city lights

♚ tokyo

CHAPTER ONE

✈ ✈ ✈ TOKYO

There are twenty steps from the edge of the driveway to the first step of the porch. And another five steps from the porch to the front door. I've been taking these steps all my life, and yet they've never seemed quite so far as they do now.

Twenty-five steps, but it seems like a thousand miles away from home and, for a fleeting moment, I can imagine myself stepping out of the car and heading for the porch, for the door. But - no, I will be waylaid by the mob; I will see angry faces, scared faces, curious faces, faces that demand answers to unanswered questions.

It will be overwhelming.

It will engulf me whole.

"Ready?" my mother asks, the firm brashness of her voice slicing through my thoughts like a sharp, thin-edged knife.

"Wait," I blurt, a last-second panic surging through my veins. I can feel her heavy gaze on me as I hastily plug my earphones in, and turn the volume on my iPod up high. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I look back up at her. "Ready."

The expression in her eyes softens almost imperceptibly, but it is smoothly replaced by her usual blank, cold stare. She murmurs something - what she says, I do not hear because of the music blasting in my ears, but neither do I want to know.

I watch as her hand reaches for the latch; she pushes the door open and glides out gracefully, a vision of poise and elegance. I can't hold a candle to her - I've never been able to - and I scramble out of the car, sticking close behind her like a second shadow as she navigates her way through the crowd.

Eyes straight ahead, chin up, I can hear her voice in my head, intermingling with the loud music and the noise from the crowd. We have nothing to hide; we have nothing to be ashamed of. We did nothing wrong.

It is easy for her to say that. She's got her favourite pair of sunglasses pulled over her eyes, but people underestimate that simple piece of accessory. But it isn't merely a visor, it's a façade, a mask she wears in front of all these people. They will never know what she's thinking, for her eyes betray nothing, her eyes can't even be seen.

This is her weapon; and what a powerful defence mechanism it is.

Me - I have nothing.

So I keep my eyes down, watch the many different pairs of shoes scuffle around mine. I hear the buzz of the crowd, persistent yells, desperate shouts, demands for answers to their unanswered questions. Thankful that I can't hear any specific comment above the sound of the music thundering in my ears, I follow my mother up to the front porch.

She unlocks the door, ushers me inside, and locks the door behind us. I notice that she latches the extra catch on too, something she doesn't usually do, but I like it. It makes me feel like she's trying to keep us safe. She's good at it, too. It's one of the few things she's good at.

She isn't, however, good at making small talk. She takes off her sunglasses, her blue eyes cold and foreign. Her penetrating stare makes me feel awkward, and I shift from one foot to the other uneasily.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asks, at last.

I can simply lie and say

yes, I'm absolutely starving.

And she would say

well, what would you like?

Oh, anything, anything would do.