It Wasn't Us

Chapter One: Dry

Mariko blinks her eyes open, licking her lips and immediately tasting the dust that had been floating around the musty train for the past four hours. The dryness fills the atmosphere, making the forced train ride even more unbearable than the enveloping warmth, cracked leather seats, and the uncomfortably cramped positions she and her older brothers Masao and Masakichi were in. Looking around, she sees many other Japanese Americans sleeping or longingly gazing out the window as if the barren desert landscape would suddenly fade away and reveal that this was all fake, an illusion. That this wasn’t truly happening. That they weren’t being forced to lose everything important to them and move to the middle of the desert, where there were no friends, no cozy houses, no green plants nearly fully bloomed at the end of spring. No more afternoons spent in the hidden spaces of her father’s dusty bookshop, savoring delectable pastries that Masakichi would bring her on his way to the bookshop from his other job. No more Sunday mornings spent perusing the colorful shelves and tables of the fragrant flower shop her mother worked at, sniffing each flower and lightly running her fingers over the delicate petals. Mariko drifts back to sleep, reminiscing of the day only two weeks before, when all was good and there was no fear in her heart, unlike the sinking confusion that had seemed to be sitting at the bottom of her throat ever since the notice.