Just the three of us

Many hands make light work. I've heard that saying all my life.

This week I’ve sent a little too much time scrolling. But it isn’t all bad news. Earlier in the week I came across Avi Yap, a very talented photographer based in Tokyo. Avi’s work defiantly makes my feed more interesting. After a short back-and-forth we decided to collaborate. So this week’s short story is based on the image below. Check out the real thing on Avi’s page. I found it inspiring to use someone else’s work as a base, and maybe I’ll do more of it in the future.

Many hands make light work. I've heard that saying all my life. We all have - when I was asked to help wash the dishes or at work when we close the bar. But I don't need many hands - I just need a couple more.

The train is on time as it always is. It's humming along the tracks playfully. Our trains are nothing more than big toys, a loop-the-loop away from being a roller-coaster. Raindrops splatter on the windows as bugs do when you drive quickly on a hot summer day, then streak horizontally into the distance from where we came. Long black hair falls awkwardly over the seat in front and spills through the gap between the chairs. The woman on the other end of those long black strands is fidgeting, trying to find a comfortable position. There's a soft scent of nori and jasmine tea in the air; right on cue, my stomach rumbles - I haven't eaten all day. I never eat when I'm stressed. It's not that I don't feel hungry - when I eat food lands in my stomach like poison. Even if I could eat, I wouldn't have lasted in Kyoto station - a steel and glass ant hill crawling with suits and skirts. If you're like me and only travel a few times a year, you tend to forget these places exist. Wherever you spend most of your time becomes everything you know. My world is restrained and simple - the only downsides are the people I share the neighbourhood with. A bunch of stuck-up suit-wearing perfectionists. The splatter of the rain stops as we reach the mountains - Fuji flashes past with her snow-covered peak and blue and pink sky. I've always loved the way she shines under the sun or hides in a blanket of clouds. Her beauty marks the start of the end, and I'm not sure if I can handle it. I've reached the pinnacle of the journey; from here, mountains and countryside fade into small towns, which morph into busy suburbs. Eventually, the city lights engulf everything, and it's hard to imagine anything else exists.

"How was it? You look tired," Akemi has always been blunt. She looks tired too. I won't tell her that.

"It was. How have they been?" I nod to the space behind her. I can hear the Looney Tunes theme. She always resorts to it when she has no more energy left.

"They had a little fight. Mai said some nasty things, but it's all alright now, they made up."

"Mai, Haru!" They come running, charging at my legs from either side. Haru's hair is messy. Mai's pigtails are as neat as a pin.

"You took so long," Mai says, hugging my leg tighter.

"I know, hun. Want to get some ice cream on the way home?" Kumiko always got them ice cream after she picked them up. Haru already has bad teeth - he’s three. At least he’ll grow a new set. Akemi disappears without a sound. Our little cart is behind her when she returns. Kumiko brought them home in it one day last year and declared it was a life hack. She was right, and we still use it today, even though Mai is getting a little big for it.

"I'm away this weekend. If you need anything before or after, let me know," Akemi says, straightening Haru's hair. “I’m a phone call away.”

"Thank you. I'll call you. Say goodbye to Aunty," I prod them both. They detach themselves from my leg and cling onto hers. I guess that's what you do when you're that height.

We cut through the park on the way home, passing the joggers, strollers and hand-holders. Kumiko and I used to be all three. I was faster, she had softer hands to hold. The trees look sad with the blend of cool moonlight and yellowish streetlamp. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"What did you do with Aunty Akemi today?" I ask, not turning to look at their faces. I can hold my voice straight, but my face is heavy with my thoughts.

"We went book shopping, played in the park, and then..." Mai starts, thinking aloud as she tends to do.

"The trains!" Haru takes over, as he tends to, even though he's two years younger. Kumiko called him the little emperor.

"On the trains?" I ask, surprised - Akemi hates going on trains, especially the city lines. It's something we share with our father.

"Yeah, we played this game where we guess what people do for work."

"There was one man who looked like a rikishi." There are always a few of them around.

We come out of the park and into the neighbourhood. You can feel the wealth and the calm in an instant. It's almost quiet. The wheels of the cart moving over the paved floor are all I hear. For a minute, I forget where I am and who I'm pulling along.

"Dada," Sometimes, I think Mai can sense whenever I start thinking about Kumiko.

"What is it, hun?"

"The ice cream shop is closed, isn't it?"

"Now you say it, I think it probably is."

"No ice cream?" Haru says, but his voice isn't disappointed, it's as plain as a rice ball. Neither one seems upset - they're taking it easy on me. We pass a woman on her way home, Natsuki. She's carrying a briefcase, and her hair is pinned back tightly. She works in Kumiko's building downtown. It doesn't matter if you see her at the start of the day or the end, her appearance is always immaculate. She smiles at the three of us - it's full of pity. I curl my lips in reply, but I can hardly call it a smile. The muscles in my face are too heavy to lift. Her eyes focus on Mai and Haru behind me, then fall to the floor. These are the looks that you can never escape when you're in my position. Even the people that don't know seem to sense it; their eyes see the ghost walking by my side.

"Dada," Mai says in her sweetest voice. "Will Mama be at home?"

"Not anymore, hun. She's gone to live on Mount Fuji, remember?"

"Oh yeah," she replies softly, then reaches for my hand pulling the cart.

"You aren't going, are you?"

"No, hun," I say quickly, concentrating on the pavement and the clicks of the wheels as they roll over it.

Follow Avi to see more beautiful photography! avi.yap

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Love, Luke