Day 2: Part III

We ascended the station stairs surrounded by the click-clack of hurried wanderers, by the faint whistle of an overcast wind, and by songs from modern sirens--discord kittens. There were ads all over Tokyo, but these took on a distinct two-dimensional, often feminine, and otherworldly composition. There we were. Not just Japan, nor Tokyo, but the cultural capital of the digital era. Indeed, there was a prophetic beauty in that the entirety of human civilization and culture had been projected in a direct path to that one particular district: Akihabara

We wandered alongside the other weebs and geeks beside roads as wide as a river streaming with cars and buses beneath an air crowded with joy. I bought a navy-blue umbrella at a tax-free shop and we stopped at various arcades that ringed like slot machines. It made my dreams come true.

That was also the name of the cafe we went to, Maid Dreams.

We found it by approaching a woman in a French maid cosplay. She was enjoying her cigarette break and faced Sean with a foreboding resignation when he asked for directions. It was a few blocks away.

One might call me a hypocrite for recommending we go. However, maid cosplay had always been, to me, primarily a Japanese phenomenon. Never mind if the fashion was rooted in Western aristocratic traditions. Furthermore, my excitement stemmed more from curiosity as my friend Julian had expressed high levels of moe when he had recommended it.

We entered a room of near-white pink accented with warmer shades of the same color. It was like a Barbie house but with no windows. A waitress donning cosplay and matching kitten ears led us to a table beneath the mirror that ran along the back. She spoke in a deliberately cute and cheeky way that, despite not knowing the words, had made me blush the color of the walls. I was given bunny ears and Sean was given bear ears. He looked like a Teddy bear. There was a karaoke stage beside where was mounted the logo: a pink and blue heart. The siren-esque music played here as well, “Die ski! Die ski! DIE ski!”

An older Japanese man sat facing the stage. Sean and I skimmed the menu with the food’s faces smiling back at us. “If I’ve got these bunny ears on,” I joked to Sean, “would eating one of the bunny parfaits make me a cannibal?”

“Hmm,” he pondered, accentuating with a stroke of his chin. “You’ll have to order and see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sean shrugged. “On the menu it says, ‘Usagi-chan is very shy but loves to play! Please make friend with me!’ Could a non-cannibal eat something as innocent as that?” He joked.

“Shy but loves to play? Reminds me of someone.”

“Who?” he asked. “Why are you--what’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrugged. “You’ll have to order and see.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Maybe I’ll get one, too.”

After we ordered our main courses, Sean continued a lecture that he had started at the arcade on rhythm games and their techniques, miming the movements as he spoke. I had tried to play one of them on the hardest difficulty and had made a fool of myself, not that he would call it that. “It just takes practice,” he said. “Plus, you learned the violin. That’s an advantage.”

“Not really.”

“You did well after the first round.”

“That’s because we switched to easy mode.”

“You’re better than you think.”

Our conversation came to an end when our food arrived. I had curry rice in the shape of a bear that was surrounded by sauce with sprinkles of star-shaped cheese. A piece of cut seaweed was its smile. Sean had ordered omurice. The waitress drew a cat on it out of ketchup. After drawing, she began speaking, making a heart with her hands, moving them to the right saying, “moi,” then to the left and again, “moi,” before pushing forward them from her chest like confetti.“Kyuuu! Ouishiku naru yo,” she cheered, clapping her hands.

I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “Kowaii,” with a smile that rivaled my curry’s. She blinked a few times then bowed and walked away.

My bear blushed at me with half a grape tomato. How can I eat something this--actually I don’t care. His mouth flipped to a frown. I wolfed it down. I liked my curry on the spicier side, but this one was more mellow. I ate because I was hungry: thus is the way of nature. It didn’t take long to clear our plates and order parfaits.

As the waitress brought us parfaits, I said to Sean, “Wow, look at those.” I pointed to mine as she sat it down, “They’re so kowaii!” She giggled as she left.

Sean’s parfait was a monkey made of matcha ice cream with bits of banana. I ordered the “Usagi-chan” made out of strawberry ice cream and marshmallows. Halfway through, I remembered I was wearing the bunny ears and felt a sense of betrayal. “Et tu, lepae,” I spoke with a high pitch in the voice of my fallen kin.

Sean laughed. “Is that Latin? No wonder you’re so quick to learn Japanese.”

Before I could comment on my prodigy status, the lights dimmed and a different waitress took to the stage. The old man had requested her. She sang a rendition of Happy Birthday. She had a nice voice and danced like a pop idol.

When I caught a glimpse of the man, I couldn’t look away. He was serious but had this look of innocence that was dissonant considering his age. His eyes were as wide as his smile. He reclined as far as one could in a chair, swaying from side to side as though it were a slow dance and he was her partner. This cafe was not merely a place for fun, but rather, to him, a slice of the immortal life.

When the lights came back on, he clapped vigorously as the waitress passed right by him for the back. Not looking, he reached for his glass and it spilled on the table. He laughed to himself and shook his head, his mood unspoiled, then called for service. Out she came. He chatted with her and she left again. A new song began to play. He closed his eyes and waved his finger as though he were conducting.

“That guy over there,” I whispered to Sean. “He's way too into it. Like it’s Beethoven.”

“This probably is his Beethoven,” he said with a pitiful smile.

It was my comparison to classical music, but Sean’s conclusion didn’t sit well with me. It was just as easy to say that about someone who had dismissed other cafes in favor of this one; about someone who had made jokes during the morning pledge of allegiance that perhaps one day it would be to a different flag; about someone who thought it would be fun to visit--for was it not his immersion that made it fun? The old man’s reaction could easily have been Julian’s had he come alone. It could have easily been…no. I can’t be like that.

The songs switched and our waitress brought him his bill. He looked at her with his head tilted to the side, but couldn’t manage to speak. She left. He got out his wallet.

The “die ski” chorus rang in the air and with it evaporated the world of cute.

We left.

Outside, the streets had been blocked off and people began to roam freely across it like a pedestrian mall. A white dog ran around with a tennis ball in his mouth. A photographer stood in the middle of the street, taking photos of the district. Others had noticed and looked to see what he was taking a picture of. Between the two lanes of high rises, the sun had escaped through a scab in the clouds. We watched the sunlight blur.

“Look at that,” I said, pointing to the dog. “He’s so kowaii! I wonder if I can pet him?”

“Uh, you know,” Sean began to say as we walked onto the street. “Kawaii means cute.”

“Yeah.”

Sean shook his head. “You, um, keep saying kowaii.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Well, kowaii means scary or frightening. It’s kawaii for cute.”

“Ohh,” I said. “So when I was--”

“Yeah.”

“And she thought I’d said--”

“I think she caught on.”

“Well, you know, some people--”

“Like that guy.”

“Yeah, he’s old-waii.”

A tennis ball rolled over and stopped at my foot. I picked it up. A dog ran barking toward us. The owner, a middle-aged woman in a suit, chased behind. She began to apologize to Sean, and I asked him to ask her if it was okay for us to pet her dog.

“She said it’s fine.” I handed the ball to Sean, who returned it to her.

I squatted next to the dog and petted him. Sean joined me. “Namae wa nani desu ka,” I asked the owner while rubbing behind the dog’s ears.

“Pikurusu desu,” she said, then waited for a reaction.

“Pikurusu,” I could repeat the name, but didn’t know what it meant. I looked to Sean to translate.

“Pickles,” He told me.