The Beginning

"You're listening to the NEW HOT 108.4. This is Jess with your traffic report. If you're on the highways, I feel sorry for you – 40 to 70 backed up until Elm Street. It will be a 30-minute wait. This has been traffic with Jess."

"Why couldn't you tell me this five minutes ago?" Makayla sighed as she looked at the clock on the dashboard. 3:15 p.m.

I'm going to be late, she said to herself. She sighed once more in frustration, letting herself fall back against the black leather seat. The noise of traffic filled her head. She was going to be late picking up her son. Makayla slumped back into the seat. She reached out and turned the dial on the radio and began taping her finger to the music absent-mindedly. Her mind was on other things.

After spending 30 minutes in traffic, she finally reached the school – Herms Academy for Gifted Children. This school was one of the top private schools in the U.S. Many kids who graduated from here went on to attend college at Harvard, Yale, or Stanford, just to name a few. This school was the reason why she was struggling to make ends meet. "Education is the one thing that no one can ever take away from you" – that's what her father use to always say to her. He was right as usual. Makayla wondered how her parents were doing.

It had been a very long time since she had seen or spoken to them. She wondered if they were searching for her. She had covered up all her tracks so that they wouldn't find her. But deep down, she really wanted them to. She needed them to find her at least for Toshiro's sake. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. She couldn't face them after she had let them down. She wanted Toshiro to have a good life growing up, like the one she had, but she just didn't have the funds to do it.

She had graduated top of her class, double majoring in fashion design and Japanese but she couldn't get work in those fields – not because she was underqualified, no, Makayla was more than qualified. She couldn't put herself on the market – it would be too easy for them to find her. She did miss her mother's cooking and she even missed going to those dreadful tea parties with those dry, stuck-up families. They would always be the token Black family at all the events, but that just made life seem more interesting. Makayla laughed to herself; she missed those days. She really did. Life just seemed so easy.

"Mom, your late," Toshiro said as he stuck his head into the driver's side of the window. Makayla was jolted from her previous thoughts; she turned and looked at her son. She quickly swooped in and kissed him on his cheek. Toshiro made a face. "Ma not in front of the kids," he said he quickly wiped his cheek and walked to the other side of the car. Toshiro opened the door and threw his backpack on the floor he slumped his body into the car like a typical child of nine. He slammed the door and looked at his mom.

"I know, I didn't mean to be late. It was the traffic," Makayla told him as she pulled out of the parking lot.

"How was school?" she asked him.

Toshiro kept staring out the window.

"Toshiro Alexander, I asked you a question," Makayla said, staring at her son.

She turned her attention back to the road. He was perfect. She had always said that when she had children she wanted them to be smart, and Toshiro was smart. He was actually almost a genius.

"School was school." He continued to stare out the window. "Nothing different. I went to English and received an A on my test," he smiled triumphantly.

"Oh, that's great," Makayla praised him.

"I got an A in biology, Japanese, trigonometry, and business, but I got a C in art," Toshiro told his mom. "I hate art. Art is stupid. I hate it with a capital H." He was serious about it too. "I don't understand why I have to take it. He pouted. Mom, you should write me a note so I can take something else," he said, looking out the window. He knew his mother wouldn't do it. And he was right.

Makayla looked at her son. She couldn't believe he was hers. He was the split image of his father – she couldn't deny it. She just hoped he wouldn't grow up to be like him.

It had been nine years since she left him. She tried not to think about that man, but he always managed to creep inside her head, that was just his way. She looked at Toshiro and he laid his head back against the seat. He was so cute – his skin was a beautiful golden tan. He looked fully Japanese and his eyes were just like his dad's, almond-shaped and hazel brown. His most distinct characteristic though was his curly black hair. He had Makayla to thank for that.

Makayla pulled up in front of their apartment. The landlord was there with two large men in overalls placing her red couch onto the grass in front of the building. She turned off the car and quickly jumped out.

"Stay here," she commanded Toshiro.

He nodded.

"Mr. Sigornio," she said to the man. "Please, just give me another week," she pleaded with him.

Mr. Sigornio was a thin, old man in his late-60s and his hair was fully gray.

"Listen, I told you, you must pay rent or no stay," he said in his heavy Italian accent.

"I know, I know, but I get paid next week, I promise," she continued to plead with him.

"No," he said. "You are late, again."

"Mr. Sigornio, I have a son," she said to him hoping to get some sympathy.

Toshiro watched the whole scene unfold from the car. He was worried about his mother. It seemed that life was heading into a struggle for them. How did it come to be like this he wondered? Even though he was only nine years old, he knew deep down inside that life for his mom had not always been like this.

He knew this because on nights when she worked late at the restaurant he would go through her things in search of his father. He found photo albums with pictures of her in them, young pictures. She was dressed so elegantly like maybe she was a celebrity going to the Oscars.

One picture that stuck out in Toshiro's mind was the picture of his mother standing with Prince Inoue Tokanoshi, Japan's Crown Prince. Toshiro had searched the Internet all night and even until the morning to find out who the man was in the picture. Maybe she use to be a princess and the prince is my father. Toshiro thought. What he couldn't figure out was why they lived this way. He had to find out or they would continue living like this. He had to admit that their life wasn't as bad as most. But at any moment, like this, he could become homeless. This life was stressful. A homeless kid who attends one of the nation's most prestigious institutions, somehow those words seemed backward in Toshiro's mind. The car doors opened jarring him from his thoughts. "Mom," he said unsure of what was happening.

"We are okay," Mr. Sigornio said we can stay," she reassured him. She grabbed his backpack and the bag of groceries she picked up on her way.

Mr. Sigornio had set her belonging back into the small apartment. "Hey, go start your homework and I'll make us some dinner," Makayla yelled to Toshiro. Makayla went to her small room and changed clothes. She had given Toshiro the bigger bedroom room she always put him first, but that was how it was supposed to be. Her room was simple, a full-sized white slay bed occupied most of the room in the corner was a matching wardrobe. The room was all white as Mr. Sigornio didn't allow tenants to paint the walls. She added color with flowers and her sheets. Lilac sheets dress the white bed giving the room a tranquil look. She looked into the frameless mirror at herself. She touched her hair she could see waves beginning to form at the roots a sign that she needed to get a relaxer. She thought back to him he would always tell her how pretty her natural hair was. He would run his finger through her hair as if it was the finest silk. Makayla brushed those thoughts away brushing her hair into a ponytail.

"Mom... telephone," Toshiro said as he peeped his head into her room. "It's Quinton," he said looking at the confused expression on her face. He gave her the phone.

"Hello," she said

"Hey it's me Quinton, What are you doing tonight?" he asked

"I'm making Toshiro dinner, Why?"

"I wanted to take you out," He told her but he already knew that she would cancel.

"I can't... I promised Toshiro, plus I have to work, but tomorrow would be fine."

"Well then, it's a date" Quinton agreed. "I'll pick you up at 8 and wear something nice."

"Bye." Makayla hung up the phone. A smile plastered onto her face. She had met Quinton a year ago at the same restaurant where she worked. Makayla worked at an upscale Michelin-star restaurant called the White Room. It's almost impossible to get a table there during the week. The place is usually booked months in advance; the food was to die for.

Quinton came to dine there after an executive meeting with a partnering company. Quinton is the head executive over his father's company, Quartz. The company is a jeweler based out of Africa where he and his family are from.

"Mom is the food done yet?" Toshiro questioned.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Makayla said. Her mind was on Quinton. She had completely forgotten dinner. Forty-five minutes later Makayla sat down at the square black table across from Toshiro. Dinner layout on the table. It was not much but it was a meal. Makayla tried to incorporate both cultures into her cooking. Her culture and the Japanese culture that Toshiro hadn't been exposed to. She had prepared Miso soup with cornbread and Tonkatsu with collard greens. Makayla watched her son dive into the food. "Use your manners," she scolded. He slowed down in-between bites.

"Mom"

"Yes," Makayla replied cutting her Tonkatsu. It was a little overdone but it was still edible.

"Can I go to Dave n Busters with some friends from school?" He asked.

"When?"

"Tomorrow maybe around 6 or 7."

"Who's going?" Makayla responded like a true parent.

"Kids from school," he said "Joe, Chris, Sammie, and Chrissa."

"Okay as long as you are back home by 9. I'll drop you off okay."

"Oh no you don't have to, Chrissa's mom is picking us up," he confirmed.

"Uh, have I met her mom?" she inquired. She was leeriest about other people that she didn't know picking up her child. The world was getting dangerous and in these times you not only have to worry about girls but the boys as well.

"Yes, you have," Toshiro explained to his mom. "She's the white lady with blond hair, and blue eyes that plays tennis."

"Oh yea I remember okay that's fine," Makayla told him. Toshiro smiled as he continue eating his food.

She knew he would be happy to go out with his friends. Makayla picked up the empty dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.

"Mom"

"Yea baby"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," she said giving him her attention. "Who's my father?" Makayla froze in her tracks. Why did he want to know? Why couldn't she go a day without having to talk or think about that man?

"Mom," Toshiro said.

"Hey, how much money are you going to need for tomorrow?" Makayla asked Toshiro.

"Mom don't change the subject?" he frowned.

"I'm not, I'm sure you need money for tomorrow" she began to say.

Toshiro just sat there he didn't want to hurt his mom but he wanted to know who his father was. He needed to know. How would he know himself if he didn't know both sides of where he came from? All the other kids at school talk about their mothers and fathers even if their parents were divorced. They at least knew. Why did he have to be the odd one? He was already the most exotic-looking! It was obvious his father was Asian or something.

He got up from the table and walked to his bedroom slamming the door behind him. If she didn't want to talk then he wouldn't talk to her either.