Mamachari Matchmaker – Chapter 2

ERIKO

Great. All I wanted was to buy a bike to get me to and from my secretary job and make running errands on the weekend easier, and instead I got a mamachari that wants to be a matchmaker.

“Where can we go so you can meet someone? The park? A restaurant? A bar?” The bike calls out several places as we ride past them on the way home. “Ohhh! What about that place over there with the outdoor seating? That looks nice! And there are even tables with only one or two guys at them.”

“Give it up, Mamachari. I’m not walking into some unknown restaurant and intruding on some random person’s alone time. That would be rude, and it’s just not something I would ever do.”

I turn the bike up my street and pedal towards my apartment building. I still live at home, in the same two-bedroom apartment I grew up in with my parents. They’re retired now and hoping to live in comfort while I pay the bills. That is, until I get married. This mamachari is not the only one constantly trying to match me with young men.

“Why not? If you’re going to meet someone and have a family someday, you need to put yourself out there.”

I sigh, bring the bike to a halt, and dismount. “Who says I want to meet someone? Who says I want to have a family? You know, it’s really presumptuous of you to assume I want those things.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare down at my shiny, new green bike.

It sits silent, and I begin to doubt that it ever spoke to me at all.

“You don’t want those things?” it asks quietly.

I roll my eyes and let my arms drop to my side. “I do want those things, actually. It’s just that a lot of people my age don’t want those things, especially guys. They want to work insane hours, get drunk with their bosses, and not get married because getting married is too expensive.” I pick at the orange polish on my nails.

“Hmmm. That sounds like a problem.”

“It is a problem, and not one I’m going to be able to solve soon since I don’t like drinking and I’m too shy to approach guys and introduce myself.”

“You’re shy? I would never have guessed.”

“Is that supposed to be sarcastic?”

The bike laughs, and I want to stick out my foot and tip it over. “No. No sarcasm. I honestly wouldn’t have guessed. You’re so confident about who you are. I can tell just by looking at you.”

I glance down at my outfit for today. It’s a Saturday so I can wear whatever I want, which means I’m in a knee length black skirt, layered t-shirts with a panda bear face right across my chest, white ankle socks, and black Chuck Taylor’s with more panda bears in the laces. Yes, I like panda bears. A lot. And I used to spend my weekends in high school and most of college dressing up on the weekend and walking around Harajuku. Now, though, I spend my weekends dressing up for conventions in cosplay and hanging out with the other people who love cosplaying as much as I do. Otherwise, I just have coworkers I spend time with, and I don’t even like them very much.

“My outfit inspires confidence?”

“Your outfit tells me that you dress the way you want. I think that’s important.”

“Thanks, Mamachari.” I mean it. So many people pass judgment on me based on my clothes or the fact that I’m shy and don’t say much when we’re out in a group. Cosplaying, dressing up in costume, is the only way I express myself.

“What do you look for in a guy?” Mamachari asks.

I hum while thinking. “I’m not sure. He should be nice, funny, and have a job. It would be great if he was into the same hobbies as me, too.”

“Hmmm…”

I grasp the handlebars and walk the bike up the rest of the block towards home. Under my building is a small garage with parking spots for cars, motorbikes, and racks for bicycles. I spent a lot of mornings down here looking at bikes and deciding what I wanted for myself. I even contemplated getting a motor-assist bike for a while, but it was way out of my price range.

Instead, I bought a mint green mamachari with a mind of its own. This never happens to anyone else I know.

I sigh as I find a spot for the bike and extract the brand-new lock from my backpack.

“I’m sorry I don’t fit some sort of idea you had for the perfect owner,” I whisper, as I lock up Mamachari to an available opening on the rack. “If you’re unhappy in a few days, I can take you back to the bike store.”

“No!” It shouts, and I expect Mamachari to leap forward and clench my shoulders like a dying man looking for mercy. “No, I’m sure we’ll do well together, Eriko. I’d rather navigate the streets than sit in the bike shop between Red and Blue. They were depressing.” It laughs and happiness washes over me. “We’ll have fun.”

“Okay.” I smile down at my new companion, its shiny frame and brand new tires glimmering in the late day sunlight. “See you tomorrow. Maybe we can go someplace for a while.”

“Sounds fabulous,” it trills, and I laugh as I walk away.

I take the elevator up to the eighth floor and enter the apartment I share with my parents. They’re both out for the day visiting family, so I leave my shoes in the front vestibule and head to my bedroom. My crazy cute bedroom knocks me over when I open the door. It’s not much space — Tokyo apartments are small — but I have a million stuffed animals, posters, and trinkets hanging from every available surface.

After my bike ride and chat with Mamachari, this room is suffocating. All through college, I kept thinking I would tone my space down, grow up a little, and I just never did. There’s something so comforting about my panda bears, my J-pop posters, and my huge collection of manga. I think about the women I work with who are over twenty-five, at least three years older than me at twenty-two, and I doubt their bedrooms are as crazy as mine.

Flopping down on my bed, I close my eyes and try not to think. If I’m going to tone down my life and grow up, the stuffed animals can go, but the manga is staying.