Disclaimer: I own some but not most characters. All characters featured in the Inuyasha series are property of Rumiko Takahashi.

Chapter Two: 2013 (Present Day)

The school day began. It continues until the end and then it ends. After all of the anticipation, suspense and fear that I felt leading up to my first day of high school it seemed to flow rather smoothly. No one looked twice at me and I did my best to avoid looking at anyone at all. Perhaps due to my over-dramatic first experience with public school, I assumed I wouldn't make it through the first hour without getting in 3 fights, or hiding in the bathroom and crying through lunch. But apparently being socially inept is practically expected in high school freshman. Tons of people could be seen eating alone in the cafeteria, looking down in hallways and sticking to themselves. And thus, I drifted through my first week in a stupor- hardly feeling, rarely seeing and never listening.

My schedule is unnecessarily confusing; I have 7 different classes that rotate throughout the week called blocks "A" through "G". However, B day doesn't come after A day, F day does. Frankly that pisses me off but I try to ignore the letters and days and remember the order of classes. I have 5 classes a day along with a study period and lunch hour. I don't mind the schedule; it seems rather easy to fall into a routine this way and routine allows me to think less and keep myself busy. Both pluses.

Pavel asked if he could come to school with me each morning and I would narrate false tales of friendships spawned and difficult questions answered while making his dinner each night. My mothers work hours kept her at a comfortable distance and through what must be a gift of God my father has been on a business trip for the last two weeks.

Therefore the only interesting story I have to report is of my first day of work after two months. I've been working at a small sushi restaurant since I was 10, although at that age all I could manage was sweeping and loading the dishwasher for 500 yen an hour. Since then I have learned to bus tables, then to wait and finally to make sushi. At 1,100 yen an hour (above minimum wage) I couldn't ask for a better situation, even though the store is a 20-minute walk from my house. At least My boss gives me around 15 hours a week, which keeps me out of my house and gives me a steady enough income that I can keep me and Pavel going when we need to.

My boss is a large man who calls himself Yoko-san although there is no "Yoko" in his name. He's always said that his real name would be far to aggravating to shout around the store. He as straight black hair that he attempts to comb over his growing forehead and small slate gray eyes caught in a permanent squint. Essentially, if one were to search "stereotypical Japanese man" on the Internet they could probably find someone very closely resembling Yoko-san. His store is squeezed in between one of those Frozen yogurt stores that seems to be popping up everywhere with a big bubbly smiley character plastered on the windows and an old clothing store that has been under-construction for as long as I can remember.

Useless description aside I make my way to Yoko-sans store on Friday afternoon in a better mood than usual, excited to see Yoko-san again. Walking along the sidewalk feeling sun glisten off car and shop windows and onto my face, I can't see much of a reason to feel upset. Of course, this feeling never lasts but for now I enjoy the relaxation. I open the door to the shop and call "YOKO-SAN! IT'S SARAN!" I hear the swing and chunk of a knife thrown into our corkboard, and Yoko-san thumps his way out of the kitchen and into the dining room, shoving the swinging door to the kitchen past him as though it was more air then solid. "SARANY" he bellows, throwing an arm out and grabbing my right hand in an aggressive shake. "Sarany" has become a sort of pet name for me from Yoko-san, who claims "Saran" is too cold for such an "adorable child". I've learned to stop fighting it.

"Hello Yoko-san! How was your holiday?" I ask, massaging my now-sore hand with the other while making my way over to the counter surrounding the kitchen door.

"LONG, Sarany! The relaxation was LOVELY but after a few weeks I got so BORED I started to make sushi for my Rudy until she couldn't TAKE it anymore and chased me around the house with a FRYING PAN can you imagine MAHAHAHA she was hysterical Sarany I just missed the business and of COURSE I missed seeing YOU EVERY DAY how was your FIRST day of school Sarany that was THIS WEEK wasn't it did you KNOCK THEM DEAD so to speak?" Yoko-san can hold a conversation for hours without much outside help, something I have always appreciated. A few buzz words could keep him going for long enough that I could get work done, and he was never boring. Of course I have to laugh at the "knock them dead" joke he through in there, and then I smile and begin to tell Yoko-san about my first week.

"Well the first day was boring as hell Yoko-san, I have to sit through three classes before English or Art and the next day I don't have either class! Psychology's pretty cool and Chemistry actually sucks way less then I though it would, but obviously Algebra and History are miserable and I have literally no patience for Health y'know?" I like to think I'm an introvert by choice, because around Pavel and Yoko-san I can talk an ear off like anybody else.

"Sarany I LOVE History and honestly YOU should too it's really quite FA-SCIN-ATING how old age politics worked and how EMPIRES FELL SARANY because they just FELL it was my favorite subject in high school and if I WENT to any sort of college I would BET YOU it would have been for History! Or OF COURSE cooking because I ALWAYS displayed culinary prowess I just thought History was SO radical mahahahaha."

"I don't know about radical Yoko-san but I'm glad you ended up here. Otherwise who would be paying me for 15 hours a week? Aha!" The contrast between our two laughs is great, Yoko-sans erupting from a deep place in his belly and mine whispering from the back of my throat. I've heard that the saddest people laugh the loudest, but sometimes that's just bullshit.

"WELL Sarany you know what to DO! Set all the tables for an hour and then make yourself some LUNCH because I know you my dear and you may have SLAVED over a meal for Pavel but I bet all you've eaten ALL DAY is half of a rice ball before school! HOP TO!" Of course he was right, I hadn't eaten since the rice ball I split with Pavel before running out the door on my way to class. I nod and begin to grab bundles of wrapped silverware from under the counter. I count 49 sets of silverware and begin walking around the store placing sets on tables. Returning to the counter I grab 13 small ceramic bowls designed to hold soy sauce and place them on each table as well. Such mundane tasks can't keep my mind from wandering and I begin to drift into a fog.

2000:

"Not for you Saran that's too strong baby hush now"

Cold bottle heavy red paper cover

"Well maybe just one off my finger I guess taste buds wont never hurt anybody"

Salty drink thinner than mommy's brown drink spilling too much smells burny nose

My first memory is a broken and faded one, but nonetheless the smell of soy sauce has always seemed so strong to me. Tasty with sushi and not terrible with noodles but altogether too pungent. I look away from the bottle and back down at the sushi I'm cutting.

2006:

Mommy never took me to this place before, with the tall arches inside and silk on the walls. Everything smells weird and slimy and everybody is holding their chopsticks with only one hand.

We get walked to a wooden bench with itchy red pillows to sit on and I take my shoes off but Mommy laughs at me but she never laughs at me when I take my shoes off at home she usually tells me to.

Mommy holds a bunch of paper stuck together and tells me it's a menu and tells a man that she tells me is a waiter what she wants to eat and I get to order a chocolate milk for myself by myself and when it comes in a big tall glass I get to pick a green straw and not a pink one from the waiters hand.

Mommy's food comes and it's all mushy looking and some of it's pink and some of it's sort of black and I can see rice and mushy green stuff and little orange dots and I say "Mommy that's gross can you ask for noodles?" and she says

"Saran this is sushi! It's very good and you wont get to eat it very often so enjoy it while you can!" And she puts the chopsticks in one hand for me but I change them back so I'm holding one in each hand and she puts a sushi on my plate and I pick it up and it falls apart but I scoop it into my mouth and it's super tasty and my new favorite food forever. I pick another up and it doesn't fall apart and I try to dip it in soy sauce but it all falls into the soy sauce and my mouth scrunches up when I eat the sushi so the next piece I eat I eat without sushi and it doesn't fall apart at all and I love it.

Mommy smiles and her hair is shiny and her eyes sparkle and Daddy isn't here and nobody cries and I smile and we laugh and it's the best day of my life and I love sushi and my Mommy so much.

Customers come and go; some tip well and others leave the mandatory 10%. I don't mind; tips have never made sense to me. Tips are meant to be rewards for good work and when tips are mandatory you can't tell whether or not you're doing a good job or if theirs room for improvement. I recognize most of our customers by now: men on their lunch hour or women stopping in for tea and eggrolls during their afternoon shopping. Some say hi and others nod, but the few strangers I do see avoid eye contact and keep to themselves.

Closing shop at the end of the day, I watch the rain that fell on and off throughout my shift patter to a stop and I exit the store. I run the distance home to make it back quicker and Pavel leaps into my arms at the doorway. All is well for now and I carry Pavel into the kitchen, handing him a to-go box filled with sushi that he holds in front of him like a newborn child.

The weekend begins in a similar manner as the week had, dull and beautifully average. I paint in Pavels room until his wolves are complete along with a few snowy trees and a blue sky on the ceiling. I work and bring home food and see my mother for an hour on Saturday. We have enough time to discuss the week I had and the patients she tended to before she fell on the couch and napped, Pavel cradled between her stomach and the couch back. Sunday morning I wake to find Pavel sleeping in the curve of my stomach, arm and leg draped over my side and a small puppy stuffed animal wrapped tightly in hand. Curious, I comb Pavels bangs back from his forehead and see what looks like dried tears shining from his cheeks. Almost immediately I hear snores from down the hall through my open door and my heart leaps into my throat before shoving itself back down and lodging in the pits of my stomach.

Father has returned.