Back and Forth I go

The week that followed was comparatively uneventful. The girl this time is seemingly without a penchant for drama, which is something I’d have killed (Yuki?) for last year but my unfading anxiety of tranquility and belonging and my love of the hardship and struggle has made a virtual Atari 2600 of my brain and set my heart back and forth like an oscilloscopic pong ball.

I made an abrupt call to Yuu on Friday (June 13th) and worked an invitation to her family dinner down in the Yokohama suburbs. Yamato station has to be the Cabaret club capital of Kantou. I was at the station at around 7:30pm (clubs open at 8) and I could see streams of them pouring out of trains in their prom dresses like satin ribbons blowing in the Kanagawa sea-breeze. This had roughly the same affect on me as the beer boy passing by a recovering alcoholic, advertising his cold, smooth-tasting , easy drinking, liquid relief on a hot day in the ball park. Temptation is a dangerous thing for me and I’ve been terrified of my weak will since the winter of ’07, some might advise me it’s best not to stare. But I’ve always thought you should face your fears head on. Interrupting my view however, came the flying prostrate-stair-dive of a commuter. A dude right next to me on the stairs was proceeding normally and with no indication tripped and fell six feet and cracked his face on the concrete stairs just below me. Out cold. Bleeding.

The whole station stopped. Not a sound or movement from any direction. However, Kangawans (unlike those as*hole Tokyoites) will actually rush to help you if you’re in danger. Samartians quickly sprung into action. The crowd quickly produced a doctor and several able-bodied and knowledgeable looking people. Despite my proximity, I sensed I was going to be of little to no use so I did the only thing I could think of and scanned around the crowd for another American because they’d be able to understand exactly what I had to say about what I just witnessed. My eyes met with a fat 30something yankee man in a suit.
“Dude!” I said.
“I know man, Jesus Christ…” He said right back.
We parted ways.

I met Yuu outside the ticket gate and went to Okonomiyaki with her parents and her sister and went back to her house and caught “temple of doom” on the tube. Somehow Harrison ford isn’t quite as rugged and manly-sounding in Japanese. On the plus side, the dub did take the edge off the blatant racism of off the “short round” character.

I got up early and trained it back to West Tokyo to pick up my jersey and then straight into Saitama to hit up the Lions-Carp match. We ended up getting sh*t-kicked 8-1 in what proved to be the watershed match in Seibu’s disappointing drop from the interleague pennant race. At least I got lots of great cheerleader pics. I caught a ride downtown on the Seibu-Shinjuku line and bought five tickets to the Yomiuri-Softbank game for the following Sunday and then rode all the way out to Hachiouji to hit the fish grill place and check in on Toshi, Hiro and Kasumi. By the time I was done all that I had travelled over 100 kilometers and was f**king exhausted, but I ended up being called out to Naka-naka to see some muzak band. - -Literally, they were an American AM radio-hit cover band and instead of a singer, the melody was played on an electric saxophone. At least I got to meat Kyouhei1’s hot mom who was no older than 40, flirty and ringless. Single mom? Maybe…single mom of good friend…I’ll pass- -Speaking normally of course, (Normal for me being single and lonely) after all it’s bad managerial policy to give any playing time to an old veteran (especially a shaky looking once like this) in favor of your young ace. You lose the opportunity to train your young arms and you’ll only get temporary results if any, not to mention upsetting the volatile ego of the former. No thanks sweetheart, I’ll stick to sucking on my plumwine tonight.
Around 11 I left Naka-Naka and hopped over to the retro for what was supposed to be an all-nighter reggae party. When I got there I caught Takumi running down the stairs with his phone in hand. He was in a hurry and told me to have master explain it. I got up and ordered a beer and asked what was up. Apparently the broad who had rejected him a few weeks back was drunk, stranded, alone and scared and had put in a call for help. Good for him. Shitty for me. And seeing as I was no longer in the lineup for tonight, and had an early day tomorrow, I decided to go home and sleep for a few hours before I left for Ibaraki. I woke up at 5 and showered packed my bags and then opened my cell phone to call Soon-Mi. Two missed calls.

I hailed Soon-Mi on the redial and asked where I should meet her. She was tired, and feeling sick and had a project to work on so the Ibaraki trip was cancelled (for the third f**king time). At this point cancellation had reached a state of normalcy for us. I took the extra sleep as a gift and pulled my Lions jersey out to dry. She called again and asked if we couldn’t go on a date today. I told her to meet me at Tachikawa Shouwa Kouen at 2. She got to Nishi-Tachikawa station at 2:45. Apparently some old lady had collapsed at the station and she’d walked her to the hospital. She also had brought me cheeseburgers to apologize for being late. Apology accepted.

We sat on the park bench and went over the day that we met, a little shy of a year ago, at the fireworks festival. We even returned to the spot where I had first laid lascivious eyes on her and had tea and watched the sky cloud over and told stories from before we’d known each other. We talked about her cousin, real Soon-Mi and the evolving complications between mysterious Eero-boyfriend Kevin and it was as pleasant as any other day walking alone with her until I wrecked our conversation, the same way I wreck alot of conversations, by entering an oppinion.
'It's hard for them' she was saying, 'because [real]Soon-Mi lives in Kyoto but [euro-douche]Kevin lives in Yokohama'
'That's retarded, there's no way it can work out at this point if they live in different cities...'
'...Then I guess we have no chance do we?'
.
.
.
I could respond because she knew I was serious, when I said that. I was serious. For some reason, at that time, I still didn't think it applied to us. I'm me right? I spend the winter cold and alone with drinking bourbon staring out at the snowfall writing bad poetry about my ex-girlfriend. If I can be obsessed that long with a girl who hates me, I should be able to last 8 months on the video phone with a girl that loves me? Now how do I make her believe that? I didn't know so I do what always do and grab her by the hand and lead her somewhere secluded and kiss her and tell her I love her and that everything will be fine, and all she does is frown at me when I pull away from her.

Coasting unsteadily on the breaking wave of nostalgia from before, I decided to take her fro dinner at the Yakitori place the five of us (Gendawg, Chiaki, Shin, She and I) had gone for drinks that bizarre strange in July. With dinner more than half over we ran out of things to talk about, and scrambling desperately to keep her from turning her distant eyes away from me I had to rely on pleasant silence and good food to maintain the mood. The restaurant almost entirely filled with couples on Sunday dates. Most of which were locked into that wet-eyed excitement phase or that late-twenties pre-marriage youandItogetherforeverpleasantlyandquiety groove that good-looking working adults seem to slide into so easily when they rich that mysterious decision to settle down. I wondered what we must’ve looked like at that moment, and I supposed in reflection, that answer would be not good. Why is that boy in the orange shirt always looking around at other people and why’s the girl in the hat and the sundress always staring at the floor? I wanted to be alone with her—the only place where I can seem to recall everything good about us and sustain it long enough not to care anymore.

I asked her if she could spend the night. She said as of late, her health hasn’t been very good. A combination of stress, improper diet, lack of exercise and certain recurring sports and automobile related injuries. She asked to be put back on the 14 day disabled list. As a manger you hate hearing this kind of thing, and you’ll beg and you‘ll plead but when it comes down to it, skip, there are just certain things that can’t be helped. “Shou-ga-nai” as they say over here. I guess I just need to take a less from the Japanese managerial school and rely on the “karada no choushi” (literally meaning “the tune of one’s body”) instead of forcing her to pitch her away out of a slump.

Another night at the batting cages.
Another day at work.

So the cycle goes on. On Thursday I finished work on time (which is early in Japan) and caught the Chuo special express downtown to Shinanomachi to meet Garrett for a Swallows game versus the Hawks. Compared to my last match here it was very exciting but Softbank got away with in the top of 8th to take a 7-5 lead into the bottom of the ninth frame and finish it on two strikeouts and a ground ball. Maybe I should stop coming. I’m just plain bad luck for these boys. Waiting for curry and beer I noticed two good looking older-broads eying me down. It was the same two baseball cougs whom I’d met on day 13 of my countdown last year (the night I’d attempted to push the IRP into phase III)—Mizue and Kyoko. They’d cleaned themselves up (no superfluous piercings, black hair) and been working as temps in office jobs by Tokyo station.

Christ they looked gorgeous. There’s something to be said about the beauty of a woman in her 30’s. Every train station in this city literally pours sexy gals in the prime of their youth into the street. In summertime their toned legs fitted in medusa-shorts (so short and tight you will be petrified at the sight of them) or dresses you’d never seen the likes of since your grandmother’s doll collection—But these two in particular...Black skirts, modest blouses and business heels with white Swallows jerseys and ouen-bats draped over their shoulders. They had an entirely different thing going on and I liked it. I got invited for a drink after the game and we went into a café and had beers while the ladies had coffees and debated in English whether or not we should pretend neither of us had a girlfriend. Kyoko and Mizue happen to both be the 30something “I can’t figure out why never works out for me” type of gal—I imagine this is why they happen to spend so much time at the ball park. We made plans to meet up for a soccer match on Sunday and then Garrett and Kyoko left (not together) and Mizue and I settled on one more drink.

I flirted with all the possibilities in my head. What would I have to say to convince her I sincerely think she’s beautiful? Does the last train trick work on a veteran pitcher? Is there any point in considering signing a reliever this late in the season? What would Soon-Mi think if she overheard this coaching session? The last one was the one that stuck. I rode the train home in the company of patsy cline with a restless heart.

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