Plum Rain
by Michael McDowell
The nine o’clock bell sounded across the mostly empty floor of glass and aluminum lesson booths as John wrapped up his English lesson.
“Thank you for coming in Mayumi. Today we practiced shopping in English. You did a great job, and I could learn that your favorite color is green. Mine, too! Next time we’ll practice ordering in a restaurant.”
Snapping his lesson binder closed, he stood up from the plastic chair, strode down the pink-carpeted hallway, and entered the teacher’s room.
“Mayumi again, eh?” a female teacher called out as John entered. “She’s become the Friday night regular for you now.”
“Yeah, she booked me again. Poor thing can’t remember much from one lesson to the next.”
“She seems to remember you, though. Watch it or you’ll have a stalker on your hands.”
“I don’t think she’s the type who’d follow me home. I worry about her social life though—coming here every Friday night and all—but I don’t think she’s after me.”
“You don’t? I’m sure half the guys I teach have more than just pleasant conversation or the correct use of conjunctions on their minds.”
“Well, guys are different. Whatever her reasons, it pays the bills. You in tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Me, too. It looks busy. Ten teachers on the schedule. Anyway, have a good night.”
“You, too.”
Outside, seasonal June rains chilled the air, and the sea of umbrellas forced John to bump and weave his way from the west-side business district of Shinjuku to the louder, brighter east-end. Past karaoke boxes and chain restaurants, neon signs and department stores, he worked his way towards 2-Chome, the tucked away warren of Thai massage parlors and gay bars.
Unlike the noisier, brightly lit Kabuki-cho near the station, with its street touts and soap lands, this concentrated block of bars, often with “Members Only” signs, spoke the language of privacy, of a wariness for the casual or curious visitor.
Climbing a narrow set of stairs, John wondered, Is my Friday night escape any better than Mayumi’s? Will it be any more successful? “We’ll see,” he said with a slight smile as he pulled on the worn, wooden door handle at the top of the landing.
John worked his way through a packed room—its air hot, stale and a mix of Abercrombie cologne and sweat—to a standing spot at the open bar.
“John-kun! I didn’t think you’d come in today,” the barman shouted through the din.
“What, because of the rain? Or because of what happened between me and Taka?”
Grinning, the barman said, “He was here last weekend, you know?”
“With someone?”
“No, no. Alone. You care?”
“No, just curious. Anyway, can I get a gin tonic?”
“Yeah, one second.”
Drink in hand, John scanned the crowd. A few couples, a group of young Japanese—college students absorbed in a world of their own—some older regulars, many married but looking for anonymous fun.
Nobody tonight, John thought, his disappointment punctuated by a rueful smile, but at least no past mistakes, either. “Mayumi’s lucky in a way—with a little money, she can pay for someone to talk to.”
“Who?” the barman asked.
“Ah, nobody, just a girl at my school.”
“You’re going crazy now, talking to yourself.”
“Maybe.” John grinned.
The night lengthened. One drink turned to two, then three. A few older men smiled John’s way, but from shyness or a lack of language skills, didn’t approach. John smiled back but left it there. The college students abruptly stood up and left. The room quieted.
Who are you kidding? John thought to himself.
Draining his drink, he waved off the approaching bartender, then pushed his way out of the hot bar and into the rain.
Trudging towards the station, he tried to ignore paired-off couples sharing umbrellas or discreetly locked pinkies, all the while thinking, You’re a lone wolf now. Some nights you win, some you don’t. Get used to it.
Reaching his company apartment, John stumbled out of his business shoes and readymade suit. The buzz from the alcohol had started to wear off, and, lying in his futon, he stared up at the ceiling, dialogue running through his head.
What is this restlessness? Is it Japan? Is it me? Am I the same as Mayumi?
No, no. It’s nothing, he answered himself. You’re just off track and a little homesick. Everyone feels this sometimes.
Outside, the rain continued. Black showers slowly transformed to grey drizzle as dawn broke without notice. As a shadowless light filtered through the shoji, John stirred restlessly in his futon. Listening to the pipes from his neighbor’s shower, he sighed, pulled himself up, and walked to the bathroom.
“You can do this—you won’t be an English teacher forever.”
Michael first came to Japan in 2004 as an English teacher in Yamaguchi Prefecture, and has since worked as a university lecturer, a beer importer, and an IT startup marketer. He now splits his time between Kyoto and Kanagawa, where he pursues business and creative ventures side-by-side. In his free time, he is interested in yoga, Zen, and spending time in nature with his family and pug, Sashimi.
Photo: Linda Gould
“Thank you for coming in Mayumi. Today we practiced shopping in English. You did a great job, and I could learn that your favorite color is green. Mine, too! Next time we’ll practice ordering in a restaurant.”
Snapping his lesson binder closed, he stood up from the plastic chair, strode down the pink-carpeted hallway, and entered the teacher’s room.
“Mayumi again, eh?” a female teacher called out as John entered. “She’s become the Friday night regular for you now.”
“Yeah, she booked me again. Poor thing can’t remember much from one lesson to the next.”
“She seems to remember you, though. Watch it or you’ll have a stalker on your hands.”
“I don’t think she’s the type who’d follow me home. I worry about her social life though—coming here every Friday night and all—but I don’t think she’s after me.”
“You don’t? I’m sure half the guys I teach have more than just pleasant conversation or the correct use of conjunctions on their minds.”
“Well, guys are different. Whatever her reasons, it pays the bills. You in tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Me, too. It looks busy. Ten teachers on the schedule. Anyway, have a good night.”
“You, too.”
Outside, seasonal June rains chilled the air, and the sea of umbrellas forced John to bump and weave his way from the west-side business district of Shinjuku to the louder, brighter east-end. Past karaoke boxes and chain restaurants, neon signs and department stores, he worked his way towards 2-Chome, the tucked away warren of Thai massage parlors and gay bars.
Unlike the noisier, brightly lit Kabuki-cho near the station, with its street touts and soap lands, this concentrated block of bars, often with “Members Only” signs, spoke the language of privacy, of a wariness for the casual or curious visitor.
Climbing a narrow set of stairs, John wondered, Is my Friday night escape any better than Mayumi’s? Will it be any more successful? “We’ll see,” he said with a slight smile as he pulled on the worn, wooden door handle at the top of the landing.
John worked his way through a packed room—its air hot, stale and a mix of Abercrombie cologne and sweat—to a standing spot at the open bar.
“John-kun! I didn’t think you’d come in today,” the barman shouted through the din.
“What, because of the rain? Or because of what happened between me and Taka?”
Grinning, the barman said, “He was here last weekend, you know?”
“With someone?”
“No, no. Alone. You care?”
“No, just curious. Anyway, can I get a gin tonic?”
“Yeah, one second.”
Drink in hand, John scanned the crowd. A few couples, a group of young Japanese—college students absorbed in a world of their own—some older regulars, many married but looking for anonymous fun.
Nobody tonight, John thought, his disappointment punctuated by a rueful smile, but at least no past mistakes, either. “Mayumi’s lucky in a way—with a little money, she can pay for someone to talk to.”
“Who?” the barman asked.
“Ah, nobody, just a girl at my school.”
“You’re going crazy now, talking to yourself.”
“Maybe.” John grinned.
The night lengthened. One drink turned to two, then three. A few older men smiled John’s way, but from shyness or a lack of language skills, didn’t approach. John smiled back but left it there. The college students abruptly stood up and left. The room quieted.
Who are you kidding? John thought to himself.
Draining his drink, he waved off the approaching bartender, then pushed his way out of the hot bar and into the rain.
Trudging towards the station, he tried to ignore paired-off couples sharing umbrellas or discreetly locked pinkies, all the while thinking, You’re a lone wolf now. Some nights you win, some you don’t. Get used to it.
Reaching his company apartment, John stumbled out of his business shoes and readymade suit. The buzz from the alcohol had started to wear off, and, lying in his futon, he stared up at the ceiling, dialogue running through his head.
What is this restlessness? Is it Japan? Is it me? Am I the same as Mayumi?
No, no. It’s nothing, he answered himself. You’re just off track and a little homesick. Everyone feels this sometimes.
Outside, the rain continued. Black showers slowly transformed to grey drizzle as dawn broke without notice. As a shadowless light filtered through the shoji, John stirred restlessly in his futon. Listening to the pipes from his neighbor’s shower, he sighed, pulled himself up, and walked to the bathroom.
“You can do this—you won’t be an English teacher forever.”
Michael first came to Japan in 2004 as an English teacher in Yamaguchi Prefecture, and has since worked as a university lecturer, a beer importer, and an IT startup marketer. He now splits his time between Kyoto and Kanagawa, where he pursues business and creative ventures side-by-side. In his free time, he is interested in yoga, Zen, and spending time in nature with his family and pug, Sashimi.
Photo: Linda Gould
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