Preparations

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The morning after my 4 night, 3 day binge-fest was matte gray. Instead of the glaring Japanese sun greeting my hungover body, the sky was swathed in clouds. In a maddening reflection of this country’s inhabitants the precipitation was just enough so the weather was teetering on raining, but not quite enough to warrant an umbrella.

I sighed. I had been one of those indecisive fucks until last night. And it was only with the help of alcohol and an annoyingly chatty Vietnamese girl that I had managed to recollect my American gung-ho attitude.

My alarm beeped again, reminding me my ten-minute “snooze” time was over and it was time to get ready.
I rechecked my phone…three calls to Chiaki the drunken night prior, no missed calls, no texts, no replies, no luck. Fuck.

Well, I had to somehow retain my quickly dwindling optimism. Keep on truckin’ Gen!

I rolled over. What a fucking useless life I was living in. The only thing motivating me from slitting my wrists is some false hope that a Japanese girl has feelings for me so that I can…can what?

So that I can start a relationship? I was leaving in two weeks. A relationship during which I could give her two hours a night because of my strenuous work schedule…so that I can what? So that I can fly back home, tell her “I love you” daily at retarded hours and have her repeatedly ask me “what did you say?” because of the shoddy Skype connection so that I could maybe see her for a two week vacation sometime in 2010?

So that I can have sex? If I wanted sex, I could easily just shout in English in the middle of Shibuya crossing till I got attention from a sizeable crowd, quickly switch to flawless Japanese and ask a slut to “show me Tokyo”, have her take me to a love hotel, get Chlamydia and boast about it on Travelblog (Title: Love Burns).

My alarm beeped again. I hit the snooze.

No, I wasn’t doing this for her, or for a future relationship, but for me. Though I was being a little bitch, if I didn’t get rejected from her, I would once again find myself depressed in North America and wind up in Japan over the next summer and this vicious cycle would never end.

Be American. Just do it. Get’er Done.

My alarm beeped again. I was late for work unless I could teleport to my desk in 40 seconds.

I started hastily rampaging for clean clothes in the closet.

Fuck this I’m American!

I took a step back and leisurely picked out the gaudiest tie I could find.

“Yea motherfucker,” I whispered to my reflection. “I’m fucking American. Let’s do this!”

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Work was inconsequential, minus my boss questioning my lateness and my choice of a lime green tie over a vivid purple dress shirt with a gold tie bar and me bowing till my neck hurt, stating and restating it would never happen again.

I called Chiaki a few more times during lunch, tentative touches of the “Send” button and holding my breath whilst the phone rang…once…twice…thrice…four times…five—voice mail. Exhale.

After work, I was scheduled to meet, of all people, Soon Hae.

We met up in some pizza restaurant (Note to the rest of world: Stop trying to make pizza “New York Style”. Signed, Annoyed New Yorker), ordered some beer and started talking.

Crazy night huh?

I smiled wanly. “I guess.” She didn’t even know about the rest of my weekend, nor did she even know what happened in the bathroom of that open bar (she was passed out during that period). A triple, a double, a double (that could’ve easily been a homerun)…a breakout week reminiscent of the acne wars that occurred over everyone’s greasy teenage face during puberty.

I decided to get directly to the point. “I called Chiaki a few times, but she hasn’t replied. Do you know what’s up?”

“Oh, her phone broke. She just got it fixed I think.”

Oh, her phone broke.

As if dumb luck can derail something this big in my life. Her fucking phone broke. Oh.

Oh. Of course.

“Oh, that’s good.” I exhaled.

“You like her that much, huh?”

“You already know that answer to that.”

“Yea, yea, yea…” She smiled coyly. “Why not call her right now?”

I was ready to put up a flustered objection but stopped myself. I smirked at Soon Hae. “Sure.”

I flipped out my phone. One ring…two rings…thr—

“Hello, Gen?”

I froze. “Hello? Gen?”

I regained some of my motor skills. “Hi?” My voice was higher than Bob Marley’s mind on 4/20.

I cleared my throat. “Hello? Chiaki?”

“Hey Gen, what’s up?”

“Um…nothing…um…just wanted to see how you were doing after that…um..party?”

“Oh…good.”

“Ok…well…then…um…bye?”

“Oh…ok…bye?”

I glanced up as I was closing my phone and Soon Hae was making the “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?” face.

I hastily spit back into the receiver. “Wait, WAIT, WAIT!”

“Huh? What?”

I took a breath. “So, I’m leaving in two weeks so I was wondering if maybe we could like, um, meet, for you know, like its my last two weeks in Japan and it would be nice to do something together before I left cuz I like you and everything so let’s just do something together.”

I froze. Oh shit. Did I just say that? Did I just say “I like you”? But I had said everything in double time with a voice trained for freestyle rapping so hopefully she didn’t notice?

“Yea sure! I’m a little busy right now but we can plan it later!”

I exhaled. Fuck. Good. She hadn’t noticed. Or had ignored it. Either way, shit was finally falling in place.

I spoke more calmly now. “Yea, cool. Call me after you get a little un-busy ok?”

“Yea, sure. Bye!”

“Peace.”

I turned off the phone. I leaned back in my chair, lifting the front two legs up, my face directed towards the ceiling. I wish I smoked so I could blow some curls into the air.

“So I guess it worked out?”

I looked down at her. “Yea…”

“You were so nervous…it was cute.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I put on a smirk.

She smiled, easily seeing through my guise. She took a sip of her beer. “So what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know. We’re discussing it later—” I rocked my chair back to all four legs. “—What do you think I should do?”

She paused than smiled into her drink. “I think that’s for you two to decide.”

I snorted. And picked up my drink. “Thanks, motherfucker.”

She playfully hit back. “You’re my ex-boyfriend’s best friend, trying to get with my best friend. Why the fuck should I give you advice?”

I started retorting but realized nothing was coming out of my mouth. I sighed.

I swallowed all pride. “Please?”

She smirked, clearly in control now. “Please…what?”

I bit my lip, shot my eyes to the side and mumbled out rapidly, “Can you please give me some ideas for a date?”

She smiled, leaned forward and we spent the rest of the night crafting the perfect date so her ex-boyfriend’s best friend could woo her best friend.

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Author's Note: Yes, this entry sucks, but I'm trying to get my writing back on track. But I really can't write lately.

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Comments

[C-Benz]

back on track...
at least you're back on track.. now hurry up and close out your summer mothafucka! love, C-benz