Warnings: Language,
mild angst
______________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter Two: Adam
Theme #28 –
Dust
The cigarette dangled from the corner of her red-smudged
lips, its burnt and ashy tip sending up thin trails of smoke into the already
stuffy air. He watched it idly for a moment, noticing that they made slow
whirls before vanishing completely. With practiced ease, she counted out the
crisp bills, her lips moving silently as she made the mental calculations.
Between them was a low table, grimy with years of served meals of soba, snapper
or sushi. However, the once thriving restaurant was no more, as it had now
become a haven for old men who lounged in the dark corners of the room,
cackling, drinking sake and recanting tales of days gone by. Once in a while,
the swinging wood doors, reminscent of Western salons, would open to reveal a
wandering passerby or idle tourist seeking a quick drink or reprieve from the
scorching heat.
Today was one of the more quiet days. Only two men –
Miroku and Hanada-san, in their late sixties or early seventies and perpertul
customers to the drinking parlor – sat huddled in their usual postion, bent
over a game of shougi. The empty tables and chairs were a painful reminder of
how slow business had gotten over the past few months. There was a recession in
the country and many were beginning to look for work in the unlikiest of
places. He could see that several layers of dust had gathered between the
un-used tables and chairs and he had the feeling that they’d never be cleaned
again for as long as they were still in business – however long that would be.
“You’re a hundred yen short,” she suddenly said, jerking
him out of his reverie. Her Kansai accent was thick and even he had to admire
how she was able to talk without dropping the cigarette from her lips. She
placed the money upon the table and stabbed at one of the clean notes with a
chubby finger, a brilliant diamond ring (fake he was sure) adorning the pale
flesh. “I can’t open the doors for you until you get me the rest.”
Sighing softly, he pulled out his wallet and placed the
appropriate amount. This was seriously cutting into his budget for the week but
this was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Mrs. Oda, had been the caretaker
for so long now, but he knew that he was finally ready to take back what was
his.
“Is that good enough?” he asked, trying to keep the
impatience from his voice.
“Don’t get testy on me, young man,” she replied, her
plump features breaking into a grin. “You know that things are hard these days.
I just have to make ends meet that’s all.”
He held back a retort and watched as she shoved the money
into her cream-colored blouse in a greedy motion.
“The keys?” he asked, now more than impatient to leave
the room. The thick smell of whiskey, sake and of course smoke was beginning to
stifle him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“Impatience, impatience. You young people,” she grumbled
as she rose to her feet. “You remind me of your father you know.”
He stiffened at the reference but kept his silence,
watching as she made her way behind the counter to rummage through several
boxes. He watched the dust fly off the wooden objects and wondered just how
long she had actually taken a look at the items. He felt something hot fill his
throat and he swallowed it quickly, telling himself that it wasn’t unexpected
for people to have little care for things that were of no real concern to them.
“Ah, here it is…knew I had it in here somewhere.” She
straightened up and held the two keys attached to a small red plastic keyholder
which he snatched out of her hand quickly.
“Thank you,” he mumbled as he began to walk out of the
restaurant.
“You just come see me if you need anything else, okay,
Adam?” She called it Ada-mu and he
had to fight the sudden urge to laugh at the butchering of his name. He was
used to it, of course, having been born and raised in this country all his
life.
He got onto his motorbike, an inexpensive Honda model he
had gotten for himself last year, and placed the black helmet over his head.
Smiling softly to a group of teenagers, who hailed him in greeting, he revved
the engine quickly and made his way down the narrow streets enroute to a place
he had never thought he would get to see in a long time.
At twenty-eight years old, Adam Hayakawa, could consider
himself one of the luckiest men in the city. In a time when unemployment was at
its highest, he had a steady job as a teacher at a local elementary school,
something he was rather proud of. So yes, he had grown up wishing he could
become a fighter jet pilot, thanks to his obsession with their planes and all
the movies he watched as a little boy. He could still remember saving up enough
money to catch the Saturday matinees at the Regal Theater, making sure he
always sat in front with eyes glued to the large screen as he became lost in a
world of daring sky dives and air battles. He had hung on to that dream until
the…
HONK!
“Goddamn it!” He barely managed to swerve out of the way
as the large delivery truck rushed by him. He stopped to catch his breath,
glaring after the vehicle, whose driver stuck his head out of the window to
yell at him. Good grief! The streets were narrow enough already, why did these
guys have to make driving even more difficult?
He continued on his way, his thoughts now drifting
towards his years in high school and college. His dreams of becoming a pilot
had quickly been replaced with a reality so harsh, it had taken him years to
recover from the shock of it. He had managed to get through those awkward teenage
years just fine, making friends, having girlfriends and doing quite well enough
to get admitted to a small community college. He realized, after a brief stint
as a volunteer teacher for a group of elementary school children, that he was
made for that job. He genuinely enjoyed sharing his dreams with the bright-eyed
boys and girls, who came from homes where reading and writing was a rarity in
itself. He could almost see himself in their eyes, many of them coming into the
classroom for the first time with trepidation and wariness soon to be replaced
with happy smiles of joy and pleasure whenever they were able to read their
first sentences or write their first words.
He smiled softly to himself as he made a turn around the
corner. The pay wasn’t all that great, but he was able to survive and that was
most important. Besides, his reward came in the form of all the pictures his
students drew for him. He had a pile of folders filled with them and they were
his pride and joy.
Things hadn’t always been so rosey to be honest. Due to
his roots - having a Japanese father and an American mother - his features were
not very typical and had garned him attention that wasn’t really
appreciated…most of the time. He had often been mistaken for a gaijin many times, but it was only when
he opened his mouth to speak, were they stunned to hear the fluent Japanese
that spilled forth. Thanks to his mother’s teaching and schooling, the English
language did come quite easily to him as well. It was good to be multi-lingual.
It made things so much easier all around. He had inherited his father’s thick
jet black hair, his jaw and build – slender but well-toned, thanks to his daily
walks or jog around the neighborhood. From his mother, he had gotten her
beautiful blue eyes and height. She had been a rather tall woman and Adam
assumed that was one of the reasons his father had fallen for her.
As the motorbike began its descent along the narrow
stretch of road, he could feel his mouth begin to get dry. It was amazing how
he could still remember the directions to the place even though he had
carefully avoided coming here all this time. How long has it been now? Ten,
twelve…no fifteen years?
(Eighteen)
And yet, he could still remember the familiar up and
downhill slopes like it was just yesterday. He had run along these streets as a
little boy after all, had played with his dog (Tiger) in the meadows on his
right. He bit his lower lip and rode a little faster, the hot afternoon wind
whipping against his t-shirt as the house began to loom in the horizon. It
wasn’t a surprise to see that the other houses in the neighborhood looked just
the same. It had always been a quiet place to begin with – the neighbors were
friendly and nice and he did believe that there were a few other ‘real’ foreigners
there as well. He wondered if they were still around.
He came to a stop before the wrought iron gates, his
heart thumping wildly as he stared at the house before him. He could still see
their name plate ingrained into the brick wall – ‘Hayakawa’ – written in kanji.
For a moment, his vision swam and he could see himself – an eight-year old kid
running towards the house with his mother smiling and waving at him from the
gate.
“Mamma! I’m
home!”
“Welcome
home, Adam. Welcome home!”
“Welcome home,” he whispered to himself as he opened his
eyes and stared at the empty street. He reached into his pocket and brought out
the keys, hands trembling slightly as he let himself into the home he had not
seen in so long.
As expected, the once loving gardens – his mother’s pride
and joy – lay in ruins. Overgrown weeds, knee-high grass and twining vines
filled the driveway and wound its way around the two-story building. The
windows were no longer visible as they had been covered with plywood. He
glanced towards the window which had led to his bedroom and could almost see
himself sitting on the window seat with his growing collection of fighter
planes. With a heavy sigh, he took a few more steps and almost jumped out his
skin as a rabbit…at least it looked like one…jumped out of the bushes and
hopped away. He blinked once and shook his head rapidly before slipping the key
into the lock and pushing the door open with his heart in his throat.
“Mom…Dad…I’m home,” he said quietly, and then promptly choked
as the heavy and musty smell of dust, decay and age filled his nostrils. He
wiped his eyes, not surprised to find it a bit wet as he stared at the
emptiness before him.
Nothing.
Not even a single chair or piece of paper to show that
anyone had once lived in this place. He stood in the middle of the once living
room, and saw his father reading his newspaper in that large overstuffed sofa.
“Daddy!”
“Here, here,
boy. Come give your daddy a hug, hmm?”
And he’d do so, running into his lap and wrapping his
tiny arms around that strong neck while mother watched from the kitchen with a
warm smile and a bowl of dough in her arms.
“Shit.” He took a deep breath as the vision passed away
again. He had almost smelled the baking food at some point…and then promptly
assumed it was a neighbor’s doing.
He walked up the stairs, wincing as the unused
floorboards protested the weight of his steps. The dust was heavier here and
little sunlight flooded into the rooms as he walked towards his bedroom. He
pushed open the door slowly and almost fell at the sight of the handsome boy
sitting on the bed and smiling at him.
“Wanna see my fighter plane? I just built it!”
He grinned widely at Adam and the older man could feel a
smile tugging at his lips. It was the best damn fighter plane he had built yet
but like everything else, the image began to fade slowly as if melting away
with the tiny shards of light that flickered through the plywood. His shelves
filled with toy models, his comic book collection, typewriter and books were
all disappearing and he took a step forward as if hoping they’d return.
Suddenly and with no warning at all, the tears came.
Heavy, fast and unstoppable, they flooded down his cheeks as he sank to his
knees and wrapped his arms around himself in a tight hug.
They had died suddenly.
The other car had been driving too fast around the
corner.
It was the rain…all the rains fault.
They had been rushed to the hospital but it was too late.
They were supposed to come see him in the school play. He
had been practicing for months for his role as Robin Hood and he had waited for
them to show up.
But they never did. They would never make it to the
school.
He hadn’t even cried. He couldn’t cry.
The doctors had said it was due to the shock and had made
him live with his grandmother.
And for two long years after the incident, Adam never
opened his mouth to speak.