I was only five years old when my mother left me on a park bench. “Don’t worry,” she said, “Mommy will be right back.” She even smiled and waved at the corner of the path before disappearing. I waited for hours for her, not daring to move an inch for fear that it would break some spell and then I would really be all alone. Eventually someone noticed me, a little kid sitting rigid as stone. I cried when the Konoha Police arrived and tried to pull me gently from the bench, but soon the fight went out of me and I allowed myself to be lifted from my seat, slinging desperately to this stranger and sobbing for all I was worth.
Back at the police station it took two hours before I was able to answer any questions: one hour for me to stop crying, and another hour for the ensuing hiccoughs to pass. They asked me simple questions like my name and age, and they laughed when I answered that my mother’s name was “Mommy”. I didn’t know any better then, and it infuriated me that they were “making fun of her”. The smiles were wiped right off their faces when I couldn’t tell them my address though. Kids don’t know these things.
That’s when they started to talk to each other in what I knew to be “the grown-up voice”. It happens whenever adults talk amongst themselves in front of children, thinking that the new voice means the children won’t hear. I’m sure they meant well.
“I checked the database for her name but nothing came up, unsurprisingly. Children usually aren’t registered until they enter the Academy and she’s a couple years too young. This is going to be impossible without either her parents’ first names or her address.”
“What about her last name? Did that turn up any hits?”
“I checked, sir, but there’s no one in the database at all with that last name...”
I would find out later that this was because my mother had kept her maiden name and my father wasn’t a citizen of Konoha. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve wondered how differently everything would have turned out if she had just changed my last name too. But that’s not what she wanted...
“Ok, sweetie,” they had reverted to their kid-friendly voice, “Can you describe some things in your neighborhood for us?”
I thought hard. I remembered a store that sold paper windmills and wind chimes with a friendly shop owner...
“Named?” the officer pressed hopefully.
“Oji-san!” I stated proudly*. A few of the other officers snickered. “My” officer looked slightly crestfallen.
“Ok,” he said reassuringly, “Anything else?”
By then I was feeling more at ease with the officers; trust is much less complicated when you’re a child. So I told them all about my favorite places: the gigantic tree in the square that I tried to climb every day; the ice cream shop that sold my favorite flavor (banana) during the summer; and the garden at the very top of our apartment building.
“It’s an apartment,” my officer said to another in “the grown up voice” again, “that means we can rule out the suburbs and a good portion of the periphery. Cross off the clan districts and the De-entoshi sector as well. We’re looking for a neighborhood with a square containing a large tree. Start with the areas nearest the park where she was found and narrow the search to apartment buildings near an ice cream shop.”
“Yes, sir!” the officer saluted before running off.
“Can you remember anything else about your apartment, Izumi?” my officer said turning back to me.
“Well we just got a microwave...”
He laughed. “Anything about the outside?””
“We have an orange door.”
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When we arrived at the apartment the place looked as though a windstorm had swept through the place. Clothes had been strewn haphazardly about the room, the end table was upturned and the bookcase and all of its contents had spilled onto the floor. And that was just the living room. I followed the dumbstruck officers through each room of the apartment.
The kitchen was sopping wet and submerged in a good inch of water that quickly seeped into my socks. I heard one officer remark that it was the fire sprinklers as he held up the charred remains of a pot on the stove that might have been my dinner under different circumstances. The others nodded in agreement staring at the telltale smoke stain that stretched high up the back wall and onto the ceiling.
My mother’s room was in better condition, having only been stripped bare. Her dresser drawers were empty and jutting out at odd angles, her bed sheets had been ripped off violently enough to set the mattress off kilter and every curtain, photo, and ornament was just gone. The incredible emptiness of the room sank into me, chilling me to the bone. Scared, the first think I could think of was to run to my room while the officers were still looking around, a decision I would later regret.
My room was the worst. The lamp was in pieces on the floor, creating an unpleasant crunch for every step I took. My pale green bed sheets had been ripped to shreds and were lying in tatters on the bed next to my pillow, which had been reduced to a pile of feathers. I cautiously stepped over the sharp boards and splinters that had once been my desk and came upon a circle of ashes. A blackened teddy bear at the center told me that these were the remains of my stuffed animals.
And then I just stood there. I didn’t know what to think. Home was supposed to be a safe haven and here mine had been turned to rubble. In a last attempt to salvage that sense of security I grabbed the last teddy bear and crawled underneath my bed. There, I found a small picture of my mother and me at a festival from the year before. My mouth was covered in sauce from takoyaki, but so was my mother’s and we were both smiling broadly for the camera.
Looking closer I saw a large patch of discoloration on the corner where I was holding it. It was blood. Blood. Maybe...I thought, maybe something happened to her! I was a terrifying idea, but it seemed better than the alternative. Mommy would never do this! She was kidnapped...by, by an ogre...and it’s my job to save her. Maybe she was a princess, or an angel...or...
Soon my thoughts drifted into dreams and I fell asleep in the dark space under my bed, my last refuge from the harsh reality that would be waiting for me when I woke up.
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Two years had passed. The disappearance of my mother and the unknown whereabouts of my father left me a ward of Konoha. They took care of the rent for a small apartment on the other side of town and the expenses for things like clothes, food, and haircuts, the basics. Of course, this was supposed to have only been a temporary solution. I was supposed to be adopted. The problem was that most people looking to adopt choose the babies, and even at the tender age of five I was still too old.
I didn’t really mind. Back then I was convinced that my mother would come back if she could. I made regular trips to the park bench where I last saw her and honestly expected her to appear again, at that same corner saying something like “I told you I’d be back! How silly of you to worry!” But I did worry, and everyday that passed without change made me doubt that she was ever coming back.
So I went back to my kidnapping theory, only I was old enough at that point to realize it wouldn’t have been ogres. One day, I thought, when I’m bigger, I’ll go looking for her. This thought made my days easier. I finally had some direction, however, vague, for the anger and sadness that I was feeling. Destroying my home was one thing, but I could never forgive whoever had destroyed my family.
That’s when I stopped going to the park bench. Instead I would visit the tree in my old neighborhood and look over the rooftops from its topmost branches, or I would try to find another ice cream shop that sold my favorite banana ice cream since the old place had closed down a year ago. It was too far anyway. Sometimes I would even just wander aimlessly exploring new parts of town. Soon, I had a pretty thorough mental map of the city.
It was on one of these wandering days that I saw my first member of the ANBU. I was walking slowly, kicking a rock as I went, stirring up all kinds of dirt. The ANBU was on the other side of the street, but it wasn’t crowded that day and I quickly spotted him. It was the mask that caught my eye, a mask of the zodiac year of the dog. He had taken it off to wipe the sweat off of his brow; it was a particularly hot summer day. I must have been starting because he was at my side faster than I could blink.
“What are you doing out here all alone?” he asked not unkindly as he kneeled down to my height. The question barely even registered, all I could think about was how cool that mask was. I kept staring at it and forgot to answer. The ANBU quirked his eyebrow after a minute or two and drew breath, presumably to ask again, but I beat him to the punch.
“What’s that mask for?” I blurted out before I could stop to consider that it might be a ruse question. I quickly realized my mistake and lowered my gaze. My cheeks were hot with embarrassment and I fervently wished that I hadn’t kicked so much dirt around. I probably looked like a street urchin. I chanced a peek back up at his face and was relieved to see it crinkled in a smile.
“I’m a member of the ANBU,” he said, but continued at my blank look of incomprehension. “Hmm, how do I explain this in the least traumatizing way?” he wondered aloud. If I had known what the word ‘traumatizing’ meant I might have been more apprehensive of his explanation. As it was, I was just plain curious. “ANBU execute the assassinations of high-ranked individuals who have become a malignant force upon Konoha.”
“...”
He obviously didn’t have much experience talking with kids; he used too many big words. Thinking back, maybe that was his idea of ‘the least traumatizing way’ to explain the ANBU, to make sure that I didn’t understand a word of it. I nodded anyway.
“Probably the most suicidal profession I could have chosen...” he muttered to himself. “Well no, at least I’m not in charge of a genin team. Those jounins have it rough...” None of this made any sense to either and I could tell that it wasn’t directed towards me anyway so I just patiently waited for him to remember I was there. I focused my attention back on the mask and admired the intricate swirls of red. It was really a work of art. “Anyway, kid, you should go home. It’s about time for lunch, isn’t it? I bet you’re mom is waiting for you.”
“Are you going to home?” I asked, although I really meant ‘Are you taking that mask?’
“Well, no,” he said, sounding very much as though he thought that I was going to follow him around all day, which I might have done, for the mask. “But I’m going to eat with my squad members after we turn in our mission report, and they’re kinda like family...I guess.”
“Squad members?”
“Yeah, they’re ANBU too. So, since I’m going to eat with my ‘family’, you should too. Bye now!” he gave me a gentle push to get me started. The force was small, but it was enough to send me into a slow trot and I had no choice but to start my trek home. I glanced back over my shoulder to catch one more glimpse of the mask. The ANBU waved before dashing off to his destination leaving me with nothing but the afterimage of the object of my affection. Hmm...A mask and a family. He has everything...
I was seven years old when I decided to become a member of the ANBU.
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Two months later I received a surprise.
“Izumi-chan! It’s me, your daddy!” and with that, this strange man just walked into my apartment. I was too shocked to do anything but close the door in his wake. “This is a nice place you have! You keep a tidy house too! Good job!” He was surveying the place with his hands on his hips as though interested in buying it. “Well,” he said expectantly as he flashed a toothy grin over his shoulder at me. “Did you miss me?”
It was an odd question to say the least. The uncomfortable silence must have impressed upon him that he was going about this the wrong way and his smile faltered for a bit.
“Here, take a look at this.” He motioned me over as he rifled though his wallet. He roughly pulled something grimy looking from its packed contents and handed it to me. “There we go!” he said as though this crumpled mess were supposed to explain everything.
I looked at it skeptically and to my surprise saw my mother’s face staring back up at me. She was a little younger than I remembered her, and very pregnant, but she was unmistakable. And there was a man with his arm around her!
“That’s me! Your mother and I had just gotten married. She was 17 and I was 21. Those were the good days...” he added nostalgically.
I couldn’t believe it. This is my father! was the lone thought occupying my brain, being screamed out by what seemed like a thousand voices at once. It was only natural for me to burst into tears.
“Hey! Watch it now! That’s the only picture of us I have left, you know,” my father said cheerily before catching me in a bear hug. “Come on, don’t cry. I can’t stand to see girls cry. That’s better...” my tears slowed to a trickle as I fought hard to keep them under control. I had to draw deep breaths every few seconds and I was sniffling a lot, but I managed. “This can’t be easy for you...” he started out. It sounded like he was unsure of exactly what to say. Eventually words came. “Your mother and I, we were very young when you were born...much too young to have a family, but there you were. I...” he hesitated. “Well I’m here now, aren’t I?” he said with fake cheeriness.
I was able to sense the underlying emotion even at such a young age, although I didn’t have a name for it. It was remorse. For years, I though that it was for what he had done in the past, but maybe it was actually for what he was about to do.
“Here take this money and go buy us each a chocolate bar or something. We’ll celebrate!”
“Mm’kay...” I took the bill and tried to surreptitiously wipe my nose on my sleeve. I didn’t tell him that I’d always hated chocolate.
“Oh, and, uh, don’t tell anyone that I’m here. This’ll be our little secret, okay?”
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Chapter notes: Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter end notes: * Oji-san literally means “uncle” in Japanese but it is used as a generic term for any older man who is a stranger.