the west mall to escape the chill, huddled up in a jacket, and was instantly blinded by fluorescent lights and wood panels. A proper slap in the face for disappointing your Asian ancestors.
You got your usual—art galleries, plastic sushi on stands luring customers into bento bars, cute shops carrying kitsch—I love the umbrellas with sword handles—and good ol’ Daiso for the shopanistas. Also more restaurants, lotta those. I stuck my hand on a black railing and crossed a little walkway as crowds bustled past. Busy night tonight. Artificial cherry blossoms glowed neon pink and I admired them as I passed. No one would mistake them for the Real Thing (™) but they stood tall and raw and didn’t give a darn.
My stomach rumbled so I pulled up at a cafe tucked in a corner. I guess it counted as a boba shop, too, since it offered quite a few items.
The long-haired woman at the register smiled at me. “Hello, Cecelia. The usual?”
Despite my general sense of being a glob, a grin of my own crept up. “Hey-o, Vi. A grass jelly-taro-boba-oolong tea, 50% ice.”
Vi had a soft and mellifluous voice—big word, I know, but if you don’t use it ya lose it. Sliding my credit card, I felt a lesser term didn’t quite capture how her greeting rolled over me, a gentle foam-tossed wave. My shoulders were relaxing already. She could cook an asmr channel or some wiz.
Yaaay, SAT prep. Shut up, brain, I told myself.
“Sure thing. Would you like me to make something for Sven, too?”
“Huh.” I thought a couple beats. I did plan on meeting Sven before school tomorrow. “Yeah, why not?”
I tapped a finger against the counter. Maybe a green matcha. No ice, no sugar, no nada. My dude likes only the plainest of liquids. Ooh, or honey green tea? Just for kicks.
I made up my mind for the matcha.
Vi slipped me the receipt before I could tell her. “Thank you!”
The tips of my ears warmed. I could sense a young family shifting behind me along with a whooole line of people. Fudgesticks. No good making everyone wait.
I plopped into a seat. Checked the paper. Number 389, and Vi had scribbled “matcha” below my order. Zero sugar or ice.
Oh. Did she decide for me? Lucky we thought the same thing.
With some relief I ran my fingers through my hair. I couldn’t throw off a sinking pit in my stomach, though. I decided to go to Kinokuniya after this. Grab twenty manga and chill. Or wander around browsing the shelves. I wasn’t picky at the moment.
Vi stopped at my table. She set down my drink as well as a bag with Sven’s order. The package was bigger than I expected. Then Vi pushed a plate of French toast with a dollop of ice cream and syrup towards me. “For you.”
My face flushed. For a while now I suspected Vi was not only the cafe’s server, but also the baker, and also the barista. How’d she manage? I didn’t know why she chose to give people their food when they could just pick it up. What I mean is little broke me was shrinking in on herself and my hands were getting clammy. I stammered. I wiped them against my jeans. “Thanks. You’re awful talkative today.”
“And you’re quiet.”
“Touché.” I groused. I looked at her face, which looked no older than late-twenties, framed by a sweep of hair in front and curtains of long bangs. “I like your eyes. Are you sure you were born in Hokkaido?”
Another person would’ve taken offense but she only smiled.
Her irises were sky blue. She was also tall, though she had all the features of an East Asian.
My comment had been a running joke since my parents and I started going to Vi’s place. I couldn't remember the first time. She answered with a variant of her tried-and-true reply. “I have been to many places in this world, but Japan feels closest to home.”
“This ain’t the Rising Sun, my dude.” I forked the toast and took a bite. She had provided a metal spoon for the ice cream too. Vanilla. Darned stupid at business, I thought, thinking about how much cash she was sinking simply standing here making conversation.
“Home isn’t a place, Come back before closing and I can give you seconds. It’s on me.”
“Whoa—seriously?” My eyes bulged. “No, no, It’s cool!”
She waved off my protests. “How are things? Are you doing okay?”
I chewed a piece of piping hot, yummy toast and swallowed. “Neh. Unemployed, same as always. Worried about Mom. Maybe I won’t even get to college at this rate.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Here.” She reached into her waitress apron and handed me a business card. “I know a company. They offer a free trial for a cleaning service. In case you need it.”
“Uh, thanks?” I took it. The card had black lettering reading Kuro Cleaning Services and a phone number.
At the bottom was an advertising blurb next to a picture of a cute anime maid. Free Trial Home Cleaning! Perfect for Shut-Ins! Ask about our Protection Services too!
“How…funky.” Not exactly a company I’d apply to, but I might call them up in a pinch.
“Oh, don’t worry about working for them.” Vi must’ve caught me gawking. “I mean cleaning. Having a clean home is very nice and refreshing.”
“Well. Yeah. I guess?” At least she is concerned about my—living conditions?
“I have to go now.” She motioned to other tables. “Just call if you don’t feel comfortable in your house. Or get anything strange in it.”
“Yup-yup. Later.”
I scarfed down the meal and hefted my to-go bag, shoes echoing on the tiled floor, chest lighter as I swerved to Kinokuniya.
Not as many people as I’d assumed. Mostly high schoolers teetering my age. That left me with the giddy wonder of staring at books, books, books. Magazines on stands, craft books propped open, paperbacks stacked up, picture books in cubbies, a tight history section, you name it. The plushies and charms were neat too. Cozy. I went downstairs and to the manga section.
Maybe I’ll run into classmates here. Ugh. That reminded me. My package was dangling too heavy in my shrimp arms. “Gosh, I hope Sven got the right order.” I rummaged into the bag. With a small jolt, I realized Vi had placed an additional cup of milk next to Sven’s drink. She’d also written on the matcha’s receipt.
Incident Report PC962 83912. Tell Tommy to drop it and leave by 1. 91%.
“Wha?” I scratched my head. Did she put that on accident? We did have a Tommy at school. But I didn’t think Vi or Sven knew him. Vi was a busy adult and Sven was, well, kind of not the most approachable guy.
Incident report? Looks important. I guess I’mma let Sven deal with it.
I wanted my unholy cartoon binge and no way would I let a stupid piece of paper stop me from that sweet sweet manga juice.
And so. I traipsed the aisles like a dummy, sat my stupid butt down, and read like a maniac until it was getting dark. A sensation prickled the back of my neck but I did my best to ignore it.
Tonight is off. That was what my body was telling me. I convinced myself that was ridiculous. The note’s message had merely melded with hyperactive mental faculties.
You need to stop reading horror manga. Or watching those video reviews. It’s paranoia. Paranoia!
Footsteps faded into silence. Mid-way through devouring an action shojo title, I lifted my head, to see the place was almost deserted. A cart filled with manga and history books rolled my way. One of the store staff, an elderly lady with a gray hair bun, pushed it on squealing wheels. I winced and craned my neck away. A door in the shop’s back had creaked open, revealing darkness.
Eh? Closing already?
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“Hey!” I scrambled to the cart and peered at its contents. “I haven’t bought anything yet! Do you have that new action manga about the dude that’s way too into birds? Hikaru Shifter or what’s-its-face?”
The bookshop worker crinkled her face in a scowl. Her nose was a tad long, which, together with pulled-back gray locks and weathered skin, made her resemble a vulture. This bird was ready to peck my eyes out. “Next time instead of loitering, come prepared!”
Sheesh. She even shrieked like one. “Aight, calm down homie. Can I at least take a peek?”
The avian stuck her neck out. She spat, “Fine. Make it quick. I have important deliveries tonight.”
“Yes ma’am.” I ransacked the cart as she tottered off grumbling under her breath. She’d gone to fetch another cart as I poked my head up from the pile. Those old ladies loved their efficiency.
The volumes were good, but none of the covers screamed at me. “Meh. Meh. No. Read it. Hrmgh.” I put back as many as I picked up.
Definitely no new titles, certainly not the one I had mentioned. The texts were used and worn in places. That was weird. Probs for the older crowd. Collectors and the like. There’s gotta be gems here somewhere!
Hol’up. The backend. My chest pounded. An invisible string attached to my body was tugging me straight to the back door. I mean, the door was open, and the entrance was all black, but the cart had been squeaking that way. There had to be treasure in that new stock.
Any goodies in there were on sale, right? I mean, it had to be. This was a freakin’ bookstore. A place where people came from across the Bay no less.
Squeak, squeak, squeak. My heart rate shot through the roof. I blamed the book lady. I scanned, hand shielding eyes, like a pirate searching high seas. Yep, at my three o’clock, a hawkish crone was slowly trudging in my direction.
Oh shoot. My sneakers had placed themselves at the very edge of the door, between the shop’s dim lights and the backroom. The fact the staff member hadn’t seen me yet jumped the pounding in my chest to overdrive. If she saw me now I’d get swooped on. My nerves jittered and I had trouble breathing.
I freaked. Which was scarier? A geriatric Asian matriarch who might kick me outta a store? Or a pitch-black, suffocating space I knew nothing about, where I might get lost and/or cramped up in a closet of books and get locked in?
Obviously the old lady.
In I stumbled, performing a beautiful, majestic, motion-picture worthy fall as I tripped over a hard metal bar. I saved myself by slapping my hands down and barely avoided banging my head against a mound of books.
Ow. Need a light. I found a lamp, which was great, except it was on a shelf above me. Not for the first time I cursed being short. On my stomach, I fumbled with the books I had almost collided with. Piles of hardcovers and softcovers. I was swimming in it. Pages fluttered and flapped. I did a worthy impression of a poor old lady in one TV ad who had fallen and couldn’t get up.
Happily some covers had English matching kanji titles. I squinted and ogled.
Most had weird names, like Shishuo Xinyu: A New Account of the Tales of the World. I was pretty sure the name was Chinese—obvs the characters were the same—but at least it followed a time-honored tradition of the overly-long light novel title. That one had a sick cover of a calligraphy scroll backgrounding two dudes, who were fighting in dresses and fun hats. Another was titled Nihon Shoki featuring a male and female deity in green and pink kimono, towering over seas and mountains.
Yooo. I’ve never seen this! My visual biblio-radar alighted on one thicc softcover manga that stole alll my attention. Kojiki: Records of Ancient Matters. Its cover had a long-haired woman with the freakin’ sun shining behind her back, and a muscle-bound dude holding a giant rock for no discernible reason, and these old bearded guys sitting and chilling staring at the lady—in fancy robes by the way, and also a big round mirror on the side, and I had no idea what the fudge was going on but I had to have it.
My hand snatched Kojiki and a sharp sting went up my arm like a snake had bit me. “Yeowch!”
I waved my wrist. Static shock? Figures. I reached and gasped as I got zapped again.
I grumbled. “C’mon Kojiki, work with me here.” A squeaking cart and footsteps were approaching. The drumbeat against my ribs quickened. I tugged up my jacket sleeves and scooped up my bootie like a loot digger.
Kojiki shocked me through the fudging sleeve! I couldn’t believe it. It was like a live wire had run sixty volts into my innards. For a second I lay grimacing at the current. Apparently the book didn’t play nice.
It was an evil manga. That’s what I decided it was. What kinda manga hurts its wannabe readers?
I shoved the book in a jacket pocket, clambered onto my feet, and rushed back. Luckily the book didn’t protest as it banged against my side. I grabbed Sven’s bag and peeked out the hall. The old bird lady was winding a corner just out of eyesight. Thank the constellations, she had her back turned to me. I slipped out the door and tiptoed a good distance from the back so she wouldn’t suspect anything weird.
In no time at all the staff member was approaching me, my malevolent manga, and the back door. I raised a hand to wave her over and ask about the price.
Unfortunately, the senior book pusher gave me a scathing glower. I dropped the hand and chickened out.
I thought about returning the book. Or paying at the counter. All reasonable ideas I was sure.
But!
I’d been through an awful lot to get this book. Plus if I showed Kojiki, the woman’d know I went in the backrooms. She’d yell at me! I didn’t want a woman with a vulture face screaming into my ears. I’d heard horror stories of similar events from classmates about their grandparents and sometimes Mom.
She wasn’t paying attention to me yet. The old woman grumbled as she strained her cart with creaking joints. “Stupid rich snobs, tearing into our best books for their stupid auction.” Her nostrils flared. “Working me to the bone tonight, for what? I bet they won’t read a single page of what they buy. No respect for the arts.”
I halted at that. Scratched the back of my neck. Gosh. I’d hate giving books to people who won’t even try them. She’s got a point there. Must’ve worked with books a while to get a job in Kinokuniya. She’d mastered the librarian dagger-glare for sure. And nobody liked rich snobs. I decided she wasn’t really a vulture and more like a brooding eagle.
As if delivering karmic justice on my enlightened thoughts, the eagle swept up to me, loose fabric flapping from her arms. “Well? Finished?” She jammed a finger at the counter.
“I, uh, didn’t buy anything.”
This was technically true. Kojiki in my pocket felt like heavy lead.
Her lips curled up, showing teeth that were a little sharp. “Then, leave. Please.”
Ah, the magic P-word. Honestly I was impressed she could stay that polite when her face was growing redder and redder.
“Yes ma’am sorry ma’am thank you!”
I fled from her presence half-expecting her to latch onto my shoulder with a talon.
“Whew! Close one.” I gasped for breath and leaned against a pillar. My fingers slid against Kojiki and the evil manga zinged.
“Guh. Lay it off, won’t you?”
The weather was getting dark. I glimpsed rain pelting from the mall’s sliding doors. Should I head home? Yeah. Unhhh. It’ll be a pain to walk. What about dinner?
I chose to stop by Vi’s place again. Sorta risky carrying contraband but a girl’s gotta eat. I fidgeted and cleared my throat as I arrived at the counter, however, Vi merely motioned me to follow her and lead me to a table. The cafe was otherwise empty.
I had to say it was a good meal. The sweet sense of victory combining with creamy vanilla and golden dough. I shoveled bites in with my spoon. A clatter made me look up but I was further blessed with a plate of chicken, eggs, and potatoes.
“Thanks, homie. You a real one.” I did my best not to glance down at Mr. Evil Manga, nestled out of view between my jacket and a table leg.
The corners of Vi’s lips tugged but she made no reply, heading to the back. Unseen pots and pans banged. A sink faucet gushed. The ruckus sounded as if Vi was cleaning in multiple places at once. How’d she do that?
I glanced at my reflection in my spoon. Short, tousled brown hair. Face a bit mousey. Lot of people mistook me for a middle-schooler. I was grinning like one at least.
If I was honest with myself, I’d never felt very accomplished in life. This here, this elation snagging a little book, was the best I’d felt in a long time.
Kinda sad thing to be proud of now that I thought about it. My mouth drooped. I wished I could be capable enough to help run a cafe. Heck I wished I could scrounge a minimum wage. And yeah my stomach was twisting, and yeah the high would run out, and yeah I’d probably either return Kojiki or hide it away in shame like an ugly Christmas sweater. Still I wanted to savor what I had before it was snatched away.
I had a sudden urge to fling my spoon away. Sabotage myself on my own terms before my luck dipped by itself. Why does Vi bother with me anyways? Probably thinks I’m a hard worker or some bull poop. Probably feels sorry for me with my parents’ situation. She’s an idiot. I’m a slacker. I’m a freeloader.
I’m not even a real nihonjin or whatever. More of a Japanophile than a Japantowner. A faker. Yeah I got born in a certain household, whoop-de-doo. I can’t do shizz. Sven’s got his scholarships and Chuji’s got his pool competitions. I’m one of those psychics tricking everyone to fork over their money.
I gripped my spoon hard. Stared it down like the utensil was my most hated enemy that I wanted to set on fire. I wanted it to snap in half, or bend over like ninety degrees, just so I had some way to let my server know that, hey, maybe she shouldn’t gimme grub next time—
The spoon bent. Not the part I was holding—that would’ve made a tad more sense—but the upper half caved. It looked like one of those hanging lamp posts you see in the suburbs.
“Shiiiiiitake mushrooms!” I gasped. I barely caught my tongue from screaming out obscenities. Grandpa wouldn't’ve wanted me cussing. Maybe that didn’t matter if I was a devil-cursed shaman or something?
That spoon bent on its own! What the happystack? I knew in my head I’d wanted this, but nooo way was I prepared now that it happened! Is this utensil a defect? Is that a thing—defective spoons? Can you fail making spoons? Truly one of the world’s most important and unanswered questions.
Flustered, toast stuffed in my mouth, I shoved the spoon below my remaining food. Barely enough to cover. I hastily scraped a pile over it like burying a dead body.
No sooner had I finished when a pair of heels clacked. I tightened up.
Vi drifted over. “How old are you, Cecelia?”
“Mrph—” I swallowed. “—Turned sixteen a couple days ago.”
She murmured to herself. “Ah. About time, then.”
“Huh?”
I placed an arm over the plate holding my crooked spoon. Super casual-like. Extra protection.
Vi wasn’t looking at the spoon, though. Nor the part of my jacket hiding Kojiki. She brushed her apron and tapped her fingers together. Her body swayed. “Ah. It’s not my place to tell you. That’s up to your parents. You’re growing into an adult. Do you know what that means?”
“Oh.” My mouth hung open and stayed that way. I totally did not expect this. “Yeah?”
“It means your body is going through changes—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I waved her off. “I know that. We learned in science class.”
She blinked several times. Silence. “I don’t think your class can prepare you for this. What I mean is you have inherited unusual traits from your parents, and your mom in particular—”
“I got it, I gotchu!” I half-yelled. Geez, I was glad no one was around. I rose up from my seat fast. There was probably a good reason my parents didn’t have Vi chaperone me as a kid. Small business owners be wack.
I spun off, calling out, “Thanks for the food! Catchu in another diurnal cycle!”
Vi muttered, “I should’ve rephrased that.”