Southern Fried Sushi, page 13
I talked to the rude woman at the Japanese consulate until Iturned blue in the face, but my efforts got me a headache—and nothing else.
I had a journalism visa, tied directly to AP, and without them backing me I no longer qualified. In fact, not only was I unqualified for any other work visa whatsoever, but I couldn’t even get a tourist visa.
A tourist visa, for crying out loud! And why not? No medical insurance, which was also tied directly to AP, and no financial means to (1) support myself in Japan or even (2) buy a return ticket to the US. Even if I wanted to go back as an English teacher, which I wasn’t sure I did, I had all the wrong qualifications. How many years would it take to go back to school and get a teaching license?
I tried buttering up the consulate woman by speaking flawless Japanese, but I might as well have read the ingredients off a corn-chip bag.
I groaned and dropped my head in my hands. I needed air. Now. And a temporary place to stay in the US until I worked things out. I slammed the door on the stifling air-conditioned room and stalked down the stairs to a bench in the shade. Then flipped desperately through my cell-phone list.
“You’re welcome to stay with me, Shi. Any time.”
“Uh … no thanks. I’m not Mia Robinson.”
“Huh?” My old Brooklyn friend Vito strained to hear over the background noise. “Mia who?”
“Never mind. I appreciate the offer though. I’ll keep looking.”
“You’re always welcome at my sister’s place, too. Keep in touch, okay? We’ve missed you.”
I hung up and crossed his name off the long list, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. People my age weren’t settling down. They were moving. Changing. Marrying. Studying. Going places.
Unless I wanted to live with Vito’s sister’s crazy Italian family (three kids and one on the way) in Indianapolis, my luck had run out.
I hadn’t helped myself by going off to a foreign country and letting contacts fall by the wayside. I hadn’t meant to. But my life was there, not here. Japan had been everything to me. And Carlos.
Suddenly I had neither.
I slumped in front of a country hotel in the middle of Nowhere, Virginia, sun sweltering over a land as far from my own as Shiodome.
I found one small moment of evil pleasure between crossing out names. Just before closing time, I drove to the nearest post office and requested a padded envelope. Chucked the ring inside and wrote Carlos’s address. Started filling out the customs form.
DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF CONTENTS: I tapped my chin purposefully with my pen. Just how spiteful was I?
Very.
Waste of eight months, I wrote neatly in the blank. APPROXIMATE VALUE IN US DOLLARS: $9,000.
And I signed the form. Sealed the envelope. Handed it to the postal worker.
His face whitened. “Is this a …”
“Ring. Yes.”
“You don’t want to send a ring that way.” He shook the flimsy envelope and pushed it back across the counter.
“I absolutely do.” I pushed it back.
“You know envelopes are the worst way ever to send something valuable, that anybody could slit open the side and take it out?”
“Of course.”
His eyes bugged. “You know somebody’s gonna have to pay one whopper of a tax, right?”
“I know. It’s not a problem.”
He shook his head, muttering something about crazy females. “So I guess you’re gonna want a ton of insurance?” He clicked the computer keyboard, hand on his forehead. “We start at—”
“No. None.”
He dropped the mouse with a clatter. “Aw, no. No way. You can’t send it like this.”
“Why not? I’m paying the postage. You’ve offered me insurance and I’ve refused. So … if you’ll just tell me the amount?”
“Lady, do you have any idea what’s gonna happen to this?” He jabbed his finger at the envelope, everyone in the post office turning to gawk. Including the advertising cardboard cut-out dangling overhead.
“If it even makes it out of this post office intact, and I’m not guaranteeing that, somebody’s gonna slit this thing open and take it home to his girlfriend within five minutes. Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Are you going to tell me the postage, or do I need to go somewhere else?”
He shook his head in disgust and slapped on a label. “Five dollars and ten cents.” He glared.
I counted out the bills and change. “Thank you.”
And I took my receipt, smiled, and left. It was my finest moment.
“Ready for that coffee?” Faye pulled up at four o’clock in a snappy emerald-green jacket and that violet perfume.
“You have no idea.”
A waitress seated us near a window, and I looked out over the railroad tracks in the back, all flanked with trees. Listlessly stirred sugar and cream into my coffee cup.
In Japan, coffee came in vending machines in skinny metal cans, black and bitter and cold and slightly sweet. Or pipinghot, depending on the preference. We could buy pretty much anything from vending machines: cigarettes, beer, tea, juice, bags of rice, meal tickets, live beetles. Kyoko told me it was so people didn’t have to talk to each other to make a transaction.
When my heart sagged with sorrow, I understood them.
“So, hot stuff, tell me about that young man.” Faye’s spoon clinked against her coffee cup.
“That young man’s a two-timing snake,” I retorted, louder than I should have. Faye raised her eyebrows but did not flinch.
“Got a girl while you were gone?” she asked quietly.
“Yes. Apparently he had his eye on her before.”
“Were you engaged then?”
“Yes,” I mumbled, humiliated, and the story of Mia slipped out. Her sea-green eyes. Her innocent smile. Her “date” with Carlos while I wore black to Mom’s funeral.
“Well, doll baby, good thing ya got rid of him now, before you got married.” Faye didn’t seem shocked over Carlos’s living arrangements or scold me for allowing it. “Rovin’ eyes are jest the kinda thing that brings people to divorce.”
“Divorce.” I stared moodily into my cup. “Then I’d be exactly like Mom, wouldn’t I? Wrecking my life and getting divorced.”
“Well, honey, that’s up to you.” She gazed at me soberly again, speaking almost sternly. “Her life and mistakes affected you, but in the end these are all your decisions. What ya do with your life is your choice.”
“Yeah. Well, I haven’t done well so far.” I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache throb again. “I thought I had, but …”
“Well, you can follow in your mama’s footsteps and wallow in your pain, or you can get up and move on.” Faye’s eyes bored into mine. “I don’t mean to speak outta turn, sugar. But I can see you’re at a crossroads. You’ve gotta choose, baby.”
I didn’t respond. Just stirred my coffee, even though it didn’t need any more stirring. “Choose what?”
“To keep yer chin up. To wait for a good man, a man who’llstand by ya, even if he ain’t such a fancy looker like your boy in Japan. Mack wasn’t so much to look at.” She sipped her coffee, eyes softening. “But he was good. We loved each other somethin’ awful.”
She set her cup down. “Believe me, sugar, if a fella’ll cheat on you, he’ll cheat on that little girl he’s got now. I promise ya.”
I sighed. Maybe Mia would cheat on Carlos first. Little dagger-to-the-heart that she was. “True. You’re probably right, Faye. Sounds like your Mack was a good guy.”
Her gaze drifted. “He wasn’t perfect, but he loved me.”
“See, that’s just it. Where do you find a good man, Faye? Like Hachiko?”
“Who?”
“A Japanese dog.” I was too depressed to explain. “How do I know he’ll stand by me?”
“The dog?” Faye screwed up her forehead.
“No. A man.” I covered my eyes. “And please don’t say, ‘You just know.’ It drives me crazy.”
“I won’t, ‘cause you don’t just know. You look at his life. You pray a lot. You look how he treats the people around him, and then you can make a better decision.” Her cup clinked on her saucer, and she leveled kind eyes at me. “But Shiloh, I don’t think a good man is what you need right now.”
“Why not?”
“I think ya need to work on you. On gettin’ back on your feet and fillin’ those holes in your pretty heart. On seein’ what God has for you now. Do you believe in God, honey?”
She caught me off guard, and I almost spilled my coffee. “I … I don’t really know. I think I did once, maybe, but … it’s been so long, and so much has happened.”
“That doesn’t mean God’s not there,” Faye insisted gently. “I can’t make you believe, but I can tell ya so many things in your life begin to straighten out when you give it to Him. You’ll find peace in your soul, man or not.”
I expected to put my guard up when Faye talked religion, and I did. But I also left my heart open just a crack. I overflowed with pain; it was like trying to cork the Pacific.
“What do I do with all the hurt?” I asked in a burst of vulnerability. “I have so much.”
Then Faye did the kindest thing. She reached out and touched my cheek softly, like a mother would do. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Give it to Jesus, honey. Give it to Jesus.”
I never expected her to say that. I started, surprised, and then stared numbly out at the railroad tracks. Felt her pat my hand. I let my fingers wrap around hers, needing no words. I couldn’t remember what it felt like to hold a mother’s hand.
If I could cry, I would have, right then, right there in Mrs. Rowe’s with a red-haired waitress bringing glasses of iced tea to the table of four right behind me.
But I could not. Instead I thanked God, if He existed, for Faye.
Chapter 19
We wended our way to a little country house, ranch-style, brick, down a lane dotted with pines. I recognized Adam’s dark blue pickup truck, parked next to Becky’s green sedan and a white truck probably belonging to Tim. I felt suddenly nervous—I hardly know these people!—and honored at the same time. A few days in Virginia and I’m invited home for dinner.
As we crunched over pinecones in the perfect green grass, I smelled smoke. Meat. Barbecue sauce. My mouth watered.
“Hey y’all!” yelled Becky, bursting out the door and down the steps like a happy kid. “I’m so glad ya could make it!” She threw her arms around us. An enormous hound bayed somewhere inside the house then appeared on the front porch, barking and quivering all over from wagging his tail.
“Aw, simmer down, Gordon!” Becky patted him. His tail wagged harder, and he gave us an open-mouthed grin, nudging his big head against my jeans.
“Gordon?” I scratched his ears as he slobbered kisses on my wrist. He smelled rank, bulged like a tick, but his toothy smile won my heart.
“My fav’rite driver. Before I got married, of course!”
The confusion on my face must have shown because shelaughed and slapped her knee. “I forgot ya ain’t from here! NASCAR! Ya know, them cars racin’ around in circles for hours? Well, this one driver was a real hottie when he started out. And since I’d already named my hound, well, weren’t much Tim could do! Right, Gordon?”
He bayed again in excitement, dog tags jingling.
She swept us both by the arms into her simple little house, decorated in country blue and cream, and then out the back sliding door to the patio. Evening summer sun slanted goldenorange onto the pines and wooden deck, making them look all yellowy, and a whiff of smoke puffed across neatly planted marigolds and petunias. Country music crooned from an old radio.
“Shah-loh, meet my mama, Tina,” said Becky proudly, introducing a plumpish blond lady.
“An’ this is Adam…. Oh wait, ya know him already!” He waved, sans cap and dirt and mulch stains, showing his head full of sandy hair. I waved back. He stood next to a lanky guy in a NASCAR T-shirt who alternately flipped burgers and swatted bugs. “And that’s the louse of a husband I have.”
She convulsed into laughs and squeezed him tight, and he pretended to poke her with the meat fork. Becky was hilarious. She radiated joy, even giddiness, but there was something right about her. Even if her clothes were all wrong. Tonight she had on an oversized black County Bean Festival T-shirt, ill-fitting light blue jeans, and bad loafers. A faded white braided leather belt.
Kyoko, who turned her nose up at traditional fashion sense, would have dropped her iced tea glass. And that said a lot.
Tim waved and grinned at me. He had a mustache plus short hair in the front and some longish stuff hanging down in the back. My eyes widened. A mullet! I’d always heard about this haircut but never seen it on a real, breathing person. I had the sudden urge to take out my phone-camera and snap a picture. I resisted with difficulty, hands twitching.
“Howdy!” Tim speared a hamburger and turned it over. It sizzled, and I took a step closer. “Becky says ya run outta gas the other day at Jerus’lem Chapel. How long did it take ya to figger out the little red light means gas?” He winked.
“Now, Tim”—it sounded like Tee-um—”you stop pickin’ on her right now! Ya hear?” She threatened him with a meat cleaver. “And this is my mother-in-law, Jeanette, the mother of that awful goon. She takes the cake.” Becky introduced me to a sweet-faced lady, taller than me, with tasteful makeup and neatly styled brown hair.
“Aw, darlin’, you were born cake.” She kissed Becky on the cheek. Not exactly the evil mother-in-law type you see on the movies.
“Shah-loh lives in Japan, like I told ya. She lives in Tok-ee-yo—no, wait, Tokyo … did I say it right?—an’ she’s got a hot Latin fiancé. Right, Shah-loh? And one humdinger of a rock! Take a look at …”
My cheeks suddenly blanched. Becky reached for my ring hand, but I whispered something quickly and grasped for any other conversation. “Faye says all Jeanette’s sisters are so nice,” I blurted.
Becky reddened but recovered as her mother-in-law nodded placidly. “Well, we’re all a mess though, I tell ya. Six of us young’uns.” She proceeded to tell me about her uncle Ernie Addler and his farm, and all the girls trying to ride the prize steer, until Becky pulled me aside.
“Mercy, Shah-loh. I’m so sorry! I had no idea!” she whispered. “Ya broke up over the phone?”
“He’s a cheater.”
She turned red and white at the same time in little blotches. “Yer kiddin’!”
“Nope.” I sighed, looking out over the bugs twinkling in the sunlight over the summer grass.
“I’m awful sorry.” She rested her arm on my shoulder. “Ijest … don’t even know what ta say. You’ve been through jest so much.”
I shrugged, keeping my face light. “I’m over him. Really.”
Adam appeared with frosty glasses of sweet iced tea, and we accepted them gratefully. He smelled nice, and I turned without thinking.
“Well, look who cleans up so good,” Becky purred. “Decided to take a bath this week?”
“That’s next week. Don’t want to overdo it,” he quipped over his shoulder, giving another rare smile, making his bluish eyes shine.
“His brother’s doin’ better.” Becky lowered her tone confidentially.
“His brother?”
“Got blown all to pieces in the military. In Afghanistan. Lost both legs below the knee and almost died.”
I choked on my tea. “You’re kidding!”
“Wish ta goodness I was. But he’s a trouper. This week some a the infection went down. Adam’s been he’pin’ take care a him and his mama and daddy and little brother.”
I felt like I’d been blasted out of my funk. My life wasn’t the only sour one out there.
“No wonder he never smiles.”
“I reckon. He’s a good kid.” Becky’s lips turned upward faintly. “What am I sayin’? He ain’t no kid! He’s one a the best people I know. ‘Cept Tim, of course, the lout! I love him somethin’ awful, when I ain’t makin’ fun of him!” She laughed and blew him a kiss. “Didja hear me, Tim Donaldson?”
“Woman, I ain’t heard nothin’ but yer complainin’ all day!” he hollered back in a funny falsetto. “Now git over here and make me some biskits!”
“Git yer mama to make ya some biskits!” Becky yelled back.
“Now, don’t pull me in! Uh-uh!” came Tim’s mother’s voice. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’! You invited me ta eat, and eat I’m gonna do.”
I doubled over with laughter. These people made my shoulders shake, made me forget Carlos for a few pain-free moments. They were clean and wholesome, like medicine pumping into my sick body. They might be dumb as rocks—that remained to be seen—but they sure could laugh.
I’d seen drunk Japanese businessmen spend the whole evening senseless over sake, only to wake up depressed again the next morning. These people lived on joy. Simplicity. It was almost too easy, like I’d missed something.
“Grub’s ready!” Tim shouted. “Let’s eat, ya’ll!”
We crowded around the grill, and Becky took my hand in one and Tim’s in the other. Everybody formed a circle on the deck, around the chairs and tables, and bowed their heads. Becky turned down the radio. I just stood there, not sure what to do, until Tim began to pray.
I quickly scrunched my eyes shut. I’d learned that much in the Jehovah’s Witness day care Mom left me at for a year. Before it got closed down by the health department for things I can’t repeat.
“Lord, we thank You fer this food, fer this country, an’ fer all the good things Ya give us. We don’t deserve none of it, Lord. But Ya give us friends an’ family and Jesus to die fer our sins. We thank Ya, Lord. In the name a Yer Son, Jesus, amen.”
Amens murmured across the deck. At least I knew what they meant now.
A soft evening breeze whispered, and I felt something stirring inside me. When I raised my head, Adam’s deep eyes looked right at me like he could see my soul.
He knows my heart is empty.
My cheeks burned, and I looked away. I’d never said I believed the way they did or even implied it. I didn’t. I didn’t believe anything.
