Summer Haikus – Chapter 8

I get on a plane to Japan by a sheer miracle. This was not a part of my plans! But I make new ones swiftly like a crisis counselor trying to talk someone down from committing suicide — brutal, harried plans meant to get me from Point A to Point B as quickly as possible, no expense spared. I beg the airline to put me on standby and wait until a passenger doesn’t show for their flight while pacing in front of the airline’s check-in desk for two hours. I’m actually jealous of the man sitting next to me on the flight who pounds beers for the first solid two hours and then passes out with his mouth open. The line at customs after my thirteen hour schlep across the globe is mind-boggling. Men and women in uniforms wearing white gloves direct us with heads bowed and smiles turned on.

“What’s the nature of your visit to Japan?” the man asks, examining my passport and me.

“Olympics, and my mom lives here.” I swallow, trying to get some moisture to my parched throat. I hate flying. Planes suck all the water out of my body. I have to rehydrate for at least two days before running again.

“Where does your mom live?” he asks in Japanese, with a straight face. A test.

“In Kichijōji.”

He pauses, stamps my passport, and says, “Welcome back to Japan, Miss Brown.”

Welcome back.

Nothing about my walk through the airport feels welcoming. I pass newsstand after newsstand, a restaurant that sells udon and soba noodles, charging stations and kiosks, large groups of Japanese people amongst groups of foreigners, all walking around in a daze. I enter a public bathroom and laugh at the fancy Japanese toilet. I forgot about these. The multiple buttons and washes for my hind end that are available make me cringe. I fix my hair in the mirror, wetting my hands and putting my wavy locks back in place. I rummage around in my sack of a purse, find a silver hair clip, and pin back my bangs before brushing my teeth.

Waiting at the baggage carousel, I turn on my iPhone and connect to NTT Docomo. When the carrier shows up in the settings, I breathe a sigh of relief. My grandparents bought me this unlocked version so I could use my phone anywhere. Five years ago, I couldn’t do this. I love technology.

I dial my grandma while I wait for my bag to show up.

“Moshi moshi! Isa-chan, are you here?”

“I’m at Narita waiting for my bags.”

“Okay, okay. Do you know how to get here?”

I glance around until I find the signs pointing towards the trains, my best bet to get into Tokyo.

“Yeah. Train to Tokyo Station and transfer to JR Chuo Line. I remember.”

I squat down, open my purse on the floor, take out my planner, and flip the pages to my maps and directions. I wrote down the names (including the kanji characters) of all the places I would need to transfer, how much each ticket would cost me, and how to use the machines to get the tickets.

“Do you have money?”

“Yes,” I lie, looking directly at the ATM and currency exchange. I’ll go there next. “Don’t worry, Grandma. I’ll be fine.”

“I always worry about you, Isa-chan. You’re my favorite granddaughter. Don’t tell Kae.”

I laugh and roll my eyes. “I know you say the same thing to Kae.” I have one first cousin, Kae, who is a year older than me, and numerous second cousins because my grandparents both came from big families. Gatherings with the whole family are always a good time, and I missed them when I was in high school and couldn’t travel to Japan.

“Call me when you reach Kichijōji. It’ll be getting late. You should take a cab from the station. We’re all the way on the other side of town.”

“Okay.” My grandparents and Mom live on the southern side of Kichijōji. From the station, I would have to walk through Inokashira Park and another fifteen minutes to their home. The ryokan they own is a few blocks from their house. “Can I see Mom tonight?”

“Visiting hours are only until 19:00. I don’t think you’ll make it in time.”

I pull the phone away from my head and look at the clock. It’s already four in the afternoon. My body has no idea what time it is. “Is she all right?”

“She’s as good as she can be in the condition she’s in.”

I swallow, looking around for a vending machine. My throat is so dry. “That’s not a good answer.”

“It’s the only answer I can give without crying.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose to stop myself from crying in her place.

The baggage carousel jingles a tune and starts to move. That’s pleasant. In the States, they blare a siren. My large backpack trundles by on the carousel so I tuck my phone under my chin and jump forward to grab it. An older man sees me struggling, grabs my bag, and sets it on the ground next to me. I smile and thank him several times while bowing.

Boom. I’m back in Japan, just like that. Everything my mom instilled in me from a young age, all the lessons I put to use coming here as a kid are breaking loose from the American shell I hold them in. And I’ve only been in the airport for an hour.

“You’re right. I won’t be there for a few hours.” I rub my eyes and thank myself for not wearing makeup today. “I’ve got my bag, and I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up the phone while she’s saying good-bye and curse at myself. I’m too abrupt. I never let Halley say good-bye to me either. I’m always ending things too fast.

I stare down at my luggage and glance back at the terminal as my anxiety levels rise. I don’t want to be here under these circumstances! What if I can’t handle seeing my mom in the hospital? I’ve never been good with hospitals, blood, disease, crazy or dying people… I gulp as I break out in a cold sweat. It would be easy to get on a plane and fly home, run away from all of this.

Just as my brain is about to get the better of me, my phone buzzes. It’s Halley.

“Your plane landed an hour ago. What’s going on? Are you dealing?”

She knows me too well, and a small smile surfaces through all my nerves.

“I’m dealing. Just got my bags. Gotta get on the train, though I want to go back home.”

“You can’t do that! Lol. Who will run with me next week? Text me later and let me know how your mom is. I can come to see you tomorrow.”

“No, no. It’s fine. Stay downtown. You need to continue with the runs.”

“I’m coming. I’d like to see you stop me.”

“Ok. Jesus. You’re moody.”

“Kisses! Xoxo”

I hoist on my backpack, grab my rolling bag and purse, hit the currency exchange, get yen at an insane exchange rate, and find the train down the escalator. In my seat on the train, I lean back and close my eyes while my stomach grumbles. I didn’t have time to pick up anything in the airport, so I open my purse and eat a protein bar. Narita is outside of Tokyo, so it’s about an hour into the city. The countryside and suburbs of Tokyo zip by as the train speeds along silent and smooth. I look up at the display and smile because I can read everything written there in both English and Japanese.

My brain chugs to a grinding stop. I learned most of these complex kanji last year in my four-hundred level class with Masa. We split up the studying, each taking half the kanji assigned and making flash cards to quiz us with. Those cards are sitting at the bottom of my backpack. I couldn’t bear to leave them at home. I pick at my yoga pants for a moment before giving in. I swipe on my phone and stare at the screen.

I just realized I haven’t told Masa about my mom. I was so busy hurriedly packing and trying not to panic that I didn’t tell him.

I start to type three texts but stop, all of them sounding awkward and needy. I think Masa would want to know if something happened to my mom, but we’ve barely spoken the past few weeks, just those few texts and nothing more. We used to talk every day. I can’t help but think the kiss ruined everything. But it was just a kiss, right? A kiss wouldn’t ruin two whole years of friendship, right? I press the phone to my chest, willing my body to stop the unbearable ache of uncertainty running through me. Rubbing my finger along the side of the phone, I stare outside as the train crosses a river over a bridge, heads underground, and the scenery outside the window fades to black.