What do you remember about summer?
The feverish warmth of the sun on your skin?
The sweet chill of ice-cream on a hot day?
The sounds of summer thunder as rain falls?
I was fourteen when my most foundational summer memories formed. Standing at the edge of a smoldering pile of rubble that had once been both my family home and an ancient family shrine, I had cried my tears dry hours before. At the time no one had come for me, my local family had only seen me as an obligation, and I had slipped away to look at the embers of my young life.
I recalled the story of a young maiden named Kiyohime whom had fallen in love with a passing monk, Anchin, that stayed at her parents house on his journey. He had appeared to fend off the romantic aspirations of the obsessive young girl, but had promised to marry her when he returned. However, he had avoided the village entirely on his way back to the monastery.
Anchin had underestimated her fervor as Kiyohime gave chase. Her jealousy allowed her to turn into a huge fire breathing serpent and cross the river when Anchin took the only boat. Arriving at the Temple Monastery, he bade the monks to hide him from the monster girl. They laughed and didn't take him seriously, but hid him in the old bell.
When Kiyohime arrived, fully in her serpent body, she was able to find Anchin was beneath the bell. So, she coiled herself around the bell and burned them both to death.
If I were to look to the story, my mother Naoko, was Kiyohime. Jealous, infantile, violent and able to see only her husband. My father, Shiro, was Anchin. Devoted, and yet derailed. Stolid but cracked. My mother had pulled him away to marry her when she claimed to be pregnant during his novice period as a Buddhist monk. Whether she was or not, a child did soon arrive.
When I was born, my mother hated me from the start. It became worse as my father doted on me, ecstatic at his child genius daughter. As years wore on, she would strike me for no reason, lock me in rooms over imagined slights, or even just hiss insults at me that I didn't want to know the meanings of.
Mother had tried to drag me into the flames when she lit the house on fire. She told me I was an abomination, that I should never have been born, and accused me of trying to take my father away from her. My father came out of nowhere and tackled her, wresting me free. He threw me clear of the house as the fire began to claim it. I was singed, my body hurt, and my face was agonizing where a burning timber had struck me as I saw the wooden structure collapse in on itself in a pyre. More than anything I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.
Half-blind, the pain searing into my body where the bandages covered my face and missing eye, I escaped the hospital with determination sealed by gritted teeth. My uncle Keisuke and his family were no comfort. I was to be happy that I had anything at all, not to cry in despair. I knew that look.
My mother had worn that look for my entire life.
I was unwanted.
That's why, when I saw it, I wanted to throw myself into the hole where my home had been. To spear myself upon the blackened timbers that raked at the sky like claws reaching from the earth.
It grew darker as clouds partly covered the moon, but was when I saw them. The stars above and the land below were filled with tiny winking lights. I felt as much as heard the buzz of tiny wings as they flitted past my cheek. Fireflies, the hotarru-giri.
The symbols of feverish love.
And yet, while I felt it was that very feverish love which has made my life a hell, I felt like they were lifting me up.
"Hana?" came a voice from behind me.
I turned to see a woman I didn't know, and yet who seemed to be deeply familiar.
"Hana, it's me, your Aunt Rei," said the woman, her eyes kind as she knelt down so that she was on eye level with me rather than looking down on me, "Your father's sister... its going to be okay... "
The tears I thought were already dried came flowing out.
I just... cried.
