the only true love story

My grandfather—Ojiisan—loved murmuring to himself, "People these days... we no longer know how to love. We are so greedy. So selfish. We need more love in this world. Listen to your old Ojiisan. I know better. Old people are very, very wise. Yes, we are like the trees. Like the trees, indeed!" When Ojiisan was still alive, Oikawa and I would sit by his feet and listen to his stories. Most were absurd, but as elementary schoolers, we did not know any better.

My grandfather left his mark, which would make him very happy. Even today, I could still hear his sweet insanity, echoing from the living room.

Iwa-Chan, the next time you go to the rice fields with your mother, look at the stars! You will see my brothers and the Ojiisans before me! Tell them I said hello, okay!?

You two boys, when you and Oikawa find girlfriends, be careful. They might turn into wild boars and run far away! You will have to chase them... but don't. It is too late. They are having fun in the woods, and they do not need your pity!

Listen, my grandson, do not forget to pray to the river... or else you will drown one day! HA. HA. HA! Just kidding. You should be more afraid of the winter spirits. Those will get ya. They'll pull you away into the underworld... Oh yes, they will! Stay alert! This line was always followed with a howl of laughter. Death never failed to crack him up.

However, every once in a while, he would begin a story about my grandmother—Obaasan, as I called her. Oikawa's deep brown eyes would grow wide as I leaned into my grandfather's leg, eager for him to continue. These anecdotes of her were the real gems of Ojiisan's memories. They were the reason Oikawa and I would stay up late, listening to his other irrational tales, just to hear a story about Obaasan. Because she passed away around the time Oikawa and I became friends, I savored each and every recollection Ojiisan still had.

My mother and father never showed many emotions toward each other. My parents' love was rigid and cold, so every romantic story from my grandfather was a treat. It was a secret glimpse into something that almost felt surreal. His stories reminded me that, somewhere out there, love might still exist.

& Ojiisan loved reminding us of a love that was real, and for him, that was exactly the bond between him and Obaasan. The stories were pure and simple: When they were twelve, they met while tending the yard of a mutual family friend. When they were thirteen, he asked her to be his first love. When they were fourteen, they fought over something quite petty, and Obaasan stopped talking to Ojiisan for five weeks. It became "the longest five weeks" of Ojiisan's life. When they were seventeen, they snuck away from home at 2:00 AM to tell each other "I love you". The moon was bright, and you could see the North star from the fields. Ojiisan and Obaasan's love remained a secret for years and years.

In their twenties, Obaasan moved away, but their love floated through letters and once-a-month trips. When she returned to the Miyagi region, Ojiisan discovered that Obaasan had grown fond of British poetry, so one day, he spent his earnings on a stack of Japanese-English dictionaries from the wise scholar with a garage of books. They taught each other phrases that made their hearts beat a little bit faster, the kind of words found in poetry collections and in the journals of famous authors. Words like...

Serendipity

Ephemeral

Ambrosia

Bungalow

Lullaby

& Joy.

"What's this?" Obaasan would point at peculiar words that indicated different body parts. "Hair? Cheek? Mouth?"

Ojiisan responded by brushing his fingers through her hair, caressing her cherry-plump cheeks, and kissing her lips. "Your hair, your cheeks, your mouth. Understand now?"

Years after my grandfather's death, Oikawa and I discovered Obaasan's letters to him. They were written a few years before her passing, and my grandparents made a promise to keep them for me—a gift from the ancestors, of some sort. Oikawa and I were only thirteen at the time, but it felt like the right time. It felt as if Ojiisan was back from the dead and visiting us again to tell another story. I imagined him opening the tiny box of unsealed messages. By this point, my grandparents' story clung to Oikawa just as much as they resonated with me.

My grandmother's writing was delicate and wispy.

My Dearest Husband,

For so many years, we've tried searching for English words to describe the endless ways we love one another. I remember us flipping through those dictionary pages, picking apart each and every definition for the string of letters. I found "happiness", "luck", "sunshine", and "horizon". You found "sacrifice", "harvest", "laughter", and "passion". So many words, it makes me laugh sometimes. I guess, what I'm trying to say is that no word could fully define the spectrum of love I have for you.

I can say "I love you" a million times, in English and in Japanese. I can say "aishiteru" until our nighttime giggles fade into dreams. I love you, I love our children, I love the world we have crafted for each other... Yet, it never feels enough. My heart is bursting for more words to reveal themselves. Is that selfish of me?

Now, I feel myself growing weak. My legs are tired, and we could no longer climb hills as we did as young souls. However, I still love you and your white, white hair. Your ugly, ugly wrinkles are so, so beautiful to me. Do you see now? How can I say "I love you"? There are no words to fully express this love.

It sometimes hurts to say this. I am old, and I can almost see the final horizon approach me. My sickness flows through my body, and I know that I cannot leave without at least an attempt of another love letter—even if they are not as passionate as the ones we wrote at age 24.

Nonetheless, these are still my words, and my sweet lover, I love you.

Sincerely,

Your Wife.

That evening, Oikawa and I closed our eyes as we lay on my bedroom floor. We played my grandparents' old records and spoke very little to each other, which was quite unusual. There was too much to take in, but I suppose, that was a good problem to have.

"I hope we'll also find true love... you know, the kind of love that's just like what your Ojiisan and Obaasan had. I want that."

"I think their love was one of a kind," I replied, "but I do hope so too."

Today, my grandparents' letters are hidden in my childhood bedroom.

Their words are priceless. I could never bring myself to carry them outside of the city they fell in love in.