Free Three Scenarios in Which Hana Sasaki Grows a Tail by Kelly Luce

I’m very sorry.” Had Lou gone crazy?
    Yumiko saw the old woman, umbrella in hand, bend down and pick up a mochi ball from the ground. “Hey! My fish can’t eat this!”
    Horrified but slightly thrilled, Yumiko turned to Lou. He was biting his lips, trying to keep from laughing. Lou picked up the plate of mochi balls and mimed flinging its entire contents into Kobayashi-san’s garden. Suddenly Yumiko had to fight laughter, too. “Yes, we accidentallydropped one or two, unfortunately,” she called out, using the most formal verb conjugation possible. “We were... juggling. Please accept my apology regarding your honorable carp.”
    “You’ll pay for this fish! I’m telling Miura-san that you’ve been living on the roof.”
    Yumiko came and sat beside Lou. Kobayashi-san continued ranting in her garden, out of sight. “Her umbrella finally became useful,” Yumiko said. They both laughed. He put his arm around her and ate a piece of sushi from a takeout tray.
    Yumiko watched her husband. His scalp glinted in the candlelight. She had never realized how irregular the skull was, what imperfections hair concealed. He looked vulnerable.
    She was sure she was pregnant. But what if something happened to the baby? What if there were complications? She needed him to tell her that he would love her no matter what. To the west, a small white firework tested the air. Snap. “I have a serious question,” she said.
    He put a hand on her shoulder and gestured at their makeshift bedroom, the space delineated from where they now sat by a row of small pots and vases. “Whatever comes, we’ll figure it out. Itsumo, always. Our problems are no match for us.”
    He stood up, held out a hand. “C’mon. Let’s go to the river.”

THREE SCENARIOS IN WHICH HANA SASAKI GROWS A TAIL
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I.
    It is her thirtieth birthday. She wakes alone.
    Her right hand reaches around to feel a soft length of hair that wasn’t there when she took her bath the night before.
    She shuffles to the full-length mirror, cranes her neck. The tail is three inches long and gleams silver with a lavender tinge, one end thin and flyaway, the other thick as rope. It sprouts from the asymmetrical dark button at the base of her spine—what her mother used to call her Hydrangea Mole. Her mother loved hydrangeas, but Hanahas always found them a bit over the top. Hana prefers tulips.
    She slides her palm beneath the tail and runs her thumb over the strands. Such softness, it’s like a baby’s rose-petal cheeks. The phone trills; her mother’s nasal singsong tells the answering machine to keep a positive outlook; women far older than thirty are marrying nowadays.
    Hana steps into the shower. It’s too early to call a doctor, and though the tail feels odd, it’s not exactly painful, and she can’t justify the expense and time of an emergency room visit. Water rolls down her back and soaks the bundle. It is thin, dark gray when wet, and the hair at the base rises out slightly from her back before wilting and following the curve of her bottom. She hesitates, then dabs shampoo into her palm and brings both hands behind her back: lather, rinse—and, why not?—condition. She lets the conditioner sit for three minutes before rinsing with cold water. Cold water closes the hair shaft and makes for a silkier finish. Perhaps later she can braid it, dress it up with ribbon. She will care for it as only she can.
II.
    Little Hana has just gotten over the chicken pox. To celebrate, her doting parents take her to the Ueno Zoo to see the red pandas, which their local zoo does not feature.
    Hana does not like the Ueno Zoo. It is big, crowded, and the animals look upset. Hana wonders if the angry gorilla pounding at the glass is contagious, like her sickness. Contagious, she knows, means giving something badto someone else, even if they don’t want it. That was how she got those chicken pox, and how she got rid of them. She clings to her mother, whimpering, worried that