The sound of the rails clacking on the subway filled my ears while the mumbles of passengers buzzed in my ears. It was all I ever heard, even in my dreams. I suppose that’s what happens when you live on the Tokyo Metro.
It was a strange place to pick, I know, always crowded with people trying to get places in a hurry. There were people in business suits or school uniforms scurrying to get the best spot or hold the cleanest pole for a few minutes before getting off again. Many riders returned, and many didn’t. Some noticed me in the corner wearing the same black t-shirt and dirty pants. Some gave me dirty looks, a few mothers herded their children away from me, but overall I was okay with it. I received some human contact without really having to interact, which was perfect for me.
I just watched them go about their pointless lives day in and day out. For a while, I hoped that if I watched enough of them, they would teach me why -why I had left London, my entire life, and all my best friends. Why I quit my job and left my perfectly good fiancée the day before our wedding, and why I didn’t really seem to regret it. Why I felt so empty despite my best attempts.
I had looked other places for my answers, don’t get me wrong. I tried other jobs and other places. I tried other people and other answers, but nothing seemed right. They had fake answers that left me empty, yet bettered my situation. Funny how that works, isn’t it? The better my situation became the worse I felt. I was missing something, but I didn’t know where to look or what it was I was looking for. In my life before the subway before I walked out on all I loved, I would have just let it go, left it to ponder about some other time. But it just built up, overflowed my life until I couldn’t breathe. I left Rebecca, and I owed it to her and to myself to know why.
I had loved her, Rebecca, my fiancée, I really had. She had been my very best friend, and the only girlfriend I’d ever had. And I left her standing at that dress shop in her wedding gown.
I couldn’t tell you what had possessed me that day. I guess I had some radically stupid epiphany about wanting passion to be in my relationships or something. I stood staring at my blonde-haired, blue-eyed future standing in front of me in the white dress she’d been looking forward to buying her entire life, and I felt nothing. She expected me to be something that I realized I never wanted to be. Our wedding day was just another day and another service I was expected to do and I suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of it. Thinking about it on that subway car made my head a little dizzy. I slammed another swig of the bottle I kept in a brown paper bag by my guitar. The bottle was almost empty, I would soon have to pester Chi to get me more.
It wasn’t anything she had or hadn’t done. It wasn’t anything I had done. Staring at her, I realized something I am still trying to understand. All I knew then, was that at that point I really had nothing to live for. Rebecca was beautiful and amazing. She didn’t need me, she deserved better. And she would find someone better, someone who could be that man she wanted me to be so desperately. I let myself soak up her gaze for a moment longer and did the only kind thing I could do for her, I left without looking back.
So after everything, searching for my answer unsuccessfully, growing richer, and discovering nothing, I left it all unfinished, I gave up. I did the last thing I would have thought I’d do. I bought some whiskey, bought a plane ticket to this forsaken alien country, got on this subway and never left. I even slept on the subway station benches. A particularly elderly janitor, named Chi, looked the other way while I nestled into my favorite bench usually brought me my liquor. He charged more than he should have, but I pretended not to notice and he pretended I wasn’t there. It worked out in the end, especially since he was really the only friend I had.
Thanks to that janitor, I slept, and sometimes I ate. We never really spoke more than a few mumbled phrases to our shoes, but I didn’t mind, I had my drink and he made some money.
To pass the time, I would play shitty British cover songs on my beat-up old guitar and the girls would crowd around me and titter. But none of them made any difference. They just gossiped or flaunted themselves in front of my guitar. I tried one or two of them, easy sluts really, but ended up leaving halfway through the night disgusted, mainly at myself.
I stayed that way for quite a while, disgusted at myself, rotting in my own self pity, until SHE walked through those sliding doors, as if she was any other normal school girl. She wore a slightly different uniform than the rest of the girls in the car did, which drew my attention. She wore a longer skirt than the rest, with her glorious raven hair hanging loose down her back, begging to be touched. The people around her moved as she walked through the doors, something about her made them move out of the way. She stood relatively alone, holding onto a greasy metal pole in the middle of the car, ignoring the stares she got. I watched her for a long time trying to figure out what it was that was so different about her, but I couldn’t get to it.
She didn’t talk to me that first day, but no one really ever did. I can’t say I blamed her, but I wanted her to. God, I wanted her to. She wasn’t at all impressed by my guitar or my heart-felt, cover lyrics, that I played obnoxiously loudly. She didn’t even turn to look.
So I took initiative and looked under her skirt; more to try to spark some response from her than anything else. She stepped back immediately after my lewd comments and slapped me across the face. Her violet eyes burning with a fury that made the blood rush to my face and my heart beat faster. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m ready to admit it’s true. I’m that guy, the guy who falls for a pretty girl with one look from her fiery eyes. But she wasn’t just any girl, she was the girl.
I don’t know what it was about her, but I spent the next few days watching for her. And when she came back, I hoped the subway would breakdown, the world would end, or time itself to stop, I knew she would be the one to answer my questions. I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with her -maybe ask her name.
I didn’t need to look up her skirt that second day, she spoke to me of her own accord that particular day, as I was sitting in my corner and playing my shitty guitar, pretending I didn’t notice her. She was standing right beside me and really couldn’t avoid speaking in my general direction. She didn’t shrink away or titter about how cute my face was or gossip about how drunk I was. My heart flooded with joy when she asked me for a light for her cigarette. Her hand grazed mine and she finally noticed my intoxicated state.
“Oh, you’re one of those,”
“One of what?”
“A worthless drunk,” she spat. I had to fight the urge to hug her. I know it sounds crazy, but she was the first to care. It showed in those fiery violet eyes of hers or maybe it was in her tone of voice. I’m not quite sure don’t know when I figured it out, but I knew. And suddenly, I felt alive.
After that day, I had made an effort to hide my alcohol a little better. Her opinion mattered to me, and I spent my time practicing rude things to rile a response. But in the end it was her who always won.
“Hah. Your hair looks like a door mat!” she taunted on day. I started combing my hair.
“You dirt bag! No wonder noone sits here, you reek.” And I began washing my face and bought myself some deodorant.
“Look at your clothes, you’d think you’d lived in a dumpster,” and I found a long green jacket to wear.
After several weeks, I started working on all things I wanted to ask her. I practiced them with my guitar, but I didn’t quite have the courage to ask her upfront. I began to sing them around her, but if she noticed she didn’t mention them. Anything she told me echoed in my head for days. The question-songs slowly became more and more about her--about her lips, her hair, and her temper. I would find myself waking at night, practicing that one chord one more time, tuning the words again. She gave me a reason to wake up in the morning and things to do during the day. It was like she had brought me back to life.
I decided at the very least, I had to know her bloody name. So one day when she came in, I stood in her usual spot and didn’t move for her. She studied me a long moment, probably for the first time, but decided to stand next to me pissed instead of asking me to move. I tried to start a conversation with her, but she was so intimidating, so beautiful, so everything I ever I wanted, I didn’t know what to say.
“Hey, baby.”
“Chad, what did I tell you about talking to me when you’re drunk?”
“That you would respectfully answer me?”
“Hah! Get a life!”
“Aww, how about I get your name and number instead?”
I’m sure it was a drunken-grin I had on my face, but she just raised her eyebrow and turned the other direction, “You’re SO creepy.”
I was too embarrassed to try again.
But I did manage to talk to her everyday after that, even if it was just one comment and of course she’d have a wonderful insult to sling my way. Some days they were so good that they would ruin my entire day. I wondered if she sat in class and thought of me, formulating mean things she could say.
The more we fought, the angrier she would become, and the cuter she got. She inspired me, and I still didn’t know why.
After a while, she stopped riding the subway car. I don’t know if it was just my car or the entire subway, but my life grew dim. I would stand in that spot each day, hoping, only to be disappointed. I knew after that first day what a long shot she and I were. But I hadn’t been ready for it to be over. So I started wandering through the cars, looking for any sign of her uniform or disapproving stare.
It was ridiculous to think of really; a drunk with a beautiful goddess like her. I finally quit standing in that spot about a week in, and resumed my usual corner. But the intrigue of watching the passengers was lost. I already knew where my answer would lie, and it was in her.
Everything I normally did seemed mundane and dismal, and for the first time since I left my fiancée, I couldn’t bring myself to drink. I felt even worse; yet somehow, that seemed to make me feel a little better. I deserved all the pain and more beyond, for all the things I did, for crushing Rebecca’s heart, for running to this god-forsaken town, for my lack of courage with the raven goddess, for trying to drink away my problems, for being as pitiful as I was.
Most of all the pain reminded me I was still alive. Everything that involved her, including this unendurable punishment, meant something to me. It was ten days without my bottle, though I looked at it constantly. It was full, still full. Let me check again, yup still full. I could have taken just a sip, calmed the pain, but the thought of it made me sick of myself. I had waited to long to ruin this chance.
Someone left a warm pair of winter boots in the car on that tenth day, and I am shamed to say I took them, though at the time I didn’t blink twice before donning them. Compared to the dirty tennis shoes, that now had several holes riddled through them, the boots were heaven sent.
I was finally getting over the worst of my alcohol withdrawal, and I clung to that guitar and her memory like they were my life. I began to practice and write more, trying to sing about all the newly instilled feelings the girl without a name caused. I was actually good. For once, it all just came out, and it was bloody good!
It was a tough time in my life, but it was the waking up that was the worst. Not because of the headache, or the sweats, or even the vomiting. It was because I couldn’t help but hope that today she would be there, to taunt and torture me with those big violet eyes and that heart-breaking smile. I could almost smell her coming. But each day I hoped, I only opened my eyes to the disappointment. Each day the realization hit me like it was new. I would roll out of the bench I slept on and, for that moment, I could hardly breathe. I wondered if she had ever really been here or if I had concocted her in my pain-induced reality. Those fiery violet eyes blazing in my face, that long perfect hair swishing in my face after chiding me – it was all I lived for, it tantalized me. Fuck it all, if she was imaginary, she was the best creation anyone had ever thought up. Each day she didn’t appear was another reminder of how hopeless this whole damn dream had become. Giving the bitterness and hate and open target.
In my lowest of moments, during my shakes and sweats, it was then that she, like an angel, finally chose to return to me. She looked irked that she had to be back on this subway again and, unlike many of the polite, stuck-up passengers, she recognized me and tried to stay away.
But she meant everything to me. And I couldn’t let her leave without her name. Not this time. Not when I knew how precious the time I had left with her was.
I stumbled over to her pole, and she looked disgusted. Looking back now, I would have never attempted it, I’m sure I looked more like a crack-addict than a recovering alcoholic.
The train stopped and I knew this might be my last chance. I opened my mouth. I really had meant to ask for her name, to tell her exactly what she had done for me, how she was my world, but instead I fell over vomiting on her shoes. That was the turning point in my life, the one I had been looking for. I knew this would change everything.
I waited for her retort, her snippy comment, or something else to increase my misery. I stayed on the floor while everyone carefully tiptoed over me, but nothing happened.
I gathered enough courage to look up, terrified she would be gone once again. But she was still there, with a concerned look on her face.
“Geez, are you okay?”
Tears came to my eyes, it was the kindest thing anyone had said to me. “I think I’ll be fine.” She nodded and started to walk away, looking for something to clean her shoe off with. But fear ate away at my insides, I couldn’t stand for her to just leave me here again, alone and without her, to ignore me for all time with my appetite only wetted. So I grabbed her ankle, vomit and all. “Wait,” I muttered breathlessly.
“Look,” the girl gazed down at me with her lips pursed. I felt like I would vomit again with all the nerves squirming around in my stomach. “Just because I gave you a break today, doesn’t mean I want you to start talking to me again. You’re still just as creepy as ever. Don’t expect…”
I cut her off and just blurted, “I just want to know your name. Is that really so bad?”
She looked down at me again, a little flabbergasted. She was so beautiful; I had to remind myself to breathe. “Rei,” she murmured softly, then promptly pulled her foot from my gasp. “You’re really pitiful, you know that right?”
Her voice was music to my ears. Rei. How perfect. Rei. It was that day I vowed to find her again, no matter what the cost. I would make her my world and she would teach me to live. And life would once again make sense.
Even then, in that elated moment, making that vow on that dingy subway car, I knew I was doomed. I knew that she would never have me, but hope is something that cannot be overcome in moments like those. It still carries me on, even to this day.
She left and I lay on the floor for a long time, until the conductor had to call security to get me up. After a long chat with the guards, I took my stuff and for the first time since I arrived, I left the safety of the subway and ventured out into the real world.
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It took me a month to find my Rei of sunshine, but I found her. It was really by chance; I had seen a lot of pretty girls who went there for love charms. I figured that if I worked for a place like this, maybe one day she would come by. So I asked the old man if he could use a helper, my pay would be nothing more than room and board. I had to come back everyday for almost a week to pester the old bastard, but he gave me the job.
He also introduced me to his granddaughter, the illustrious Rei Hino—the beauty from the subway and the queen of my world. I knew then that this was meant to be, that there was more out there than I had thought. Who would have thought that a job at a tiny fire temple would have given me my greatest wish?
I was never very steady on my feet, and being sober all the time didn’t help. But the old man recognized immediately what I was going through, and knew it almost too well. He helped me the rest of the way and kept my shame from Rei.
This temple has slowly become my haven, a place where I can catch glimpses of Rei on a quiet afternoon feeding her birds, or where we can exchange a beautiful array of insults. Here, I am content to bathe in her hatred.
There are a few moments I have caught her peaking at me behind corners when I play the bloody good songs I wrote on the subway. Its only when I start to give up on me and her that it happens. I hope she knows the lyrics are all about her.
Maybe someday I can break through her barriers as she helped me do with mine. Little by little, I think she has come to grudging terms with how far I have come, even if she doesn’t know the whole story. It was hard and painful road, something I think she finds secretly intriguing about me, though I doubt she would ever speak to me again if I brought it up.
Rei taught me everything I ever cared know, and I hope to return the favor somehow. She answered all my questions and helps me with my doubts. Honestly, she taught me to live with myself. She taught me to heal my wounds, and be okay with the ones that won’t. She taught me why we should go on living. And if you’re wondering what the answer is: it’s hope.
Rebecca, if you’re out there, don’t waste your time hating me for what I did to you. Don’t make the same mistakes I made. Spend your time learning from it, instead. Though you’ll never believe it if I say this, you will always have some small part of me. Something I am sure to never get back. I still don’t regret leaving you in that dress shop with tears running down your face, even though I probably should. But I do wish you peace with the pain you had to go through. I do wish you some semblance of change and discovery. But in the very least, I wish you the only thing I have a right to wish you-- someone worth hoping for until the day you die.
I hope it is of some small condolence to know that it will probably be my destiny to watch the love of my life walk down the isle with another man. But I think I will be okay with that. I will even be proud on her wedding day, because I, too, will be by her side on that day of days, either as groom or a life-long friend.
However, I can guarantee that I will continue to hope for her every second my heart beats so long as we both shall live, even if my cause is doomed. Because I’m slowly realizing that that’s the best and worst thing about hope—giving it up is the hardest part.
