“What if we skipped Kyoto?”
I said it from the couch.
Dani looked up from packing our day bag.
She nodded toward my camera on the table.
“But the torii gates.”
In the other room, the boys slept, one sprawled sideways across the mattress, the other curled beneath his blanket.
“It’s a long trip. A lot of trains just to haul a stroller through stations.”
She thought for a moment.
“What do you want to do instead?”
A few minutes later, we had our answer:
“The Kids Plaza.”
~
The lobby greeted us with rows of capsule vending machines.
Plastic spheres clattered into trays while children twisted knobs and ran off holding tiny prizes. Nearby, a projector covered the floor with darting fish that scattered beneath little feet before gathering again in glowing schools.
Above the ticket counter, a marble rolled into view.
It dropped into a switchback, disappeared through a tunnel, emerged onto another track, struck a wooden paddle that flipped another rail into place, then continued through gears, bells, and bridges. Every junction offered another route. Every route somehow found its way back to the beginning.
Dani bought the tickets while I watched. Then an elevator brought us upward.
~
A climbing tower filled the center. Nets, bridges, tunnels, and bright yellow slides twisted upward toward mirrored ceilings that reflected children running upside down overhead.
The boys were gone before the elevator doors finished opening.
We caught glimpses of them for the next hour.
A blue jacket disappearing through a tunnel.
A streak of orange hair.
A laugh from somewhere above.
A hand waving from behind a side.
~
“Look.”
Dani tugged my sleeve for attention. She pointed.
Corbin stood inside a pretend grocery store.
The shelves were stocked with cereal boxes, cartons of milk, vegetables, seaweed, noodles, and trays of fish. Everything looked real until you picked it up. Every package weighed almost nothing.
An attendant held up her fingers.
“Three.”
Corbin grabbed the first three items he saw. In this case, three boxes of noodles.
He grinned—noodles were his favorite.
The attendant pointed to the register, then him scan each item.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
A receipt printed.
She smiled and handed it to him.
Then she pointed back toward the shelves.
Corbin hesitated, then returned every item to exactly where he had found it.
I waved to Dani.
“Where’s Avery?”
“There.”
He carried five yellow envelopes. Each bore a large number.
He checked the first one, spotted the matching blue mailbox down the hallway, and ran.
The envelope disappeared through the slot.
He looked at the next.
“What number?”
“Four.”
And he was running off again.
Corbin then appeared behind me, holding a stack of his own.
“Seven.”
I followed them from mailbox to mailbox until every letter had found its destination.
Then they ran back to the attendant to ask for more.
She smiled, and quietly obliged. Elsewhere in the building, kids wore uniforms sized for little bodies.
They cooked.
Built.
Rode subways.
They broadcast news.
~
“I’m hungry.”
Dani and I were sitting together on the stairs overlooking the playground. Corbin had found us after a third round of delivering mail.
She checked the time.
“We should probably think about lunch. Do you want to go, or do you want to play a little longer first?”
“Play.”
Then they were off again before she finished. Disappeared among the slides.
~
Hours later, we rounded a corner and found ourselves back near the elevators.
Above the ticket counter, the marble was still traveling.