Miss Jones, 

    Since you’ll have me, I will travel from California to Chicago in a few days’ time. I’ve purchased a train ticket and expect to see you in about two to three days. I look forward to seeing you. 

M 

*** 

    “So, who this man again in this letter?”

    “My beau momma.”

    “Mmhm. Where you meet this beau yours?” It had been rehearsed…. she’d formulated a whole story as to explain him… It hurt her to even consider lying to her momma but she wasn’t left without much choice. 

    “We met at one of my performances.”

    “And you say he a veteran?”

    “Yes ma’am.”

    “What branch he serve in?”

    “Army.”

    “Ah-huh.”

    “Now Momma, he’s comin all the way from California to see us. He wanna meet you real bad.”

    “Where his people from?” A sharp slice cut into her stomach. 

    “He’s of Japanese descent Momma…member I told you before?” Her mother had the same look on her face that she did when she’d told her the last time. One of severe displeasure. Her whole face twisted up like she smelt something rotten. 

    “How the hell you end up pickin’ one of them damned Japs Beatrice Grace? Gawd in Heaven, they no good.”

    “Ma…”

    “I don’t care what you say. They no good. Far as I’m concerned, all of em should gon back where they came from.” 

    “But what if they from here?” She countered, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress. The sour face intensified. 

    “If they was born and raised here, where they supposed to go? Ain’t they jus’ as American as we are?” 

    “Hm. All these well educated and fine Negroes up here and you go and get you one of them rice eaters.” 

    “That ain’t nice.” 

    “Well, I lookin’ out for you. You the only chile I got left. I be damned I lose you.” Swallowing thickly, she kissed her temple. 

    “I didn’t ask or intend to fall in love with him. Believe me when I tell you that.”

    “Hm.”

    “Just…just give him a chance. Please?” Finally letting go of her frown, the woman surrendered with an eyebrow lift and a sigh. 

    “Fine. We’ll see bout this boy. What’s his name again?” 

    “His name is Will.” 

    “Okay then. If ya done begging over your man, come on and help me in the garden.” Smiling, she let her go. 

    “Yes ma’am.”       

***

    Stopping, he sat back in his chair. Lifting his beer to his mouth, he took a swig. This must have been the period where all those letters came from. Placing his bottle back onto his table, he lifted fingers to glide through his hair. It’d take hours to read through them all. The ones already skimmed through were brief ones he’d sent a month after President Truman’s party. Mr. Matsuda had experienced the hardest time adjusting to American life and he wrote about it frequently in his letters to Mrs. Matsuda. He was sure that it was a chaotic scene. Japanese-Americans interned for the duration of the war, now returned to their homes to find them occupied with Black residents and sent to temporary slums. Anti-Black, Anti-Asian sentiments and white supremacy were at an all-time high, something else he spoke about in his letters. 

    Mr. Matsuda had no choice but to assimilate into the everyday culture and quickly. He’d changed his name to Will and crafted a story to offer to anyone who could, would, and did ask. While the Japanese population was next to nothing in Vermont, LA had traditionally always had a high influx so the fabrication made sense. Born to first-generation parents in the city of Los Angeles, he served in the United States Army and was honorably discharged right before Japan surrendered due to his leg amputation. 

    Lifting his beer again, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. For someone who prided himself on being brutally honest, he also made a pretty good liar. His letters humored him in all honesty. They reflected him at his core. Never much of a talker, he kept them short and sweet and to the point. 

It made sense…those times were incredibly and increasingly dangerous and he needed to survive. Creating another identity wasn’t so much of a lie as it was a necessity. Picking up another stack of letters, he unbound the aged twine that held them together. He’d take a break and read some more. 

*** 

    “What’s your name again?” 

    “Will, ma’am.” 

    “Mmhm.”  It had only been thirty minutes since the man had showed up in their yard and already Momma looked like she smelt something rotten. Truth be told, her palms were sweaty and it had taken her a while to fully process his arrival. He’d given her a call while at the train station and she was glad he did. It gave her time to prepare some. But what she couldn’t prepare for was her heart about to beat its way outside her chest laying eyes on him. He definitely looked the part, his Americanized style making butterflies dance in her stomach. He’d cut his hair even shorter than before, the sides clipped short, not buzzed as before. His bangs weren’t as long as before either but still long enough to comb and shape.

     Dressed in a pressed pair of grey-brown pinstripe slacks and matching suspenders, his broad shoulders and thick biceps were emphasized by a form-fitting cream collared shirt and a red, gold, and cream tie. 

    “Gon invite your man inside. I get some tea.” Her momma said with a frown, turning to leave her on the porch. It felt weird to call him her man. Saying it out loud was completely laughable. And even so, the words Ichiro and Boyfriendmade her cheeks grow red like a schoolgirl. He didn’t move; his hands were inside of his pockets and his humored gaze and smirking lips made her take a deep breath. Slowly taking a step off of the porch, she took her time as she approached his boxy masculine silhouette. Only when she’d grown close enough to catch his cologne did she speak. 

    “Glad you made it safely.” 

    “Mmhm.” His voice quietly agreed and the expression on his face was changing. Silence now ensued between them but he refused to see it turn awkward. Lifting his hand, he brushed his fingers against her cheek in greeting. 

    “Someone’s birthday is today, hm?” Cheeks crimson, she looked down at her feet.

    “Happy birthday, Bea.” She let him bring her downcast gaze upward to his. 

    “T-thank you.” Smirk now having turned into a small friendly smile, his gaze was warm as it roamed her face, taking in her appearance. She looked awfully pretty in a rich blue dress with little white flowers. The illusion of an outer coat tied closed at the neck and waist, providing a slim peek of skin. Otherwise, the rustle of her skirts, soft round shoulders and 3/4 sleeves expressed elegance and a delightful dose of femininity. Something he appreciated and missed. The war had kept her mannish and boxy but such an enticing and lush silhouette was that of a woman in the right dress. 

    To complete her look, she wore a fitting pair of deep navy heels and a hat, rightly tilted to the side a bit, bows decorating the back and side. While he thought she looked good in whichever color she decided to wear, the color blue encouraged large butterflies to attack his gut. Perhaps because it was his favorite color. 

    “I coulda came to you, you know. To LA. You ain’t have to come all this wa-”

    “I didn’t need your permission.”

    “I know…but…”

    “I haven’t even been here a half hour and you’re fussing at me. Christ, woman.” She’d taken hold of his wrist and slipped her fingers in between his. 

    “I could go back to the airport.” 

    “You wouldn’t dare. Don’t be like that Ichiro.”

    “Give me a proper greeting then.” He had this way of saying words like they were commands and it annoyed her. The way he spoke electrified her though, quiet and calm and full of assertive dominance, that signature rasp made her lose her breath. She could feel the eyes of her mother cutting into her from the window but she tightened her grip on his hand and stepped closer until her body pressed against his. Lifting her chin, she gently lifted onto her tip toes, her lips parted. 

    Deciding to meet her half way, he graciously lowered his head and shoulders and the action caused their lips to meet. Heat crashed into her almost immediately and as their lips softened and molded against each other, she relaxed against him, letting his hand go. Slowly lifting hers to his chest, she exhaled in relief. Only to take a breath did she separate before another kiss was shared. She’d missed him… the way he smelled, the way he felt under her fingers, the smooth softness of his mouth. 

    Respectfully, he kept his hands inside of his pockets but she knew he wanted to wrap them around her. Pulling away from him abruptly, she gathered her breath and let her hands fall away from him. Clearing her throat, she balled up her lips and with a quick lick to them, gently coaxed one of his hands from his pockets. 

    “Better?” 

    “Much better.” He said, pressing a small kiss against her temple. 

    “Come on in and meet Momma.” 

*** 

    Ruth Jones was a resilient and unyielding woman. She stood a little taller than her daughter, not by much. If I had to guess, she was five feet five inches. Beatrice had definitely inherited her beauty; their skin color varying in shade, her mother’s a slightly darker yet delightful cinnamon color. They both appeared nearly identical with small but full lips and those almond shaped brown eyes. While Beatrice had considerably thicker hair than her mother, she kept it long whereas her mother kept her naturally wavy hair in an attractive short cut. 

    It humored me just how much the two of them were alike. It also amazed me, in my observation, to see how young she appeared. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume that the two of them were sisters instead of mother and daughter. The time inside of the house was considerably awkward and we spent most of the time sitting and looking at one another. The lips of her mouth twisted up, her eyes drifted down my appearance time and time again, as if by luck should she blink, someone else would appear to sit there. I kept my gaze neutral and muted and stared at her just the same. 

*** 

    “Is this all he does? Just sit and stare at you?” Spoken like he wasn’t even there, she turned annoyed eyes towards her daughter. 

    “You ain’t said nothin’ to him either Momma. Y’all just been starin’.” 

    “Don’t talk much, Tokyo?” Beatrice’s eyes grew wide as they cut over at her mother. But he, however, was used to being insulted. In fact, the insults only increased since moving to Los Angeles. 

    “Will. My name is Will.” Sitting back into the chair, she crossed her arms. 

    “Mmhm, you said that before.”

    “Momma.” 

    “What?” 

    “Stop it, please. You’re bein’ rude and I don’t appreciate it.” The woman took the longest time to release her frown. 

    “I just want the both of you to think about what you’re doin’. Whatever this is between you. You know damn well these Japs don’t like us and we don’t like them. What the hell y’all two look like bein’ out in public together and of all things being inappropriate?” Still, he said nothing and Beatrice about turned into an apple the way she flushed with embarrassment. 

    “I’m lookin’ out for my daughter, Will. Respectfully, she should date someone within her race. Nothin’ against you.” 

    “On the contrary, you’ve stacked everything against me. Something I completely understand.” He finally decided to speak and both women grew quiet as he continued, 

    “It’s natural for a mother to want to protect her children. I do not fault you for this at all.” 

    “But?” Her mother supplied, mouth twisting back up into a sour frown. 

    “I have every intention of continuing to date your daughter, with or without your approval.” She bristled at his cool statement and she took a breath as if to next speak but her mother beat her to the punch. 

    “What world do you live in? Your kind nearly destroyed the world and you in my house tellin’ me you gon do whatever you want to with my daughter anyway. Some nerve you got!” 

    “My kind were born right here in America, same as you. My kind were taken from their homes and thrown in concentration camps, punished for a war that they had no part of.” He not once raised his voice at her but his tone was low and weighty. 

    “No disrespect is meant towards you or your home when I say this, ma’am. Beatrice and I have been through too much bullshit to allow emotional and irrational fools to force us apart.” 

    “Oh? How long y’all been datin’? Bea’s just now mentioned you.” Longer than you think. 

    “Give or take almost two years now.” Calm as ever, he took another sip of water. 

    “Almost two years? And you just now mentionin’ him to me?” 

    “I knew you wasn’t gon like him.”

    “Tuh,” Placing his water back onto the table, he briefly glanced between them. 

    “She and I have made incredible sacrifices and took major risks to give this relationship a try. To both of our surprise, we’ve lasted this long already. I’m pleased in that.”

    “Your parents? How they feel ‘bout you datin’ a Negro girl?” 

    “They accept her.”

    “Without even seein’ her?”

    “That’s going to change shortly.”

    “Hm.”

    “I want her to accompany me back to California. Meet my parents and see my environment a little bit. And I want to see hers.” At that, Beatrice looked nervous, eyes downward and hands clutched tightly. 

    “Seems like you got more than just courtin’ in mind, Will.” He lifted his eyes towards her mother. 

    “Well, I think you’re one persistent bastard.” 

    “Momma!” To that, he replied with a grin.

    “I’m definitely a persistent bastard.” Her mother clenched her jaw. 

    “I’m not a perfect man. I don’t have all the answers and Beatrice and I are learning as we go. What I can assure you, Mrs. Jones, is this: I love her. I would not be here if I didn’t.”  She uncrossed her arms and relaxed them and with a sigh, all of the tension left her face. 

    “I understand you have preconceived notions about my community and I assume that’s normal given what we have all just experienced. But, I implore you to give me a chance. Your daughter has.” She was quiet for a long while, chewing on the inside of her cheek. 

    “What does it matter if I approve or not? Y’all gon keep bein’ togetha.”

    “It matters to Bea.” He answered, turning his eyes onto her. Reaching now for her daughter’s hand, she swallowed tightly, glancing at him once or twice more. 

    “You sure about this man Bea baby?” Smiling a tad, she gave a small nod. 

    “I’m sure Momma.”