Kira-Kira

… sent to me by reader Helen. I appreciate e-mails like this so much!!

Hi there. I wrote about how your book Kira-Kira affected me as kid, how it affects me now. I notice that many of my friends who have read Kira-Kira become immediately emotional at its mention. 

I was nine years old. My mom and I were on a flight from Seattle to New York. It was my first time flying across the country. I sat in the middle seat, B. My mom sat two rows behind me by window A. Thick beams of sunlight cut across the aisles, illuminating the interior of the plane. The woman next to me had a stack of papers on the tray table in front of her. She wrote all over them in red pen. She must have been a teacher. I wanted to impress her. From my backpack, I pulled out my own book. Kira-Kira. Light from the window in our row pooled into my lap. My thighs warmed. I started to read.

An hour into reading, the woman asked me if I was okay. “You’re crying, honey.” Tears glided down my cheeks. I clenched my teeth and tried to stop the sadness. It didn’t work. I was glad my mom was two rows behind and wouldn’t see me cry. I’ve always felt more comfortable crying in front of strangers. “I’m O.K.,” I told the woman. It was true. I was okay. I would always be okay.

It was my sister who wouldn’t be okay. I realized this for the first time while reading Kira-Kira on the plane that day.

I was nine years old, but I had seen the scars on my sister’s chest and stomach. I had counted the pills in her drawer. I had watched her try to fall asleep. People like her and Lynn, didn’t get better. They got sick. Then they got more sick. Some days would be bad. Other days would be worse. Eventually, they would all be bad.

When you see a character in a film reading a book, it usually means something. Sometimes it’s a theme or motif to pay closer attention to. Sometimes it’s a foreshadowing device. When I think of Kira-Kira today, I think of it like a movie prop. It’s in the movie I keep playing over and over in my head, the movie I can’t change or turn off.

I’m watching it now. There’s a wide-angle shot of nine-year-old me reading Kira-Kira. I’m basking in sunlight spilling in from an airplane window. Dust particles swirl above my light brown hair. The next scenes are set in hospital waiting rooms. I’m tugging at my mom’s sweater. “She’ll be O.K., won’t she?” Time passes. I find a copy of Kira-Kira in a used bookstore and I buy it. I put it on the bookshelf by my bed. More time passes. Now, we’re all aware how quickly time goes. Mom says there’s not much of it left. She asks me to come home. I do. I help my sister move into my room because it’s big enough to fit a normal bed and her new homecare bed. For the second time in my life, I realize my sister is dying. She’s dying just like Lynn.

There’s a shot of my sister and me by her bed. The blinds are drawn. I’m spooning steamed eggs into her mouth because she’s too sick to do it herself. On the bookshelf behind us, there’s a copy of Kira-Kira, and the camera lingers on it for a moment. I want people to know. Kira-Kira told me how the rest of my life would be before I lived it.