A Year in June: Chapter 2

            The summer heat and the ocean breeze mingled and settled with the swirling dust of the rock lot. That was what, June was told, the locals called the wide pebble filled space in front of her house. The space where two houses previously stood; the space now inhabited by small stones and odd bits of debris. June stared intently down at what looked a piece of ceramic pottery. It was slightly faded but the design was of a yuzu fruit, broken before it could complete its yellow oblong shape. She wondered whose cup, bowl, or plate this had been before it had been washed away, broken, and deposited in this rock lot. The rock lot swayed beneath her feet.

            “Hey! Daijoubu?”

June jerked her head up and lost her balance even more. As the blood rushed to her head, a hand came out and caught her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

June, embarrassed, nodded and traced the hand back to its owner. The girl who had steadied her was tall, much taller than June, and slender in frame. Her medium-length hair was carelessly worn, with a few wayward strands turning upward near the nape of her neck. She dressed in a simple fashion, a loose shirt and bright yellow shorts. Comfortable, June thought, and found herself uncharacteristically loquacious.

            “Sorry about that, I kind of got lost in what I was—its been a long, anyway that’s not really imp—I’m Juniper but please call me June, what’s your name?” June blurted out, the words tumbling over themselves.

The girl laughed, “Minazuki desu, nice to meet you.” Her English wasn’t fluent, but it wasn’t too difficult to understand either. This was a nice change from the constant barrage of Japanese that June had faced on her trip up to Minamisanriku, the northeastern ocean-side town. She had taken one short flight, one long flight, an overnight bus, and another bus to get here.

Her travels had been largely without incident, but whenever she asked for directions she felt the on comings of a small anxiety attack. Was it pronounced DO-ko or do-KO? Maybe if she just muttered the Japanese under her breath someone would make sense of her words for her. In any case, her appearance allowed her to swing either way—as a Hapa by birth, with a Japanese mother and a little bit of everything European American father, she could be seen as Asian, Caucasian, or neither. Unfortunately when she did manage to pronounce everything correctly, the automatic assumption was that she was Japanese and the rapid-fire responses to her question always left her even more confused. Not wanting to embarrass herself she would nod and walked off in whatever direction they were pointing.

“Mina to yobimasu, you can call me Mina” Mina said as a smile played with one corner of her lips.  

“Yoroshiku onegaishimasu” June tried out for the first time.

“Hey, you know Japanese!” Mina exclaimed.

“Hardly any, but I tried to learn a little bit before coming here. My mother’s grandmother was from Japan so she knows some and taught me even less”

“Better than my English already!” Mina laughed. “Welcome to Japan. Your travel here ok?”

“Yes,” the tension was finally draining out of June’s body and she felt an intense weariness taking its place, ”it was long but not too troublesome. Sorry for being rude but, are you the girl I am living with?”

Mina confirmed that they were roommates and brought June through the rock lot and up to her room.

The inside of the house was dusty like the air outside. Surely something June would get accustomed to with time. She preferred her living spaces clean and orderly, but she understood the difficulties of living in a post-disaster area. Their bedroom quarters were tight: two beds, sides facing each other with multipurpose shelves and a desk built into the wall at the foot of each bed. Looks like there is a fine line here between work and rest, June thought to herself. She laid her backpack down on the empty bed and resisted the urge to do the same with her tired body. She glanced at the clock mounted on the wall between their beds—3 p.m. If she could just last a few more hours, that would be enough.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Mina rummaging through a giant yellow knapsack. What a colorful individual, June thought to herself before Mina exclaimed,

“Kitta! I have never had long-term roommate before, so it was in bottom of my bag.” She took two long strides over. Cupped in her palm was a key to the house and a keychain of a pair of silver wings.

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A Year in June: Chapter 1

 There are two types of people: those June could stand and those she could not. This particular person, she thought as she jammed her spoon against the cheese stubbornly burnt to the side of the ramekin, was quickly becoming the latter. She had just satisfactorily incised an edge of the spoon into the blackened Parmesan when an upward inflection floated into the edge of her conscience.

“—isn’t it?”

She looked up and fast enough to induce mild vertigo. An old habit, she thought, and looked down again, ignoring the question.

The old schoolmate seated across from her became indignant, “Really, Juniper, I am trying my best to communicate here. So will you tell me what’s going on?” His hand went to tuck a stray hair behind his left ear, “I thought we were friends.”

“Yes,” she started “yes, we were—“

“—are” he finished for her, “seriously, what happened to you?”

It was a question only she knew the answer to, but also the question she liked answering least. She gave him her standard answer, silence.

In silence she stood up and in silence she placed $6.25 on the table for the French Onion Soup, put on her jacket and left the café. The door jingled to acknowledge her exit as she walked into the frigid March air.

Cambridge, Massachusetts—how is it possible to have lived so long in a place, yet know so little about it? She knew the bus stops and the regular panhandlers. But after a mere year away everything else had changed. The short walk from the café to her apartment only confirmed what she already now understood, cold wind, cold stares, cold hearts.

Walking up the winding staircase to the third floor she meticulously counted the steps, making sure to skip the 4^th, 10^th, and 17^th, the ones that always creaked. She had a habit of counting subconsciously; it was beyond her control. The seconds it took to drink a full cup of water, for example, or how long it took to urinate after holding onto a full bladder for a while; anything that was long and sustained was fair game for her to count. In fact, the stairs were actually a bit of an anomaly, but because it was repetitive and something she did every day for the last 10 months, she had unintentionally begun to count the way up, but it still wasn’t a habit for her to count on the way down.

As she rummaged through her coat pocket for her key she closed her fingers around her keychain. It was a gift from Minazuki. The air warmed around her as she remembered that day.

It had been a day in June, her first full day in Japan. June had graduated college only a month before and she was shaky on her real-world feet. But when she took her first faltering steps, she was fortunate enough to find someone beside her. With a sideways grin and a steady hand, Minazuki gave June her first pair of wings.

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A Year in June

"A Year in June" is a short story I've been working on for the past month or so. In my mind it is an alternate reality of a year in Japan, but I'm not sure what that translates to on paper. Regardless, it is purely a work of fiction and not based on any one real person or specific events of my fellowship year.

Some facts or tidbits are from my life (ah, not creative enough to write 100% fiction!) but the major events of the story are not.

Look forward to the first chapter tomorrow.

Nozomi Project

I found a shard of pottery that the tsunami had left stranded in the empty lot in front of our house. It was tannish in color and one-fourth of what looked like a yellow yuzu fruit. Excited, I pocketed it knowing that there were good things in store for this piece of ceramic.

Today I visited the Nozomi Project; a group of women collecting broken pieces of ceramic around Ishinomaki and turning them into beautiful jewelry as well as a livelihood for them and their families. The women were friendly, funny, and accommodating. I passed the piece of pottery I found over to them and have no doubt that they will turn the piece from something broken to something whole and beautiful.

Visas, the bane of my traveling experiences

Both times I have tried to get into Japan from my trips to the US and now to Korea, I have been stopped from boarding the airplane.

 In Detriot Delta told me that I may not be able to get into Japan---was that ok with me? (answer: yes, I can deal with it once I get to Japan). 

In Seoul they would not let me get my ticket. Period. The immigration office of Japan wanted to fax the airlines a copy of my approved visa (but seriously, what country other than Japan even uses fax machines anymore?), but the ticketing agent only looked at me funny. "A what? A fox?" But apparently a scan wasn't good enough either. At this point there was only one hour before my flight and I was starting to get a bit worried. The ticketing agent suggested to go to a Korean Airlines ticket office and purchase a ticket showing I would leave Japan--and then get it refunded right afterward for only a 30 dollar charge. But then it turned out that the ticketing office didn't even have the ability to book flights coming out of Japan. 

Sweating buckets, I plopped down next to a trashcan, pulled out my phone that was now at 20% battery, and bought a ticket via Kayak at lightening speed. Still not sure this would do the trick (it was a trip to california and then BACK to Japan) I went up and showed it to the ticketing agent. At this point he probably wanted me to get on the flight as much as I wanted to get on the flight and okayed this ticket. Right after he passed back my phone I got an email saying that my ticket had actually not been purchased due to some system error. Score. Rushing through the airport I get to my gate in time to realize I have forgotten to get my tax back. 

In Japan the immigration officer asks, "what are you doing in Japan?"

"Volunteering"

"Is someone coming to pick you up?"

"I'm taking a bus to Ishinomaki"

"Welcome to Japan."

Who knew traveling without proper visas was such a hassle in countries outside of the one I am traveling to. 

Two years later

"It's been two years since the tsunami. But even now I am still waiting for my wife to walk in the door and say 'ただいま' ('I'm home'). When I commute to work, I turn around and I expect her to be there in the backseat. They never found a body, so I think that some day she will come home. I will have my wife and our daughter will have her mother back."