A waiting line crowded at the entrance
of two buses from Tanforan and Pecia to an unknown destination.
Heads are low and shielded with hats or
triangular handkerchiefs.
Faces stuck out the small windows and a
sign held by one passenger read, “Goodbye, Goodluck, Beat USC.”
Nearby a soldier, with his lip curling
upward at the edges, wears a belt with pockets and “MP” initialed
on his tricep.
With a partial smile, he hammers
dreadful news reading, “Instructions all persons of Japanese
ancestry.”
Two old and balding Japanese men look
ornery in their business suits as the post is placed.
The same man with the “MP” badge
stands still.
He now has one elbow stretching behind
his back while the other hand replaced the hammer with a rifle.
His belt pockets are fuller, and his
lips now snarl and disgruntle what use to be a peaceful face.
The bus is long gone, but the Southern
Pacific railroad, with its large windows, still summons reluctant
crowds.
Concerned individuals shed tears with
their goodbyes and their faces are no longer hidden as they glimpse
at the last time they will see friends and family.
These goodbyes remain permanent on the
cold bronze and rectangular memorial, and ironically sits next to a
bus and train line of San Jose.
Words: 220
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