I slid out of bed, reluctantly into a pair of pants.

Harmony wasn’t in class when I got there, but that didn’t mean anything. It was early. I lined up my easel along the tape on the ground and pulled out my drawing board. Vitelli must have already arrived because our still life arrangement was standing ready in the center of the room.

The studio was so quiet.

I didn’t want to start working yet, so I put in my headphones and fished for something to listen to. As I skipped through songs, I noticed the dancing figures that ornamented my drawing board. Or rather Harmony’s drawing board. They were woven of such firm, confident lines. My finger traced them, not a break in the contour that rode from one dancer to the next. A stare fell over my shoulder.

“It’s a pity Mister Man did not return this semester.” Professor Vitelli said as I pulled the music away.

“Mister who?”

“The original owner of your drawing board. I’m surprised Mx Harmony hasn’t introduced you two. I believe they were quite close last year.”

“Manaia…?” I asked.

“Precisely. He requested to be called Man, though. He was an excellent student, far more attentive than Mx Harmony. Several of his drawings are still here if you’d like to see them?”

“Uhm, I’d love that. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The professor nodded to an incoming group of students as we made our way out of the studio. I followed him respectfully, listening to the gentle click of his cane on the ground. We stopped in front of a door that still said UTILITIES on it.

“Office space is presented based on seniority, not age, unfortunately.” He chuckled to himself as he unlocked the door.

Inside was a miniscule room almost entirely encumbered by a thick wooden desk. The walls were piled up with books and binders, many labeled in Italian, except for one gap occupied by a framed sketch of the Roebling Bridge. It looked good framed and mounted.

“Last spring is right here…” The professor muttered as he heaved a binder onto the desk.

Flipping it open to the first page revealed a colorful splatter piece caked thick with acrylic paint. Then a disturbing portrait of a dog. Then an intricate paper cut set on a piece of black fabric for contrast. Finally, Vitelli landed on a familiar looking series of contour line drawings. I’d never seen them before, but they were undeniably created by the same hand that had decorated my drawing board. They were still dancing.

“Mister Man would draw these constantly, often while I was trying to teach a lesson. I told him he could continue if he’d be willing to part with one. This is it.” The professor said. His pride slipped through his words.

“They’re beautiful.”

“They are… That reminds me. He also left this.”

Professor Vitelli waddled around his desk and opened a cabinet. From inside, he pulled out deep red sketchbook. As he rotated it in his hands, small writing on the binding read Man.

“Perhaps you can give it to Mx Harmony, they may know how to reach Mister Man.” He said, handing it to me.

“Oh, ok. Yeah. Sure, of course.” I felt incredibly tempted to open it up, but didn’t. It didn’t belong to me.

“Thank you, Miss Rachel.” Vitelli said. I backed up out of the office so he could close and lock it again.

“Can I ask you about my still life? It’s… I’m not sure what to do.” I said on the way back.

“Please do. Lead the way.”

I led him to my seat and sat in it. He walked around until he was directly behind my chair and could see the still life from my perspective. I’d made progress, but I was stuck on the inside of a bottle. It was directly in front of a skull in the arrangement, and I was struggling to capture the refracted light. I’d even resorted to sketching a paint spatter on the ground rather than push forward on the bottle.

“You’re referring to the reflection, I presume?” He asked, taking his time to examine my work so far.

“Yeah… I think I’m just lost. Is there a trick to reflections?”

“…I would recommend avoiding your imagination.” He said after a long pause.

“What?”

“Don’t think about the objects in front of you. Don’t imagine what they look like. Your mind will be tempted to invent the lines rather than accurately render the image. Distortions due to mirrors and glass are infinitely more complicated if you try to invent them. Instead, soften your vision and let go of your mind. Just replicate the shapes and values your eyes see. If you ignore what they represent, you might find more success.”

“Ok… I think I get it.” I didn’t get it.

“Good, then let it go.” He said and walked away.

In theory, the idea that I was drawing what I was imagining half as much as I was drawing what I actually saw made sense. But in practice, no one could just turn off their brain. As Vitelli shuffled on through the classroom, my pencil lingered over the bottle. Hovering hesitantly above the several failed attempts visible under my fingers. I gave up and moved on to something else.

When class ended, I realized that Harmony had never arrived. I checked my phone.

            Hard morning. I hope you enjoy class. At nine o-five.         

I suddenly felt hot. Harmony had a seizure and I completely neglected them. I stood up out of my chair so fast the easel next to me fell over. Everyone in class stopped and stared, then I read further.

            I’m going to take it slow today. I’m fine. You don’t need to visit, thank you though. At nine ten.

I sighed. Even through text, Harmony intercepted my thoughts before they arrived.

--

Sammy had a half pot of mac and cheese waiting on the stove for me when I got in. It was perhaps the least glamorous meal she’d ever made, but it felt like home. It reminded me that Okaasan said I’d be eating nothing but kraft mac and poptarts for most of freshman year. I sent her a picture to confirm her fears.

After serving myself, I parked on the couch next to Sammy and munched while she watched Community.

“Do you wanna go to India and Kennan’s later?” I asked.

“Sure, I’m down. Unless you wanna do steak night?

“Fuck, yeah, of course! Let’s do that instead.” I had completely forgotten.

“What about Harmony?” Sammy asked. A sharp pain flew through my neck.

“They’re staying home today, plus… I want to hang out with you.”

“Really?” She betrayed a self-conscious look.

“Are you kidding? With your cooking and my wine selection? It’s gonna be rad.”

“It is gonna be rad.”

I leaned on her shoulder and shoved another spoonful of mac into my face.

“Do you want to get dressed up?” She asked suddenly.

“Like, fancy?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a suit from my high school graduation somewhere…”

“This sounds so fun actually. I wanna go get candles.”

“Shit, girl, Alright. Can you get me some mushrooms too?”

“Portobellas?” I asked, pulling out my phone to start a list.

“For steak? No, button mushrooms, the little white ones.”

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“It’s the only good thing my mom ever did, other than give me this hair.” She grinned and bounced, but I could tell the joke wasn’t a lie.

“Did you… cook together a lot?”

“Yeah, my dad couldn’t boil water without burning it, so it was me and my mom mostly.”

I giggled.

“You think I’m kidding? One time, when he was gonna make spaghetti, he forgot he had water boiling in a pan until the whole house smelled like burnt olive oil. It REEKED. And I know you’re about to say that’s just burning olive oil, but the pan was ruined. My mom threw it in the trash and never let him cook again.” She laughed.

“Otoosan’s no chef but he makes great barbeque. He bought one of those little Korean barbeque sets you put on the table and used to grill every weekend.”

“Oh my god, Korean barbeque, fuck…” Sammy moaned.

“I know… We’ll go sometime. I bet there’s a place in Chicago.”

“Oh, for sure. I’ll ask around.”

“We should go with everyone, Harmony, John, India, Kennan.” I suggested.

“Now that would be rad.”

[drawing]mushrooms[/drawing]

The scent of butter and garlic permeated the whole dorm.

When I got back with the candles and mushrooms, Sammy was already half-dressed. Sleeves rolled up, a pan in each hand.

“Mushrooms?” She asked, pointing at my bag.

“Yup, right here.”

“Gorgeous.” She said in a New Jersey accent.

“And… candles. And more candles. And MORE candles.” I proudly displayed my new collection on the table.

“Alright, pyromaniac. Get dressed so you can help me with my eyeshadow.”

“I can try to help, but you realize we have different eyes. Like, eyeshadow works a little different on me.”

“Really?”

“Yep, you should youtube it. That’s how I learned.”

“Would you watch it with me?” She asked. Almost begged.

“Sure.” I smiled, incapable of refusing.

I threw open my closet door and spied the line in between the jackets and the dresses. After pushing all the jackets to one side, I examined what remained. I needed to be formal but hot. Since I wasn’t going anywhere, impractical was ok. Something red. I tossed out a floor-length summer dress and skirt before I found what I was looking for. A long, sleek, mermaid dress with an open back in bright crimson. I hated walking in it, the perfect occasion.

Once clothed, I parked myself in front of the mirror and stared at my face. Eyeliner was passable. All I needed was some concealer, mascara, and lipstick. I went to work and quickly discovered I didn’t have a good shade of red for the dress. Every lipstick I had clashed. Except black.

I could do goth for one night. Sammy would be into it.

I emerged from my room and leaned against the doorframe, doe-eyed and innocent. Sammy absolutely froze.

“Play it once, Sam, for old time’s sake.” I said.

Sammy struggled to find words as she started to leave the kitchen, but then immediately returned because she was in the middle of adjusting the potatoes. I tiptoed to a chair as if I had heels on and sat down, one leg over the other. I tried to pour myself a glass of wine as elegantly as possible, but I couldn’t figure out how I was supposed to hold it. By the stem? By the cup? Pinky in or out? Hopeless.

While Sammy stabilized the various pans, I lit candles and scattered them around the room. When she was done, we sat down in front of my laptop for a brief makeup tutorial. A few failures and one success after that, I’d been expelled to the couch so she could finish plating everything. Then the alcohol started to hit; I was wine drunk. At half Sammy’s size, I hit the ground running.

When re-invited to the table, I was stunned.

Each plate was carefully organized. A steak center orbited by lines of asparagus on one side and potatoes on the other. A peppery mushroom sauce glazed the dish, drizzled lightly in a zig-zag pattern. A sprig of parsley garnished one side, just for contrast. 

“Shit. This is art.” I declared.

“Sure, funny.” Sammy said, shy about her work.

“I’m serious. This is fucking art right here. Like, I could never do this. And I’m gonna get to eat it? That’s more than any sculpture I’ve ever made has done for the world.”

“Thanks…? There are more mushrooms and potatoes, but I didn’t want to clutter the plate…”

“I love it. Thank you. You’re the best roommate I… Ever. Ever.”

“Well eat it before you say anything you regret.”

“Can I take a picture to send to Okaasan?” I thought it would be a fun comparison to lunch.

“Sure.” Sammy looked around and backed away from the table.

“No, no, no. Go stand next to it. And look proud. You’re beautiful.” Sammy nervously obliged.

She was adorable, hands crossed in front of her, jacket a little too small but only complementing her formidable figure. I put a candle and my glass on the table and backed up, nearly tripping over the couch. We took a few, some with both of us. None were particularly good, but I sent one to Okaasan anyway.

We devoured our meals, the extra mushrooms, and the extra potatoes without a second thought. Sammy had tucked a napkin into her collar as a joke but kept it there all dinner. It provided constant hilarity, and probably saved the shirt. I silently noted that I should date a chemist in the future.

[drawing]steak[/drawing]

“Did you go to your prom?” I asked, relaxing into the couch.

“Last year? Yeah, but I left early, it was at some hotel and the vibe was gross. Did you?” Sammy said.

“I missed it. Tsuki had a big breakup right before and we decided not to go.”

“You don’t talk about her much.”

“She was my best friend.”

“Was?” Sammy asked.

“Is, I guess. I dunno. We don’t talk anymore.”

“Still? Did something happen?”

“No… I mean… What happened was I didn’t get into Brown.”

“And now y’all don’t talk?” Sammy asked, trying to prove a point.

“Pretty much.” I was stubborn.

“Is this ‘cause you won’t talk to her, or she won’t talk to you?”

“I want to say both… But actually, it’s that I avoid her. I stopped responding when I went to Japan over the summer. She hasn’t reached out since, but I don’t know what I’d say if she did.” I admitted.

“You could say sorry.” Sammy saw through my shame clearly enough to show it to me.

“Why do I feel so stupid about the whole thing?”

She didn’t have an answer.

“Why couldn’t I just say congratulations and move on? She could. She was super excited about Chicago and said she would come visit me…” I trailed off.

“Do you like it here?” Sammy asked.

“Yeah, I love it.”

“But you hated it at first.”

“No… But I wasn’t excited.”

“What changed?”

“Everything. I actually spent time here… I’m really glad I’m here…” My eyes watered, running through the last month in my head.

“Maybe now’s the time to talk to her then.”

“Like, right now?” I asked, pouring myself another glass of wine.

“Probably not. But soon.” Sammy laughed.

“What about you? Who was your best friend from high school?” I asked but Sammy was looking at something on the table.

“Shit, you’re getting a call from… Okaasan.” Sammy stood up and passed me my phone. Not only was I definitely getting a call from her, but I’d also received several text messages through dinner which I hadn’t looked at.

“Remind me later to explain the different words for Mom in Japanese. Ok, one sec.” I said.

And disappeared into my room.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. Am I interrupting your dinner?” Okaasan asked.

“No, I’m done.”

“It looked very good. Was that Sammy?”

“Yeah, she made it.”

“I’m impressed. Say hi to her for us.”

“I will.”

“I saw alcohol, please be responsible.”

“I am.”

“Are you doing anything tonight? Do you have homework? I want to have a family meeting about Pauly’s graduation. Paul. Paul. Sorry.”

“Ok, sure.” I said, trying to remember what Harmony had told me about the conversation.

“How do we set that up?” She hesitated.

“Can you put me on facetime?” I asked. Okaasan leaned away from the phone.

“Pauly, could you set up facetime with Rachel so we can talk? Thank you.” She said faintly. I cringed a little when she said Pauly, knowing he hated it.

She leaned in again.

“He said he’s going to call you. See you soon!” And hung up.

I booted up my laptop and then opened the door. Sammy was still on the couch.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. This is gonna take longer than I thought. It’s about Ototo. Paul.” I apologized.

“Don’t worry about it!” She looked up from her phone and reached for the TV remote.

“Okaasan says hi.”

“Hi Okaasama!” Sammy said, clearly having just looked it up.

“Uhm. Not quite, but good try! I love you!”

I closed the door again.

My computer screen flickered to life as my phone lit up with Ototo’s facetime. I denied it and called him back on my laptop.

“Hey Paul, what’s up!” I said.

But I was greeted first by a feline butthole I recognized immediately.

“Hebrew!” I yelled.

“One sec, lemme find Charlie too.” Paul said from behind the camera.

Hebrew meowed, and then hissed as Charlie entered my field of view.

“Rachel! You’re still dressed up!” Paul smiled. I could tell he’d set me up on the coffee table in the living room. Everything looked exactly the same, but different. Familiar, yet foreign.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“You look great, no apology needed.” He said.

“Hi there Rachel, long time no see.” Came Otoosan’s voice. He sat down in his usual seat.

“Hi Otoosan, sorry, school keeps me busy.”

“Ok we can catch up later. I’d like to have a serious conversation right now, though.” Okaasan said, taking control.

“Kaasan…” Paul complained.

“Don’t Kaasan me. This isn’t an argument. It’s a conversation.”

Paul flopped into a seat.

“It’s fine. You guys start, I’m mostly a listener here.” I shrugged and wrapped a blanket over my shoulders.

“You’re a part of this family too. Pauly should hear from everyone.” Okaasan said.

“Paul.” Paul corrected.

“Paul.” She repeated.

“Is this an intervention? To try and get me to give up?” He asked, looking for a fight.

“I think you should consider all your options.” She said diplomatically.

“And if I’ve chosen something?”

I knew instantly that the conversation was about to devolve. I’d heard them bicker about it over and over again so many times I knew what Okaasan was going to say back. I knew she would talk about the meaning of violence. Paul would shoot back about national duty. Okaasan would retort with examples of Israel and Palestine, or Yemen, then start explaining the military-industrial complex. Paul would bring up ISIL. Then Okaasan would pull her ace. World War Two. Concentration camps. I knew it was coming. I could see it all as if I’d lived it before.

“Okaasan. I think you should just tell him.” I said, trying to shortcut.

“Wait, Rachel…” Okaasan stuttered, tongue caught before she could respond.

“Tell me what?” Paul asked.

“Maybe she’s right, Konomi.” Otoosan put down his phone. He knew.

“I… No… I didn’t…” She tried, desperate for an escape.

“Let’s try something else. Paul. Tell me why this is important to you. Don’t try to convince me, I just want to know how you feel.” I cut in. I felt bad for cornering Okaasan and tried to steer the conversation differently. I felt like Harmony.

“Ok… Sure. Um. I think it’s the right thing to do. It’s my responsibility as a citizen. As messed up as everything is here, I love my country and I’m willing to die for it.” Paul shrugged as if it was simple.

My mother shifted in her seat.

“I know you guys don’t agree, or approve, so why are we doing this?” Paul asked. My mother opened her mouth, but I interrupted again, sensing slippage.

“It’s more complicated than that. We’ve talked about America’s role in global politics a hundred times. Instead, I want to –”

“America is a global terrorist!” Okaasan blurted; Ototo boiled. My heart dropped as the conversation began to spin out, but Otoosan took the reins.

“I think that’s where your mother and I have some disagreement. Honey, if I may? Your mother has never hidden her objections. She sees this as you blindly supporting the American military-industrial complex. You know why. With your research, you know better than most what the United States has done, especially considering your Japanese ancestry…” Otoosan said.

“Otoosan it’s –” Paul started.

“I’m sorry. Blindly is the wrong word. She knows you trust your beliefs, but she feels like she failed as a parent because you don’t see things her way… It’s out of love. While I also agree with your mother, and also don’t support our rather neocolonial military pursuits, I acknowledge that there is a firm school of thought that America has a responsibility as the peacekeepers of the world. While I can debate all day the merits and weaknesses of that argument, I can’t deny that America has acted as if it had that authority. And the world has existed in that shadow for the better part of half the twentieth century.” Otoosan continued.

“Who else would you have do it? Would you rather China or Russia watch over America to make sure we don’t step out of line? I have hard time believing Russia would –” Paul interrupted, only to be interrupted himself.

“This is about the fundamental need for a peacekeeping force in general. And who suffers for it.” Okaasan said.

“BUT. You don’t have to justify your position; I accept that the rationale compels you.” Otoosan conceded.

“Actually –” I mumbled.

“You know perfectly well it’s the poor and marginalized who supply the military with bodies because they have no other option. And for what? The US is, at best, irresponsible with its military. We’re effectively massacring Palestinian children, is that what you want?” Okaasan asked.

“It’s reductive and dishonest to simplify that conflict to support your position. What about Hamas? Also, you already know I don’t entirely support Israel either.” Paul crossed his arms.

“I hope you remember that when the button is in your hand.” She spat back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked.

Okaasan grimaced, so I jumped into the fray.

“Ok. Guys. Guys. I’m pretty sure, I mean, I think what she means is that she doesn’t want you to forget who you are. The academy, and the military, it’s a scary place. People go in one person and come out another. She wants you to fight for what you think is right, not what someone else thinks is right. Something she should remember too… She doesn’t want you to change. I think she’s afraid of losing her baby.” I said.

Paul listened.

Okaasan listened.

“Okaasan, this is my way of fighting for what I believe in…” He said.

“I know, Paul. I know.” She said slowly, wiping her eyes.

“Will you let me do this?” He asked.

There was a long pause. I didn’t say anything, and neither did Otoosan.

“Please?” He asked again.

“I could never stop you from following your dreams. I want you to be the best you can be. Even if it’s… not quite how I imagined it. Because I believe in you.” She said.

Tears trickled down my cheeks. I watched the pixelated shapes in front of me cry as well. Hugs were exchanged. I wanted to be there. I wanted to be home with my family. I wanted Paul to hug and lift me off the ground the way he always did. I missed him. I missed them all.

Otoosan retrieved some pieces of paper from one of the tables by the couch.

“Your mother, without my knowledge or influence, took it upon herself to sign and submit your application to Fifth Union. She did it a month ago.” He presented the stack to Paul.

“What… Otoosan, what are you talking about…?” Paul asked.

“Honey?” Otoosan deferred.

“Okaasan…? I watched you throw away my application…”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t really handle that very well…” Okaasan said, her humiliation palpable.

“You really did submit it…?” Paul mumbled sensitively.

“Yes. I did… I was hoping you would change your mind. I’m sorry.” She held up a smile.

“I don’t know what to say… Thank you.”

“Just… be careful.” Okaasan managed as she started to sob.

“I hear you. Kaasan… I hear you… I hear what you’re saying. I learned and I’m always learning so much from you. You made me do so much research every time I came to you with what I wanted to do. And Otoosan… You always listened to my argument, always. All the way through. And you understood when I got things right. Thank you. And Rachel, of course. Somehow you hold us together. I don’t even know how you do it… I love you so much. I love you all. You’re my family and I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget why I’m here. I’m gonna make you proud.”

“Well, Pauly, you gotta get in first.” Otoosan laughed, but Okaasan slapped him on the thigh and gave him a death glare.

“It’s Paul.” She said.