The Long Highway Pt. 20A - "Fair Game"

More of Akemi's note to Nelson (translated by Hiroko)

I knew my older brother Koji was feeling low emotionally but not that the reason was his physical health, knowledge he was dying.

I talked to my mother, suggested she call him at college. She said that wasn't necessary, she talked to him often; he knew she cared. I said, "But you should let him know you're aware of the current crisis" (I saw it really was one for Koji) "and are ready to help."

I thought my mother didn't understand, but of course neither did I. As I've told you, I knew my brother's condition was serious, but neither parent had revealed to me that he might not, probably wouldn't, live into his thirties (he was twenty-one when his heart stopped). They'd believed I should be protected from that hard truth.

-- --

from Mitchell's journal, not meant for public reading but what the hell:

Back at the job, with a twenty-four hour glitch

I missed a day of work, morning class on Monday, and hardly even realized it, slept late- I was that tired, in need of a rest, a break after the weekend. Driving in the country should be refreshing but let's call a spade a spade, it's work too, at least if you're keeping company with people outside the usual cast of characters. You're in an enclosed space and have to be sociable. Sometimes I'd rather just look at the road or at Akemi.

I hadn't even phoned my boss Ray to let him know I would be out and it was too late to by the time I'd fully woken up, started the morning routine. All of us were entitled to some days off but wasn't there an expectation we'd give advance notice? Teaching is different from most jobs. You have a classroom full of students waiting. I almost didn't want to know what had happened to mine. In the best case, another teacher had covered for me, but how could one have been found, available and willing, on the spur of the moment? I indulged in some magical thinking: If I avert my eyes, tell myself everything's all right, there'll be no consequences. The moment, my lapse will pass into history unremarked, causing not so much as a ripple.

The next morning went pretty much as usual at first. I was in the office before class talking to another teacher, no one close to me, more on the order of an acquaintance- as on the weekend, communicating took more effort than with a friend- and I found myself looking at a handout he held, had made up and was about to copy for his students. The lesson looked interesting. He noticed me staring and I apologized, explaining, "I'm always on the lookout for new ideas."

Teachers are possessive of theirs, guarded against colleagues stealing them. Understandably. Imagine you're starting a good lesson you're prepared, your original work, only to discover another teacher has already used it in their class with the same students. The thing to which you've devoted your time, ingenuity has been rendered worthless for present purposes.

It occurred to me my coworker might have gotten word about the effects of my absence without leave the previous day. He had an immediate answer when I put the question to him.

"There was a conference yesterday" (one I knew about, held at a different college in the city) "and they" (the bosses) "were sure you were at it."

I wondered if I should use that as an excuse, switch from the strategy I'd planned, which was to lie that I'd been sick. Or maybe I could get away with saying nothing, keep my head down and suffer no consequences. Tough job (aren't they all?) Anyway, I was well-rested!

end of journal page

--

"Fair Game"

Sometimes I put my foot in my mouth. It happened even back when Akemi was my student, then more than ever.

We were going to talk in class about how to handle the city bureaucracy- there's a lot to navigate, from getting a driver's license to a rent subsidy, not to mention immigration red tape- when it was decided to take a break. One of the students had to do something and we were pushing up against the halfway mark anyway.

"Yeah," I said, I also have some business to take care of."

I needed to use the toilet, hadn't earlier because there was too much going on that morning.

I had a hard time finding a stall. Those in the first bathroom I came to were either occupied or unusable; water was on the floor of one. I left that public john and tried another. This took time.

On the way back to the classroom, returning later than usual because of my misadventure, I ran into Akemi and another student.

I set about stating the reason for the delay, wondered how specific I should get. If I spoke of my bodily functions, Akemi and friend might be put off. On the other hand, it must have struck them as mysterious that I could spend so long just to go urinate.

"The bathroom was a disaster area," was how I left it.

"I guess we don't need to learn about how to use a notary public after all," Akemi said with humor when we got back to class. Time remaining was shorter than expected.

"Or maybe we do anyway," I said. "In the event an official reprimand with signature is needed for lateness like mine."

Making fun of myself. Usually the teacher is prompt, sets an example. I seized the chance to show my fallibility- which is not to say students couldn't recognize it on their own.

The classroom wasn't full when we got there. People might have returned earlier, seen I wasn't there and gone out again, taking advantage. And why shouldn't they? It was the last week of the semester. I'd pretty much ceded power to the students for the few days left after exams.

Until a quorum arrived we couldn't start anything, so I talked with Akemi and her friend, happily took advantage of the chance.

I elaborated on the scene in the bathroom stall. Not only had water been on the floor but toilet paper was strewn there.

"Men can be pretty careless or lazy." I said, reasoning that the two women probably weren't very knowledgable about the world of men, neither having lived with one (I later learned Akemi had at least one brother; I didn't know her classmate's story).

I was looking for more adjectives to describe my gender (men are this, men are that) when Akemi broke in said, "And they can be gorgeous."

She and her friend laughed together nearly riotously- it was as if rigid control, for which the Japanese are known, suddenly broke, setting Akemi free. The classmate was South American, by the way, and more at ease with self-expression.

I didn't think Akemi could have meant me when she voiced her feeling about men, but I felt some embarrassment all the same and talked on to cover it.


"I've never thought the adjective' gorgeous' could be applied to men," I said, the first thing that came to mind, deflecting attention from myself.

Her Hispanic classmate protested. "What are you talking about? I walked by a construction site when I was outside before and saw a guy." She raised her arms as if to beseeching heaven for words worthy of the man. "His cheekbones. Strong cheekbones. Can you think of anything else to call him?!"

The comment surprised Akemi. She and friend burst into a second round of laughter, this one more restrained on Akemi's part- she'd quickly recovered most of her usual composure.

The two looked like they were sharing a secret.

Could it be that Akemi actually had intended a compliment and she and classmate assumed I'd acknowledge it as such? They looked confused by my response. You've heard about Japanese women fluttering their eyes when at a loss. Akemi's no stereotype, but that was her then.

A moment of silence followed. The class wasn't full yet. Awkward but good being with Akemi. I saw Japanese writing in her notebook and tried guessing one of the characters.

"Ho?" I asked.

I was close! (I must have gotten a cue from somewhere. But where?)

A guy nearby, another classmate, who, unlike Akemi's friend, was Japanese, corrected, "Hyo." He laughed, seemed to be amused by the stupid American's attempt to speak his language. It bothered me that he didn't even try to hide his reaction. Arrogant prick (Well, this set me off. I would later make a serious effort to learn at least some Japanese).

Akemi didn't help. I guess she saw no point explaining the character when I had no idea of the others around it.

It struck me that "Ho" was the rap music word for "whore." Of course it didn't sound like I was calling Akemi that.

"Shi?" I said (pronounced "she"), trying another character, pointed to the one before- or was it after?- "hyo." Far from recovering my position, I drew attention again to my complete ignorance of Akemi's language. A wiser person would have shut up by then, but I compounded my buffoonery.

Since there remained moments to fill, I offered to correct a sentence in English I also saw in Akemi's open notebook. Sitting close beside her desk, I joked, "It feels like we're in a sports car about to take off" - as if I was some kind of playboy and Akemi was my date! What was I talking about?

Again, I went on about the car I envisioned, a Morgan or the like. "That snug kind with a lot of wood, wood paneling, gear box. You know?"

I wasn't sure if Akemi did. There was no reason she would. She didn't respond. I can see how she might have found my comparison strange.

I put my foot in my mouth that day, but it seemed not to matter. Akemi and I rode the elevator together after class. Usually I didn't take the elevator but I wanted to with her.

She asked where I was going and I said to the library. She asked what book I was getting and I said one by Dostoyevsky. She couldn't understand my pronunciation and adding his first name didn't help but she got it when I mentioned one of his most famous books. I saw she was better read than most of the students- naturally, since she'd already lived a little.

"Crime and Punishment."

"I like!" she said.

Seeing her curiosity about books, on impulse I mentioned one I was reading then with a plot similar to the Dostoyevsky by an author she didn't know.

"What's it about?" she asked.

"A wife jealous of her husband. He's been seeing an old girlfriend. He assures her nothing's going on with them but she's uneasy."

I was glad to bring up with Akemi relations between men and women. It was a start.

"I understand," Akemi said. "She doesn't know what he's doing when they're together."

Akemi looked interested, very, in fact. Her face opened as she gazed at me, seemingly with more questions.

We talked about the college, not a great one but good enough for Akemi's purposes. Here from abroad, she had other things than academic achievement in mind. She was an artist. First she had to learn some more English.

I didn't end up giving Akemi much practical help. She wouldn't accept it, took pride in solving problems for herself, a characteristic I've found common to readers. I was learning things about Akemi that day.

I wondered where she'd go after leaving the college. Little did either of us know we'd be together or how close our lives would come to the story I was reading- only in reverse, the husband the jealous one! You would be too if you saw how beautiful she was, the way her eyes looked at me when she said, "She didn't know what he was doing."

And little did I imagine that even after we got close I'd know not much more than I did in the classroom or that elevator about how Akemi spent time on her own. She didn't see a marriage as two people merging their lives, believed in "keeping herself." That's a direct quote, one I've never understood exactly- maybe something is lost in translation- but I get the idea: two people should not become overly dependent or whatever. It's a good one for the long run but sometimes agonizing in the day-to-day, as there are wolves out there, guys, that is, who see a women who likes her independence as fair game.