Closing her laptop June lets out a
sigh. It has been a long day. She looks to her left and sees Mina sprawled out
on her bed, knocked out after a combination of too much work and too much beer.
June swings her legs over the side of the bed, stands up wearily, and leans
over to pull Mina’s covers up over her face.
“It covers
up my open mouthed drooling problems!” Mina had said when June asked why she
slept with her covers pulled up over her face.
June turned
off the lights.
Another person has turned down the
family photos June so painstakingly fixed. People here don’t care for the past,
she thinks angrily. She says barely a word that day to anyone and goes to bed
before the 5 p.m. song blares over the loudspeakers outside. The next morning
she awakes to a cupcake from the recently reopened bakery down the street and
some freshly squeezed orange juice on the living room table. “Ganbatte! You can do it! –Mina-chan” a post-it note reads next to
the spread. June takes a slow and appreciative bite of the cupcake and plans
her day.
On Mina’s
birthday, June and Mina invite several disaster-relief volunteers and locals
from the neighborhood they had gotten to know. More people show up than either
of them expect. Everyone is looking for reasons to celebrate. The one-year
anniversary of the earthquake and tsunami is fast approaching and everyone has
been hearing stories of suicides and depression. As Japanese politeness
dictate, everyone brings an omiage to
the party—fishermen bring fish and seaweed, farmers bring seasonal fruits and
vegetables, and the volunteers bring store bought gifts from the local shops.
In return Mina and June keep the party well stocked with wine and beer and
everyone revels with an almost desperate fervor. At the beginning of the party
Mina is just a blur in her sea foam green dress, mingling amongst the guests,
welcoming and accepting birthday greetings. But as the night wears on she is
more and more often by June’s side. By the end of the night they are sitting
together enjoying their beers and trading inside jokes as if they are the only
ones in the room.
The five p.m.
song sings out over the fast fading light in Minamisanriku. June and Mina both simultaneously
perk up from their work on the kitchen table, “Beer time!” they exclaim gleefully
to each other in unison. Realizing their unintentional synchronization, June and
Mina laugh.
For once June wakes up before Mina.
A pale light shines through their curtains as the sun starts to rise. June
groans lightly and turns onto her side. Mina’s face is uncovered and she sleeps
with her lips slightly parted, a small nasal sound escapes to the steady rhythm
of her breathing. June watches the peaceful scene until she falls back asleep.
June sits in the living room
working reassembling the latest water and dirt logged family album. She hears
the unmistakable sound of compressed air escaping a can from the kitchen.
Without looking up she says “watashi mo!”
and Mina laughs as she grabs another can of beer from the fridge.
John Belushi’s forehead and nose
bend and bulge as he passes through the unintentional crease in the white linen
sheet June hung up as a makeshift projector screen. Neither of them has seen Animal House, but somehow this
additional funhouse mirror effect only makes the movie even funnier. They quote
scenes from the movie for months.
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