Keeping up with the Tanakas

Today I noticed that a building I loved was torn down. I would see it almost everyday as we pulled into the station. It was very close to the tracks, on the ocean side, an old, run down two-story, painted white, obviously neglected and empty. I think the only thing that loved the building, besides me, was the ivy that grew all over, covering the outdoor staircase, enclosing it in a protective layer, almost obscuring the windows. The all-important windows. You see, the second story featured two sides of long windows, providing a 180 degree view of the world around it. It is rare to find a house with a lot of windows in Japan. These windows were the kind that have been around for a very long time, so long that they were slightly warped little squares of glass, set in checkerboard panes. When I would see the sun shining into the windows lining the sides of the second story, I would imagine myself up in that room, curled in a comfy chair, reading a book, the smell of the ocean coming in on a gentle breeze. Isamu could train watch from the comfort of his own home. Perhaps this little building wasn't even a home, I think it was owned by the train company, but I wanted to live in it.