Chapter Nine: Old Fancy Cookie Tin:

Yumi and I made it back home. She was in a much better mood. I could imagine what kind of meal she was going to cook tonight. Whatever it was, I knew it was going to be good.

“So what are you making tonight?” I asked. Yumi looked over her shoulder.

“Didn’t I tell you?” she asked. I frowned as I tried to remember. I rubbed my forehead as I tried to think.

“No…” I said. Yumi puffed up her cheeks and frowned.

“Unbelievable,” she mumbled. I rubbed the back of my head and nervously chuckled.

“Sorry,” I said. Yumi rolled her eyes. I smacked myself in the forehead. I screwed up again, didn’t I? Oh boy. I was going to have to make it up to her somehow. Though she’ll probably forget when she started cooking. I held my breath while hoping that would be the case. Please let it be the lady and not the tiger.

While Yumi was downstairs cooking, I lay on my futon, staring at the ceiling. Today’s been nothing but walking down memory lane. Was that normal? I frowned the more I thought about it. This turned into an annoying back-and-forth in my head. After about a good ten minutes, I gave up. Well, that was a pointless headache.

Oh yeah.

That’s when I remembered.

I pulled the bag that I had near the wall and reached inside. A couple of days ago, there was a package sent here to me. I found that odd because not many people from my past knew where I was living now. Hojo was surprised to see me again. Momma was the one who handed me this small box.

“This came for you,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said as I took the box from her hands. I turned it over in my hands. It didn’t have a return address on the package. Where did this come from? It got weirder when I opened it. Momma and I looked confused.

“An old cookie tin?” she asked. The design on the lid was of what looked like the Swiss Alps. Most of the writing had been worn down. I could make out part of what the brand was supposed to be. Wait a second… I’ve seen this tin before!

I’ve hadn’t a chance to look inside the tin until today.

I sat with that old tin in my lap. The pressed image of the Alps stared back at me. I ran my fingers over a snow-covered mountain. I hadn’t seen this thing in years. Who had this? There were only two people who knew this tin even existed. She was the one who came up with this idea. My fingers ran over the edge of the lid. I could feel my heart racing up to the base of my throat. If this was what I think it was, they had to still be in there.

I closed my eyes and pried open the lid. A dull pop filled the air. I cracked open one eye and looked down. I pushed aside the lid and looked inside with both eyes.

There they were.

Several different colored postcards. I was surprised how well they held up after all of these years. A water-colored Mt. Fuji stared back at me from the small paper rectangle on top of the pile. I remembered this one. She bought this one on a whim during a class trip. She didn’t collect these, mind you.

“Let’s write about all the things that we wish on the backs of these,” she whispered on the bus. I gave her a weird look.

“Why?” I asked. She shrugged her shoulders.

“It could be fun,” she said. I didn’t see where she was going with this. She must have seen how confused I looked.

“Do you have a pen?” she asked. I felt around in my pockets. I shook my head when I came up empty.

“Hang on,” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pen. I watched as she turned over the postcard and wrote something down on it.

“See Mt. Fuji again with Toshi-kun when we are old and gray,” she read aloud. I couldn’t help but laugh. She cocked her head to the side.

“What?” she asked. When I looked in her eyes, I saw how serious she was.

“Oh…” I said, lowering my head. “Sorry.” She put her hand on mine. She leaned down so that I could see her face.

“Do you want to try it?” she whispered. I couldn’t speak at first. I pressed my lips together.

“Okay,” I said. That was how it started.

She and I wrote many wishes on countless postcards. She was the one who found them. I didn’t ask where she got them. At first, I just humored her with this little hobby. Within months, I got into it. I looked forward to writing on the backs of more postcards.

“How will I know what to write?” I asked. She leaned in close, chin on my shoulder.

“You’ll know when you feel it,” she whispered in my ear. From there, it became easier. We kept this hobby going until I went off to the Self-Defense Force.

Or so I thought.

I looked through all of these postcards. When did she have time to get this filled to the brim?