America pushed open the rusted door and placed a tentative foot on the dilapidated threshold, scrunching her nose with displeasure as the ancient hinges creaked ferociously. Her eyes were immediately met with a cramped apartment space in great need of a thorough cleaning. The bedroom door was unlocked and angled so that America peered in easily viewed the articles of clothing flung all around the unmade bed sorely. Pieces of paper and dust littered the floor of the entire residence, but one room in particular was absolutely spotless, a huge contrast from the other rooms, which appeared as if they'd been burglarized.
      Her growling stomach immediately reminded America of what she had intended to do in the first place. Her hands strained with the weight of shopping bags, and her petite frame ached as she rushed toward the kitchen and quickly placed them on the graphite counter. With a sigh she rubbed the red marks left on her wrists but her spirits soared as she took out the contents. Bags of rice, bushels of seaweed, and a miscellaneous array of produce were momentarily spread across the table. America smiled warmly. The vivid colors protruding from the variety of foods evoked memories of a long-lost childhood and the voice of someone she held dear replayed in her head like a record stuck on rewind.
      “You know, this came from a faraway place.”
      America grunted as she reached up to open a kitchen cabinet. With a heave, she steadied herself, and her skinny arms grabbed for the wooden board. After obtaining a firm grip, America quickly took it and set it down with a loud bang.
      “Your grandmother gave it to me. She was a very wise woman. And my grandmother gave it to her, and her mother gave it to her. It is very special in our family.”
      America placed one hand on her hip and a finger on her chin. Deep in thought, she stared intensely at the food sprawled across the counter. A simple roll would do for tonight, she decided. After putting aside the avocado, crab meat, cucumber, rice, and seaweed, she placed the rest of what she had purchased neatly away in the refrigerator and kitchen cabinets. She spread the seaweed across the wooden slab and set a rusted pot atop the stove.
      “You see the writing on the handle, America? It says ‘Respect the hand that feeds you.’ Take heed.”
      Small bubbles formed in the water as it boiled. They appeared brittle and crystalline, alive for but moments before dissolving into nothingness yet again. America spilled the rice inside, the grains making comforting plopping sounds during their impact with the water. Soon, the cucumbers were sliced into long sticks, the avocado cut into generous pieces, and the crab meat taken apart by nimble fingers. Everything was promptly placed onto the seaweed and rolled tightly.
      “I’ll give it to you when you’re older. It’s a symbol of your heritage. We were so happy to get to America. So happy, we named you after our joy and pride, in hopes that that's what you'd become.”
      America took the familiar hold of the ancient sushi knife. Her fingers traced the Japanese characters carved deeply into the handle. She sighed as memories flooded her mind, faces of people she used to know, smells of places she used to visit, the feel of things she was ripped away from. America brushed away her thoughts, deciding now was not the time to reminisce about the past. She chopped the long piece of seaweed into smaller rolls, placing them neatly on a plastic plate and bringing them over to the table. She sat in a solemn silence, staring blankly at the wall before getting up and returning with the knife yet again. America caressed the blade and turned it over in her hands. It was lonely times like these that she would remember her mother. She would remember the crooked smile, the crinkles at the corners of her sparkling eyes, her hollow cheeks, and warm hands. America remembered the placid tone of her voice. Her mother was never a talkative character, often speaking only when needed. But when she spoke, her words resounded deeply with whoever listened. And everybody always listened.
      “But enough stories for now. Eat sushi child, take comfort in its flavors. I won't always be there to make it for you.”