tamagoyaki

you know when imperfections become perfections?

like ojiichan’s tamagoyaki.

Drenched in sake the alcohol not even fully

burned off before he served the big plate.

yotto! tabenasai

he’d say

and I would pick up my chopsticks in the way obaachan taught me how

tabenaide – don’t eat it

papa would warn me

scolding ojiichan for feeding my little brother and I alcohol.

but I want to, ojiichan made it!

and before anyone could say another word

it was resting in my stomach.

I remember it burned my throat and my eyes watered

it smelled like the cut I got on my knee when I fell off the bicycle

The one mama disinfected

and I had cried because it hurt more than the cut itself.

don’t finish it

papa sighed, but ojiichan would take his glasses off

and suddenly his handkerchief was on his forehead

and he would be talking about the war

sensou no toki ne

we had to ration our food

this portion could have served me multiple days

and suddenly my throat stopped burning

or maybe its cause my conscience burned more

and I reached over for another bite

the egg quaking atop my chopsticks

like how ojiichan’s hands quaked as he reached over and

patted my head.

I blink

and suddenly it is not just his hands that are shaking

but his voice

and now

I am on the phone with him and he is telling me

that when he gets better

he will make me tamagoyaki again

and now

I am making my own tamagoyaki

I burn off all the alcohol because that is an imperfection

that only ojiichan has perfected.