Chapter 2
Sasuke Uchiha exited the school bus a street above his aunt’s apartment. He didn’t turn back to see the bus doors close with their rickety lilt or to see the brownish yellow bus drive off with its remaining students aboard. There was no one on the bus to wave back to, no one to want to see tomorrow, or the next day for that matter. Sasuke walked steadily along the cracked pavement of the sidewalk, littered with year old soda cans and plastic. Mobile homes and trailers lined the streets through the next three neighborhoods, and ahead of him were the four industrial looking buildings that’s consisted of motels and low-income apartments.
It was nearly 3:30 p.m. and the sun was beginning to set on this neighborhood, the environment changing from light gray to dark. A color Sasuke was now most fond of, but not for love of the shade or feelings of fulfillment. It was a color he felt described himself, lacking and lost.
Sasuke walked up the metal stairs to the second floor, the first door on the right was apartment 201, his aunt Tsunade’s place. Unlocking and swinging the door open, flecks of its splintering green paint fell on his black jacket. He didn’t announce himself but began to trek through the cluttered apartment, its room darkened as the shades were pulled down. Receipts, bills, and newspapers covered the countertops and dishes piled dirty and stained in the sink. His leftover fast food and their wrappers sat on the coffee table before the 15-year-old T.V. and D.V.D. player. He walked by the coffee table unacknowledging the mess he left behind the night before with one goal in mind – to sit at his computer and play Call of Duty. Sasuke was just about to reach his room when he heard his aunt call out to him from her room down the hall, “Sasuke- Sasuke are you home?”
She emerged from the dark room with her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. She was in her relaxed clothes, and her under eyes were gray and baggy. She must have just gotten off her shift at the hospital, usually working from the early morning hours to afternoon. The hospital had been short-staffed, so she was taking more hours as they came. This last week she didn’t have any days off. Sasuke came into the hall where she called out to him and said, “Yeah, Aunt Tsunade, I’m home.”
They looked nothing alike, no one in their small town of Michigan would be able tell that they were related. Her Irish lineage left her complexion pale and covered in freckles, her green eyes were always big and bright, even if she was in her most tired state. Sasuke took after his father, who immigrated from Japan and married Tsunade’s sister. Even though he was nearly a quarter Irish, his Japanese heritage overtook his looks leaving his hair black as night and skin olive and smooth.
Tsunade came out of her room and motioned Sasuke with her to their kitchen, “A package came for you…” When he first came to live with her, he was 14 and several inches shorter than her. Now, at 17 he was nearly half a foot taller, and he stood over her while she found the package. Not much surprised Sasuke these days, though a package was unusual. His aunt picked up the small black box with Japanese words written over the outside, like they were holding the box shut. Aunt Tsunade handed him the small box, “It says it’s from House Uchiha for you – in Japan.” She looked at Sasuke curiously who turned the box around in his grip.
Sasuke inspected the words, though his father had never taught him to read Japanese. The house of his surname intrigued him-but all he knew of his family in Japan was that they ostracized his father for leaving and marrying a non-Japanese woman. They had told him to never return and to abandon the family name.
After looking over the box several times, Sasuke met his aunts eyes and asked, “Do you think this is from my father’s family?”
Aunt Tsunade shrugged, her expression of surprise, “I don’t know. I’m not sure how they even found you, with us moving twice this last year – I even forgot to change our forwarding address this last time.” She chuckled with embarrassment before returning to the conversation, “Well, open it!”