This is my "memoir" project in my writing class, so yes, this did indeed happen to me! I also took the picture, so everything here is MINE. Ehm...I feel that this is quite short, but I definitely love the content, and am kind of proud of myself. Critique is welcomed, but please be nice about it, as I'm still a bit...overprotective of my work x.x;;

Also, I apologize that it's not a furry piece. Maybe someday, I'll tweak it and make it a furry piece xD For now, just read something nice, ne?

Enjoy :]

And again, FA seems to hate my file format...so here's the story in my comment box -.-;

The stairs are twice as tall as normal stairs. We’ve been off the train for an hour already, and the hike through town was like climbing Mount Everest. We ate lunch in a small restaurant at the top of the hill, and sat by a window that opened onto a closed in waterfall garden. The sun has begun to set, and the thermometer says 45 F, but I am unraveling my scarf, and my breath comes out in puffs. We take the stairs easily, and stop partway at a shrine.
The first pagoda is five sections tall. On the top of the first level, there are three monkeys: hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. I buy a white charm with a soft bell from the lady there, and thank her in Japanese. She bows to me, and I bow back. I know she’s a little surprised by how well I speak Japanese. We keep walking, up more stairs, to another shrine. Outside is a small well with wooden ladles resting on it. I push my sleeves up and carefully pour the water over my hands. Then we go to the main shrine.
I toss a 500 yen coin into the wooden box. It clinks against someone else’s, then slips between the cracks. I clap twice, and bow, then clap once more. We stand and make our prayers and wishes, then continue through the shrine. Barrels of sake are stacked four high along every wall. My father says something about them being saved over time for the priests to use in a once-a-year ritual. We take off our shoes and trade them for slippers to go inside. There are rooms with description plaques, some for sleeping, some for children, and some for seppuku. The doors are painted vividly with flowers and leaves of all kinds, in all colors.
Finally we reclaim our shoes. While I’m tying mine, my mom pulls out a camera. It seems wrong to defile this holy place with a photo, so I put up my hands. Besides, I’m not much of a camera person. We walk across the gravel to an arch that leads to more stairs. I groan, and my father laughs.
“You know there’s a story behind the cat,” he says. I look at him like he’s crazy.
“What cat?” He nods to the top of the arch, where a glitter porcelain cat is placed. “Oh.” I hadn’t seen the cat. The day isn’t necessarily hot, but I am tired.
“Once there was a priest, who loved cats. He was traveling across the land, spreading kindness and help, and decided to take a nap on a hill. When he woke up, a black and white kitten was asleep on his sleeve. He was wearing the most expensive silk kimono you could buy. But because the kitten was on his sleeve, he sliced it off and carried on with only one sleeve.” I look up at the cat figure again, then to my father.
“So why is the cat here then?”
“Tokugawa Ieyasu, the Shogun whose grave is here, loved that story. He told others it was a true story of his younger days. This cat was placed to represent the cat he claimed he had sacrificed his sleeve for.” We start up the stairs, thinking of the cat and this Shogun who wanted to be loved by even kittens.
I can hardly breathe as we walk. I’m so tired of stairs, and that’s all we can find. Stairs, stairs, and more stairs. I’m breathing heavily, and my legs are burning. I secretly hope that I lose five pounds, because if I don’t, I’m going to be angry. The stairs wind up and around, like a tower. Then suddenly, in a heartbeat, the air turns comfortably cool. It’s quiet, and I can hear the hushed whispers of people higher up. Something here feels calmer, more peaceful. I tug the bands free of my hair, then pull it up into a ponytail. I regret not cutting it before the trip, but the length and colors get me plenty of looks.
“Some people say his spirit was so pure, that upon death, it purified his entire estate,” my mom says. I roll my eyes. Her name is Sharon, and her hair is the color of honey. Her eyes are paler than the trees around us. She doesn’t fit in at all, but her smile is warmer than a sauna.
“Well, the air is nice.” I take a deep breath, and we walk the last few steps up. Tokugawa Ieyasu’s grave is not what I had expected. It’s not big, or grand, or covered in gold. The site is round, made of dark stone that is etched with age and time. It’s covered in writing that tells the story of his life. My father David, better known as Dave, bends over and squints in an effort to read the words. His dark hair is peppered with gray, and he wears a pair of wire-rimmed glasses for his bad eyes. From a distance, or an angle, he could almost look normal there. On the back of it is a wall, made of the same dark stone. On either side are statues of ancient warriors, and in the middle is a block with hinges on the sides. That’s where the body is kept.
I can’t move for a while, in the peaceful moment, from this place where the air smells like flowers and pine trees shade us from the evening heat. We clasp our hands together, and let our hearts whisper a silent prayer for Tokugawa-sama. From his grave, and this temple, he must have been a good man. I speak to the woman at a kiosk by the stairs while I’m buying a good luck charm. She calls me cute, and wishes me luck. I thank her, and we begin the descent.
We reach the bottom much faster than we reached the top. I buy tea and coffee from the vending machine while we wait for our train. My sister suggests that we stop in Tokyo Park on the way back. She and I have the same dark hair as our father, and our eyes are squinted slightly from the minute Asian blood in us. Even with that, the natives stare at our round eyes. My eyes are dark amber in color, and my sister’s a sort of honey green. There’s no mistaking that we aren’t from there, no matter how good our Japanese is. So I sit in the warm smoking room with my tea and a thousand brochures covered in pictures of cherry blossoms while the sun sets across my face.