Jiading

Its Tuesday night, which means my weekly serenade is about to begin.  I hustle to the kitchen window and push it open.  Neighbors below are cooking fish. Smells nice.  And the wafts of my own meal prep escape into the cool October air. Pork Belly, with rice, it’s nearly ready but I’ll let it simmer and make myself look busy. Besides, the kids are buried in their homework, and Liu has the game on.  No rush. And so it begins, first with some scales. Up, down, methodically, and in tempo. Slow, fast, slow again but in a jazzy way.  I hope he plays the one I like, maybe it’s an American love song. Or something classical would be nice. I think he is starting with some improvisation, sounds kind of  sad. How beautiful. Somewhere eight stories below, along the river, I imagine him perched on a bench, his notes reverberating off the water and walking path. The noises from town make it all the more pleasant. A football game in the distance. Glasses and plates being set for dinner next door.  What a nice town we live in.  Now it’s a traditional Chinese song. You always play this, and I think you hope others are listening. It’s ok. I’m listening.  Please continue.  Alto Saxophone? I should know this. It’s some kind of saxophone.  There’s something about that sound, and the way it travels, endlessly meandering along the tree line. One day, maybe I will go down there and be his first spectator. Will he take requests? Oh what a funny daydream! But at some point, I must know what he really looks like. The music plays on, now Adele I think, and I imagine him in a tweed jacket, spectacles, and a short brim hat. How handsome he must look! The kids are stirring, perhaps they are hungry.  My serenade has ended, and with a grimace of disappointment, I can also look forward to next week.  The game on TV is ending and so it’s almost time to serve dinner. But the dog must go out and do his business so I give a five minute warning and get the leash.  The inside of our elevator smells of eggs and feet. But it has always smelled this way, and I don’t mind. It actually smells comforting to me at this point. Like home.  As we go down, I think my life is very nice, but sometimes I wish to have my youth back.  At the bottom, an old man waits as the door opens. In his hand, he holds a black case, a saxophone case.  He could be my fathers age. Short, but thin, and upright.  No hat, but clean hair and nicely dressed.  There is youth in his eyes and a gentleness in his face.  From him, a simple “Nihao” and my face turns red.  He must know!  I say nothing. Too embarrassed!  We move past one another, my dog anxious to get outside, and just like that he is gone.  Catching my breath, a giggle sneaks out, and I am 17 again. Perfection. A part of me loves this man. And his saxophone. This will be my forever secret.  My Tuesday night romance.

Black Hawk Middle School

Our band teacher's name is Mr. Dick.  I heard that his first name is Herb, which would make him Herb Dick, and we laugh about what we think that means during lunch hour.  He's actually very good at what he does, training all of us, some 70 band members individually, and conducting the orchestra.  We play mostly stuff that we know, so its pretty fun.  I'm in the trombone section.  I wanted to play saxophone, but by the time they asked me, they already had too many of those, so I had to pick something different.  I asked, what's the long thing that slides out and back, and so they gave me a trombone.  Celia is also in the trombone section, she is second chair and I'm third, so I sit next to her nearly every day.  Trombones collect spit in the bottom, so once in a while we would need to open a valve to empty our spit onto the carpet (not a lot, just a few drops) so we'd make a point to get the clarinet section's attention and we'd drop it beneath their chairs.  There's always a short gag reflex, Celia and I laugh, and then we go back to playing Star Wars, or whatever the tune was that day.

And then next period we have PE.  Our school is only a year old, so it has an indoor pool.  The teacher, before we get in every day, reminds us that the water has a special chemical to detect urine, so if we pee in the pool, all the water around us will turn red, and everyone will know.  It makes me have to pee just thinking about it.  We do laps width-wise and it always starts with the breast stroke.  Maybe in middle school they should just give it a different name, cuz they keep saying breast stroke, the girls giggle and look at us to gauge our reaction.  Doesn't bother me any.  If they wanted to make me feel uncomfortable, they'd call it the tits stroke or something.  Ah, shoot, now it is bothering me, thinking about tits stroke.  Celia nudges me from behind in line as we're filing out, to let me know that she's there.  Its fine, since we're buddies, but now this year she's got two bumps where there didn't use to be any.  They stick out, and the water from the pool does its best job to make you notice them.  She doesn't even act different about it, which is awkward for me, because they're hard not to look at.  I've never seen her like this before.  She's got a dark complexion, different than anything I thought I'd get into, but alas, here I am, trying to think about anything other than that, to no avail.

At her house after school, we eat a snack in her kitchen and then start hanging out in her room.  Its different than mine, there's a lot more going on.  Stuff on the walls to look at, and stuffed animals all over the bed.  Feels cozy.  Celia pushes me on the bed and starts tickling me, which, I absolutely hate being tickled, so I throw her off of me, she lands on her side, and then I think I see her fingers running down her own self, and she's kind of looking at me kind of funny.  Something below my pants line is developing an achy pressure, but there's no time to address that right now.  She's taking my hand, and bringing it underneath her shirt, up to where I can feel her those soft bumps.  This may be the best feeling I've ever felt, ever in my life. 

Its dark in the room when I wake up.  Frustratedly, I clean up the mess that's been made, which, frankly, I don't know what it is or how it got there.  Change pajamas, its freezing in the room, and hop back under the covers.  Anyway, its done now, not much more to say about it, so I get back into sleep mode.  Its still really dark out.  Falling back asleep, I think, I really do like band class.  How do I find out if Mr. Dick's first name really is Herb?  And how odd, for parents to knowingly name their kid that… Herb Dick.

Himeji

Every time that I’m on the Shinkansen, I always think the same thing.  Looking out the window, seeing buildings and rice farms in the distance, I don't feel like we're moving fast at all.  But, in fact, I know we are.  And today, I think about my life, and how its probably very similar to the bullet train.

Its hot and its humid today.  But in here, its quiet and comfortable.  In the summer, especially, its like the heat lays a blanket over the energy of everyone, and they keep to themselves, and well, I prefer it this way.

Ahead, to the West, I can see we are headed into some dark clouds.  We do not get storms very often in Southern Japan, but when we do, they are considerably loud and strong.  Maybe the train will race past the storm and we won't be bothered.

I love Shinkansen, and how far it takes you in a short amount of time.  When its heading north, towards Osaka, I think to myself, just once I will break the law, and hide in the bathroom the extra 30 minutes until it arrives in Kyoto.  There, without plans or responsibility, I will enjoy the day, and then return home to my kids and husband.  Not today, though.  Actually, today I'm already on the way back from Osaka.  My mother-in-law, she's getting old, and she doesn't move around well on her own anymore.  She had errands in the City, so my duty is to take her there and then back to our hometown of Himeji.

Its not so bad, except in her passive way, she tells me how to parent to my children.  They should study more, they need to get into University, they need to be engineers.  Already my kids go to school almost every day, and then they go to tutoring after school, and they study so much for their entrance exams.  I worry about putting more pressure on them, but of course, Obachan wants to talk, and this is what she wants to talk about, usually.

Of course, I did all of these studies, myself.  It was hard work, but we always say, "fight, fight" and eventually its finished and then we move on in our lives.  I went to University, in Tokyo, it was there that I met my husband, he now works for Mitsubishi Automotive, and my responsibilities are close to home, helping in the restaurant, helping with our kids, and helping in our community.  This is important and I take my duties seriously, even though my education is good enough for a man's job.

I notice, we just passed by a large onsen outside of Kobe.  I've been there.  It’s a day spa, with warm pools, cold rooms, massage areas, and restaurants.  It’s a lovely way to spend a day, especially with a romantic partner, but today we carry on.  Maybe one day my husband will take me there again.  Its just so busy now, until the kids are at University.

Obachan is still talking when we stop in Kobe.  Its raining violently now, and the thunder directly follows the lightning.  The attendants are chatting amongst themselves when we hear another loud crack, like its right outside our window.  Shortly after, an announcement says the train will remain in Kobe until the storm has passed, and they will do some inspection of the equipment, for safety reasons.  We have a new departure time, in two hours.

The foreigners, we say gaijin, they know Kobe for the cows that are raised in the foothills, but the Japanese know Kobe for the horrible earthquake that happened here a few decades ago.  It was so sad, many people died that day.  We think about them, but also I think about how quickly this city was rebuilt.  It was conditioned to handle future earthquakes, and it was also built to be so modern in architecture, now there is some international culture here, too.  I love seeing Kobe so near to my town, because it is an advanced Japanese city, and it reminds me of Tokyo.

The rain has stopped, the sun is very bright with clear skies now, and we still have an hour and thirty before departure.  Against reluctance from Obachan, I convince her to take a short walk down to the sea with me, to this little village.  There, we arrive at one of my favorite restaurants.  In Japanese culture, one of the more favourite dishes is called okanomiaki, and this restaurant is famous for preparing local kind of this food.  Its like a pancake, but with seafood, and pork, and vegetables, with cabbage and a delicious sauce.  Other prefectures of Japan also have okanomiaki, but they prepare with cabbage outside the batter, and my prefecture makes it the best.  At lunch, Obachan wants to tell me how my husband should work more.  And at night, after work, he should have more dinners with his work-mates.  This way, he can show the company that he works hard, and he will become more important there.  This is the traditional Japanese way, and my husband already does all of these things.  We see him on Sunday, which is family day, and usually we prepare a large lunch and eat at a vineyard or garden, or have family to our house.  He's a lovely man when he is not working.  Unfortunately we take vacations for that time, now.  He is also from my hometown, Himeji, although we did not attend the same high school.  But during holidays, in University, he would take me to the place where people tell secrets, and drink French wine.  He told me there that I was beautiful, and colorful.  I think he meant that I was a mix of old Japan and new Japan, and I really liked this as a compliment.  We called this love, and then we got married.  He's very nice when he is relaxed.  Anyway, I think his mother is lonely and wants to talk to somebody, so I listen, for the most part.  Its good for her to talk.  She reminds me frequently about her childhood, and how it wasn't always an easy life for her.  She doesn’t talk about it directly, but I know she grew up scared, and poor, and it’s a good reminder to me, to be happy for my life.

She knows the traditional side of me, but I don't think she knows the exciting side of me.  I like Karaoke, and I like modern art, and sometimes I turn on American television to practice English, even though its difficult to understand the humour.  They use a live audience, and when they laugh, I smile, its good practice for smiling.  Today, we are on an adventure, so I decide to ask her some exciting questions.  Where did you and your husband meet?  In grade school… boring.  Where have you traveled?  Italy for studying food… boring.  "Obachan, if you know you're going to die soon, and you have time for one last meal, it can be anything made special for you, what do you want?" And she gives me this look, a little bit encouraging, and then she says white rice.  "Obachan, I don’t mean what's best for you as you are sick, I mean what is your favourite meal, since you like food so much?"  And she says she has tried many foods, and prepared many meals in our restaurant.  But in her afterlife, she wants to remember white rice the most, and she wants to be remembered for her appreciation of white rice.

Its time to go back to the train now, we slowly walk up the hill towards the station, her arm is in my arm for balance as we walk.  I think to myself, I like how Japan is learning to embrace some modern things, but its also good to have people like Obachan.  They protect the identity of Japan, and I appreciate her for this.  Soon, maybe I will be like Obachan for my children, so they can remember the importance of our Japanese history and culture.  Like this train, maybe its better to start soon, because I don't know how fast my life is really moving.

We settle into our chairs, and we are on our way back to our hometown, called Himeji.