Grace listens.

“Every culture has different stories for things that go bump in the night. This one, the Akashita, I couldn’t get out of my head for some reason. Maybe it’s because there is no way to say if this creature is good or bad. It reminded me of people. We are capable of so much good and so much harm, sometimes in the same breath.”

Yuki’s voice is melodic and tranquil and quiet.

“The Akashita is a yokai that was first drawn by Toriyama Sekien. It’s a hairy beast with claws for hands and a huge, red tongue. You can’t see most of its body because it is lost in a black cloud. It is a monster stuck in darkness and it guards, or maybe holds the key to, a floodgate.

“You look up, and there it is. This unknown monster with its unknown motivations. Some say it is a bad omen to see the Akashita. They say that to see it means a terrible drought is coming. Some say it is a protector. It watches to make sure people do not take more than they need, and if they do, they are punished. They are swallowed up whole by this half-hidden thing in the sky.

“Take too much, and you will be eaten. Take what you need, and leave the rest for those that have none. Leave space and room and chance for those that have none.

“I think that’s what makes the Akashita so scary,” Yuki says. “Not its body or its hunger or the black cloud it lives in. I think what makes it so scary is that you see it, and you don’t know whether to feel scared or safe. You don’t know what it wants, and if it will shield you or eat you. It is the unknown, the uncertainty, that is terrifying, more than the darkness and the monster that crawls from its clutches.

“I don’t know if the Akashita is a lonely creature. I think it could be, with only a black cloud for company. Maybe it is looking for other lonely creatures, thirsty and starving and drought-ridden. Maybe it opens its floodgates like one would hold out a hand. Or maybe it is a lonely creature looking for other, unsuspecting things. Maybe it has embraced its loneliness, and the floodgates wash away all the other fragile, weak things in its way. No one can say, really. No one knows. It’s unknowable.”

Grace holds her phone with shaking fingers. Yuki’s voice is an echo in the background. An echo of all the things Grace feels when she looks up. Uncertain. Unknown. Afraid to be swallowed up and unsure how to ask for help.

Her fingers hover over the keypad. She opens her messages to Agnes first.

Grace
1:03 a.m.
what do you need from me to help?
you don’t have to ask
whatevs you need, it’s yours
She switches to the long chain of texts with Yuki.

Grace
1:05 a.m.
it was a good show tonight
maybe I am uncertain too
Yuki
1:06 a.m.
i was waiting for you
And then:

Yuki
1:07 a.m.
everyone is uncertain grace porter
sometimes you just have to keep going anyway
Grace takes a breath. It is August. Age twenty-nine is about to begin, and there is still so much she doesn’t know. It is the scariest thing in the world.

August 26, 2010

“Hurry up and cut it,” Meera says. “It’s Mama’s butter cake. It’s delicious, I swear.”

“Give her a minute,” Raj mutters. “She only just learned how to make a decent cup of tea. Cake cutting might be a new level.”

Baba Vihaan smacks him on the back of the head. They’re all huddled around a table at the end of the night. Floors still need to be swept and dishes need to be washed and the till needs to be reconciled but for now, cake.

Grace tucks some flyaway hair behind her ears and bends down. There are three little candles in the center of the cake, burning brightly.

“Mama wanted to come,” Meera confesses quietly, fingers picking at the designs on her kurti. “She got tired. She gets tired a lot now.”

“Hey,” Grace says, reaching for her hand. “It’s okay. She needs her rest.”

Raj crosses his arms, and Baba Vihaan clears his throat. “She sends her love. Now make a wish. Three wishes.”

“Not how it works,” Raj says, and he gets another smack on the head. “Just saying.”

Grace smiles and stares into the little flames. “What should I wish for?” she whispers, still gripping Meera’s fingers. “Any ideas?”

“A car,” Meera suggests. “Sharing the Corolla with Raj is getting unbearable. Oh!” she exclaims. “A good semester, obviously.”

“Health,” Baba Vihaan says. “Prosperity.” He rolls his eyes toward Meera. “Maybe a car.”

Grace laughs and closes her eyes. “I’ll take all of those under consideration.”

Her cheeks are still flushed from the mild humiliation of having “Happy Birthday” sung to her. Even stoic Raj joined in, gaining energy from Grace’s discomfort. Now she takes a deep breath and blows. She sends a wish out to the universe, and life has taught her she has to mean it, or nobody and nothing will listen.

Good health, she wishes, for those that need it more than me. A good academic year.

She hesitates, but the universe does not grant wishes to hesitation. She grips Meera’s hand tight and goes to blow out the last candle.

Make my parents proud, she wishes, harder than anything else. Hard enough that she almost sees it take shape. That’s what Porters do.

She opens her eyes and begins to cut the cake. She follows the tradition of serving each of them a bite. She serves Baba Vihaan first, then Meera. Raj looks like he won’t open his mouth at first, but Grace says please soft enough that the others don’t hear. “Please, Raj.”