True Stories of a Fictional Life

I'm Home Now

It is quiet here. The world moves in solitude, wind moving dead leaves past the trees that were once their home. The sun sets, leaving behind the same quiet city, frozen in time. No cars drive on Alameda St., no bikes move through Japanese Village Plaza, but even if they did, they would move through with silence.

Little Tokyo has been reclaimed by nature.

It has been 100 years since the claim of dangerous gases evacuated the entire coastline and all of Los Angeles. A hundred years since any human had stepped foot back in Little Tokyo. A hundred years since the concrete jungle was tasked with filling the lives and dreams of the residents.

And now?

Now I walk the sand-covered streets, marveling at the nature that reclaimed Little Tokyo. Now I step over strong-rooted trees that have cracked the pavement and spill out onto the surface. Now I look into the shop windows — Pop Killer, Q Pop, Rafu Bassun — and see dusty memories living in a cave of history.

You may wonder why no one ever returned after the initial investigation was made that showed Little Tokyo was not in danger. I've asked that question myself. The only answer is that it took twenty years to be sure, and after such a long time, people decided to leave it abandoned. All the residents had relocated to the East coast and it would have taken too much effort to rebuild the city.

But for me, this is spot to hope for. This town was everything to my family. This is where my family lived, before the exodus from the city. This is where my roots are. This is where I have returned, five generations later.

I'm looking for my family's old building, which from what I can tell from the old journals, is called AVA Apartments. I scan the map I took with me before I left on this journey. Maps are a relic that are priceless, even if never used. Maps of Little Tokyo are rare, thought to be lost, so I keep this close to my heart, ensuring it lives — or dies — with me.

I consult the lines and characters on the map. The map says I'm going in the right direction, but I've passed the Little Tokyo library branch five minutes ago.

I've gone too far, I think to myself, deciding to trust my head over a map. I pull out my family's album, which show me the streets I have memorized. I'm right. I'm not even in Little Tokyo anymore.

Time to turn around.

"Kameyo-san!"

"Yes," I say, looking over my shoulder. Kazue and Rei trail behind me, their lights putting on a festive show as the sun dims.

"Are we there yet?" Kazue zooms around me, energetic even after our long journey. Rei follows suit, and I stand still as they orbit around me, waiting them out.

"Soon," I say as we start off again. "Just a little further, Kazue. Rei, stay close, okay?"

"Alright," they say together, their voices enthusiastic but tired. I smile. We have been a family for years, just the three of us. The journey has been long, but they both know what this means to me.

We walk further on and find AVA Apartments. I send Rei to find a way into the building. Kazue and I tour the perimeter.

The vines and moss have covered almost every inch of the building. We make small openings through the plants to peer inside, but we see nothing. I expected as much. My family's story goes that once the order to evacuate the city was given, everyone left at the same time, giving no time to gather any belongings. That means that part of my history may lie within the building.

"Kameyo-san," Rei calls out, and Kazue and I look up. She's on top of the building, her light appearing like a moon in the darkness. "The roof's collapsed. The building is just a shell."