I Left Her for Brooklyn 2
II
Cerezo en EL Concreto
At the top of the hill, the station is buried underground. The stairs lead commuters down to platforms that could otherwise be shelters from a nuclear holocaust. The sunlight fades with each step and the cold winds meet my back until I reach the bottom of the stairs.
Office workers buzz right by me in a speed walk and sometimes even a jog. Like a bird who should follow a flock, I get a psychological urge to grab her by the hand and make our way quickly through the gates. I don’t.
The platform is no wider than a hallway. The tracks are blocked by metal barriers that protect us from our intoxicated clumsiness or suicidal intentions. The announcement over the speaker has a motherly tone of voice. It’s big sister announcing the arrival of the next train and cautioning us to wait behind the yellow line. Despite trains coming every three minutes, a never ending swarm of people fill the empty spaces by the second. We stand in the morning silence, warmly dressed in an underground station that breathes like an oven. A red train arrives.
The heat of the crowd moves onto an already packed subway. They stuff themselves into the Marunouchi line like the meat in gyoza until there isn’t room for anyone else to board. (1) Before the doors can close, a straggling middle aged man squeezes himself in as the thick crowd pushes further into the train. The claustrophobic went extinct a long time ago. We await the next one.
In front of me is an office lady in her mid-twenties. Her black straight hair falls to the back of her chest. Her tan winter coat drops to her knees. Her long slender legs stand on cream colored high heals. She was the fastest runner in high school. And after a long romantic night and active early morning, she must be the sleepiest.
“Nemui,” she says as she turns around and shows me her sleepy smile. (2)
I pop my collar and say one of the few Japanese words I can with confidencia, “atsui.” (3) My brown eyes break into the windows of her soul and she understands my meaning like I said it in Spanish. (4)
The simultaneous noise of incoming and outgoing trains drown out the audible sound around me. I watch her laughter like a silent film. She pulls her neck back and then slings her forehead gently onto me. I kiss her on the top of the head.
A train arrives with an industrial breeze to cool me down and wake her up. Before the barrier doors can open, I am mentally pushed onboard by the line of people behind me. We enter the subway car and get as far away from the doors of human traffic. The temperature outside was cold enough to make a sunny day feel like frozen sweat. Yet the Celsius has risen enough for me to break a sweat underneath my heat tech.
We take off our coats and I place our belongings on the overhead shelf. I put my arm around her waist. And she wraps hers around mine. We press up against each other by choice. Our bodies rocking back and forth as the subway travels through the tunnel. I hold her while everyone on board holds onto their smartphone.
In a country where holding hands is as uncommon as Americans making out in public, her hugging me is like openly talking about sex in church. I kiss her on the forehead. “You are not a ten. You are tenshi,” I tell her. (5) Her cheeks spread wide enough to brush her dimples with my neck. She whispers in my ear, “This morning, baby no love was cho subarashi.” (6) I pull her in closer, making millimeters of space for the next colony of passengers to board.
Lucky for us, Monday through Friday, we are pressed into each other's arms. And lucky for us, the next stop is Shinjuku. (7) About half the cloud of people get off and she gets a seat. I stand in front of her as the train refills itself to the brink with black and white office attire.
She sits and smiles at me like no one ever has and when I see her love is unconditional, she makes the sort of silly face that lets me know it’s also a theme park. I grab the cam and after a few clicks I got the kind of pics she demands I delete. I tease, and she makes playful threats until I interrupt her.
“Te amo.” (8)
She knows I mean it. The cultural shyness keeps her silent. But her dark glittering eyes tell me she would make the bigger sacrifice. And I know it’s true. Her right hand reaches out and takes a hold of my left. I am starting to feel like I am earning her trust back. I am starting to feel like I can trust myself.
A sunny days light beams through the window pane and blinds me for a moment. My iris closes up and my eyes adjust to the sakura trees across the track. They are pedal-less but in a month a pink spring begins.
The doors open and a swarm of passengers push themselves out. I take my place beside her and wait for the next colony to settle themselves inside the train. We all expect the sound of a beep before the doors close. Instead, there is necessary quiet and fresh cold air. Not a soul on the phone. The morning rush just became zen on a track.
I turn to her and our eyes meet. She looks genuinely happy. As if the boy she always wanted to sit next to was me. I lean over and kiss her temple. Her soft smile drifts and her sleepy eyes return. “Nemu,” she confesses with the last bit of her verbal strength. (9) Her head falls onto my shoulder. I raise my arm so she may comfortably rest on my chest. Maybe she will sleep deep enough to dream.
The sound beeps, the doors shut, and I also close my eyes.
Cerezo en Concreto - Sakura in Concrete
1. Gyoza is a Japanese dumpling.
2. Nemui means sleepy in Japanese.
3. Confedencia is confidence in Spanish.
4. Atsui means hot weather, hot object, or thick. In the context of this story it means H.O.T.
5. Tenshi means angel in Japanese.
6. This is broken English mixed with Japanese. No is a particle in Japanese for constructing sentences. Cho is used like the words very or extremely. In Osaka they say Metcha. Subarashi can be interpreted as wonderful or amazing.
7. Shinjuku station is the busiest station in the world in terms of passenger throughput. Over 3.5 million as of the time of these events.
8. Te amo is I love you in Spanish.
9. Nemu is a colloquial way of saying nemui.
