The Art of Letting Go

A Flash Fiction by Fiona Dignan

Photo by AJ on Unsplash

That fall, Akiko received a postcard from Theodore depicting Sakura blooms. His message read; I should’ve bought you cherry blossom. Akiko hadn’t given it a moment’s thought in years, yet Theodore clung to the memory, continuing to misunderstand. If he truly understood, he would never have sent the postcard.

***

Fifteen years earlier, Theodore approaches the florist below the Izakaya Ramen bar. Strolling in under the cover of darkness gives it the feel of the exotic. Each bucket of blooms is a perfectly curated bundle and botanicals suffuse the neon lit air. He’s in search of an authentically Japanese flower for Akiko. He takes out his phrase book, wondering how to ask what flower most appeals to the Japanese aesthetic. The shuffling figure of the florist looks disparagingly at the book, and says,

“Kun, I speak English just fine.”

“I’d like to buy an authentic Japanese flower please?” Theodore says. She chuckles,

“These are all authentically Japanese, they’re in a shop here, in Tokyo. Have you asked the young lady which flowers she likes?” 

“Well, no but I’m guessing all girls like roses, right?”  Theodore says, feeling the inexperience of a small-town boy in a foreign city.

Theodore sits in the raman bar above the florist, with his bunch of red roses feeling like a cliche. A young boy and his grandmother are eating a few tables down and talking in that lovingly animated way a generation gap brings. The umami smell of broth blends with the scent of roses and Theodore wonders if it’s culturally acceptable to eat in his work clothes. He should’ve asked at the office, but being an intern, questions are reserved for serious matters. 

Theodore can hear the soft tread of Akiko’s shoes on the stairs, sees the dark onyx of her eyes as she approaches, so unlike the apple-pie girls of home. She looks at the bunch of roses, hesitates but draws her face into a smile.

“For you,” he says presenting her with the bunch, “they’re authentically Japanese.”

“How beautiful,” she says. She will later pass them onto her aunt who appreciates that kind of thing.

They eat Nagoya chicken, slurp deep soup and chew on slivers of fresh spring onions. Theodore stops to photograph his bowl before proceeding to eat and Akiko laughs,

“Just enjoy the taste,” she says.

Theodore tells her more of his Wisconsin hometown with its bristling wheat fields and emerald forests where his father hunts. Akiko dislikes this savagery, her eyes drift to the cut roses lying on the table. But Theodore says it’s one of those things in his culture. He tells her things are so different here. Akiko’s smile is frozen as he explains her own city to her, yet she finds this young Yank excitable and playful, like a kitten. At just twenty, Akiko collects experience, and Theodore is just that.

Later Theodore’s tone shifts. He talks of how he wants to stay, beyond the internship. How there could be an opportunity for them to take this somewhere. Akiko thinks of the word somewhere,

“But we’re here Theo,” she says. “And that’s enough.” 

The moment is broken by the child laughing as he traces a smiling face on the steamy window. The smile is already being reabsorbed by the vapour. 

***

Theodore is recalled home after his mother’s health turns. He’s angry at her tumour in more ways than one. On his last day in Tokyo, Akiko takes him to Hama-rikyu Gardens. The maples are ablaze and the green shrubs clump like sea anemones.

“We can email?  Next summer you can come stay. You can try my mum’s pecan pie”. Theodore is projecting hope into the future for both his mother and Akiko. Akiko replies,

“Theo, it’s been fun, but I think this is it. Some things are best left in memory.” She thinks of the steamy smile left by the child.  She’s fond of Theodore but finds his desire to cling on almost possessive, like a hungry ghost. She stares out across the lake and tells him,

“In the spring, this park is filled with cherry blossom. It’s an authentic Japanese flower,” she says with a wink. “It’s beautiful because it’s ephemeral. We shouldn’t spoil things by forcing them beyond their natural course. We have a concept here - mono no aware, beauty lies in its fleeting nature.”

And that is how Theodore will always picture Akiko, amongst the fire of maples, explaining the art of letting go.

***

All these years later, Theodore thinks of Akiko in his small-town life, with his sturdy blonde wife and boys who play Little League every Wednesday. He trawls social media watching Akiko, with the crinkles of time added. His postcard is his way of saying he gets it, and he wants her to know. Somewhere deep inside he holds hope, for what he doesn’t know.His father takes him to the forest, insisting killing something will snap him out of his funk. They stalk a doe through the dazzle of the fall forest. 

The doe stands in a clearing; the gamey scent of musk hangs in the air. Theodore raises his gun, aims between her eyes. In the doe’s eyes he sees onyx, cherry blossom and a steamy smiling face dissolving. It’s the most exquisite moment of his life. After seconds the doe flees, kicking fiery leaves in her wake. Now that moment has fled, he finally understands.  

“Why the hell didn’t you shoot her son?”

“Dad, she was so perfect in that moment. I needed to let her go.”

“That’s some philosophical bullshit right there,” his dad says but lowers his rifle and starts back.

Theodore understands. He can leave the doe alive; he can leave the past alone and see beauty in what was, by never going back. He leaves Akiko in the forest, blocks his access to her on social media, regrets sending the postcard. He goes back to his steady wife and sons, seeks out moments of present tenderness before they dissipate.

---

Author: Fiona Dignan started writing during lockdown to cope with the chaos of home-schooling four children. In 2023, she won The London Society Poetry Prize and The Plaza Prize for Sudden Fiction. She was a finalist in the LISP poetry competition and is Puschcart Prize Nominated.