Ueno

It’s ninety-seven degrees in Ueno park right now. The cicadas are whining in their slow pull action figure tinny cries.

Last night I sat at the Auditorium bar and smoked a Cuban cigar with a wrestling fan named Shogo. He’s a regular at the bar. They didn’t bat an eye when he pulled out a giant ziploc bag full of cigars. The bartender closest to us, a young man who has yet to have a proper shave (lack of need) placed his order before him before Shogo even sat down.

This isn’t about the fun miscommunications after that saw my compliment of “you’re bright like a star” turn into “you’re like a polestar/ pornstar” by Shogo.

Nor is it about the final seafood feast I had at midnight as this chapter of living in Japan came to a close.

This is about the slow moments before the oncoming rush. “No man steps into the same river twice,” Hemingway?

Soon these cicada whines will be a thing of deep dreams and soft lined recollections. The oatmeal thick air will stay behind. I will not walk in between alleyways and dart around stopped cars. No, it will be a different life that I’m walking back into. One that I don’t know the shape of yet— but welcome it all the same.

Final Nights

The clouds in Tsushima are so close tonight that they look like animals migrating across the sky. The night behind them is an indigo pasture on which eternity lies.

The moon shines brighter than a summer camp torch.

I think yes, it’s all been worth it to get to this moment.

All the moments more will be gifts.

Some of the clouds look like stickers plastered on the ceiling instead of the sky.

Others look like fossils swept over by desert sands.

How could I have forsaken hope and magic?

Thinking you know is not appreciating.

And what are we here for if not to appreciate?

Juno

The devil’s never come to me in a dream, but he has for Johnny Baker.

Caught north of Juno, nothing was the same after a job at a gold rush brothel nicknamed the Red Onion saloon went wrong. There isn’t much to security job, but when working girls go missing on your watch, somebody asked to answer.

Black kohl under his eyes. There wasn’t much for looking besides the circles upon his face. The gods had seen fit to bless others while he struggled against the binds of inadequacy.

None of the road traveling make up lent Johnny any of the compassion or intrigue he hoped for. Besides the pines and snow drifts, nobody lent Johnny anything at all. Nobody lends the dead or dying a hand when another is clasped round their own leg.

Lean Back

He laid against the back row of desks like some provincial king. All long-limbed and smug, I didn’t hate anyone as much as I hated Connor Salzborn. He had a gift for pissing me off, but today he’s gone above and beyond. That rotten little bastard dropped a purple newt in my gym locker and then reminded the coach of the uniform policy when I didn’t show up wearing my slime covered ensemble. He aired a helpful innocence that a merciless wink in my direction broke.

I’d destroy him. I swore on it.

But, short of blood pacts and ritual summoning, my oath of vengeance wasn’t going to complete itself.

I had to get creative *cue eighties pop music and energetic build up to a spectacular bitching fest at a friends house.*

“I will have my revenge, Claire!”

“I think maybe you let this one go I don’t think a guy who believes the Da Vinci Code was nonfiction should be dominating your life.” I growled, but allowed the point. It was going to take some finesse to work this.

Time Piece

Crosshatched power lines swaying in the wind. The rust-stained stanchions under the bridge over the bay.

God, where do all these feelings go?

I will not be back here for a long time.

Never again will I see it as I do now.

These summer days have started to sweat time. A countdown clock turns over at midnight and every moment that brings me closer to departure heightens the senses.

Prep

I only had six entries for the month of June. The passage of time lately has been swift, but somehow languid.

It’s less than a month until I return back to America. I’ve got two jobs lined up and another one. That’ll hopefully pan out as well. But this return is different than I would expect. I can feel the changes that have occurred during my two years over here. I know that I won’t see the full extent of that until I’m back stateside, but I’m grateful.

Today was the last day at my elementary school down in the south. It was weird to leave the place one last time knowing I’ll probably never walk back into that building again.

I’m trying to get everyone in. My weekends are filled up. And the weekdays are stuffed with the final necessities required for a clean departure.

In the midst of all of this, I’m still trying to take the time to appreciate being there. It’s impossible to know how an experience is gonna change you. Even when you’re aware of the capacity for change. Even when you’ve intentionally set yourself in the path for it. You can’t know until you do it.

Today I colored posters for Tanabata. I watched my five students practice their school dance for sports day. And I looked out at the ocean from the classrooms for a final time. In the distance, the mist hung over the southern cape like a soggy blanket. I answered questions about returning to America and why I wasn’t already married. I ate lunch with the accompaniment of Jo’s inevitable hiccups.

And as the day wound down and I walked out of the door— I gave thanks for the memories.