9.0: Shintakarajima

Tokyo is a metropolis—yet such was not the most original observation of the world’s largest city.

It does evoke a sense of scale when coming down from a trans-Pacific flight. I felt slightly cold from being in an Airbus for almost a day. It was a quiet, large plane with a big seat, but it was still quite tiring even if I was sedentary the whole time. By now, I had forgotten that as the plane descended, it was turning to slot itself into the approach path.

Looking out, that wonder of seeing the city never left. Yet such is speaking from a perspective of a privileged life. I was lucky, and cherished it more this time around. Even if the Skytree and the Tower were the only things I could make out on the horizon of lights, slowly being undone with their buildings slowly coming to view as the skies began to color with the long sunrise. Though I could only say as much, pardon the long prose, because it had been almost a year and two months since I had seen that view.

The airliner shook a bit as we touched down, and upon getting off, I thought that Haneda was a little colder than I remembered, walking to the baggage counter, eating a stale, half-cold bread in hand. It took me some time to truly wake up, having had the immigration officer repeat herself. I almost embarrassed myself by putting too little force on my large, single piece of luggage that I rented. Though the one I owned followed, half the weight of the first, soon after.

Pushing out from the carousel, my brain had already figured I was walking again and carried me onto the monorail platform. The sun was out now, with an interim breakfast, a warm curry pan, on one hand. The best part about coming home was not needing to line up where most visitors did, but on the other hand, I was home again, just not quite.

The monorail ride was quiet, leaning and falling asleep against the window. There was not much to be noted as we passed by and into Minato, as it bustled somewhat, though there was much to be said that I just hadn’t slept enough. Though yes, I did look forward to riding the Shinkansen home, I should remember it was a shorter, blue and white train. Perhaps the excitement of heading home spirited me away to its dark-colored, cushioned seat. I only gained some awareness back to buy myself a bento before I made a beeline for the platform, having singlemindedly pushed through the crowds on the busy local trains and the station itself. As other people were going to work or school, perhaps begrudgingly or silently sulking, I was looking forward to rest.

After a bit, the train left the station, watching the people turn from clearly defined shapes to a blur as the car’s electric motors rushed to speed. Not minding the announcements, a little ruffle of plastic later, the chopstick packet’s ripping, and lifting a lid, I chowed down on my first proper meal for the day. By Saitama, I found myself quite bored, though sleepy. One more month before we head back to Tokyo to study, though for my case, a homecoming was due.

When I woke up, on instinct, my ears perked up at two words, first being “arriving,” and second, home, “Toyama.”

I got off the Shinkansen a little past two hours after I boarded it, the sun almost at its height. Being one of the longer stops, I did not need to hurry pulling my things off the rack. Walking to the elevator, the humidity struck me, yet where I came from, now I would not complain of summers here being “too hot” while I took a swig and got rid of my bottle. Being welcomed again by the folks back home was an expectedly small but warm reception. I was glad to be told we were heading to my favorite restaurant, a small mom-and-pop place. Last I saw, I still used a taped, handwritten menu for my homecoming lunch. I know that internally, I felt like a kid again getting my curry slid my way, maybe local beer for myself too. Something must be said about food always tasting better after you’ve missed it for so long.

Getting back at home, my bed was just as I remembered it, save for it feeling a little softer than I remembered; the shelf and table, I could tell, were just quickly dusted off. I might clean it later, hopefully when the jetlag leaves me. The next thing I could remember was snuggling in, having used the last of my willpower to change into pajamas and jam the A/C on its highest setting. Stirring out of bed, it was dark, my sense of time got its bearings, and I guessed it was past midnight. I got my phone and checked, 00:25, correct. Checking some messages, I had a lockscreen to play post office with. With my best Solid Snake impression as I tried not to creak the staircase, looking at my phone, I filtered in my head who I would reply to first. Mostly, my closest friends welcomed me back; some replied to my Instagram story, and others used LINE. My stomach was first telling me about itself, so I dragged myself out of bed and checked the refrigerator, deciding to throw mabodofu over rice and stick it in the microwave. I beat the timer at least, and sat down to eat, spoon in hand, I started to reply. One of my friends had quite the proposition for me in hand.

[You want to go to our high school’s summer festival?]

I don’t have bad memories of high school. But it had only been two years since we all left for Tokyo. My curiosity got the better of me, but I was down for it.

[Sounds nice, but why?]

Hm? I was surprised to see he was actually typing an answer.

[Everybody from our class is going to be there.]

I do miss our own school festivals. University, here and abroad, seemed to just feel like networking events, almost like a conference of nervous young adults, or wild parties that can empty the social battery out of anybody. Eating something spicy to wake myself up, though, was always something I did. Though maybe I was just missing, instead, aching to do something worth my while before the semester starts again.

[Everybody?] I asked.

There were thirty of us from our class. No, a group I could count on my fingers was not “everybody.”

[Eh, maybe? I have seen some of the girls, those that left for Osaka, at least, even the ones that went for Hokkaido are here, must be hotter there than here, wwww]

I laughed to myself. Alright, he doesn’t lie too much. I took a spoonful, thinking, before typing.

[When is it?]

[Two days from now.] So, on Thursday.

He added that another friend of ours, from the same neighborhood and class, should go as a quartet. The boys from the same ward are still moving as a squad. I gave my commitment then. I wasn’t feeling the jet lag so much after I finished the dishes, feeling a bit sentimental at how fast time had passed since we were the students staying up this late just to prepare or practice. Time does go by. Going up, I could only unpack the larger bag, only then did I feel like sleeping again. Jumping into bed without as much as closing it, I could afford to wake up late anyway.

Daytime, well, the afternoon, was a jog and a half down by the Jōganji, though the sun was already setting when I got back. I did see two of my friends on the walk back, perhaps with my music down lower now, even the konbini clerk was a junior of mine, all being familiar tones. I did think someone was calling to me when I was jogging down an incline, though my head was turned to the stream, watching the sun reflect off the water, and my ears were being blasted to keep my spirits up. I guess we would have to see each other tomorrow, whoever that was. Trying to guess who that was, I was not exactly satisfied with myself, when, having been so long, some voices I just couldn’t remember or put a face to. Though I didn’t lose sleep over trying, I forgot it as soon as I turned the shower off, and I readied for the rest of the night.

We were late the next morning. I was arrogant to think I could get rid of the jet lag by the morning. Waking up to several missed calls from my friends, the three of us who lived in the same neighborhood. I slide my window to see them yelling at me to get ready. Yelling back, I told them to go ahead, and I would just follow. They know I was not going under the sun without preparing myself.

We were about an hour off from our target time when I ran out, stepping on my right sneaker to force my foot in. There was much to be said about how, here, even the train schedules were more laid back, the intervals long enough to strike a conversation even as we waited for the local train. Friends we were, the topics ranging from what the weather was like abroad, to how different—but also similar—people were to us back home.

Getting off the train, our campus was in a quieter part of town, not terribly far from the center. Yet we, the alumni, felt more festive than the students of the same school walking on the other side of the street. It could only be that they were pretty tired, or bored, or maybe we were just happy to be back. Then we met another one of our classmates coming from the other way. They were a bit busy talking amongst themselves. At the same time, I found myself just scanning the neighborhood again, only to feel that instinct to turn my head and see someone I know. She saw us first and called us. If I had doubts about people attending and if she could come back from as far as Asahikawa, there might be a chance that “everybody will be here.”

Going inside, it was the usual fare of a school festival. When we turned the gate, an array of booths already greeted us. Being student-run, I found that most booths were food stalls, though there was an odd console-game booth and a face-painting booth. Some matches were being played on the oval, though the diamond where we tried to be puro yakyū smelled more like yakitori and frying than teenagers yelling. We were told that the other girls were on the other side, and our only lady wanted to go left. Yet we protested and went to the left, where the scent of food wafted; none of us boys had breakfast yet.

Diverting from them, we promised her to give us thirty minutes before we all went and saw each other. Walking right into the crowd, some of whom may have been our batchmates, a senior or junior. Seeing students made me think if mine still fit, maybe, just maybe, it became a little larger for me. Though such reminiscing left me once I started to slurp out of the styrofoam bowl, my buddy next to mine caught my sigh after it. Asking me why, I told him.

“It feels odd to be back.”

“Oh, sentimental so early?”

“It’s just because it’s been a while,” I said, “Things have happened.”

“You saw your old crush, then?” He said, laughing at me. I did. Though she, unnamed, was just that, a schoolboy’s hormone-charged fantasy. Yet, even as I laughed in reply, he still wasn’t right.

“Maybe it’s just because I went abroad. I missed home.”

“I remember seeing it somewhere, some English show,” he began, then pretty much caught himself trying to think too hard before returning his attention to his gyūdon, able to spit it out after chewing halfway, “Absence makes the heart grow…softer?”

He was just about right, swapping out the word for a synonym. The correct word to the adage was fonder. I agreed with him, then the spotlight of our meal conversation soon floated elsewhere. After that, we walked by the sakuras, without their blossoms this time of year, to the small square tables, where the girls and the other half of the boys were. Some of them had their backs turned to us, and the others, even from the side of their faces, I could recognize by name. A few of them greeted us quite later than the rest, as there were around twenty people alone. The last one was a girl.

They called her attention, and only then did I get her name back: Yamada, Kaede. She was not particularly tall, and I remembered her hair being shorter. She did look better—though to be fair, we all did as we grew up—from the last time I saw her. What else could I remember about her other than her dancing, being the vice captain of the dance club after all. After I had exchanged my greetings with everybody else, she came to me, and after the usual polite pleasantries, asked.

“Were you outside yesterday afternoon?” she asked. I confirmed it, “Yeah, I was jogging.”

“Eh, so it was you I was calling to yesterday?!” Kaede chimed, smiling. She had never seen me doing it, simply because when I started, I would jog a bit after dinner. “You had a cap on, right?”

“Yeah! Oh, so that was you!” I replied, maybe a little too loudly. Finally, that was mysterious, well, not exactly, caller. I think I heard a bike too before that. I asked

“And you were on a bike?” I asked. Kaede confirmed herself. Somehow, I thought it was an older family friend calling me.

Beyond that, I just caught up with her. I was not particularly close to her, thinking she was pretty timid, sometimes lively, and very competitive. She was not one to give up her advantage where she could if it came down to it. She was much of the former, a group player, and smart off the stage. It did not surprise me that she was also on vacation from Tokyo, helping part-time at the store near her house. However, her days off had her going out with her girlfriends, which is the usual story for everybody. Though I had kept in contact with her and the rest of us, it was cordial.

Before, beyond our classroom, I would just see her walking home from their dance practice at the gym. Other times, our friend group would go out, her best friend being the girlfriend of one of mine. Sometimes I saw her study at last light on the bleacher close to the gate, given that our old library was on the top floor. I was trying my best as a catcher at our campus’ diamond. I never even decided to try out, but I apparently did well enough to not lose our class’ title. We were all moving as a group while that went on. While she kept to her group, I kept my attention on my guy friends, being the trailing group as we stopped at almost every booth that caught somebody’s interest. Passing by, someone even inserted an all-boys plan to go camping by next week, perhaps driven by the nostalgia of another being a former camping club member. I forgot there seemed to be clubs for all kinds of things, and the slower pace of just being up for everything was something I welcomed.

The rest of the day was quite a blur. High on nostalgia, even if it had not been so long since we all left, we grabbed lunch at the same family restaurant we often ate at after school. Yet the ramen I had tasted was slightly different, though not worse. Maybe because it was now the son, a senior of ours, who was running the place. After that, we just hung out on campus, going around and playing with the booths to pass our time, maybe eating just a bit too much along the way. In the late afternoon, I squatted on the oval with a catcher’s mitt. However, it was just us wanting to play catch while looking casual, and out of place, and I managed anyway.

By the time the students had packed into the gym for their concert, we all decided it was probably time to leave. Packing into an izakaya, two of them, as the way we were mixed had the girls evenly split with the boys, the others going to the one next door. I sat just behind the sliding door, next to my old seatmate. Before we knew it, after several skewers and bowls of rice, someone had the drinks brought out. Given that this was the first time we had seen each other, I was glad I took more than my usual ration of rice. Several skewers later, and being a light drinker, I was satisfied with just a few cans. Admittedly, the two shots of saké, my first time in almost a year, burned, the sensation of which took some time to leave my throat. Some of us stumbled out, maybe to catch a smoke, and others, already hobbling, pale, with their eyes droopy, left with a buddy to help themselves. They probably just threw up, then came back. However, at one instance, I caught Kaede whispering with her best friend, catching them just as they both glanced my way. She was shy when my gaze caught hers, though I didn’t think much of it as I returned my attention to my now-drunk seatmate, almost pushing a shot glass to my face, insistent.

“One more!”

I took it, toasted to him, cursing under my breath, and with the same, thanked Buddha. I was not drunk yet, then I shut my eyes and threw my head back. It burned. In a moment, I was tipsy and thought that better be my last shot of liquor. He cheered, much to his now drunken excitement. However, it never left my mind that Kaede seemed to want to ask me something. I just needed to excuse myself, and after talking to him for a while, he was starting to doze off, his top half swinging like a harbor buoy before excusing himself, and finally, at the moment he slid the door shut, he wretched and spilled himself onto the canal. I was more fortunate to hold out and not feel like throwing up. A bit dazed, I could feel it leave me as soon as I was done with my business, though everybody was now slowly hobbling out of the small izakaya. As we were, the slow line made it feel like Comiket. Stumbling outside, I just passed my old seatmate into the charge of his neighbor, another classmate of mine, a girl who always had a passing interest in him. He was too drunk to do anything, now having a spiraling headache.

Giving him my goodbyes, I sent him off. Among the four of us who had left the house twelve hours ago, three were sober enough, and the other needed a lift as he had fallen asleep, drunk. When we argued about who would carry our sorry lad home, a small voice called me.

I turned around to see Kaede, who was a bit red like me. Though in comparison, she looked much better than I did, her shifting big eyes made her fidgety. She had a stain from her friend, the same seatmate she had, falling forward onto her. Poor woman. Almost stumbling over her words, she started.

“Hey, um, so you’re the only person I know not working a summer job now, but,” she stammered on, her fingers fidgeting against her bag strap, “You have a car, right?”