Us, For You - 1. Part 1: Summer Nights 1 (Japan)

Part 1:

Summer Nights 1 (Japan)

I never was a brave person. It’s not my fault, it’s my mind’s; the bastard enjoys sailing through every impossibility, repeating what I can’t do, what would happen if I fail and, above all, reminding me how horrible it is to be rejected.

And what better example than my neighbor? This story is not about him, why? I never told him how I felt about him. We met since he moved here when we were both five-year-olds, we were good friends for years but with time I started to notice the incredible shade of mahogany his hair was or the delicate and frankly appetizing shape of his lips. A feast I never dared to taste and now we both have suitcases in our front doors. He was moving again and I, on the same day, was going away for two weeks on vacation.

“Have you said goodbye?” Our mother asked me and my brother when she saw our neighbors moving truck.

“We have,” I answered.

“A while ago,” my brother pointed, uninterested.

While I had been interested in our neighbor, my brother had taken an interest in his sister. There was a difference, though: my brother and she, they were boyfriends for almost two years. It ended up badly but at least he took a chance. My father said when my brother was born he took double the courage and left me with none when I was born.

“How odd for them to leave just now,” my father commented. “Just when we go.”

“Life is funny like that.”

I waved them goodbye but none of the neighbors saw me.

I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself, it wasn’t like that; it was just a matter of accepting who I was, but doing it wasn't easy, especially at 16. It was sad to see them leave, yes, but it was a day that promised a lot, this was my first trip, my first time on a plane, in another country. I didn’t feel excited on the way to the airport or while doing the suitcase, nor at the gate. It wasn’t until I was inside the plane that my nerves went through the roof.

“Afraid?” My brother teased with a stupid smile.

“Half afraid,” I replied. “Half excited.”

“Tha…” my brother had opened his mouth but, in that instant, the plane accelerated and ran through the strip. My head and body hit the back of the seat, I took my brother’s arm, squeezing him while the plane rushed through the air.

Next to us, our parents laughed. Chris, my brother, had a face like the one you’d see on a rollercoaster, mine was complete panic. Despite the 10+ hours of travel, luckily, the landing wasn’t as bad. Partly due to the city where we landed.

There was a large sign at the airport: “Welcome to Japan”.

I couldn’t help but smile.

That was a big city, immense, giant, even New York would be jealous. Life here was very different to mine in the west: the streets were completely clean, people didn’t touch you, not even by mistake, most of them seemed to wear a white and black uniform, and the number of people was simply stupid.

What excited me the most was the food, I had even planned to buy several bento boxes to bring back. When we ate dinner that night I loved the food, my brother not so much, our parents laughed.

The hotel room, however, wasn’t as big as I had hoped.

“No hotel room in Japan is big,” my mother explained.

“No room anywhere in Japan is big,” my brother corrected.

He was right, I had noticed it too. Excluding the streets and train stations, no space was very big. The restaurants were small, stores had little hallways, and the rooms through the windows, lofts, and apartments were small. Maybe the schools or offices were different but I had no way of seeing those.

“There is always something to complain about,” my father gave me the room keycard. “Unpack, we will see you downstairs in half an hour, we don’t want to lose anything in the city. If you need something, our room is two doors, the 707, okay?”

“Okay,” I nodded.

They trusted me a little bit more. Maybe it was because I wasn’t brave and that made me unlikely to disobey them, maybe I wasn’t brave, partly, because their life was easier if one of their children wasn’t.

My brother closed the door and complained. He didn’t like sharing a room with me, it wasn’t about me, he just liked having his own space but, of course, he unleashed it on me.

“Move,” he said crashing my shoulder on his way to the bathroom.

I didn’t reply, it wasn’t a good idea.

I head the shower turning on and Chris complaining about something else. Our parents had said a half hour and, if I knew anything about my brother, it was that he didn’t take half an hour showering. Besides, if he was angry… I ordered my suitcase, I changed and went out of the room.

I thought of going to my parent’s room but the hotel took my attention. It was a monster, eighteen floors, enormous. “And yet, the rooms are tiny,” funny, I sounded like my brother.

I walked through the hallways but they were identical, in the elevator I saw a dining area on the second floor, a pool in the basement, and something that seemed like a spa on the roof. I went to the lobby.

Funny enough, most people didn’t look foreign, most of them were decidedly Japanese. Business people for sure, or at least they looked like them. I waited for ten, twenty, and thirty minutes. My brother, Chris, hadn’t come down, neither had my parents. I pictured them in our room, arguing a few hours after arriving at the country.

It was then when the story became interesting, the part that you are probably waiting for: the moment I saw him.

He came out of one of the elevators, walking decidedly, precisely, elegantly. He looked different from the rest, at least his clothes did. His jeans were black, yes, but they weren’t formal, they were tight against his legs, highlighting the discrete muscles underneath. Above, he wore a white shirt, plain, covered by a jacket in the color of sand that matched his shoes. However, his hair was what stole my attention: it wasn’t messy nor straight, it looked taken care of, soft and firm, as if he had just got down from a motorcycle, arranged in little curls that covered the top part of his eyes; it wasn’t black, it was a soft brown, the color of wood with a touch of amber.

I looked at him, stupid, dumb. Discretely too, of course, or so I thought until he looked back at me, weirded out by finding a foreign boy looking at him. I kicked myself mentally, trying to keep calm. I wasn’t able, however, because he didn’t take it as something weird, no, when he saw me he smiled, stretched his right arm, and waved at me.

His smile, his lips, and he was in the same hotel. I smiled back at him. I was starting to like this.