The Spitting Image

The councilwoman's desk was terribly cluttered, with stacks of papers and old newspaper and magazine articles strewn over it. Absentmindedly, Tara peered at some of it while she waited for her return. The Ninja Head Councilwoman had asked to speak with her after training that day; it didn't sound too urgent. If it had been a mission, she would have had to meet her in the council room, just like all the other shinobi and kunoichi did. What could it possibly be about? Was she in trouble? No, couldn't be. Tara always followed the Academy rules: she never left the dormitory after hours nor did she start fights, outside of the sparring field, that is. Perhaps the young girl had received a message from her older sister, Lorinda, who was still gone on her mission in Southeast Asia, and had been called there to get an update on how she was doing. Tara shrugged the speculating thoughts away; she would find out soon enough.

To pass the time, the 18 year old was attempting to organize some of the clutter, neatly straightening up the stacks of articles , casually throwing away balled up pieces of paper, when the edge of a polaroid photograph caught her eye. Curious, the brown skinned teenager picked it up and took a look. It had never occurred to her that the councilwoman was the kind to decorate her desk with nostalgic memorabilia.

It was a picture of young African American woman in her mid 20s. She was very pretty, her hair big and in a retro jerry curled style. The lady was wearing a broad shouldered pink blazer over a black dress with a matching neon belt. She was posing with her back against a fence that bordered off an area of a beach, the ocean in the background. Judging by the style and the quality of the photo, and the obvious shoulder pads, it was probably taken sometime in the 80s. Who was she? Tara wondered to herself. Was she a relative of the councilwoman Nicolette Murasaki? Although the sensei was of French and Japanese origin, it was possible to have the black woman in her family. Those days, shinobi came from all over the world took missions to aid in making the world a better place. The elder woman seldom spoke of her family, but surely she would have mentioned someone as poised and stylish as this. The more the teenage New Yorker studied the mysterious person, the more familiar she seemed. Had she seen her somewhere before? Maybe the woman had been an actress or famous supermodel in the 1980s? Or perhaps she happened to be one of the Head Sensei's former students? Tara flipped the polaroid to the back in hopes of finding some sort of description. She gasped. There, in cursive letters read, Loretta Davison, Venice Beach, 1986. The young ninja's jaws dropped in disbelief. No wonder the lady had looked so familiar; it was a picture of her mother who in her youth, had looked exactly like her older sister Lorinda!

"There you are, Tara, dear!" came the sudden voice of an older woman, from the direction of the door. "I didn't expect you to be here so early! I hope I hadn't kept you waiting long."

"No, maam," the teenage girl exclaimed, bowing customarily upon the councilwoman's entrance. The Head Ninja of the Academy, Councilwoman Nicolette was indeed a woman to be respected. Not only had she trained a reasonable number of ninjas in martial arts and delegate humanitarian missions, but she had was the one who had opened the secret shinobi school which doubled as an orphanage. Usually the school took in orphans like Tara, whose parents had died on missions, but it also took in others. All children were raised and instructed in martial arts and ninja weaponry until the age of 16, then they were given the option of continuing the shinobi lifestyle or pursuing a regular life. Either way, the Academy was there to support them and help them until they were ready to go to college and pursue careers. Madam Murasaki had been the one to pioneer the whole program.

"Oh, I see you found the old photograph," the elder woman exclaimed, her eyes lighting up, "I found it when I happened to be going through some old case files. I wanted to surprise you and Lorinda with it, but it seems that the cat is out of the bag now." Tara smiled weakly in gratitude, but she was too taken aback to reply. So, this was her and Lorinda's mother; the one whose very footsteps they were striving to walk in. Tara had only been a baby when her parents died, so she never knew what they looked like. Her older sister, Lorinda, having been at least 4 years old at the time, and had had a little more time to get to know them, but she could only remember their appearance vaguely. All of the instructors often remarked on how uncanny the resemblance was between Lorinda and their mother; she was the spitting image of her, the same soft nose and full lips, the same high cheek bones, even the same height. Now that Tara was able to see for herself, a pang of jealousy stabbed her heart. The teachers had all been right.

The former kunoichi seemed to sense how she was feeling. "Your mother was a credit to the academy," the graying councilwoman murmured, touching Tara lightly on the shoulder, "A female ninja with a sharp mind and a compassionate heart was rather hard to find in those days. I see a great deal of her in you, Tara."

The shy teenager thanked the councilwoman but deep down, she wished that the 70 something year old woman hadn't said that. It had been very kind of her to try to make her feel better but it wasn't true. Tara looked nothing like her mother or sister, nothing! She did not have her sister's lovely almond eye shape, or feminine bone structure; her features was much plainer, understated, some even said it was slightly intimidating, a feature that was once considered more preferable for a ninja. Perhaps, when going up against dangerous people in the field, it was beneficial to look stern and unemotional, but when it came to one's social life, it didn't encourage many invitations. One sensei had told Tara that she looked more like her father, with his wise eyes and thick hair. It might have been meant for a compliment, but no girl wanted to be told that she looked like a man, even if it was her father. The head councilwoman dismissed her, and bowing once more, Tara set off for her room, which was in the girl dormitory on the other side of campus. She sighed deeply to herself, glancing at the retro polaroid again. Well, she might not have her mother's beauty, it was still nice to know that they shared a love for the ocean.