“Do you like it?” Hitomi asked anxiously. She hovered beside him on the bench, watching as he picked at the onigiri with his chopsticks. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was probably one of the only Japanese boys in the world who hated onigiri, even ones made to look like cute usagi and koinu and koneko. He wondered if he could peel away some of the nori and just pick at the rice; he hated red beans, too.
“It’s good,” he said finally, and took a tiny stab of the rice. He didn’t know how to tell her that it was his mother’s fault for marrying a gaijin, for turning him into a mixed-breed who wasn’t Japanese enough to like onigiri and not German enough to like sausage. He speared up a piece of tempura and chewed it thoughtfully. It was delicious. “Saaa...Hitomi-chan, oishii!”
She beamed and clapped her hands. “I’m glad you like it, Richie-san. I’ll see you in class, ne?” And she bounded over to her waiting friends, whereupon they burst into mad giggles.
As soon as she was out of sight, Richie finished the tempura and dumped the onigiri. Then he dug into his backpack for the lunch his mother had packed and ate all but the sausage. He even ate the saurkraut.
(224 words)
1 comment:
I like the contrast of the two cultures. Sorry I have been virulently ill. Strep and Bronchitis. So if I am a little slow on commenting, or my writing is muddled... blame the bug.
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