A Year in June: Chapter 21

             Boston in June. It was a hot muggy day, about a week after her flight from Narita to Washington DC and from Washington DC to Boston. Her hair, normally already a spastic mess of curls, was untamable. She tugged at it as she entered the cool office building for her fellowship follow-up interview.

            As she entered the building, her cellphone dinged with an alert sound set for her international messenger. She hadn’t heard the sound for weeks, not since she left Japan and stopped contacting people internationally. Who could be contacting her from overseas? As she pulled out her phone it rang out again, and again, and again. Bewildered and avoiding the questioning stare of the receptionist she bowed apologetically, instinctively mumbled “Sumimasen”, and went to a chair in the corner of the lobby. Once seated, she proceeded to read her flurry of messages.

            They were from Minamisanriku. From locals and relief volunteers who were still in Japan. People whose numbers she had gotten and only contacted once or twice, usually to give them their restored photographs.

The messages came in a mix of Japanese and English, but one thing was clear. Minazuki Saito was dead.

           

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