Behind two small slits I could see his dark eyes. Even under a glaring bulb they were matte on the surface. All surfaces were matte. The table between us. His shirt. My shirt. Even the air was dull.
I dropped my gaze onto a large plate of neglected sushi and then to a second, left by a waitress in stark tabi socks that played peek-a-boo with the broad hem of her kimono. Scuffle scuffle went her black wooden sandals. Scuffle scuffle went her white ninja toes. I never once lifted my gaze to her face. Not once did I offer a smile. My only concern was in keeping an ocha cup full, slowly sipping back the steaming green tea.
When we were alone in the cubicle, neither of us spoke. If we did, it was only to proclaim how sleepy we were. I stared into the ocha. I felt like there was no future, no past, just a gaunt void that made my teeth feel weightless.
Of course, there was a story for a morning that had just transpired, a morning that I was in and that he was in, but it was interwoven in a hazy reel of granulated panoramas, like a silent movie poorly cared for, shown far too many times.
Yoshi and I had risen early, after I had spent hours staring into the darkness, listening to him sleep in fits and thinking maybe he was dying, the small broken half of a white Valium untouched on my bedside table. I could have slept if I’d swallowed it, but I was afraid. Suddenly and childishly afraid of taking drugs from strangers.
I’d lain still under my covers, repeatedly bringing the vision of Matt’s face to mind, meditating on what I’d known and loved intimately for three years, relying on it to keep me from spiralling into a hole whose depths I’d rather not know. My chest felt tight. I still couldn’t breathe. Not normally anyway. I had no thoughts no feelings no fears no pains or senses save for one light that shone through the bottomless darkness slowly trying to drain my soul: I loved him. Matt. And it was greater than anything I’d ever felt. It was the only thing. The truth.
And then the kick-back started and I had to use everything I had to pull back to him, to the centre, to the beacon that kept me from being swept up and dashed against the rocks. And it was hard, it was so hard and so tempting to succumb to the weight of this dark swell that was upon me, to be pulled under and held down and drowned in its power. But I kept it at bay with love and I held it at bay with love, and in between there were the imprints of a chemical memory seared into my veins, still smouldering after the fire had suddenly gone out.
There had been a credit card. Not the black one, but a dusty credit card, which later he licked clean. There were two lines. A rolled up thousand-yen note. He took his. I took mine. It took my breath away. Shortened it and turned the oxygen into a controlled lifeline of which I could just barely get enough. It was unusual, he thought. My breathlessness. He got me something to drink. We emptied the mini bar. But that was my only problem. My onleeee problem. Holy fuck, did I ever have no problems.
Then there was a second swollen line, a larger collection of finite particles of C17H21N04, so mathematic in composition, so lucid in suspension, so very fuckin’ good in your blood stream. Cocaine.
The extraction of another fun-sized ziplock. Then a third. Yoshi didn’t believe it was my first time any more.
When the alarm sounded, I pretended I’d been asleep for all those hours when in fact I couldn’t tell myself where I had been. I pretended to be refreshed, I pretended to be okay and to have dreamt of tranquil fields full of blooming diazepam flowers, but I was hollowed out. My eyeballs felt emaciated. So did my teeth, but I bared them in a new kind of smile while Yoshi whistled as he threw open the curtains.
Yoshi showered. Then I showered. He held open the door and as a last-minute thought went back to sweep the table clean. We had coffee in the lobby like zombies, and then took a taxi to Kiyomizudera, the centuries-old Clear Water Temple looming spectacular from its vantage point high in Kyoto’s outlying hills.
When the crowds started to irritate us both, we disappeared into the emptiness of narrow backstreets and the shelter of small wooden buildings, Yoshi translating the discreet brushstrokes of hidden restaurants and inns as we passed.
There was something about the winding cobblestones, a soothing tranquillity born from a history of innumerable centuries before us. We could both feel it. Yoshi said I looked like I belonged in Japan, and I didn’t question what he meant. I was suddenly in a movie again. Under the tall red torii of an old Shinto shrine, through a dressmaker’s window and down every new alley, I found myself searching for geisha, for a woman more illusion than flesh and blood, but no matter where I looked she remained as elusive as her wares. Maybe all I had to do was catch a glimpse of my own reflection, gesturing with adopted mannerisms that hadn’t been there two months before, content in the lee of a man I called Yoshi, sharing laughter and silence and looks that had vocabularies all to themselves.
‘Where in Hiroo?’ Yoshi asked as he led the way through the overwhelming maze of Tokyo station. Where in Hiroo? I’d been waiting for this question. Dreading it. I didn’t want Yoshi to know where I lived — I’d already made that mistake with Nori. I could say the supermarket, and fumble an explanation of needing to pick up laundry soap before I got home and crashed out. It sounded stupid and contrived, and I knew that Yoshi would know it if I made anything up. But what was I going to say? He was driving me home; I had to be taken somewhere.
You know the National ...’ I began, but Yoshi cut me off immediately.
‘The National supermarket near Hiroo station, I know. Okay.’ And that was it.
Passing through Roppongi I shut my eyes and covered my ears and Yoshi laughed heartily. This place isn’t me, I wanted to say, but the words weren’t necessary. This place wasn’t Yoshi either. When he rested his hand on mine, I did nothing to remove it. It was just there. I was just there. And the rain fell softly against the windshield.
A few minutes later we were crawling alongside the wooded Arusigawa Park towards the National supermarket. ‘Okay, where do you want to get out?’ he asked.
‘Anywhere is fine.’ It was a red light and Yoshi had both hands on the wheel. I leant over to kiss him on the cheek and he closed his eyes again. ‘Okay, see ya. Yosh. I’ll call you.’ I grabbed my bag and hopped out into the wrong side of traffic. Scissoring the rail to the sidewalk, I waved my arm as I turned to walk away, but Yoshi wasn’t looking. His eyes were closed, with both hands still on the wheel. A gentleman, or a man dejected? I couldn’t tell. The sad part was, it didn’t really matter.