Kenzo

The bell to the shop jingled, and a middle-aged man of Japanese descent dressed in a brown-dyed cotton turtleneck, wool coat and black-framed glasses hurriedly stepped inside. Specks of snowflakes rested on his shoulder, and quickly melted away as the seconds slowly passed by inside. The store was near empty, save an elderly woman, who hung around close by the jewelry counter, eyeballing the vintage pearl earrings that sat only an arm's reach behind the cheap, thin, glass display.

“Eh, eh, excuse me,” Kenzo heard the woman say, trying to get someone's attention who was nowhere to be seen.   

He continued down the aisle, spotting old relics from his past growing up. Blue vintage ceramic tableware brought him back to the house of his mother. The smell of steamed rice and donburi filled both his memory and his nostrils. Although he knew the smell wasn’t really there, and when reality set back in, the scent of old leather and mothballs came rushing back into his senses.  

A door closed somewhere in the back of the shop and he could hear footsteps approaching. “Is there someone there?” the old lady called out again. 

Kenzo continued to walk down the aisles, looking high and low over the undusted shelving. Vintage SLR cameras sat on one. A stack of old MAD magazines on another. He continued to walk as a flood of nostalgic reminders lit up his synapses, until he finally found what he was looking for. 

A variety of gold, silver, and brass colored candlestick holders lined a shelf in the middle of the shop. Each one had its own unique shape and design. There were shell shaped ones, circular ones, square ones, and cone-shaped ones. There were tall ones, short ones, wide ones, and narrow ones. Some plain ordinary, but most of them peculiar. 

Then he spotted them. 

Sitting on the bottom shelf, pushed to the very back and covered in a thick layer of dust sat two ceramic candle holders. One was molded into the shape of a man wearing a top hat and a button suit. The other, a woman in a dress with a little bonnet she wore over her head. Each one held nine chiseled holes in the middle and an opening in the back to place a small candle or tealight. 

Kenzo stood up and could hear the elderly woman talking to the shop owner nearby. He blew the dust from the little man and woman candle holders. He ran his fingers across the ceramic, lightly brushing off the edges with the tips of his fingers. He turned them over and looked at the bottom. His heart sank and a smile quickly made its way up to his face when he saw the initials, “EM,” etched on the bottom of both of them. 

“Can I help you?”

He looked up to see the shop owner, Harry, standing beside him. The ding of the front door’s bell jingled again, and he watched as the elderly woman walked out with two pearl earrings dangling under her ears. Another customer stepped in shortly after, a young man with circular spectacles and a large mustache like Nietzsche. Kenzo turned back to Harry. 

“Ah yes,” he said, holding up the two ceramic pieces. “How much for these?”

Harry grabbed the candle holders from Kenzo and examined them. He turned them upside down, and then front to back. He inspected the top and bottom, and then handed them over to him. 

“How about twenty dollars?” Harry offered. “For both.” 

Kenzo would have paid quite literally anything for them, and gladly accepted. They both walked down the dusty aisle and up to the register in front. Harry grabbed a handful of t-candles on his way. “Take these,” said Harry. “On the house.” 

They approached the counter. On the top lay an early twentieth century cash register made out of solid wood with an intricate hand carved design. Below it, another glass case, of which Harry held a variety of last minute knick-knack purchases. There were Pez dispensers, top spinners, and wind up toys. There were wooden figures, fake teeth, an old map, a vintage typewriter, and a well-used blue lighter with a clover sticker on the front. 

Kenzo stepped in through the back of the house making sure not to make any noise as he quietly shut the door behind him. He removed his shoes and tip-toed into the kitchen, setting his bag of goods down onto the counter. He stopped and listened. The sound of his mother’s slumber made its way from the living room. Snorting inhales, followed by high pitched whistled exhales, let him know she was still alive and kicking. 

He gently reached into his bag. He brought out the candle holders and set them on the counter. He brought out the bag of tea lights and carefully placed one in each, before grabbing the blue lighter and making his way over to the living room.

 Like a ninja, he carried himself across the carpeted floor without making a sound. He bent down and looked longingly at his mother’s face, drawing lines from his eyes down the wrinkles of her skin, as a flood of memories began to bounce back at him. The tip of a paper airplane, held by his eight-year-old hand, made its way into the ceramic opening and onto the open flames of the candle. 

He could still smell the burnt paper in the souvenir as he set the relics down onto the coffee table, right beside the couch where his mother slept soundly. He lit the first candle. He glanced up for a moment towards the window. Snow fell heavily down from the dark grey clouds that turned slightly pink as the sun slowly set behind them. He turned back and lit the second. 

Kenzo set the blue lighter down on the table and knelt down beside her. He lightly stroked his fingers through the front of her hair, and as she began to rise, he started to sing. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” he hummed, and smiled as his mother’s dark brown eyes finally met his own. 

“Wha-what’s all this about,” she said at last and sat up, a bit confused. She rubbed at her face. Then in the moment she finally came to, she noticed the candle holders. “I can’t believe it,” she gasped. “How in the world did you find them?” 

Kenzo said nothing, and instead crouched down and sat in the small space between the couch and the coffee table. He watched the flames lick the top of the ceramic pieces, as black wisps of smoke flew upward and dissipated into the air. He knew he had gotten the gift for her, yet these subtle but strong reminders that it brought forth, made him feel as though he had gotten it for himself all along. 

As he sat there staring at the flames of the candles, lost in reflection, he suddenly felt a chill breeze creeping its way into the room. When he looked up, he noticed his mother standing next to the open window. She wore a long navy blue satin nightgown, and nothing else, as bits of snowflakes sporadically fluttered their way inside the living room. She stood there, staring out blankly, curling her toes back and forth on the plush carpet, unperturbed by the sudden drop in the room’s temperature. 

  Kenzo stood up quickly and made his way over as a swirl of wind from the window and his movement swept over the area, instantly extinguishing both of the candles flames. He closed the window and wrapped a nearby blanket around his mother’s shoulders. She pulled the fabric across her chest and turned back towards him. The all too familiar look that she gave him in that moment sent a dreadful shiver down his spine. 

“H-how did I get here,” she stuttered. “What happened to the music?” 

Kenzo guided her by her forearm and sat her back down gently on the couch. He brought out the blue lighter, and relit the candles, first the woman-shaped one, and then the man. He edged the candles closer and began to sing again. 

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you,” he sang, his voice slightly shaking. 

His breathing calmed as he watched the smile reappear on his mother’s face again. It had been only a month since the doctor's diagnosis, but it seemed that her decline was growing by the day. Eventually the memories would be gone, so Kenzo did everything in his power to bring them back to the surface in any way that he could. In fact, today wasn’t even her birthday. 

“Happy birthday to you,” he finished the song. Although he had hoped for her to blow out the candles and make a wish, she instead stood up again and walked back over to the window. As she attempted to open it for a second time, Kenzo rushed over to try and stop her, hitting his shin hard against the coffee table. 

“Argh!” he wailed. 

His mother failed to notice. She instead turned from the window and walked towards the kitchen, paying no attention to her flustered son. Kenzo swiftly grabbed the lighter from the table, stuffed it in his waist pocket and then blew out the candle flames before quickly making his way after her. When he turned the corner, he looked on in dismay as she had already managed to get the refrigerator door open, and was now casually pouring herself a drink from the half-full tub of orange juice into a lightly used ceramic cereal bowl. 

Kenzo sat motionless under the awning of the bus stop. He was transfixed with the blue lighter that he held in the palm of his left hand. “Some luck,” he thought, as he watched the number forty-nine bus turn the corner from First Avenue and pass by quickly in front of him. 

He looked up and could barely read the snow covered sign of the Serenity Springs care facility across the street. It was as if his mother’s fading memory drifted away with each drop of snow that fell onto that sign. He felt like he had abandoned her there. Like he had left her there to rot. 

Kenzo looked down at his watch. Seven P.M. The bus was fifteen minutes late, and the air was only getting colder. He looked up from the bus stop and saw an illuminated TAXI sign on a worn yellow sedan. Standing up quickly, he waved his hand frantically in the air, and the vehicle came to a screeching halt. 

He stepped inside and could immediately smell the odor of mothballs and stale smoke. The driver looked back at him. He returned the glare, making out his copper eyes and the thick-brown unibrow that connected them. “Where to?” Asked the driver. 

“The Galaxy Mall,” Kenzo directed, and settled into the creases of the shabby back seat. 

He smelled something off and then pressed his nose to the collar of his shirt. “Must be the taxi,” he thought, and attempted to roll down the back passenger side window to catch a breath of air. Yet as soon as he pressed down on the switch, the driver had already pushed down the lock button for the window. Kenzo looked back up to the rear view mirror. The driver returned the look, and asserted his dominance. 

Instead of making a fuss about it, Kenzo leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. The road was bumpy and the seats, god-awfully uncomfortable. He felt that at any moment, a spring would release and poke him in the behind if he wasn’t too careful. He was kicking himself for not having just waited.

The taxi went over another bump. Then another. Every time that it did, the blue lighter in his pocket began to dance, and as it danced, it slowly but surely began to make its way out towards the opening in his pocket, until it finally pushed its way out and fell down between the creases of the shabby back seat. 

“Galaxy Mall,” The driver announced, and pressed down on the lock switch of the cab, followed shortly after by a “click.”