I don’t know much about my mother, Sayuri – not even her surname before marriage. Otosan has never mentioned much about her before his life with her, so I wonder how much he knows. What I do know is that she was younger than him by ten years – she was still attending Tokyo University when they met.
Dad says he was the officer on duty that responded to an accident she was involved in. It was a very bad auto accident, and she had no one – he felt badly for her, so after his shift he found her at the hospital and offered to keep her company.
After she was cleared to leave, her took her to an izakaya to try and get her to relax amidst some good food. What he didn’t expect was a charming, brilliant woman that threw him for a loop.
Dad proposed to her two years after they met, married a year after that, and had me about a year after that. The following year Kaasan was killed in the subway sarin incident. Otosan was devastated, and for a long time could not function like a man ought to, he says. He was very depressed, and threw himself into his work, taking on extra shifts and working harder than ever. It was his way of coping, and I don’t blame him for the lack of his presence during my earliest years in the least.
Oh, he didn’t ignore me. He had his parents, my grandparents, raise me. I didn’t see him often, but when I did the time we spent together was special, and he would buy me small things or pretty things to make me happy, as well as teach me martial arts. My grandparents, bless their hearts, instilled in me some honored traditions, but let me have free reign when it came to modern influences. They understood it was the way of the world now, and were content to let me indulge in it – so long as I was respectful.
When I was five, Otosan retired from the police force at the young age of forty, in order to take up a job that was not only more lucrative, but would make better use of his skills. His tenure at a local, renowned pharmaceutical company may have only been eleven years, however he had a remarkable record, which is why he was recommended for the head of security position here in the states.
A year after my father changed employment, my grandparents grew very ill, and were no longer able to take care of me. My father hired a neighbor woman by the name of Hiyama Takako to take care of me while he worked. Takako had children of her own so no especial attention was paid to me, but I got the care I needed, and thought my father a great man for always seeing that I was provided for.
When I started lower middle school, he decided that I was old enough to see to my own care after school, but I was to mind his rules. I could have friends over, he said, but I was not to run rampant. It was when I was twelve that I really began to get into drawing and fashion. I even made my own clothes, if you can count crafting cosplay costumes for myself and my friends as making clothes.
I had always enjoyed anime, and had been reading various manga since I could remember, my tastes changing with time. When I was old enough to take care of myself I received a generous allowance, which I often spent on manga and artbooks, art supplies, and cloth and such that I needed for cosplay, though if I needed more Otosan never said no.
I was teasingly called an otaku by my friends, but it was never in a mean way. They appreciated my little obsession, in fact. I was good at recommending things for them to watch or read in their spare time, and they loved my costumes, considering it a challenge amongst themselves to come up with more and more elaborate costumes for me to make for them.
When not cosplaying at various conventions or just for fun, we would often gather together to play games, or simply watch something together. Sometimes we would do kareoke for fun, other times we’d just have fun being us. It was about being together, and we’d been friends since primary school, and thought we’d be friends for a long time yet.
Then, my life changed. I was fifteen, and my father announced that he was being transferred overseas to help set up a new branch of the company. I begged him not to do this move, but he was steadfast about it, saying he had already accepted and it would be shameful for him to take that back now. I cried for hours that first night, knowing that I would have to leave my best friends behind. I didn’t anticipate the emotional trauma of packing and sorting through belongings.
It hurt most to see Otosan getting rid of Kaasan’s things. He packed and donated or gave away nearly everything that had once belonged to her. I may have never known my mother, but my father often spoke of her and told me stories of her so that I would know her as he did. I loved her through those stories and seeing his actions tore at my heart, I felt as though I would never again hear stories of her, or hear him speak her name. I salvaged some photos, hiding them away among my things so that I could have something of hers.
We did not have much time to take in the packing, as the company wanted Otosan overseas as soon as possible. We packed up our belongings that we did not give away, and had them shipped overseas. The flight itself was long and dull, and we spoke very little. I was still feeling very hurt by the move and his dispossession of my mother – so much so that I didn’t talk to him until we arrived at customs.
After what felt like forever, we arrived at a luxury hotel where my father had made arrangements for us to stay until he had time to locate and purchase home for us. Waiting for him was a packet of information concerning my school – he had had the foresight to make sure I was enrolled before we left, so that I could attend right away and not be alone while he was working. Looking it over, I balked slightly – I had two and a half days to prepare myself for an American high school – and I didn’t have the slightest clue what to expect.
I was terrified of being outcast before I got a chance, so I did research. Was there anything about me that was a good strength? What about my weaknesses? I pulled an all-nighter doing nothing but researching the internet on American teenagers, fashion choices, and the culture – what was considered faux pas and what was the norm.
I got so much conflicting information, I didn’t know what to take as true for the area I was in, and I was too wrapped up in anxiety to actually get out of the hotel on my own and take a look for myself. Mainly, what I got out of the research was that people were often bullied for things they loved that were considered geeky – support, while not necessarily hard to come by, wasn’t always readily local to the individual. I decided then and there to hide my otaku self in order to not alienate myself. My love of manga and drawing manga turning into designing fashion, and my love of cosplay turned into following all the latest fashion trends, both national and abroad.
Otosan was not in the hotel often, as he was working hard training his employees – something he took very seriously, and was very strict about. I knew and understood this, and although I craved something familiar, I did not bother him, instead turning to the few familiar things I had brought with me on the plane for comfort.
My first day of school was a nightmare to me, until a classmate took it upon himself to help me when I stood in the lunchroom alone, looking lost and on the verge of tears.
He introduces himself as “Tony – you know, just like the tiger” Takeda. I didn’t get the reference, but he took that in stride. He was very friendly to me, and offered to show me around the school and then around town if I were able to go, and asked me my name.
He thought it fascinating that I was from Tokyo, and had a tendency to ask me all kinds of questions about Japan, but especially about cars and motorcycles that are manufactured there. I really couldn’t tell him much, but after talking to some of my friends back in Japan after that first day, I was able to give him some good resources to check out, and he was elated.
He gave me time to get acclimated to the school and my new life before introducing me to his small group of friends. David was the first he introduced me to, as that was his best friend in the world, and from there others were introduced to me gradually, rather than as an all at once, sudden shock sort of deal.
Two weeks after we landed in the country, Otosan managed to get a house. I wasn’t expecting anything as large as what we got, but Otosan said that we should live as our station in life allows, and that this would allows us that, and still be able to live comfortably.
Movers took our things out of storage and placed them in the house; Otosan even took a vacation day in order to see to it that everything went smoothly, something virtually unheard of for him. I suspect, however, someone at the company told him to take the time off and see to his affairs – I can’t see him making the decision otherwise.
After that first day it was left up to me to put things in their proper place, and the first thing I did was set up the household shrine, and then my personal shrine that honors my mother. While I got offers of help from Tony, David and others, I declined politely, explaining to them that I knew how my father liked things. Secretly I was terrified of them finding my rather extensive otaku collection and turning their backs on me because I was “too geeky”. Once the house was in good order I spent more time with the group, and learned that they had a name they called themselves; Saiche Resa. Before I could ask what it meant, Tony explained that it was a blend of Chinese and Japanese, roughly translating into (as far as he knew) Racer Racer. A sort of joke, but one that sounded good.
When I asked about why racer was the name, he told me that the group of them rode, and occasionally raced, motorcycles. He hadn’t brought it up before because he didn’t want to intimidate me. He offered to give me a ride on the back of his once we picked up a spare helmet for me, and from that first ride, I fell in love with riding.
Encouraged by my enjoyment of the ride, he started taking me to night races, and eventually I broke down and asked him to help me get a bike of my own. Money wasn’t the concern, because I was fairly certain that I could get money from my father if I phrased things appropriately. What I wanted to know was which bikes were good, and what I would look good riding. My new friends all tried to help, and after I settled on one, they helped me study for my license and learn how to drive. Surprisingly, I was a quick learner when it came to it – I didn’t find it very difficult to maneuver at all, despite my size.
Things were just starting to fall into place when I noticed that Otosan seemed to have changed. He brought up Kaasan less and less – even going so far as to stop lighting incense for her. I felt hurt because I didn’t understand, and when asked, he’d change the subject.
While too set in his ways to change completely, he no longer seemed the formal Japanese man I knew and loved since I was old enough to remember. No…he seemed to be forgetting who he was. That he did his martial arts not to stay in shape, but for the discipline and philosophy behind it as well (as well as to continue to train me). It was a conversion. This had all happened when I was sixteen.
Not that I had been struggling in the first place, but after things between Dad and I grew a little more distant, I was determined than ever to ensure I would be able to attend University. I had no ambitions to attend one far away, as I wanted to stay close to my friends.
My hard work paid off, as I graduated with top honors at the school – not the very top, mind you, but one of the highest. I chalk it up to the fact that American schools are nothing like Japanese schools. In fact, the only subject I really seemed to struggle in was American History.
Otosan was, I think, very proud of my achievements, and my desire to continue my education. To his credit, he did not question my enrollment into the University’s art program, though I suspect that perhaps he was disappointed – hoping perhaps for me to go into law, or the sciences, perhaps. Upon graduation I was gifted with a check. I promptly used it for a new bike, this time one that was a good racing bike, as I was hoping to try a race soon. I enrolled in the fall semester, and worked hard.
I spent the summer working at the restaurant David’s family owned, taking orders and serving. I continued working there until exam season, when it became clear I did not have the capacity to both work and study. David’s parents understood, and told me if I ever needed to, I could come work for them again. Otosan had arranged to pay for my schooling that scholarships and grants did not cover, and had also issued me a credit card to use, just telling me to be responsible with it.
Tony was also attending, majoring in mechanics through the school’s vocational program, but also had an interest in engineering. He’d told me more than once that some day, he’d like to design a car that one day might get made. Despite different coursework, we often studied together for the sake of each others’ company – though I also tried to teach him some Japanese as well. When we were not in class or studying, we spent the time with David, or with the gang as a whole.
There was one particularly stressful point during exam season in my first year, when I broke down and cried for a while, before calling Tony. I begged him to help me race. Right then, right now, in order to work out my frustrations. He agreed readily, and took me to a flat stretch of road that was well maintained, but with little to no traffic. He would wait for me at the campus coffee house, he said. As long as it takes for me to come back. I drove, steadily increasing speed until the tears ran out. My cry finished, myself calmer, I turned around and headed back to the coffee house, where he was waiting outside for me with a cup of coffee, just the way I liked it.
It was very sweet of him, and I thanked him for it. He stumbled over his words, trying to get something out. “Just tell me.” I told him. Steeling his nerve (or so he told me later), he then set his cup down and walked toward me, placing a hand on either side of my face and planted a kiss on my lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” he told me, and then asked if I would date him. I enthusiastically said yes, spilling some of my coffee on him in the process.
It was right around Chinese New Year when Otosan somehow learned I had started dating. He called me, asking me to bring my young man over for dinner so he could meet him. I should have known better than to accept. I should have kept the plans we had with David instead.
Tony and I carpooled over to the house – he was nervous about meeting my father. Things started out well enough. We had civil conversation for a while, until Otosan started in with the questions about Tony’s intentions towards me and his goals in life, trying to learn more about him. It became more and more clear to me that Otosan did not approve of Tony, deeming him not good enough for me.
The mood of the evening had soured, and I was disappointed that Otosan did not approve of Tony. Otosan, for his part, was never rude, though would on occasion, conveniently forget to speak English. Eventually, I got angry. I set my napkin on the table and got up, stalking off to the other room. It didn’t occur to me that I was leaving Tony to fend for himself, but I was upset, and had no desire to shed tears in front of my father. Perhaps I was unfair to my father, but it isn’t like him to forget a promise, either. I wasn’t alone for long before both Tony and Otosan found me. Tony took me into his arms to console me, as I was asked what my statement meant.
My father looked on disapprovingly, and after a few minutes, Tony wisely gathered our things and headed outside to start the bike, sensing I would want to leave as soon as possible. Otosan tried to apologize to me. I should have forgiven him. I think maybe I did, later, because I didn’t stay mad at him for long. I instead gave him a look and headed out with Tony, to salvage what we could of the evening by sticking as close to our original plans with David as possible.
Within the next couple of years, the rest of our gang graduated high school and moved away, spreading out across the country to attend colleges in different states.
I’m twenty-four now. I graduated with a Master’s in Art two years ago. While Ototsan continues to help me out financially, we still seem strained. I know he cares about me. That’s just plain to see. He’s begrudgingly accepted Tony as beign a part of my life as well, seeming more supportive of our relationship once Tony settled in to getting a degree in engineering.
None of us are working in our fields right now. Tony is working at the local parts supply store where we get our parts for racing. I’ve been working alongside David at his family’s restaurant, drawing manga or solo pieces in my spare time, making money via donations and purchases over deviantART.
I’ve been noticing David watching me, too. It occurs to me that he always had been. One night after close, I finally asked him about it, and he tried to pass it off as nothing, but when cornered, he told me. He’d been eyeing me as someone to ask out – it was just pure luck that his best friend Tony asked me first. He apologized, and said though he couldn’t make absolute promises, he’d try not to act upon his affection. I never knew, and haven’t told Tony. He and David have been close since grade school days, and I don’t want to drive a wedge between that friendship.
When we can, we participate in the races, and sometimes make money that way, though our jobs are more reliable, as the racing is a bit more of a gamble.
