Angela
(click)
Aiko: Pamela, tell me why we are doing this again?
Pamela: Mom, we’ve been over this a thousand times. I’m working on a project for school. I need to interview someone who’s lived through a major event in American history.
Aiko: And how is that me exactly?
Pamela: Mom, you know how.
Aiko: I just don’t see how my experiences in the camps are worth talking about.
Pamela: That’s because you’ve spent the better part of your life pretending it never happened.
Aiko: You don’t know what you’re talking about.
Pamela: Mom, let’s just start….
* * * * *
Nausea washed over Angela like a wave, causing her to step back and lean up against the wall. Even looking at the trays of inari and sashimi made her shudder. Normally, she would have been the first one in line for the buffet, but nothing was going to allow her to eat today. Her morning sickness had worsened since yesterday. She was doing her best to play it off as grief, not pregnancy, but of course, it was both. No one could know that though. No one, not even her husband, knew she was pregnant. At times she tried to convince herself she was imagining all of this, that this buffet was for an anniversary or a birthday or that the whirlwind of the past couple weeks was something positive like a job promotion or a marriage. But that never lasted more than a second. Soon enough, the raw emotions of losing her Obachan would wash over her, followed closely behind by the recurring realization that her urge to puke all over the carefully laid out food platters was more than just heartache.
Some people say that the death of an older person isn’t as sad. Many people had come up to her in recent hours and offered the consolation, “Your grandmother lived a long, full life,” or similar platitudes. But to Angela, that was little relief. Her beloved Obachan was gone, and Angela already missed her. Angela looked around the room at all the little old ladies that were now filling her Obachan’s living room. Some of them she recognized, but most she did not know. She knew that her Obachan was involved in the JASC—the Japanese American Service Committee—and that they had tons of programs for seniors that her Obachan loved going to. But, looking around at all these faces, guilt hit her like a ton of bricks. She had never really asked her Obachan anything about them. Even when the JASC started providing in-home care for Obachan, Angela didn’t really pay much attention to the organization. Her connection to the JASC was their annual holiday party, the “Holiday Delight,” where she would start her Christmas shopping with Japanese tchotchkes and nibble on some soba noodles and gyoza. Her connection to her Obachan was one of grandmother-granddaughter. Now, looking around this room at all these friends of her Obachan, she realized how one-sided that relationship really was. So many people were coming up to her like they knew her, obviously full of stories her Obachan had told them about her. She had nothing but a courteous smile to offer in return.
She needed a drink of water. As she made her way into the kitchen, she scanned the crowd. Her husband, Carl, was amiably chatting with an old man, another person Angela did not recognize. She wasn’t surprised that Carl was at eas
