Day 3: Part V

There were two stops between Shizuoka Station and the local line that ran to his grandmother’s town. The local train was small and the seat’s orange cushions had dulled. We were the only passengers. There was a small box to drop in the payment. The train conductor sat with his back to it, separated by a small plastic screen. We bowed to him. After Sean dropped a few coins into the box, he scurried to an empty seat by the window and fell into the chair. He set his backpack on the free seat as though it were a blockade. I’m sure the conductor noticed. I was getting annoyed.

The train rocked through the countryside. The scattered lamppost slowly fell to the shroud of twilight. I could easily see myself walking along these rural streets, returning home late from school with one of those square backpacks, while I kicked a rock and had an imagined argument. If I’m bothering you, just say so, sheesh. How long are you gonna give me the silent treatment? He was just as reluctant to speak in my mind. I could stand in the middle of the street, between the shingled roofed houses, as the sound of the crickets and croaking frogs accompanied me to my house on a hill with a red door. The town would disappear into the other driveways that ran down the street like streams to a river. The houses made from vinyl in the colonial style. A bus drove down the road, hissing its doors open for me. Wait! I haven’t done my homework!

I opened my eyes and Sean was rummaging through his backpack. The train began to slow. We departed.

It was cold in the town. The wind was blowing. I could make out shadows of mountains but nothing else. It was like a mythical haze, a boundary between reality and superstition. Footsteps echoed along the pavement, as though some demon were making haste.

A short woman emerged.

Sean walked towards his grandmother.

Sean and his grandmother spoke in their language and I followed behind him. No introduction? It was a five-minute walk up the street. By the time we got to her house, the path surrounded by country homes had vanished into the unseeable dark with the rest of the world. There seemed only to be the wall and sliding door.

The genkan was a concrete slab. The main floor started about half a meter above it accessed by a small staircase that ran along the side. House slippers were scattered on the stairs and on the edge of the floor. I knew not to wear shoes, anyone who’d seen slice-of-life would, so I sat on the edge of the floor to take them off. Sean and his grandmother disappeared behind a screen door.

The front door struggled against the wind whacking against it. Or maybe it was an ancient spirit, angered at the presence of a foreigner, forced to confront its own existence in the face of sociology.

“Alex my-”

“AHH!” I screamed. “What the heck, Sean! You scared the crap out of me.”

“S-sorry,” he said, walking to my side. He lifted my suitcase to the main floor. “My grandma says the bath is ready for you.”

“Sean I-” I tried to apologize.

“I’ll show you where your room is so you can change and stuff.” He crossed an eight-tatami mat room into a slim hallway. Around the corner was the toilet. Across from the corner, perpendicular to the hallway, was a double vanity with a single faucet. Across from the sink was the bathroom. The hall led to three rooms, two on the right and one on the left. Sean slid open the first on the right. “This is the family room,” Sean said. “The customers stay upstairs.”

It was six tatami mats large. The screen doors were an eggshell white and on the surrounding walls was a landscape of a foggy sky, mostly blank save the few mountain peaks at the base. There was a small table, some sitting cushions, a TV, and a blue couch without any legs, garnished with a few pillows. One of the pillows looked like the plushie I had bought but in black.

Sean set my suitcase and left. His feet pattered against the hall floor. Another door opened and shut. I picked a corner to unpack, separating my dirty clothes from the clean in a pile on the floor. In my suitcase’s front pocket, I felt the impression of a cardboard box. I had forgotten. My mother had packed me a box of chocolates for Sean’s grandmother as a thank you. I hurried to unzip it, afraid that they’d been damaged. They hadn’t. I wasn’t sure how or when to give them. We weren’t formally introduced and I was nervous to speak to her. Who was I but some guy her grandson had asked to stop by? I’m sure that, to her, I was nothing more than a tolerated leech.

The door opened between our rooms. “Oh, sorry,” Sean said after a faint yelp escaped me. “I forgot to give you a towel.” He set it on the couch and turned to go.

“Wait, Sean,” I said, standing and mumbling. “I want to…”

“Are those chocolates?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I, um, want to give these to your grandma.”

“I can hand them to her.” Sean reached for them, but for some reason, I wouldn’t let go. “Alex?” He tugged again.

“No,” I whispered. “I want to…” He let go of the box and I lost my train of thought. I shoved them to his chest. “Make sure she knows they’re from me!” I shoved him out of the room and tried to slam the door.

Once I knew he was gone, I gathered my pajamas and toiletries and made my way down the hall. I sat in the bath until my heart rate dropped. When I was done, I changed into my pajamas then walked to Sean’s door and knocked to let him know it was his turn. A new futon lay at the center of my room with two comforters on top. The dirty clothes had gone.

The door opened. “Oh, “ Sean said. “You’re out. Sorry, I was just…” He was holding two pillows by their corners.

“Thanks,” I said and reached to grab the pillow. At the same time, Sean raised his hand to give it to me, and my fingers wrapped around the back of his hand.

“Alex?” He tugged his arm. I didn’t let go. “What’re you-”

“Sean,” I said, unable to look at him. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t play dumb with an idiot, I know all the tricks.” I let go, then hugged the pillow. “I’ve never had someone so obviously ignore me. I don’t get it. It’s, like, all the sudden you hate me or something.”

“No! That’s not…”

“What is it then?” I squeezed the pillow tighter. I’d never talked to a friend like this. If ever I was bothered, I’d make a joke about myself and move on.

“I can’t say.”

I struck him with the pillow. Sean’s eyes were the wind. Before I had a chance to speak, he struck my head with the other pillow. It knocked me back a few steps and I tripped on the side of the couch, falling onto it.

I wasted no time. I spun around with the other pillow and flung it at Sean. He blocked it with his. I leapt from the couch to the pillow as it fell, then whammed it against his side. He didn’t move. I swung again and he took the blow. I tried to retreat but had nowhere to go. Sean charged at me and, with one forceful swing of the pillow, knocked me right onto the futon. Before I could retaliate, Sean knelt over me and swung again and again.

I shielded my face in my hands and began to laugh. Sean began swatting gentler with an upper-fluff or a cross-stitching. “Okay, okay,” I cried. “You won. You won! I’m ticklish. Ha HA.”

He set the pillow aside, but still pinned me to the floor. His sweatshirt drawstrings dangled around my chest. It reminded me of growing up with a brother. All the times we’d wrestle. Sometimes for fun. Sometimes from anger. My brother was older and when he pinned me, he made sure it was painful or at least uncomfortable. Not so with Sean.

“I’m not like you, Alex,” Sean said. “You’re not…You’re okay with saying whatever wherever but I can’t. Some things stress me out and you…sorry,” he said, releasing me and sitting back on the futon. “I don’t know what came over me.”

He tried to hide his red face in his hand. “It’s alright," I said. "I started it." I suppose mine was red as well from all that exercise. “You know, I wouldn’t have kept in contact with you if I didn’t like you.”

“Yeah,” he said, covering his mouth. After a moment, he stood and walked to the door. “I’m glad you came. I want to keep having fun with you.”

“Me, too, dude.”