But we were back for this two-year anniversary of his death, with all of Jiji’s relatives, the kids of his one sister who survived the firebombings.

We were late in the trip, staying in this economy hotel in Nakameguro that had these dank croissants at their continental breakfast with these wild and wildly-Japanese-somehow butter/jam combo squeeze packets, the butter and jam came out simultaneously when you squeezed em, like the squeezing of them did the mixing for you…

But we were at the stage when prolonged travel time together was wearing on us.

We’d gotten into some tiff, can’t remember what about exactly, but it was a reenactment of our fights growing up, where we’d be playing and everything would be good so long as I was winning; but if I ever lost, I would, if we were younger, hit her, or, if older, go ruthlessly mean. Shut down. Non-physically bully her into tears.

Something along those lines had happened that day, during a long, exhausting, blasted Tokyo day mishing it around Harajuku, she looking for Gwen Stefani–type drip, me for rare but fake and so even more rare Jordans Nigerians would slang at wild overprices to unsuspecting, American-wannabe Japanese kids.

But that night. We’d conked out, I think we were splitting a king bed, and she woke up in the middle of the night and started yelling and hitting me.

Except she hadn’t woken up.

She was sleep talking.

“You never lis-ten to me! Why don’t you ever lis-ten to me!” she was saying, in an eerily indignant, urgent, but also distant way, hitting me on the lis-es.

“Hey, hey, what? What’s going on?” I said, sitting up and prodding her.

It went on for a minute, and progressively fucked me up.

But then she woke up.

And when I told her what happened, she made light of the whole thing.

Laughed, and said “Seanie, that was nothing. I was dreaming!”

But that always stuck with me.

Like she had to be in that half-sentient state to tell me how she really felt.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

I stared at the last bite of my torta.

Couldn’t do it. It looked so unappetizing.

“I just feel so helpless right now!” I said, breaking down.

Once, not long after the ole man dipped.