Chapter 26 Feather
Feather
The Obon festival is in full swing across the city.
Tourists, locals, kids, and even a stray cat wander around on the streets.
People visit shrines and temples. Some of the streets have even been blocked off for the three-day celebration.
A stage has been set up at a three-way intersection in Arakawa.
A group of drummers performed just in front of us hours ago.
There was even a dance everyone did that Aiko called an ei ja nai ka.
Apparently, the movements in the dance reflect the hard work our ancestors have done, from mining coal to cropping fields to spinning silk.
Right now, I can’t stop staring at the lanterns outside. They’ve been aglow all day, but with the sun setting, my gaze goes to them every time I peer out from behind the stage curtains. I’m not religious and even I can see how special this occasion is.
The lanterns are lit to guide ancestors home.
Even though I don’t really know what happens when we die, I can’t help feeling like Amah is standing here with me.
All of my grandmothers are. They must be surprised by how much Tokyo has changed.
They’re probably happy that their great-great-however-many-greats granddaughter is here, too.
And just in case they are standing in the crowd, I want to make sure I put on a good show.
“How many people are out there?” Aiko asks.
We peer out the curtains together. A small crowd has formed in front of the stage. They know my fashion show is coming soon. Maybe my grandparents have been corralling them over from the afterlife.
“Yikes.” Aiko grimaces. “We’ve only got an hour before showtime. Hurry up!”
I suck in a deep breath, then slide back behind the curtain.
Keiko and Yukie arrived a while ago. My yukatas have been pinned and restitched just for this.
They’re dressed, but to complete my vision, the girls are painting their faces white and drawing feathers along their cheeks.
Yukie wears a bald cap as a pink wig sits on a dummy head beside her.
Keiko is applying a coat of red lipstick.
“Do you need help putting on your yukata?” Keiko asks when we make eye contact.
I nod and try to push away my nerves. “Yes, please.”
We all work together to get me dressed in my homage to my grandmothers.
As the minutes roll by, chatter fills the air.
Even though I only have one strip of eyelashes glued on, I peer out at the audience through the curtains once more.
When Mrs. Matsumoto said a few of her clients would be here—I’d pictured ten people.
Fifteen, tops. But when I see splashes of vibrant wigs, bell-bottom jeans, and lacy skirts, I realize there are more people here than I anticipated.
“We mentioned the show to some customers at Cuppa Coffee, and they recognized your name from social media,” Yukie says sheepishly while peering through the curtains with me. “They wanted to see you in person!”
I can’t help but smile. All these people are here to support me and I couldn’t be prouder of the designs they are about to see.
I just wish my girlfriend were here. But that’s the thing about long distance, isn’t it?
It’s having moments like this where I wear a smile while yearning for Yua.
No one knows there’s a satellite beacon inside of me that’s constantly signaling to her, waiting for a response.
My phone buzzes in the pocket I’d sewn into this yukata.
It’s not very traditional, but after failing to have pockets in my Neck Lace gown, I’ve learned my lesson.
I pull my phone out and sure enough, a picture of Yua lights up my screen.
Even from across the world, it’s like she heard my soul calling out to her.
I swipe at my phone. “Good morning, beautiful. You’re up early.”
Yua yawns with a smile wide enough to fit an ocean.
She’s in a baggy tee with her rainbow hair sticking up in every direction.
The colors in her hair have faded from vibrant to pastel over the summer.
It was once long enough to brush her shoulders.
But as soon as she got to LA, she cut it back to her ears.
She looks good with short hair. Though, to be fair, she always looks good.
“I couldn’t sleep knowing your fashion show was coming up.” Yua beams. “I don’t want to miss a second of it. Are Keiko and—”
“Hello!” Keiko says, sliding into frame with me.
“Hey,” Yukie adds, joining my other side.
“Don’t forget me!” Aiko says, jumping up behind me.
“Looks like the party has already started.” Yua smiles, taking her phone into the bathroom with her. She props it up against the sink as she grabs a toothbrush. “I want to be there so baaaaaad! I don’t think each of you know how lucky you are to be with Lilyn right now.”
Aiko hops up again, eyebrows appearing behind me. “We know, Yua! She’s iconic. Wish you were here, too!”
I smile with my lips but not with my eyes because yes, I’m happy to be at the Obon Festival doing a fashion show.
But what I wouldn’t give to sit on a park bench and laugh with Yua right after.
To relax by sharing a strawberry shortcake with her and sipping on Japanese coffee through the same straw.
To snuggle up with her in her new tiny apartment and simply gaze into the eyes I’ve fallen in love with over and over again.
But in moments like this when I miss her, I remind myself that this is only for a few months.
Then she’ll be on the East Coast, and we can explore New York City together.
Before I can say more, the curtain is pulled open. I catch another quick glimpse of the people in the storefront before Mrs. Matsumoto slips into our makeshift dressing room.
“Your makeup isn’t done yet, Lilyn!” Mrs. Matsumoto exclaims. “I’ll begin announcements in ten minutes.”
Keiko and Yukie scramble back to their makeup kits. Aiko peers out and waves at her parents. Meanwhile, Yua’s looking at me through the screen. “Mum?”
Mrs. Matsumoto glances over my shoulder. “Are you distracting Lilyn?”
Yua’s got a toothbrush in her mouth. “No?”
Mrs. Matsumoto waves a hand at her daughter. “Lilyn is supposed to be live streaming from her phone. You need to hang up.”
“All right, fine. I’ll hop off this call and jump on your live.” Yua shifts her gaze to me. Her voice lowers when she speaks. “I miss you, but I’ll see you soon.”
I smile down at her. She’s in the palms of my hands but so far away. “I miss you, too, and I’ll see you soon.”
She doesn’t say it, but I feel the depth of her I love you. Yua blows me a kiss before she ends the call. I swipe into my social media app and start a live feed. Yua’s the first person to join. I hand my device to Mrs. Matsumoto.
“I’ll make sure she’s got the perfect view of the runway,” she assures me.
And with that, Mrs. Matsumoto hurries back through the curtains.
I peer through the gap she left behind. She glides over to the Nakamuras.
They stand at the front of the stage with a tripod in front of them.
Mrs. Matsumoto clips my phone to the stand.
When the people in the crowd see her, they hush.
Crap. I’ve still only got one eyelash strip glued on. Can I get my makeup done in ten minutes?
Since Keiko and Yukie have finished their touch-ups, they help me with my hair while I glue on another strip of lashes.
Meanwhile, Aiko scrambles to finish curling her hair and slip into her Paisley Peahen gown.
She’s strapping on her stilettos by the time the music outside dies down.
The crowd goes silent, and we all hurry to the gap in the curtains.
“Thank you all for coming!” Mrs. Matsumoto says.
Dang! That was the fastest ten minutes of my life!
“Are you ready?” Aiko asks me.
I glance down at myself, feeling more secure in my yukata than I did the first time I wore it. Keiko and Yukie made sure to bundle me up perfectly. “Yes. Are you?”
Aiko twirls in place. The tail of her peahen feathers ripples around, nearly slapping me in the process.
I still can’t believe I sewed an entire cosplay outfit for her in such a short amount of time.
Before coming to Tokyo, something like this would’ve taken a month.
But after working under Mrs. Matsumoto on so many feathery designs, making a peahen dress was as easy as falling asleep.
“Perfect!” I clap my hands together, unable to contain my excitement.
This is really happening. I’m really about to walk down this stage in my yukata inspired by my grandmothers.
The people who matter most to me will be watching me live—but who else will be watching?
What about my school counselors at Odyssey?
What if Mrs. Matsumoto told her contacts at CIF about the show?
Oh God. I hope I don’t trip over these fabrics and fall flat on my face.
I peer out the gap in the curtains once more.
The four of us are stacked on top of each other, watching the back of Mrs. Matsumoto as she gestures to a gingham yukata on a mannequin.
My cheeks flush. Even though she’s speaking in Japanese, I know she’s telling the crowd all about the first yukata that we made together.
It’s not the prettiest thing, but at least my viewers will see how far I’ve come in my sewing journey.
“And now, without further ado,” Mrs. Matsumoto says, switching to English and wheeling the mannequin off the runway, “I present Lilyn Jeong’s collection: Feather.”
“Showtime!” Aiko says, scrambling to her feet.
We pull away from the curtains and line up behind Aiko. She’s going out first, then Keiko, Yukie, and me. Music thumps into the air, and the crowd outside simmers down. Aiko wrings her hands at the front of the line, takes a few quick breaths, then pushes the curtains open and struts.
It’s like she becomes another person. She glides down the stage, legs kicking like a stallion as the green-and-blue skirt tail ripples behind her.
She reaches the end of the improvised catwalk and strikes a pose with her hand on her hip before twirling around and marching back.
She’s even more stunning from the front.
Her shoulders sway side to side, and her rose gold hair falls away from her face.
Honestly, she could be the next Bella Hadid.
The moment Aiko is behind the curtains, she breaks into an excited fist pump. Somehow, she manages to jump in the air and land on her stilettos without breaking an ankle. “That was so much fun. I feel like a goddess!”
I bring her in for a tight hug as Keiko hits the runway.
She holds her arms out so that the sleeves of my first yukata flare out at her sides.
The back of the yukata is split in half.
One side is solid black, the other side is a rainbow pattern that almost resembles tie-dye.
But despite the busy colors, I can still clearly see the phoenixes that I stitched onto the back.
As Keiko struts, the feathers bounce like the birds themselves are alive.
Because Keiko is so tall, her strides are also longer.
She’s finished her walk in no time, and next is Yukie.
Yukie’s platform shoes thump against the floor in beat with the music, reaching the end of the catwalk.
She whirls around so that everyone can see the phoenixes on the back of her yukata.
Unlike the ones on Keiko’s yukata, Yukie’s phoenixes are crossing paths—rainbow bird soaring to the black panel of the yukata, and blackbird soaring into the rainbow panel.
My stomach roils with nerves as Yukie turns around and marches back to me. It’s my turn—holy crap. It’s my turn.
I straighten my shoulders. The moment Yukie crosses behind the curtain, I step out in the yukata inspired by Amah’s uchikake.
I feel regal as hell when the train drags behind me.
My hands are clasped in front so that the viewers can see the feather-like pattern I’ve used for the sleeves.
The outer coat is a blend of pastel colors that pop against the black undercoats.
I’ve become the embodiment of the birds in my feather collection.
I reach the end of the runway and smile at the camera. Ma’s on the other side. So are my friends and my girlfriend. I imagine their faces smiling in the crowd with me. They’ve been rooting for me since the beginning, and now I finally get to show them the artist I’ve become.
I spin around, showing the single phoenix with rainbow and black feathers hand-stitched on my back.
I spread my arms, enhancing the design with my silhouette.
Even though most of the viewers have been quiet and respectful during the show, I can’t mistake Mrs. Nakamura’s gasp behind me.
Now that I’m facing the back of the stage, I catch Keiko and Yukie gazing at me, heads poked out.
Aiko smiles at me with a thumbs-up. And then I strut forward, returning to the start of the runway.
My friends join me and form a line across the catwalk.
We link hands—Aiko to my left, Keiko directly to my right, and Yukie beside her.
We do one last strut down the runway, together in a perfect row.
Once we reach the end, we bow, and the audience cheers.
My heart is beating so loudly that I can’t distinguish it from the applause, and the music still thumping like rain.
When I think no one is looking, I blow a kiss at my phone. I’m in a crowd full of people. Thousands of eyes are watching my stream. But there’s only one girl I’m blowing a kiss to, and I’ll count down the days until my lips touch hers once more.