I stand off to the side of the stream of people exiting the Kichijōji train station at eight in the morning and crane my neck, standing on my tip-toes, looking for Masa. I didn’t decide till this morning I was going to strike.
I run with Halley on Monday morning as usual, then Tuesday morning I text her to let her know I’m going to visit Mom and ask for a salary. She responds, “Get your money, girl!”
I slam my stack of papers down on the front desk next to Reiko. “Ugh. I suck at this,” I mutter, flipping through the calendar to the next month, which has more red pen on it than black.
“You know, your mother wears a kimono every day when she works here.” Poor Reiko, roped into helping me get dressed in one of my mother’s kimonos, sighs as she places small cushions on my back and wraps obi fabric over them, sometimes pulling so hard, I jerk and nearly fall over.
“You have a good eye for form, Masa,” Kosho says, squeezing Masa’s shoulder and stepping back to tilt his head and gaze at the ikebana arrangement on the stainless steel table. I take a moment to smile and press my back against the wall as I watch them both, creating, arranging flowers in stark but beautiful designs.
“Halley! Are you ready for the Olympics?” “Halley! Can you tell us where you’ve been while you’ve been in town?”
Masa and I divide up the work at the ryokan, and after two weeks, we have a routine. The morning train to Kichijōji from Tokyo Station leaves every five minutes and takes thirty-three minutes to arrive.
What? I look up from my phone and scan the street to the left and right.
