Luck of the Kitsune

The day my obachan, my grandmother, died was the worst day of my life. She was my first and best friend and the person I ran to whenever life got complicated. She made me feel better, even when I struggled with my parents or did poorly in school. Even when I was bullied, she'd find a snarky way to turn it on the other person. I remember sleeping over at her house, and we'd stay up late watching movies, and she always made me hot cocoa with seven marshmallows. She said seven was my lucky number. I would tell her everything going on in my life and spill every secret to her, the words flowing off my tongue as smooth as the cocoa going down my throat. 

Every year on my birthday, I would always wait to open her gift in the privacy of my room. Her presents were always thoughtful, like they were made just for me, a shared secret. The weird thing was that her gifts were never something I needed at the time. Then, something would happen, and her gift's purpose would become apparent. One year, she gave me this beautiful bamboo green fan from Japan, something ornamental that I just left on my dresser, a daily reminder of her kindness. Then two weeks later, our local temple announced the annual bon dance event. The temple was created to be a bamboo forest, and they hung lanterns all around the courtyard, creating a fairytale setting. I saw a flyer for the bon dance, and miraculously, the bamboo green matched my fan's green. The fan was also made of bamboo. When I told my grandmother, she just smiled with a twinkle in her eye, saying, "well, what do you know?" 

For Christmas, we'd always do something together, just the two of us, instead of exchanging gifts. She knew I couldn't afford a gift for her, so she made it an experience just for us. We'd go to a movie, fight the crowds, and she'd buy me all the snacks I wanted, maybe because she knew my parents would never indulge me. Or she'd take me to a Christmas night event at the zoo with lights illuminating everywhere, some of the animals more active than in the day when they were just snoozing. Then we'd eat sushi or ramen for dinner together. I'd always order my ramen with gyoza, my grandmother would get udon with shrimp tempura, and we'd share inari sushi.

She started getting sick around my junior year in high school. At first, she just seemed tired a lot more. When I'd visit her house for our sleepover, she'd fall asleep during the movie, something she had never done before. I thought maybe she was just getting older, but then she started to eat less when we went out, and more often than not, she'd just ask me to hang out at her house instead. I was happy to download a movie for us to watch together or read to her until she fell asleep. I was the one who started making the hot cocoa for us instead of her.

Then a year later, right before prom, she was gone. I remember getting the call when I was standing in the dressing room at the mall. I was shopping with my friend, Bree, and she heard my hysterical sobs from her dressing room next door. She ran out and kept repeatedly knocking on the door, begging me to let her in, but I couldn't muster up the energy to peel myself off the floor. I sat on the floor, my tears staining the cerulean blue gown. All I could say was, "she's gone," repeatedly. 

I barely remember the funeral. I just kept thinking I was all on my own now. Though I loved my parents dearly, they didn't understand me like my grandmother. They weren't unkind. They just didn't seem to connect with me the way she did. My mother held me tight, and I sobbed in her arms. I felt like I had taken a breath and couldn't remember how to exhale.

The day after her funeral, I bought a bouquet of flowers and left one flower at each of the places that reminded me of her. I left one outside the movie theater, one outside the zoo gates, at three of our favorite Japanese restaurants, at the bookstore, at the temple, outside her home, already dreading the day my parents would put it up for sale and outside the Asian market. Finally, I stopped at the park and walked to the jungle gym, where she always brought me to play. I sat on a nearby bench and began to abs-mindedly rip the petals off one flower, one by one, in a "he-loves-me, he-loves-me-not" fashion as I remembered her running around with me. When I realized what I was doing, I ripped the remaining flowers off their stems and flung them into the air. I watched the petals float away in the wind, hoping they would take away my sorrows. 

When the last petal had flown away, I dragged my feet to the trash can to throw away the stems. It felt like closing a chapter in a book I desperately didn't want to end. I stood there and threw the remaining branches in one by one as the tears rolled down my face.

"Seven. What a lucky number," said a voice, cutting through my world of sorrow.

"I'm sorry?" I wiped my eyes and turned to see a woman standing there. She was older than my parents but younger than my grandmother and looked to be picking up the litter around the park. She was dressed in a soft blue sweater and gray pants and wearing disposable gloves to pick up the things she found. 

"Seven stems. Seven is a lucky number. It seems to be extra lucky for you, though."

"Oh, I didn't count them. I don't particularly feel lucky."

"You are, dear. I can sense it."

"I'm sorry, I don't feel like talking much right now."

"That's quite all right. That's why the phrase is 'silence is golden'," the woman replied. "Don't worry. Whatever is troubling you will work out."

"We just had my grandmother's funeral, and I've never felt so lost," I said, amazed I could divulge something so personal to a perfect stranger.

"You must have cared for her very much, but remember, people we love are never really lost."

"Thank you, I'm sorry to bother you. I need to head home now."

"It's not a bother at all, dear. I'm sure you will find that not everything is lost to us, even in death. It might not seem that way now, but there is a wonder. Here, I found this on the bench a little ways back. Maybe it'll bring you some color into your life on a gray day. Someone must have left it behind." She handed me a jeweled clip, still in its plastic packaging. The clip was gold with jeweled peach flowers inlaid with rhinestones. It was actually quite pretty.

"Thank you, it's beautiful." I tried to muster up a smile and returned to my car. 

"Of course, dear. Peach flowers represent luck and long life. One could even go as far as to say immortality. I'm sure you'll find a use for it soon."

--

The following weekend, I let Bree take me back to the mall to find a dress for prom again. We were going with friends and had already paid for the night. My parents were also very generous and upped my evening allowance. My mom even gave me an additional $50 for my dress.

"Did you want to get the blue dress? The one with the halter? It was beautiful on you," Bree suggested.

"No, it brings back too many sad memories from that day. I'll just think I'm a waterfall of tears."

"You can't be like that. Your obachan would want you to be happy. She would want you to go to prom and have the best day of your life. It's our senior year!" Bree was my only close friend who was full Japanese too, and she would use Japanese words in our daily conversations, like obachan, instead of grandmother.

"Okay, I know. Sorry, I've been so mopey. You're right. She would want that. Let's look at a different store." We went to three different dress stores. I was getting discouraged I wouldn't find anything and resort to the blue dress with sad memories. Finally, I suggested we take a break and get something to eat. We decided to get pretzels and smoothies from Jamba Juice in the food court. 

"Don't worry, we'll find you something, babe." Bree encouraged me. "I won't take you home until you find your dress." 

"Thank you for dealing with me. I know I've been difficult lately," I reply.

"Do not apologize. You're not going to apologize for being sad over your obachan. But, frankly, I would be upset at you if you weren't sad. It's perfectly normal, expected, and good for the soul. It shows you're human."

"Thanks. How much do I owe you for my half?" I'm digging in my purse to find my wallet.

"Nothing, babe. On me. Think of it as payment for letting me drag you to the mall today."

"Thanks again; you didn't have to do that. Oh, I forgot I had this." While rummaging for my wallet in my purse, I found the jeweled hairclip the lady in the park gave me. I pull it out to show Bree.

"Wow, how did you get that? It's beautiful."

"I was at the park by my house being sad, and this random woman gave it to me. She said when I needed color on a gray day or something like that, I was too busy being sad to process. They look like the peach blossoms on the tapestry at my grandmother's house."

"Shut. The. Front. Door," Bree looks like she's seen a ghost, and she nearly drops the hairclip out of her hand. "Turn around right now."

"Okay, you're kind of freaking me out right now." I slowly turn around, and there's a small boutique shop behind us, and there in the window display is the most beautiful dress I've ever seen. It falls right below the knee and has an illusion neckline with long sleeves. The dress is peach-colored with peach flowers cascading all over the bodice, stopping just below the waistline. The skirt is a slightly darker peach made of what looks like chiffon. It's beautiful."

"That dress is beautiful. Get your bag. We're going in."

I barely have time to pick up everything before Bree is in the store.

"Excuse me, can we please see that dress in the window? My best friend's life depends on it."

"Well, hello, ladies. Of course, if this is a life or death situation," the woman says. She expertly peels the dress off the mannequin and guides me to the fitting room in the back of the shop. "I feel like you should hurry and put this on before your friend passes out from excitement," she winks as she closes the door.

I take her advice and undress less fluidly than she did on the mannequin. It fits perfectly. The dress feels like it was made for me. It doesn't even feel like it has to be altered. The sleeves fit smoothly down my arms, and the invisible neckline accentuates my shoulders nicely. 

"Well, how does it look?" Bree asks from the other side of the door. 

"I can't explain it," I shakily reply as I open the door. 

"Oh, my god. You are so beautiful!"

"It feels like it was made for me. It doesn't itch, which I was worried about. I didn't think my shoulders and neckline would be so flattering. It all just works for some reason."

"Wait, one more thing." Bree walks into the dressing room behind me and rummages in my purse. She unsheathes the hairclip from the packaging and clips it behind my ear. It matches the dress perfectly. 

"Well, now. That dress was made for you. How lucky!" the boutique salesperson exclaims. "That looks like the perfect prom dress."

"Thank you, it's perfect," I reply. I take a look at the price tag and gasp. There's no way I can afford this or ask my parents for more money again. 

"Oh, don't worry about that, dear. It's on sale. The description said the flowers would be white instead of peach. We were able to get this one at a discount as it is different from the other ones, as you can see," she points to the rack, and indeed, this dress is the same cut and style as the ones that are hanging, but the flowers are definitely peach and not white like the others. "It seems as if it was waiting for the perfect person," she smiles at me.

"Really? How much will it be?" I ask. I'm crossing my fingers behind my back, hoping I have enough. 

"What about $100? This color seems perfect for you, and I see you already have a matching accessory," she points to the jeweled hair clip in my hair.

"Are you sure? That would be perfect. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this dress means to me."

"You're so beautiful. You're going to look like a princess at prom," Bree exclaims, wiping tears from her eyes. 

I change back into my clothes and return the dress to the saleswoman. She seems oddly familiar somehow. Not just in her mannerisms but in the way she speaks too. She wraps the dress in tissue paper and puts it in a brown shopping bag with the store's logo.

"I put a special store gift in there for you, too. Something tells me seven is your lucky number. Have a great time at prom, dear. You're going to look so beautiful."

"Thank you so much for letting me have this dress. This means more to me than you'll ever know."

"Thank you for giving this dress a wonderful purpose, dear."

We walk out, and I look back as we exit the store, but the saleswoman has already retreated from the cash wrap to the back. 

"Did you think she seemed familiar to you somehow?" I asked Bree.

"No, not really. Just really nice. What was the store gift?"

I pull back the tissue in the bag to reveal a small purse. The fabric's color matches the dress, and on the front, there are seven of the same flowers. It's beautiful.

"Wow, maybe it's a gift with purchase thing. It's the same as the dress so she can't sell it like the other dresses. Also, the flowers are the wrong color," Bree says.

"You're right. It just seems odd, that's all."

"Babes, you're going through a tough time right now. But don't knock the kindness of strangers. It seems to all be working out too. You have the perfect outfit for the prom! Oh wait, do you have shoes to wear?"

"Yes, I have these champagne-colored pumps I got for Christmas from my grandmother. It was the last gift she gave me."

"See, she's taking care of you even from the beyond! But, hey, maybe she's a kitsune or something!"

"A kitsune? A Japanese mythological creature? Are you being serious?"

"Eh, who knows! I'm not one to denounce the possibility. There are some things in life we cannot explain. So why not just fill in the gaps with magic?"

"I didn't think you'd be so open to it. I also don't know too much about the kitsune."

"Well, we're at the mall. Let's check out the bookstore." Bree pulls me out the door, and I do my best to keep up. So many thoughts are swirling around in my head. I don't know what to make of it all. Am I just overreacting and trying to make something out of nothing? Is this a coping mechanism for trying to get over bachan's death?

"Welcome to Eden Books! My name is Grant. Can I help you find anything today?" the bookseller at the door greets us cheerfully.

"Yes, please. We need to find your children's section. Do you happen to have a folktale section by chance?" Bree replies.

"Yes, of course. I can show it to you," the bookseller replies, eager to help.

"They're broken down into sub-categories by country as well," Grant says as we arrive at the section.

"Perfect, thank you so much."

"Please let any of us know if you need any further assistance," Grant smiles as he returns to the front of the store. 

"Okay, here we go. Mother Goose, Peter Rabbit, and a bunch of other classics. Okay, Chinese New Year, we're getting closer. Momotaro, Kaguya Hime… Japanese folklore!" Bree pulls the hardcover book off the shelf and immediately scans the table of contents. 

"There! Page 148, kitsune," I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead from anticipation. 

"There are 13 different types of kitsune, and they can also be described as messengers or reincarnations of the soul. They're also shapeshifters," Bree starts reading from the book.

As she turns the page, I gasp. There is a depiction of a kitsune in human form on the page, and the illustration looks almost like a photo. A woman smiles on a bridge, her hair faintly blowing in the wind. 

"Um, am I crazy? Or does she look like a younger version of your obachan?" Bree asks me nervously. 

I suddenly feel so dizzy and fall to the floor.