We stumbled along through the night arm in arm, neither sure of who was clinging to whom. The
bluish, flickering streetlights were separated by intimidating stretches of total blackness; the next light was
always just out of sight. The road wound gently uphill through hills that towered high overhead on both
sides; somewhere to the right was a river, though we knew that only by the sound of water running over the
rocks somewhere below. At length the hills and trees gave way to a string of weathered, ancient Japanese
houses and inns lit by low, rust-colored streetlights. Even at this relatively early hour, all of the windows
were dark; the houses seemed to lean sleepily against each other. I briefly considered what I would do if
one were to suddenly stir; I tried to walk more quietly.

As the houses grew more sparse and we plunged once more into darkness, I asked Hiroshi how soon
we would get where we were going.

“We’re there,” he said. “Look up.”
I looked up. For a long moment, there was nothing to see - just blackness and the soft rush of an
invisible river. But then, suddenly, they were there: first one, then four, then seven, then fifty; the lazy,
floating green lights seemed to pour in from nowhere as my eyes found something on which to focus. First
one, then sixty, then two hundred, drifting up in wide, sweeping arcs down along the river, then up to the
trees, then up over the barely-visible hills. First one, then, suddenly, a thousand. We watched the fireflies
glide silently over the river and rise into the sky, wordlessly, as though they would flee at the slightest
disturbance. I don’t know how long we stood there, frozen. If I stared just a little bit longer, I was sure I’d
see some ancient, mythical creature rise out of the forest with them and into the moonless sky.

“Oh no.” Hiroshi flipped open his cell phone. I looked into the light for an instant and recoiled,
blind. “We have to hurry. Is it okay if we leave now?”
But there was no point in asking. I looked up over the river, but the hills, the water, the fireflies were
gone. They had fled after all; the spell was broken. We set off running down the way we had come,
pounding footsteps swallowed in the streetlights’ wake. The houses did not stir; there were no assailing
bears; the mountain goblins let us pass.

We reached the lonely train platform with just enough time to turn and look back down the road we
had taken. We stepped onto the train; the doors closed. There was a second; we breathed. It was when I
finally sat down, exhausted, that I realized I had found exactly what it was I had come here to experience.

At that moment, I could believe that if there were a bus stop along that road, I had only to wait and I’d meet
Totoro there.

Feeling not at all silly, I drank my tea.

16



Selected Essays
from Third Competition
(2007-2008) 17