returning from returning from the high school where i helped an English teacher record a dialogue in which i asked the bright morning "for date" still euphoric yet growing aware i'd become regretful for not taking the words out of the dialogue and pushing them into air i love zooming around on my bike "sumisu sensei!" waist-high bobbins run over to me and jibber elicit a game of jyanken… rock-paper-scissors - i teach them a new sign, the gun which beats anything and the pointer finger which you use to flick boogers and even beats the gun i repeat jibberish as well i can makes them laugh they still don't understand that i don't pull me off my bike jumping around on the playground in autumn air "sumisu sumisu" my attention everywhere but when it wasn't found a body flying at me knee in the stomach managed not to drop him yukimushi - some pull the little bugs out of the leaves i'm excited to see them heard their frail flight foretells snow but all i see is smashed wings in open hands i understand something - they want me to kneel to the ground a pile of leaves and laughter baptize my head - aarrgh! the monster bites back and battle ensues i try not to use superior height but each in turn… leaves leaves laughter leaves crying - i turn around head-level with mine he stoops bright great crying blood flowing down his mouth open crying eyes wrinkled crying oh my god go to him blood coming from his nostrils must be serious for that skulls don't crack i must stay here then if that bad language language the others actually seem to be still laughing from the fallen leaves i yell the only thing i can say to help in this situation, point to where they should go they run still laughing we have some time alone he cradles on all fours, my hand on his warm back a flow of blood dripping to the grass "daijoubu daijoubu daijoubu" it's all right it's all right it's all right he turns quieter and sits maybe less panicked more aware of just the blood and less the meaning "tish tish…" he sobs whispers - i know that word pull out from my backpack all the tissues i've got rip open the pack "douzo douzo" please take he hold them over his face i don't know what else to do i wonder what happened he must have fallen off these stepping stones his little warm body shakes i hold his shoulder kids the librarian run around the corner i look up can't even explain i don't know what happened we're in a crowd of eyes now she takes new tissues wipes his face clean and i see for all the blood a gentle cut on the gentle ridge of his nose between heaven-ward watery eyes very smooth that separation one my visage doesn't have a slow push of blood begins again she presses tissue over his face hold his head back and walks him away with some children the director of the library and i clean up - all i can say is "i didn't see" some response back i guess he understands kids return cling to me "sumisu!" we play i wonder it's only the next day i realize the feeling i had for that little boy quietly crying realizing the meaning of blood and my warm hand on his little back the low ridge between his eyes i see the director later approach him he answers the question i was phrasing in my head "…san…" three fingers he holds up - three stitches a few days later i go to the elementary school a little boy comes up to me a tiny bandage on the slight bridge of his nose i teach his class animals in English he reaches in my coat pocket pokes pulls me just like all the rest                                                  yukimushi                                                  October 16 1998                                                  Furen-cho Japan                                                  Adam B. Smith