She sits up in bed, the blanket covering her, smoking a cigarette. It’s 1AM and the lights are off, but the blue, neon hum of the city stares right in. I lie there, arms crossed at my chest, my eyes focused on the ceiling. There’s nothing there except a fan swinging about slowly and the flicker of lights from outside dancing on the white paint.
“I’ve told you to stop with those.”
She lets a gray cloud float into the air then looks at me.
“I’m trying, I swear.” The stick goes back into her mouth.
I lie there quietly. No sense in arguing. What good does it do if I yell at her? All I’ll manage to accomplish is upsetting her, upsetting myself, and creating a stagnant air between us that won’t dissipate until finally we get so bored of staring at the same ceiling that we decide to have sex and both share a legitimized smoke. Which brings us back to square one: me bitching at her to stop the filthy habit. If maybe we had a normal relationship or if maybe I hadn’t lead such a fucked up life until this point, both of us could just go to sleep and find ourselves awakening in a dream world where all these conditional problems disappear. My life isn’t so straight-forward though. Instead I forego sleep by inhaling noxious fumes and pretend like I’m mad at a woman I just wanna feel up from head to toe. Every morning I go to a job where I run around collecting money for a Yakuza boss and have my fair share of near-death experiences and inflict just as many. However, I tend to finish the job. God doesn’t like saving room for sinners like myself in heaven. I’m pretty set on being plunged into a fiery oblivion and enduring pain for the rest of eternity. To get on the right track now would just be clichéd and hypocritical. Here is me, a man who makes his living by taking it from others and endorsing corruption trying to mend his ways… Sounds like a load of shit to me. I’ll maintain some dignity and let the devil peel my skin off.
I swing my legs off the bed, leaning up. My bare back is getting cold already. I stare at the floor and see what a mess it is. Clothes, tissues, bottles. It’s like the carpet underneath is just a magnet for trash.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Miko looks at me, removing the cigarette from her mouth and putting it out. “You are?”
I look back at her with a neutral expression, “Yeah. I’ll be back.”
I throw on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, slide on my shoes, and whip on my black overcoat. My hands go straight into my pockets and I walk down the dark stairway to the outside streets. I can see my breath as it extends into the frozen air. Damn it’s cold.
Japan is beautiful. Even the inner cities are just teeming with life and overflowing with a vivacious eccentricity. At one in the morning I feel like it might as well be just after work. There are hardly any cars driving about, but someone tends to cross my path every minute or so. Where these people are going I’m just not certain. But I guess I don’t know where I’m going either. Hell, I just don’t even know about my own life anymore. I really let myself lose the war against…living. In a movie I’d be considered the bad guy. In Catholicism I’d be seen as the damned. In a book I’d be penned as the antagonist. The truth is though, I’m just trying to make ends meet. Somehow my path in life lead me to crime and now I’m answering the call. I like to think I’m respectable- I’m polite with strangers and tip well whenever me and Miko go out. I treat the little girl Haru to sweets of her choice whenever I see her playing in the halls. I just don’t see myself as a bad person… but it’s true I do bad things. Can’t there be a balance? A pardoning?
No such luck for criminals like me. You can’t go extinguishing the fires of others and expect to have help on your own.
There’s a bar up ahead that seems to be open. I walk inside to see a dimly lit space with a sushi bar in the corner. “Konbawa,” exclaims the chef behind the display of fish. I nod my head and take a seat.
“One sake, please.” It’s warm in here. There’s only a few other people about the place. A couple is sitting in the opposite corner of me near the restrooms. They look like delinquents, the type of punk teenagers addicted to English punk like the Sex Pistols. Down from them is an old lady who has a forlorn look on her face like the luck has all worn out. She’s expressionless as she sips her golden beverage. Closer to the door are two men talking it up, both with beers and some food. Probably just got off work or something. Then a few seats down from my own spot is another man with black hair and a gray suit. His hair is dangling over his eyes and he’s hunched over slightly. He catches me looking around and smiles.
“G’mornin.”
“Oh, hi,” I say, feeling a bit awkward.
“Whatchu doin in a bar so late?”
“Can’t sleep.”
The man laughs. “So you grab a drink instead?”
I guess that’s what it appears to be.
There’s a slight pause and the man holds the smirk on his face. He seems to be examining me, measuring my worth based on just a few sentences.
“The name’s Kimura,” he extends his hand towards me, reaching across the bar stools.
“Shiro,” I say in return.
“Why can’t ya sleep?” Kimura seems to have a wisdom about him. With the way he composes himself and how he talks, it feels as if he’s seen everything there is to see. Although I’ve seen a lot and felt many different emotions in my life, I haven’t gained any wisdom. Just more tarnish for my blackened soul.
“You know. Shit.”
“You got the shits?” he laughs. “Well what’re ya doin’ at a bar? Sit your ass on a toilet and let the good times slide on out.” His use of the word “slide” feels grotesquely vivid.
I chuckle a bit at his sarcasm and throw his question right back at him. “Why you here?”
“Piss.”
Hm, funny.
“Alright, alright,” the man takes a sip of his beer. “Enough jokes, I’m sorry.”
I don’t see the need to apologize and tell him so. The sake feels good going down my throat. Its smooth, warm texture feels like a snake is slithering down my throat, but no harm will be done to my insides. In fact, only the complete opposite is happening: my insides feel nursed and strengthened. God, I love alcohol sometimes.
“Whaddya do for a living, Shiro?”
I’ve been faced with this question before. I know the answer to give every time. “I’m a tax collector.”
“Oh really? So that’s why you’re here!” I get confused for a second. “Taking money from other people must make ya really feel like a rotting piece of shit, huh?” He’s still got that smile on his face. Although he’s ridiculing me, he says it in a tone like he understands. Like he understands that life sometimes is a huge cunt-bag that fucks you in every orifice you’ve got until you just accept the terms and agreements of your ever-expiring contract..
I feign another chuckle, “Yeah. Hurts too much to sleep.”
“Well don’t worry about it, my friend. Making money is making money, am I right?” Before I can answer he continues, “Because if it ain’t you stealing people’s money, it’s somebody else.” He certainly has a point.
“What is it you do?”
“I’m a contractor. Whatever someone needs done, I’m there to do it.”
“What’re some things you do?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Let’s just say I’m a jack of all trades, eh?” He says, now tonguing a cigarette.
“You a religious man, Shiro?”
“I wouldn’t call this first-date material, would you?”
Kimura-san laughs and stares into his drink, “All that matters is that I get a kiss at the end of the night, right?”
I laugh with him.
“C’mon- you religious at all?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?”
Why do you care? “I think that God exists… that’s about it.”
“Ever been to a Catholic service?”
“Nope.” I take a warm sip of sake.
“It’s great,” he starts. He’s got an eccentricity about him that’s endearing. His hands flail everywhere as he talks. There’s definitely a cultured-ness about him. “The power in that massive room is undeniable. Everybody’s there saying all the same shit together and they’re all so like-minded.” He lets a puff of smoke into the air. “Makes you wish the world could be more like it.” He pauses. “Harmonious. That’s the word for it. Everyone’s in harmony when you go to a Catholic service… why can’t the people we see on the street be our brother or our sister?” Quickly he adds, “Metaphorically, of course.”
I try to discern whether or not this is just drunk talk coming out of him, but what does it matter? Not like I can’t just quit the discussion anyways. Unless of course I decide to be an asshole and just tell him to buzz-off. But such a rude statement would be out of place and uncalled for. I grope for an answer to his question. “I guess people are just too different.”
“You’re damn right!” He pumps his fist into the air. “Too goddamned stubborn, too. Are you a stubborn one, Shiro?”
“I have my moments.” That was a lie. I’m pretty much a pussy outside my line of work. Miko and I never progress as a couple because everything ends up her way. I sulk way too much nowadays. I’m not sure why she hasn’t left me… or me leave her for that matter.
“Damn you’re hard to keep goin’,” he says, rubbing his forehead. I know he’s attacking my social skills. He says it jokingly though, hiding all offensiveness.
I laugh, “Sorry about that.” Sincerity is rarely seen anymore these days. Usually when someone apologizes, it never carries the gravity which it should. “I’m sorry” almost never means “I’m sorry”. It’s generally just a temporary pardoning for fucking up until the next time the reason for accusation occurs. I wish the word “I love you” still meant something. I remember when a girl told me she loved me after one date. I stopped calling her and avoided any further dates. I just didn’t want to deal with anyone who was gonna make such deep, fulfilling words seem trite and pointless. I blame such a crime on the media. Every romantic film includes dialog that contains, “I love you”. Tons of songs have lyrics that say “I love you”. While these people probably know what they’re talking about, the mass saturation of “I love you’s” floating around doesn’t help our populace understand the true meaning to these words.
I do mean it though. I am sorry for being terrible at holding a conversation. All the violence I spread doesn’t lead to a good discussion and I can’t certainly talk to a bleeding corpse. I’m really starting to hate my job.
“Say, Kimura, you ever been out of Japan before?”
“So the man asks questions!” He’s clearly a joker. But I like that. I need a bit of aloofness in my life. “Why yes, I have. Been to the states once. T’was nothing special. Just big ‘ol skyscrapers and people everywhere. At least in the city I went to.”
“You ever wanted to just, say goodbye to all you have and start fresh?” I’m starting to ask Kimura all the questions I’d like to ask myself.
“Of course. Haven’t we all?”
“I guess that’s true.”
“You look troubled, my friend. Care to talk about it?”
I take a deep breath. No sense in holding all this anguish in. If I’m going to confide in anyone, why not have it be a complete stranger I’ll probably never see again?
“I’m just done with this all. I’m done with my job, I’m done with my girlfriend, I’m done with all the ties I’ve made.” This feels good. “I want to just go somewhere else, begin anew, and atone for my ways.” Even though I said atonement was bullshit, the concept is starting to appeal to me. We are all human. We’re all prone to making mistakes. Hypocritical or not… I suppose we all deserve a chance to straighten up.
“Got a rather bad record on ya?”
“Something like that.”
There’s a small pause. I’m lost in thought.
“Then go!” Kimura yells, waving his hands in the air, signaling a far off place I can’t see. “What’s to stop you?”
This isn’t the first time I’ve contemplated leaving before. Not by a long shot. All my life I’ve stopped to wonder what would happen if I just got up… and left. I never had much of an agenda besides “starting over”. And nothing was ever there to really stop me. I never cared about my family. Never had many friends. A job could easily be replaced. The only thing stopping me from leaving was some invisible force that couldn’t be squelched. Even now it’s difficult drawing up good reasons for why I shouldn’t depart for a distant land.
“I guess it’s familiarity,” I say. “I know this place, I have a girlfriend, a job- it’s all known and it’s all easy,” I slide my sake cup from side to side. “Everything is so familiar… so safe.”
“Yeah, that’ll get ya.” Kimura takes in a deep breath. “Growing up I had this job that was pure shit. I worked long, hard hours, and for absolute chicken feed. It was hardly worth working some weeks. But I’ll tell ya- I never once built up the courage to leave because I knew what I was doing. It’s just like you said! It was familiar. It was secure. And security can mean everything to a person.”
I agree.
“You got a girlfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“Imagine how lost she’d feel if you left. Assuming you left her too…”
“Yeah, that’s true. Because, I would leave her. But… I dunno,” I shake my head perplexedly. “She’s part of the reason why I wanna get out of here.”
“Oh yeah?” He seems interested.
“We’ve been falling apart for a year now, yet neither of us can leave. We’re miserable together and that’s how we like it. It all goes back to feeling safe.” I slam my fist on the bar.
Kimura then gets up from his seat. I watch him slide by my side, “Wanna go outside for a minute?” I accept and throw my money on the bar for the bartender. We walk outside and the cold air feels nice again. We go off to the side, right near the entrance, as if to say, “We’ll be right back in.” There’s a car parked right at the curb of where we’re standing, and beyond that is a sports store, the exterior buzzing with fluorescent lights. The inside is dark though and reminds me of what time it is. I see a little bit of snow now falling from the sky. I suppose it is that time of year again.
“Shiro,” Kimura begins. “You learn a lot when you become a bit older like me. You grow bitter. Hard. Women hardly matter, booze all tastes the same, entertainment can barely entertain. It’s a bit tough getting through the days.”
I keep silent.
“Get out while you can. Because you won’t later on.”
I look at Kimura, opening my mouth, wanting to talk. But nothing comes. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, he only stares out across the street.
“You’re lucky to even be in a situation where you can be so goddamned numb that getting up and leaving just won’t affect you.”
I laugh a little, “Why is me leaving so important to you?”
Kimura looks me dead in the eyes, with a seriousness not seen previously. “I like you, Shiro. I want you to live.” This statement feels rather melodramatic and I laugh it off.
“It’s cold as shit out here, I’m going back in,” I start for the door. “Care to join?”
We sit back down at the bar and I order us two hot sakes. My nose feels red from the cold and I blow air into my frigid hands. The bartender hands us our drinks and Kimura thanks me. We stay quiet for a moment. Two grown men can certainly understand the virtue of silence. At least, I do. It annoys me when people can’t just sit in peace, enjoying the ambiance, soaking in life. It’s something not done nearly enough. In fact, I rather enjoy this. But then thoughts start penetrating my mind and I decide to break the silence.
“I don’t deserve to start over, Kimura.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t deserve to start over. I put myself here, this is where I belong.”
“But isn’t it in your power to put yourself somewhere else?”
I think about it for a second. “No. It’s not. Well… it is. But it’s not the right thing to do. To pack up and leave all my sins behind is irresponsible. Before I move on, I need to tie up my loose ends.”
“That’s very commendable, Shiro-san.”
Kimura’s very complimentary, I thank him.
“But what if you can’t get away a few days down the road… or even a few years?”
“That’s just something I’m gonna have to deal with, aren’t I?”
Kimura looks downtrodden.
“I’m sorry, Shiro.”
I look at him confused, with a slight smirk on my face.
He gets up from his seat and draws closer to me.
“I hate to say it, my friend, but this is where the conversation has to end.”
Kimura takes out a silver weapon and presses it against my ribcage. I know the first reaction should be shock, but I remain calm. I feel as if I deserve this. I feel as if what might happen next could solve all my problems.
“I know what kind of business you’re in. You know why I’m here.”
The answers are numerous, but the point is… my sins are coming back to get me.
“Feel good knowing you spared your girl. I wouldda done this in your bedroom had you not come waltzing in here.”
“Thanks,” I say. I guess there’s not much else to say. My mind is racing a thousand miles a minute, there’s no time for me to care about what to say to a man I just met. “At least I cleared my mind right before I croaked, right?”
Kimura laughs. “It’s something to be grateful for, I suppose.”
Gratefulness. I should have shown more of it. Damn. I should have shown a lot more about myself throughout these wasted years. I guess I really do deserve this untimely demise. If I can sit here with only a few moments to spare and all I can think about is how I fucked up… then shit, I might as well take this gracefully. At least now my parents have a legitimate reason to not talk about me with other people. Miko can move on to someone who might do her good. I guess those are the only ties I made over the years. I, on the other hand, can get a nice clean slate in hell, sitting right next to all the other sad fuckers who died the same way as me doing exactly what I did. It’s a form of solace, I guess.
“You’re a good guy, Shiro. But sometimes good people get forced to do bad things. Save me some room in the after-life, will ya? Something tells me I’ll be joining you some day soon.”
He stops to leave room for my famous last words. But nothing comes. Nothing needs to be said. I’m a man with too much guilt on my hands and too much recourse in my heart. This is the conclusion of my pathetic life… and I damn well earned this.
