I Believe You

(March 2020)

We stood below the tree, my feet in the very same places that only minutes ago were filled by Don-o’s feet.

“I am sorry you could not find your friend.” Ichihara said.

“He was right here. I swear it.”

He put his hand high on my arm, which is unusual for him. We get along well and he’s turning into a friend, but he’s a bit distant, and while he’s fine with close quarters as any other Japanese, he rarely initiates any direct contact.

“I believe you, Casey,” he said.

I scanned the grounds around the stadium and couldn’t find him. The game played out behind us. I tried not to feel betrayed … again. I was not particularly successful.

A few minutes earlier I had run to the stands to tell Ichihara and DK where I was heading. As soon as they heard me say “Don-o” they were on their feet behind me. “I want to meet this Don-o man,” DK said, holding his plastic beer mug up as he swayed his way down the stands. Now they stood with me, adding to my embarrassment without meaning to.

I felt alone.

Japan is a strange and wonderful place, and I like it here. But it’s not home for me, and living here takes constant energy–everything comes hard, everything from simply asking directions to ordering food can be an exercise in frustration. And, let’s face it, the Japanese are not on the forefront of inclusion. I’ve heard the term gaijin tossed about with sharp edges more often than not. It is hard to be always different. It’s just hard.

And that’s what maybe hurts the most.

For just that one moment as I saw Don-o, I felt a real and deep connection again. Then he was as gone as Charlie Cooper.

“Maybe we go now, eh?” Ichihara said.

DK nodded and swallowed his remaining beer in one gulp.

“Yeah,” I replied, feeling no interest in returning to the game.