It's raining. He doesn't have an umbrella or a thick, plastic coat, but he'll manage. He always does. He staggers up the bus steps at one thirty. No one offers to help him, but they all watch as he stumbles. He finds his seat and the bus begins to move. It is now one thirty-six. Water droplets drip from his brow and his shoulders. He's cold and his shoulders shake despite his best attempts to steady them. Over the years, his face has paled and his skin has thinned creating deep and heavy wrinkles. He's lost whatever fat and muscle that used to exist on his brittle bones and because of that he's constantly cold. All the time, no matter the month nor the weather, he's cold. But he's never been this cold, when he can't stop the shaking and all the surviving hairs on his body stand upright on end. And he wonders if it's really the chill or the idea of the place that he's going to. He hasn't been there in many years. He can't remember why he stopped going, perhaps it was the death of his wife or the birth of his twin grandchildren. Maybe it was the idea that the whole world was moving forward, and that if he kept visiting the past, and kept going back to this place which he was going to now, he would be stuck and the world would keep spinning and moving and going, and he would finally die away with regret that he never lived fully in the present. But still, here he was going again. His daughter had tried to say something, offered lunch with the twins and her husband. Or how about a nice run to the mall, they could get some new shoes or a scarf? But none of this made him falter or rethink his plans for the day. He had already given his daughter her time, now it was time to addresses the other child of the family.
The bus shuttertted to a halt and Soichiro gripped the railing to keep himself from falling forward. The woman beside him jerked up from her seat and growled, "What's the big idea? I got a conference at two thirty!" And then the other passengers got up and started yelling and scowling and crying out about the places they needed to be and by what time. Out the window, Soichiro caught sight of the smoke billowing from outside. There wasn't a lot, but there was enough. It would take some time, a couple of hours or so before the bus would be able to move again. Slowly he rose form his own seat and maneuvered his way around his fellow passengers. He passed the bus driver, who was anything but calm, cool and collected. From the corner of her eye, the driver watched as Soichiro pushed open the doors and descended into the heavy rain fall and muddy earth. She knew it was unsafe to be outside with this rain and the sure thunder and strong wind that were sure to follow. It would be a hard trek for any normal person with regular health and still a struggle for those even stronger. The man that she'd just watched exit was most likely older than she could guess. His footsetps were slow and uneven, and he had stumbled twice as he'd tried to ascend the bus earlier that day. The thought of him alone out in the rain worried her, but not enough for her to even think of going out and calling for him. She had other problems on her hands, a number of passengers had ceased their screaming and were now throwing lawsuits and other threats her way. She sighed and reached for the wrench she kept beneath the steering wheel for times like these.
Soichiro turned and gave one last look to the big, yellow bus pulled over on the side of the rode. His destination was still about a mile or two from here and he'd hoped the bus would have carried him at least a little more. But beggars couldn't be choosers, surely the bus driver had tried her best to keep the machine running. He had learned not to judge others on their actions, and because of this he no longer held remorse or anger, he was just simply empty. Numb. A shell of what he had once been twenty years before. But he was since passed caring and the rain was coming even harder now. He sighed and resumed walking. It was three thirty.
When he reaches the cementary he was soaked through his clothes all the way to his brittle bones. Mucus dribbled from his nose and tears haved formed beneath his eyes. He wipes away both hastily with his damp sleeve. There is a gate, a tall, iron one with a picklock across the front. Soichiro groans, but he's not really all that troubled. Just tired is all. He just wants to make his visit and the later have a nice long nap wrapped up in nothing but those warm cotton blankets Sayu's husband brought back from America. He thought of the soft pillows and the warm heaters of his daughter's house. The grandchildren who ran up and down the halls and who sang their favorite songs off key. To others they were menaces, the children with the type of personalities that most parents tried to squeeze out by age four. They wanted nice quiet children, who helped in the kitchen and cleaned up their plates without being asked. Who put away their toys and read by themselves and were quiet all day and all night. Soichiro couldn't help but shudder at the thought. That was the kind of child Light had been. And Soichiro had thought themselves lucky to have a son that was independent and quiet. Who didn't scream and need constant socialization and attention as Sayu had. Soichiro checked his watch. Five thirty. He still had some time. He reached wrinkled hands for the lock and shook it once, then twice. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, maybe for the lock to magically unhitch itself or the come off in his hand. Neither of these things happened and the lock stayed taunt and locked in place. Soichiro sighed again but didn't falter in his attempts. He would just have to get in another way. The cementary was shaped in a large oval. The gate took about a third of the area, where as the rest was encircled by a low stone wall. If he had been just a decade younger, Soichiro could've jumped the wall no problem. But he was older now and his joints barely moved for the simplest of tasks. Still, he began pressing on the stones that made up the low wall, hoping some would fall in or maybe the wall would just crumble all together. It took a bit, about an hour, and by then he'd almost ended up right back where he started at the tall, iron gate. But then he found the small patch of stones that gave in easily, making a hole just big enough for him to squeeze through if he sucked in his gut and stepped sideways. He checked his watch again to see another hour had passed.
For the most part the cementary was alphabetical, there were some graves, such as those whose name began with an A would but couldn't fit into the small plot of land where the other A's were, so they were squeezed in off to the side with B's or the G's when the space got really tight. But none of this mattered to Soichiro. His target was all the way at the end of the cementary in the Y's. The walk would take about another half hour at the most and he was already this far already. What was another hundred steps?
It was six thirty when he reached the grave. He'd underestimated the walk and the speed of his own legs. He was sweating now, the sticky waste mixing with rainwater that still spilled from above. His body was hot now, his cheeks a bright rose. But he was here, he had did it. With a soft curse and a couple of cracks, Soichiro got to his knees and payed. He hadn't prayed in a long, long time, since before the death of his child, but still he remember the words and he said them then under his breath. He thanked God for allowing him to visit today and then he began to summarize what had been going on in his daily life after that fateful day so many years before.
"It's gonna sound silly," Soichiro finished, "But I won't allow the kids to bring any black notebooks into the house. I don't care if they're from Staples and were made right before their eyes. I just, I don't trust those notebooks anymore. They're lucky I allow them to have notebooks in the house at all."
Soichiro smiled at the gravestone befiore him. It was simple. A dark grey lab of stone with a curve at the stop and a flat bottom. Two angels had been carved into the rock on either side of the name. "Today was your favorite day, Light. You liked it more than your birthday and Christmas combined. Today was your favorite day because you could read all the books you would like. And you could eat your favorite foods and play your favorite games. It's May 5th Light and I have something for you."
Soichiro reached a shaky old hand into the chest pocket of his sweater. He pulled out a small bundle of multi-colored paper. nostalgia hit him like a heavy rock to his head. He'd held so many of these crumbled little things and they'd all be for Light. "It's a little crumbled," Soichiro apologized, "But it's still good." He unfolded the paper and placed the paper Karp on the damp soil before him.
"Look, I know you're a grown man... or you would've been by this point. But you know how much these little traditions mean to your mother and me. I gave your sister her's this morning. It was a little doll, with long black hiar tied up in a braid. Hubby had given their daughter her own doll before breakfast and it was amazing to watch them play together. I wonder what you kids would've been like, how they would've….but anyway, I'm an old man and I could ramble forever. Enjoy your kite, fly it as high as you can wherever you may be. I love you Light. I always will."