#train trip

Mom and Dad have been bickering and arguing about work stuff, clan stuff, family stuff, history, politics, marriage, parenthood, all critical and trivial subjects, and so much more, I can’t name them all. They are at it, all day. ALL DAY, I TELL YOU! I can’t count how many times Dad said “Mendokusai,” and also the number of times he has to dodge Mom’s assault attempts. It’s so scary that I have to keep Mom’s tessen hidden under my seat. For safety reasons, just in case.

Luckily, I have my books, my video game and most importantly - ear plugs and ear phones to filter out all these unnecessary nagging and screaming.

But the discomfort is visceral and unnerving.

I know it’s very heated when both of them skipped dinner and slept looking away from each other.

What am I supposed to do? Be the mediator? The peacemaker?

Sigh. So troublesome. Too troublesome for me to care. Too much of a drag for me to handle.

But somehow, deep in my heart, I know they will come around. They always do.

This morning, they sit next to each other without saying a single word. Just tinkling of the chopsticks on their bento boxes as they eat their breakfast, and the sound they make when they sip their hot green tea.

The silence is painfully louder than the noise of their fight.

After finishing breakfast, Dad stands up, slides the door open and leaves the room. As it slides shut, Mom looks up with a deadpan face, and continues eating her breakfast. I swear I hear her sigh under her breath, though.

After the meal, she ensures that the table is clear, and sits quietly as she watches the scenery change to the familiar brownish-golden hues of the Land of Wind. A while later, the door slides open again, and Dad re-enters with a paper bag in his hand. He sits next to Mom, and places the paper bag almost ceremoniously on the table in front of her.

She stares briefly at the bag. Her fingers unwraps the folded top, and immediately a wisp of vapor with a pleasant, comforting smell escapes.

I know Mom is restraining herself from showing it, but I can see her lips curving ever so slightly into a barely noticable smile.

Sweet chestnuts. Mom’s favorite.

That’s Dad’s peace offering. It never fails.

Mom takes one and pops it in her mouth. The first chew transforms her expression from nothing to one as sweet as the chestnut she is eating.

Dad secretly let out a sigh of relief.

Then, Mom rummages through her basket, and takes out a small box containing something that looked like dark green strips laced with white powder. She places it in front of Dad, reciprocating, much to his surprise.

Dad grimaces. “You’ve come prepared,” he says with a low voice, finally breaking the silence. Mom’s lips breaks into a full width grin.

He opens a single plastic pack, revealing the velvety strip, and bites into it. He frowns, his taste buds reacting to its sourness, exploding to its intensity.

Oh, yes. Sukonbu, vinegared kelp. That’s Dad’s favorite.

Wow, Mom really knows how to get to him. She actually has this on standby.

As they munch their snacks, they launch into a lengthy conversation about yesterday with a mixed tone. Serious, defensive and loud sometimes, but this time, they allowed reflection, acknowledgement, agreement and honest apologies. To a certain extent, it sounds like a mission debrief.

Afterwards, there is a brief silence, as both of them glance outside the window, watching the patches of oases scattered along the railway. They begin to comment on how there are more of them now compared to many years ago.

I see Mom placing her hand on Dad’s thigh. Now the conversation shifts to what food we should try in Sunagakure.

“Shikadai, what do you want to try this time?”

I just afford her a dry smile. Did you just notice me, Mom? Dad is the same, too, only offering snacks to me now. They are probably completely oblivious of me before this.

“I’ll think about it, Mom.”

“Thanks for the snacks, Dad.”

“I’m thinking of ButtermiIk Chicken,” Dad says, as he grasps Mom’s hand. Their fingers interlace, as Mom teases him, “I’ll get you to eat the spicy ones.” Dad shakes his head in disapproval, and gazing at each other, both of them giggle together.

Help. I’m starting to feel a different type of discomfort. This uneasiness is making me nauseated and queasy.

“There’s another two hours before we arrive Suna. I think I’m going to take a nap,” Mom says. She inches closer to Dad, and puts her head on his shoulder. Dad brings her hand up to his lips and kisses it, saying, “Good night, troublesome woman,” automatically making Mom lean into him a bit more.

After a few minutes, Mom let out a soft snore. Dad rests his cheek against her temple, then brushing her golden hair aside, presses a deep kiss on her forehead. Mom smiles, her eyes still closed, her other hand pulling herself to close every physical gap between her and Dad, with her head snuggling into the crook of his neck.

I mean, this is great, because they made up, right?