Unexpected encounters

Have you ever encountered someone you haven't seen in a while at the most unexpected place? When M came home from Japan last month, she ran into the grandmother of one of students/clients at Narita airport. Actually, she didn't really run into her. M had forgotten to fill out some kind of form for the ANA and they had been paging her throughout the airport. Apparently the grandmother heard the name and deduced that they were going to be on the same plane home. Can you imagine M's surprise when the grandmother came up to her in flight? Hi. Long time no see. I'm the kind who would have freaked out.

This seems to occur frequently within the "Japan" community--and probably in other Asian communities as well? I don't necessarily mean Japanese Americans either. I have had students--who are not necessarily of Japanese heritage--who have met classmates randomly in Roppongi or Ginza in Tokyo. I met a student of mine from UCLA at a hardware store in Tokyo once. That was really weird. I even met a former elementary school-mate and boy scout patrol member on a bus in Mitaka. It was was really random so we celebrated by doing what most people do in Japan when they meet an old buddy: Get shit faced.

I had gone to visit a girl I used to date in Mitaka--near Kichijouchi--but she wasn't home so felt rather  rather sad. As I sat in the bus to the station on my way home, some called to me in English.

"Ray? Is that you?"

"JU? Woah1 What are you doing here?"

"I'm a ryuakusei at ICU."

"Man, I haven't seen you since when? Boy scouts? Karate?"

"About six years, I guess, huh."

"Man, no shit." Kinda lonely about not being able to see an old flame, I thought it would be fun to hang with JU, who was a couple of years younger than me. He was in the same patrol--the Firebirds--in our Boy Scout troop and we also took Shotokan Karate together at our church. "So what you doing now? Got a date? Going to work?"

"No, I was just going to go to the station and do some shopping."

"Screw that. Let's go to Shinjuku and get a drink. My treat."

"Yeah, alright!"

Well, we went to Shinjuku and work our way to Takadanobaba, and found a small dive outside the station. We ate lightly but imbibed rather heavily in o-sake. I think we finished more than a bottle (one bottle = 1.8 liters)... I think. I don't really remember much after reaching the bottom of the first bottle. What I do recall is paying 18,000 yen--pretty hefty for 24 years ago--and helping my friend throw up onto the tracks from the platform of the Chuo line. I sorta recall being warned by someone to take care of him as he seemed pretty bad off. I was pretty drunk, but I guess I can "appear" more sober... Anyway, I couldn't send him back to school in this condition, so I brought him home... much to the displeasure of my cousin. Hahaha. He was really put out. Alvin is a really square dude; naive as naive gets--even in Tokyo--and he couldn't wait to call Australia to report to my grandparents. All i could do was put my friend in a futon and let him sleep it off. Next morning, I wake up to find my cousin gone to school. I wake up with JU and he's still groggy as hell, but he insisted that he had to go back to school, so I went with him as far as Mitaka Station to make sure he got on the right bus.

But the funniest random meeting I know didn't involve me. Well, at least not directly.

Back in 1972, my grandparents informed my mother that they were willing to have me come to Japan for the first time in an attempt to nurture a relationship that was on again, off again, due to the physical distance between us. Back in the 1970s, going to and from Japan was not an inexpensive journey, and my siblings and I rarely saw our grandparents. In fact, the first and only time I had seen them until I became an adult was in the summer of 1968, when I was 12 years old, in Zurich, of all places. But in the summer of 1972, I had already been working at a Japanese confectionary in J-Town for about two months, and I enjoyed it so much that I didn't want to quit. I convinced my mother that my sister should go in my stead and that, in fact, she was the better candidate to "meet the grandparents" as she was much more studious and therefore more highly valued as a grandchild in the eyes of the grandparents. My mother bought into it, and I was free to continue my adventure in J-Town enveloped in an excitingly new environment at a Japanese confectionary shop, the place where I first started to break out of my Good Lil' Oriental Boy shell and learned that I didn't have to live up to the expectations of my parents and my JA school/church circles, a process that I detail in a rather long yet still incomplete autobiography-post. One person I got to know at the sweet shop was SJK, a guy who didn't even work there.

I used to work six days a week after school, 5 PM to 9 PM, 10 PM on Friday, Saturday and Sunday and SJK used to drop by the store almost everyday after his work at some government job. He usually arrived having already had a drink or two at a bar near his office, then moseying on down to J-Town around 6-ish after the day crew had gone home. The first few times I saw him, I couldn't figure out who he was. He'd just walk in and say "Hi," sit at the soda counter with his half-lit cigar and start reading the newspaper or commence small talk with the owner, Mrs. H, or my work colleague, Billy. Nobody bothered to introduce me to him; he just seemed to be an evening fixture--the counter glass gets wiped down, the store front lights get turned on, and SJK walks in to visit. As the new guy on the job, it wasn't my place to inquire in depth or detail, but after a whle SJK revealed enough of himself for me to piece together who he was.

SJK was a nisei who spoke Japanese relatively fluently--bera bera as he would say--and served in the 442 during World War II. He was a medic and used to tell me how he hated it, because he always felt like the red cross on his helmet was a bull's eye. He enjoyed drinking in the neighborhood which he did virtually every weekday night before he came to the store and after he left around 7 PM. He was very familiar with Mrs. H, her daughter, KZ (the legal owner), and nephew, Mikey. He was very familiar with Mrs. H and her daughter, KZ, and nephew, Mikey, but I am to this day uncertain of how his relationship with the sweet shop started.

Over the years, I got to know him fairly well. Indeed, he was one of my more corrupting influences--mind you, I mean that in the most affectionate of terms. He would occasionally take me to his favorite watering hole, the bar at Horikawa Restaurant. Over Jack Daniels on the rocks with a glass of water, he would talk about girls, his work sometimes, then more about girls and finally about girls. He loved women but was not married and proud of it. He told me once that he'd never get married because, as he put it, "That'd be stupid." He had his friends and his bourbon and he needed little else. He would often bitch about how the bar girls at Eigiku or Kawafuku would get too cozy in and attempt to sweet talk him into leaving large tips, but if you saw him at the bars, you'd never kow that he had any complaints. He'd be talking with them, laughing and giggling until 9 PM, when poof he'd vanish. He had work early the next morning and would always leave promptly, although it took me a while to get used to his disappearing act. Unless you were a faithful drinking buddy of his--which we became after a few years--he would never tell you he was leaving. One minute he'd be there, the next he'd be gone.

But in the summer of 1972, I had not yet gotten to know him that well. All I knew was that he visited almost every evening to say "hi" before he went drinking around J-Town. Much to my chagrin, Billy decided to quit early in the summer--I had developed quite a crush on her and had been following her around the store like a puppy dog wagging its tail. But more seriously, summer was a busy stretch for the store--in J-Town, tourist season--so without my senpai (elder, more experienced work/classmate), I had to focus on learning my duties which involved, among other things, serving customers, stocking trays of rice cakes, mopping the floor and closing shop. It was not particularly hard work, and it did give me the glorious opportunity to learn Japanese. But it kept my attention from the more extraneous happenings around me. By August, I had learned the ropes fairly well, and was able to take care of business without supervision. I had become familiar with my fellow workers and the regular customers, and was able to tell the difference between them and the frequent visitors who just dropped by to chat. During this time, SJK's visits increasingly became infrequent. He told me that the tourist were hogging up all the prime bars stools--SJK rarely sat at a booth or table... come to think of it, neither do I. So he went drinking elsewhere with his buddies. By the time Nisei Week arrived in August, he had stopped coming completely.

I hardly noticed, the store was so busy.

Nisei Week was a large celebration for the Japanese American community that actually lasted two weeks. There were exhibitions and parties, as well as a Miss Nisei Week Pageant. The finale was a weekend carnival and on on the climactic Sunday, a parade featuring Obon dancing, JA pioneers, local politicians and of course Miss Nisei Week and her court. Parade day was so crowded, that you couldn't walk a straight line anywhere in town, and during the parade, the crowd on the sidewalk was so thick you could barely walk through--which actually gave us a break from making non-stop sno-cones. It was a pretty big deal for the community and the tourists flocked to J-Town, a few short blocks from downtown and the civic center. It was definitley good for for Japanese American pride and a sense of community, and it was certainly good for business in J-Town. But not for guys like SJK. It wasn't surprising I had not seen him at all during Nisei Week.

When things wound down a few days after the parade, my sister returned from Japan. I learned that I had made the right choice to stay in LA. Grandma is nice, but perhaps too unfamiliar with American kids. She was very controlling and demanding, and my sister rebelled in Japan. My mother was rather upset at the whole ordeal--which I hardly noticed since I was too involved in my first part time job--and my sister ended up spending quite a bit of her time with our aunt in Hiroshima rather than with grandma in Tokyo. Sis discussed in detail the horrific standards and demands placed on her and I felt like I had dodged a bullet--I was a young seventeen and rarin' to learn to be my own person, away from the demands of my own parents and the enormous expectations on a good little Japanese American boy. I certainly didn't need to be with Grandma. But after Sis gave me the lowdown, she changed the topic and told me of someone she met on the plane who knew me.

"Me? You met someone who knows me?!?"

"Yeah, a Japanese guy was sitting next to me. He started drinking and was talking to me, asking me questions about what I do and where I live. He asked me if I go to J-town, and I said 'no' of course, but I said you worked there. He asked where, and I said at the sweet shop, and he said he went there all the time, and that he knew you. It was kind of creepy, like he was trying to pick me up."

I thought about my friends who might have gone to Japan but couldn't think of anyone, let alone someone old enough to drink. "I don't know anyone who went to Japan."

"He said he knows you really well."

"By name?"

"Yeah."

I swore I didn't know who she was talking about. I kept thinking that it was some random dude, maybe? A customer, maybe? I had no idea, but my sister was not attacked and she did not seem particualrly traumatized by the encoutner so I left it at that. The next day I went to work and around 6 PM, SJK walks in for the first time in a long time, sits at the soda fountain counter and points his cigar at me.

"Hey, Ray, your sister's pretty good looking. What happened to you?"

I learned that SJK went to Japan annually to see his relatives in Hiroshima. According to Mrs. H, he went every August for a couple of weeks, right during Nisei Week. Did someone not think to tell me this? Not that it would have done any good. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Tell my sister to avoid being assigned a seat next to someone who drinks Jack Daniels on her flight back from Japan? Seriously, what were the odds of that happening?

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Misadventures of Stash: Epilogue

(Originally posted January 17, 2005)

The title, "Misadventure of Stash" is a bit misleading. I'm sure that none of my former bandmates would approve of such a title. But many of the things we did were reckless, stupid, but perhaps normal for guys in their late teens. anyway, let's set the record straight.

Fact or Fiction?
RachelsMommy: It's all bullshit. You were a straight-A dweeb who didn't even know what a doobie was!!! lolOkay, I admit it. I was a dweeb. But I knew what a doobie was, and I could even roll one, although not very well. And it ain't all bullshit.

enygma81: Oh my gosh. Don't tell me you made all of this up.
No, I did not make it up. Indeed, it is almost entirely true, although some of the facts have been changed to protect the innocent.
lionne: A little hard to swallow that the car was retrieved without more fuss, but I'll go for it. Ah, the misadventures of youth. My story is probably miles different than yours but, like you, I often think "if they only knew."
I know. If I didn't experience it, I wouldn't believe it myself. But the cars was retrieved uneventfully, thank God.
the_greatest_pip: it could go either way, and i'm too much of a wuss to guess. i'm already wrong enough of the time--why would i want to be wrong again?Don't be a wuss; be a man. The three above you were even women enough to be men...
jerjonji: lol.... there's no way you could make this up! i have a friend who says "why would i make up stuff when my own life has plenty of things happening in it?"Indeed, why would I make things up?
miket_the_kid: It all sounds pretty damn ridiculous, but you know.... why the hell not? I'm gonna go ahead and say it's truth, but man will I feel foolish if I'm wrong.
Don't feel foolish. It is the truth, well at least, my version of it.
CazzaC: It's so crazy it's gotta be true!!
Indeed. Fact is often stranger than fiction.
ChiisanaHoshi: Fact, or else you're a good story teller.
Thanks, but could I be telling the truth and still be a good story teller?
kizyr: I think almost all of it's true, except one part. I think you're switching your and Bazooka's role.I didn't own a Duster. I owned a Camaro.
gokingsgo: hilarious! i say it's somewhat fiction based on loose facts. your friends had funny nicknames.They didn't have nicknames, really, I made them up. Bazooka? No one has a nickname like that unless you're a bubble gum character. But it rhymes with his real name. Diddly was the drummer. If you know anything about drums, you'd know that there are different rhythm patterns with names such as paradiddle and flamadiddle. Hence, Diddly. Our singer loved to get high, but he also had a voice like an angel. Also, he wasn't JA. He was of Mexican descent, but he had clse ties with Japanese American's in East L.A. Anyway, "voice" in Spanish is "vos." I chose Dragon's name because he has trained in the martial arts. I figure he had a degree of confidence when he went into that bar. Indeed, he has taken his abilities to Hollywood. I've seen him in movies such as Lethal Weapon 3 (the one with Jet Li), in The Crow. If you watch the Bourne Supremacy DVD, Matt Damon states in Special Feathures that Dragon instructed him in the moves for the apartment fight scene. If you see it, he's the guy with the long hair and fumanchu.
Anyway, the incident had its share of consequences. Bazooka could never forgive Vos and he ended up quitting his role as manager, which was too bad because its always nice to have a big, burly guy representing you.
Bazooka and Dragon were pretty close friends so when Bazooka quit, Dragon followed soon after. Dragon was kind of a lady killer back then and so when he left, half of our demographics went with him.
Vos had to drive around in his crunched up Beetle for quite awhile. The front trunk was bent out of shape and one of the headlights was facing upwards. We always knew whic car was his at night because when he went under a bridge, he lit up its underside.
As for me, I learned a number of things besides never to smoke and drive. The most important for me back then was that tough and macho does attract women. We guys hear about women who like the peaceful type, the introspective gentle kind of guy. But appears to be a myth. Women want men who can protect them. Or at least those are the vibes I get even today. How often have I seen women who claim to be liberated roll their eyes when hearing about a man who could not protect his interests or his woman. After I told M the story, she looked at me and asked me if I would have had the guts to do what Dragon did. I said in all honesty, No way. All she did was give me that I figured as much look. *sigh*

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The Misadventures of Stash

I've been talking about my memories of J-Town for almost two weeks now, and it is a memory that is close to the heart. I will continue later about my adolescence and early adulthood as well--the memories are clearer and perhaps a bit quirkier. But for today, another story.

M's green card mess is getting more expensive. We go to see the immigration judge next week and so we went to see the lawyers on Thursday. On the way there we were talking about lawyers and accidents and I remembered an accident I was in when I was 17, my band years.

For those of you who haven't read my previous posts--like eating grass--I used to be in a band called, appropriately enough, Stash. It was the early 70s and experimentation was the thing. Yes, we inhaled. And we had a grand old time doing it. But getting high had its hazzards.

After one gig, we returned our equipment to Diddly's garage and started tokin' a bit. And our lead singer, Vos, was really getting loaded, although we weren't really sure at the time. Someone suggested we go to the beach or something and Dragon (organ), El, and DK got into Bazooka's yellow Plymouth 340 Duster, while Jo, Di and I piled into Vos's little Volkwagon bug. We headed west on the Pomona Freeway and switched to the Santa Monica near dowtown LA. We were singing and talking about how well the gig went, when around the Western Blvd. exit Bazooka--our manager--drove up next to us and told us to pull over. Vos was too high and was weaving like a mother fucker. He was definitely going to get into an accident and Bazooka yelled that I should drive. Jo--Vos's girlfriend--agreed wholeheartedly and Vos reluctantly started to pull over toward the right shoulder.

In the back seat, I looked through the windshield between the two front seats and saw something approaching us really fast on the shoulder.

"Watch out! There's a car!"

But it was too late. No sooner had I blurted out the warning, we rammed into a car parked on the shoulder.

"O-man, your glasses! Did they break?" Di asked worried. She was so cute, and so way out of my league, but it was nice to think that she cared.

"I'm okay. You guys okay in front?"

"Vos, Vos!" Jo screamed, but Vos was groggy with his head resting on the steering wheel

Suddenly from outside, I heard Dragon's voice. "Shit! You guy's okay? What the fuck happened?"

"Fuck. You guys okay?" Bazooka yelled over the din of the passing cars.

"The car didn't have any lights on or anything. We didn't see it until it was too late," Jo whined in defense of her boyfriend.

"Hey, you guys alright?"

We all looked up at the strange voice. Standing next to Dragon was a relatively thin black dude looking into our little Beetle.

"Woah, where did you come from?" asked Dragon.

"Man, I was in that car you hit, man."

"Shit, are YOU okay?"

"Yeah, I was having some engine trouble."

"Then why didn't you have some flairs or something," Dragon asked, but the guy had gone to Bazooka's car.

"What the shit is his story?" we all thought, when suddenly the two girls riding with Bazooka and Dragon, El and DK, appeared. "What are you guys doing here?" Dragon asked.

"That guy stuck his head in the window was asking all kinds of questions and we got scared so we came over here," El explained.

When we all looked back to see where the guy was, we were just in time to see him pull away from the shoulder and drive off in Bazooka's yellow Duster westbound on the Santa Monica Freeway.

Cont'd tomorrow...

I never viewed my life as special. I went to school, got a degree, and now teach Japanese in college. Most people I meet view me as just another academic whose head is buried in his books. I think my students probably have a better bead on me. They sense, I think, that I am different from most other professors, and they enjoy talking to me and getting to know me more than other professors or even other adults my age. But they don't know the half of it. I was pretty reckless in my adolescence and young adulthood. I occasionally marvel at the fact that I am still alive. Anyway, where was I. Oh yeah, someone had stolen Bazooka's car...

* * * * *

"What the fuck? Hey! Hey, you asshole! Where the fuck you think..." Bazooka stopped yelling in mid-sentence, undoubtedly realizing the futility of trying to get a car thief to stop from driving away.

Our eyes followed his car down the road and we were stunned into silence, except for Vos who was still resting his head on his steering wheel.

"Did you see that?" Bazooka turned around to look at us as he pointed down the freeway. "That fuckin' asshole stole my car!"

I asked Jo to lean forward so I could get out of the back seat of the car. I needed to stretch my legs, as well as divorce myself from Vos's situation. Di followed me.

"Are you alright?" El asked me.

"I was so worried about his eyes; I thought his glasses broke and..." Di's voice faded, as I moved away from the girls and stepped toward Bazooka. He was gesticulating animatedly as he was saying something to Dragon. His voice, drowned by the roar of cars and Mack trucks traveling 65 miles per hour, became more audible as I approached them.

"Fuck, that's everything I own. My car, my tools," Bazooka fumed. Dragon and I could do little to calm him, so we let him rant, but I noticed that Dragon kind of shifted his body, placing himself between Bazooka and Vos's car. He seemed to realize that when confronted with a frustrating, irreconcilable situation, people often need to blame someone, anyone for it. He must have figured that Bazooka, unable to confront the thief, would shift his rage to Vos. And he was right.

"And that shithead, if he hadn't been so fuckin' stoned, this wouldn't have happened in the first place."

Woot. woot. We heard the short blasts of a California Highway Patrol siren. Two officers got out and we walked toward them, slowly.

"What's happening, folks?" one said.

Dragon took the lead and explained the situation, well, except for the part about Vos. Instead of being high, we told him that he was just sleepy. One of the CHP(1) officers who had walked over to the other vehicle immediately grasped the situation. Apparently, the Black dude did not have flares or lights on because he did not want to be noticed. He was trying to rip out the stereo from the car he had probably stolen. By crashing into him, Vos had prevented him from doing so--although Vos smashed up the one stolen vehicle and allowed him to steal another one. But the irony had escaped his drug addled mind. "Man, I stopped a guy from stealing a tape deck" he would later claim.

There was no use staying on the freeway, and it was dangerous, the CHP officers reminded us. They offered to get us to a phone and contact whoever we needed to get everyone home. Vos's car was banged up but amazingly still drivable--a Volkswagen Beetle's engine is in the back, so as long as the front wheel wells allowed the tires to turn, we were good to go. Jo shoved Vos into the back seat and Di got into the front as I drove the banged up bug. Bazooka, Dragon, El and DK got into the patrol car, and they drove off slowly so that I could followed them safely. We got off at the next off ramp, La Brea, and the CHP pulled into a gas station that was luckily immediately to the right of the exit. The station was closed and all the lights were off, I noticed, as we rolled to a stop next to the gas pumps.

Dragon immediately jumped out and went to the pay phone to call a friend. Bazooka was relating all the appropriate information about his car to one of the CHP officers while his partner was on the radio reporting our incident. We left Jo and Vos in the back seat, as Di joined El and DK, and I went to see Bazooka, as did Dragon.

"My friend will be here in about fifteen minutes."

"Okay, that's what I wanted to hear. We gotta roll, too. You guys take care," the officer said. Then nodding his head toward Vos, "And make sure that he doesn't drive anymore when he's sleepy." I guess he knew what was what, but figured we had had enough trouble for one night. Some law enforcement people could be cool, I thought for the first time in my life.

We watched the CHP drive away. Vos was still in his car and Dragon was trying to calm Bazooka down, who was starting to get angry at Vos all over again. Fortunately, Dragon's friend came and Dragon, Bazooka and El left to pick up Dragon's car.

Di, DK and I sat on the step around the closed gas station office, and we talked small talk, nothing I can remember or even make up. Jo would occasionally come out of the car when she got bored of baby sitting Vos, but always returned like the dutiful girlfriend.

"What a fucked up night," I said to no one in particular.

Thirty minutes had gone by and I was getting kind of nervous. La Brea after midnight on a weekend was not the most inviting place. The closed gas station provided us with a cloak of darkness, but it was creepy. Two JA guys, one who was still stoned and totally out of it, and one who was too small to protect three JA girls in a notoriously violent neighborhood. This was not a reassuring thought.

Suddenly, a pair of headlights turned into the gas station, sending these uneasy thoughts into a rapid crescendo. But as the car turned next to the gas pumps, I couldn't believe what I saw: A yellow 340 Duster. Is that Bazooka's car? I thought incredulously, as Di, DK and I jumped up.

El stuck her head out of the window and yelled, "C'mon you guys, lets get out of here."

Di opened the door as I got Vos and Jo out of the Volkswagon. Di got in the front squeezing El next to Dragon, and the rest of us got in the back.

"Where's Bazooka?" I asked.

"He went home with my friend. He's still pretty pissed so I didn't think it would be a good idea to bring him back," Dragon said excitedly. "Besides, we all wouldn't fit in here, right?"

Everyone nodded in agreement. Bazooka was the manager because he was big. About 6 feet even and 240 pounds. He would have made mince meat out of Vos.

"You should have seen him. Dragon was so brave!" El squealed.

"So what happened?" we all asked.

And El proceeded to tell us: Dragon lived around Inglewood, so the quickest way to get back from where we were was to go south on La Brea. On the way back, as he was staring out of the window, he noticed in a parking lot of a local bar a yellow 340 Duster. He yelled at his friend to pull into the parking lot, after which he jumped out and checked out the car. It was Bazooka's. In the parking lot, there were a few brothers hanging out, checking out what the Japs were doing in the middle of the night in Baldwin Hills. Dragon was pissed, and definitely not thinking straight, when he decided to barge into the bar with Bazooka and El right behind him. Dragon immediately recognized the slim Black dude standing at the bar. He walked right up to him, grabbed him by the collar and screamed, "Give me the fucking keys!"

I'm not sure why, and I guess I will never know, but no one in the bar--a dozen or so brothers--moved except for the car thief, who reached into his pocket and handed over the keys. Dragon grabbed El's hand and walked swiftly out of the bar. Back in the lot, the brothers were talking to Dragon's friend very intimately, but they casually dispersed when they saw Dragon and Bazooka walk out defiantly. They decided very quickly that Bazooka should go back home with his friend while Dragon would pick us up with the Duster.

"Wow!" was all I could muster.

While the girls giggled and chattered the rest of the way home, all I could do was stare out the window, in wonder and in awe of someone who did something I would never be able to do.

Okay, guys. Are the past two posts--Misadventures of Stash--Fact or Fiction?

(1) Remember "CHiPs" is a TV show; we never referred to the California Highway Patrol as CHiPs. It makes them sound like pussies. We stuck to the acronym, CHP.

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Eating grass

(Originally posted 2004.04.28)

Yesterday was the last day of class for this academic year. Whew, I'm exhausted. I still have finals to grade, but at least classes are over, so I can sorta relax. To get into the no-school mood, M and I went to our local watering hole, Glory Days, for a light dinner and beer.

We only had two pints--as it was only Tuesday--and left relatively sober. M drove, and as we were leaving the parking lot, I looked over my shoulder and told her there's a cop behind us. I didn't really have a good look at it, but there was something stealthy about the way it appeared out of the shadows in the parking lot. But the car passed us to the right, and we noticed it didn't have any cherries on top.

"What are you talking about? Are you drunk?" M chortled. (I've always wanted to use this word...)

"Hmmm... Maybe, I guess..." But just when I uttered these words, the car let out two short bursts of its siren--woot, woot--and lit its back interior police lights--the one's just above the back seat--and sped off after another car.

"I just got a nose for 'em," I said, perhaps a bit too smugly.

"That's because you were a grass eating delinquent. You always had to keep your eye out." M retorted.

What M was refering to was a story of my more delinquent days. Back in the spring of 1973, I was hanging with the "guys": Voz and Diddly. We were going to start a band--we named our band, appropriately enough, Stash. Besides practicing songs that we wanted to play at dances--Smoke on the Water, Free Ride, Dancing in the Moonlight--part of our preparation included scouting the competition to see what they were playing. We went to the Elk's Club, a private building located near MacArthur Park where a hall was rented out for Asian dances, to see Free Flight and another band I don't remember.

We listened to them play light songs like "Keep on Truckin'" by Jo Mama (Carol King's former back up band), rock like "Situations" by Jeff Beck, and oldies--even then--like "Twist and Shout". We listened for a while. I was young and rather naive, and gulped down sissy drinks like Singapore Slings and Harvey Wallbangers until I got a buzz. But with the exception of "Situations", the rest of the songs were pretty mundane. We grew bored and decided to leave the Elk's Club. We climbed into Voz's new VW Beetle--I'm the youngest, so I got in the back--and headed home to the Eastside. Before long, Voz pulls out a joint, lit it and passed it to Diddly, who then passed it to me. Getting high(er), we started laughing and joking and makin fun of the bands that played at the Elk's Club that night, swearing that we'd make them eat our dust... When suddenly, Voz told us to shut up. Looking in the rearveiw mirror intently, he whispered loudly; "It's the cops..." Well, I was way too inexperienced and I began to panic. I'm too young to go to jail. What am I gonna do! Voz gave the joint to Diddly who then passed it to me without taking a hit.

"What am I supposed to do with it! I can't inhale that fast!"

"Fuckin' eat it already!" cursed Diddly, rolling his eyes.

Oooh. @_@ I was really panicking now. In Japanese, I have what is known as a cat's tongue, nekojita, one that can't eat anything hot. And now these guys want me to eat a lit joint?!?

I'm not the religious sort, but I focused my eyes on the smoldering tip and started to chant a familiar mantra: Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.

"Use your saliva, man," Voz rushed, the tension palpable in his Bug.

Oh, okay. Gotcha, I thought, and tried to build up as much spittle as I could in a mouth dry from the excitement. When I figured I had pooled enough around my lips, tongue and teeth, I slowly and painfully doused it--hacha, hacha, hacha--then stuck the joint in my mouth. Ugh, it tastes rancid. But I chomped on it a couple of times and swallow it as is. Successful, I relaxed a bit, knowing that I had gotten rid of the evidence. But in my panic, I hadn't noticed Diddly laughing hysterically and Voz staring at me through the rearview mirror, eyes wide in astonishment.

"Dude, you're supposed to spit on it. You're mouth is not an ashtray, man."

At which point, the police car whizzed past us on the left, headed to some unknown felony or doughnut shop, leaving me with a awful taste in my mouth.

"False alarm," Voz chuckled...

Read More...

Summary only...

Betraying a Friendship

I was reading JustBeingV's blog which raised a few questions concerning friendship and it got me thinking about my own group of friends. And it occured to me:

I have no friends around me.

One in NY, and maybe 4 in LA and a few of you here on Xanga. But that's about it. Perhaps I should explain. I have acquaintances. Lots of them. And I interact with them as friends. But then, I am friendly with the bartender at Glory Days. So friendship isn't based on how you interact. To me, friendship is defined by honesty, openness and trust... maybe reliability. A friend is:

• someone to whom you can tell your deepest thoughts or secrets without fear of being judged.
• someone you can trust to keep these thoughts or secrets private.
• someone who believes you and believes in you.
• someone who is equally honest and open with you.
• someone you can turn to when you are in trouble or are in pain.

These sound pretty straight forward, but I must admit that I did not know--or at least practice--these tenets of friendship when I was young. I was not a very good friend. Just a selfish sorta sod.

Back in high school, I was pretty much a nobody. Really. There were those who were really popular--i.e. attractive or athletic--and then there were the brains, and the comedians, and the "best friends" of the popular ones. And then those who were none of the above, like me.

Still, like anyone else, I wanted to be somebody. So I tried my hand at music, as pathetic as my abilities were. I do believe that I had a little talent for it--after all, most of the music I can play is self-taught, I can sing on key, and I can grasp the rhythm of most music. Just a little talent, maybe. In any event, I used to hang out with a guy who enjoyed music as much as I did. Angel played piano and he liked to play drums and we would get together and "jam". In hindsight, we were pretty lousy--perhaps I should be speaking for myself--but at 16 in the early 70s, we were just having a good time.

One day, he told me about a girl he had met, a really cute girl. DKLA was in my grade--I was a year older than Angel--and she went to a local public school. She was, apparently, very popular and the target of many guys. Angel wanted to get to know her batter, and eventually go steady with her. He asked me if I would accompany them shopping or something, so he could introduce her to me to get my input. And I said okay.

Sadly, the details of that day are pretty much blurred. We met somewhere after school and DKLA brought her friend as well. I was pretty naive back then, I wasn't sure what was going on--maybe she brought her to set her up with me. She finished her business--I forget waht it was--and we got on the bus--I had to get to work by 5. On the bus, we sat separately, boys in front and girls in back, like the nerds we were. DKLA was whspering and giggling with her friend, with Angel turning around on the seat to join them. He laughed with them.

"What are you girls whispering about?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," she said, but started giggling again after locking eyes with her friend as if recalling a shared secret.

Angel looked very happy, but I was bored. DKLA was attractive, to be sure, but she was as tall as I was and she looked way out of my league. Her friend was also cute--she was a half. But the day was Angel's and I just tried to be polite. So as the three giggled, I just looked out the window, admiring the Christmas decorations on the streets of downtown LA in late November.

"What are you thinking about, O-man?" DKLA asked me.

"Oh, nothing," I said, trying to imitate their voices. This got them giggling again, as I smiled wanly.

The bus reached the corner of 1st and San Pedro and I got off, waving at them. DKLA yelled something at me, but I just nodded in mock acknowledement, neither hearing nor caring what she had said.

The next day at school, Angel asked me what I thought, and I told him that she was attractive, and I wished him luck in his attempts to snag this girl. A few days later, when I had completely forgotten about her, DKLA strolled into the confection shop where I worked....

Friendship Tested

A

few days later, when I had completely forgotten about her, DKLA strolled into Mikawaya, the confection shop where I worked. I was quite surprised; I had seriously put her out of mind as I had little, if anything, to do with her. My first reaction was to treat her as a customer. I mean, Angel was interested in her, and I presumed she was interested in him, at least a little, since they did go out shopping.

"Hi."

"Hi," I smiled back, wondering why she seemed to be giggling a little too nervously.

"Tuesday was fun."

Tuesday was fun? What happened on... "Oh, yeah. Shopping? Well, I just tagged along 'cause I didn't have anything to do," I lied.

"We should do it again," she said. She seems kinda jittery.

"Uh, yeah, okay," I said rather hesitantly. What's she doing here? She's never come here before. "So, you here to get some manju?" I asked as I nodded toward the showcase filled with rice cakes.

"Oh, no," she continued to giggle. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd say 'hi'."

"Okay, 'Hi'," I said rather lamely.

She giggled some more, then said she had to meet a friend, and just like that, DKLA was gone. What was that all about? I shrugged my shoulders and went back to work. And as quickly as she had come and gone, I forgot about her...

* * * * *

T

hanksgving came and went and Christmas shopping occupied my every thought. I worked a lot of hours at the confection shop, six days a week, 5:00 to 9:00 Monday, Tuesday and Thursday, and 5:00 to 10:00 Friday, Saturday and Sunday. These were the days before mandatory minimum wages, and I received a monthly salary of $120 when I had started six months earlier. By this Christmas, it was about $140.

While the salary was low, I didn't mind. It was lower than some part-time jobs in the area. like being a teller at Sumitomo Bank. But surprisingly, it was pretty normal for these mom and pop shops in J-Town. Besides, the job was low stress, and Mrs. H made dinner for us every night. "Us" included the unmarried FOB employees who worked in the back and one other part-timer. We usually stuffed ourselves at Mrs. H's insistence. It was a casual life and I enjoyed it immensely. But for the first time, I felt in control of my life, and it was empowering...

But we were talking about DKLA, weren't we...

Well, with Christmas shopping on my mind--and budgeting myself to afford gifts for family and friends--I had little patience to even entertain the thought that DKLA might harbor intentions contrary to Angel... until my sister told me something completely unexpected.

"Do you know DKLA?" She asked.

"Yeah? Why?"

"You've never mentioned her before."

"Yeah? Why?"

"I know her through a friend at volleyball. She kinda introduced herself and started talking to me. It was wierd."

"Yeah? WHY?" What is it with sisters?

"I think she wants to get you something for Christmas. She asked me what kind of cologne you use. I told her you don't use any. It was wierd."

"..........." I didn't know what to say. But it finally dawned on me that she might be interested in me. In me! Me, who was totally out of her league. Me, who never had a steady girl friend. Me, Angel's friend.

This was, to say the least, a dilemma for me. I mean, God, this girl was hot and she was interested in ME!

I saw Angel the next day at school and I didn't know what to say. We had our usual chats about homework, Chicago's newest album, bowling...

"I'm going to ask DKLA if she wants to go out. You think she'd want to see a movie?"

"How you gonna take her? You don't have a car. You can't take a girl like that on a date on a bus."

"I know. That's why I was wondering if maybe you'd, like, drive us," he asked hopefully.

"I don't have a car either." I said.

"But you have K's car," Angel replied.

He was right, of course. Technically, I didn't own a car, but my boss, K, regularly asked me to drive her mother home. They lived nearby in Monterey Park, so I'd drive Mrs. H home and then they'd drop me off at my parents house. On weekends, my boss didn't go to the shop, so she would tell me to keep the car on Saturday nights so I could drive her mother home on Sundays, as well.

K was almost like a sister to me. After school, I'd go to the shop early and bum around, maybe do some homework in the dank basement amid 100 lbs. sacks of rice and sugar stacked on pallets, and maybe not. When K went out for coffee or a snack, she'd often come find me and take me along. When I needed extra cash, she'd slip me $20 and tell me to get popcorn and soda, too And she trusted me enough to drive her mother home and to keep her car over the weekend. She also told me that I could drive the car if I wanted to go out. "As long as you don't drink and drive," she said. And I promised I would never betray her trust. And I never did. I had never had an older sibling, so being taken care of this way was more than pleasant. Indeed, I felt very lucky.

But when Angel asked me to drive him and DKLA on their date, I refused.

"Sorry, gonna catch a flick with Cary and Tomahawk. Maybe next time." It wasn't exactly a lie. I intended to ask them about going a movie anyway. Cary and Tomahawk were true friends. We had been together for quite awhile, through thick and thin in elementary school, and we were always together in high school, too. These were guys I was always open with and we had no secrets between us. I wondered if perhaps Angel wanted to be a part of that.

For me, however, friendships developed over time, it wasn't something you did consciously. You don't just think, I'll be so-and-so's friend, and become one. Cary and Tomahawk and I often found ourselves in situations--good and bad--and we had developed a bond over time. By 1972, we were 16 and had known each other for 11 years already.

Angel, on the other hand, was a recent "friend", a year younger than me in my sister's class at Maryknoll. While we had a few things in common, our friendship had not developed to that level yet, so we were not that close.

Or so I tried desperately to convince myself...

Seed of Suspicion

W

hile Angel and I had a few things in common, our friendship had not developed to that level yet, so we were not that close. Or so I desperately tried to convince myself. I seemed to be justifying my feelings, my selfishness. An attractive girl interested in me? And I hadn't done anything to invite this attention? This was a completely new situation for me. I should just back off, I thought, and let the chips fall where they may. If DKLA and Angel got together, great. If she wanted to pursue me, maybe greater. So I acted passively, avoiding Angel's situation by not driving them on his date, but in a way I was aggressively preventing him from advancing his own agenda.

I won't make excuses. What I was feeling in my heart was wrong. And I guess I knew it even then, since I didn't--couldn't--tell anyone what I was thinking. I couldn't even tell Cary or Tomahawk (played by detachable), my two best friends, for fear of accusations. Yes, I knew what I was doing. And yet, I couldn't help myself.

December came and things seem to escalate rapidly in ways that defy explanation. My boss, K, was going to Las Vegas with her husband for a few days, and so she left the car to me so I could drive her mother home after work. I took the car to school, with her permission, and having learned of this, Angel automatically asked me to give him a ride as well. Reluctantly, I said yes.

On a chilly morning, I went to City Terrace to pick him up and then headed toward school. I was planning to get on the San Bernadino Freeway then to the Santa Monica to get to our school located on LA's Westside. But Angel had another idea.

"Let's go through Boyle Heights."

"What? Fuck you. That'll add twenty minutes to our trip," I protested.

"No, really. We can go by Roosevelt High. Maybe we'll see DKLA."

"Oh, man," I sighed. "I would really rather go straight to school."

"C'mon, man. You gotta car! We won't have these kinds of chances that much."

"Alright, alright," I relented. Angel succeeded in getting me to drive him to where he wanted to go. I was irritated at first, but as we drove through the streets of East Los Angeles, I grew strangely comfortable with the idea that Angel was every bit as selfish as I was. The thought of seeing DKLA didn't hurt either.

Angel directed me down Evergreen, then right on Brooklyn where Evergreen Cemetery was.

"Why don't we just go straight down to 3rd street?" I asked.

"Turn left on Fickett," he happily ordered.

"What? Why are we zigzagging to get to Roosevelt?"

"'Cause this is the way she walks to school," he answered matter-of-factly. All I could do was roll my eyes. What didn't he know about this girl?

We went one block down Fickett, made a right on First Street, then another immediate left on Mathews.

"Slow down," Angel whined as he looked at everyone walking the last block to Roosevelt. "There, there," he pointed.

And sure enough, there was DKLA walking on the right side of the street, her arms wrapped around the books she held up to her breast. She was wearing a burgundy letterman's sweater, her brother's. (Why do I remember this?). I pulled up to the curb and Angel opened the window.

""Hey, DK!" he yelled, motioning for her to come over.

She walked deliberately towards car. "What are you doing here?"

"Onigiriman's got the boss's car and so we thought we'd see if we could catch you," he explained.

We thought? You mean, YOU thought...

DKLA hunched over to look into the car and saw me in the drivers seat.

"Hi," I smiled as nonchalantly as I could.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, as if I might have a different reason as Angel's. I just shrugged my shoulder. "So you going to school now? Cool. What time does school start? What classes do you have today?"

She looked directly at me with her questions and I smiled as I gave her short but accurate responses. Angel didn't seem much too pleased at not being the target of her attention.

"The bell's going to ring soon, so I have to go. Bye," she said to both of us. "Then she looked at me and mouthed, "Call me."

I pulled the car back onto the road and headed toward school. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw her receding figure standing on the corner. Why isn't Angel sticking his head out the window waving at her? Why isn't he even turning around to look at her? Could he have noticed her "secret" message to me?

The tension in the car was thick. As I turned onto the Golden State Freeway south toward the 10, the sharp keyboard intro to Stevie Wonder's "Superstition" started to jerk out of the car speakers. But even it couldn't loosen the mood.

Very superstitious, writing's on the wall Very superstitious, ladders bout' to fall Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin' glass Seven years of bad luck, the good things in your past

This was a new song that Angel liked, but he didn't sing along as he often did. He just sat silently looking out the window at the rundown houses and storage facilities lining the freeway. I veered west onto the Santa Monica Freeway, a virtual bridge over central LA for about five miles, and saw the city stretch before us. Ah, man. Did Angel really see her? What the shit is he thinking? What the shit am I thinking? What the fuck am I gonna do now? I thought as I glanced over at him.

Angel just sat there, staring out the side window distantly at the buildings of downtown LA. I thought about DKLA and what she had mouthed. Did she really say "Call me"? Call her? Now how am I gonna do that? Then a random bit of truth crossed my mind and I relaxed. I didn't have her phone number, so how could I call her? In a twisted kind of logic, I figured that she couldn't blame me for not contacting her since I didn't know her number, and if i didn't call her, I wasn't betraying Angel. No harm, no foul, I grinned.

When you believe in things that you don't understand Then you suffer Superstition ain't the way

But DKLA called me that night.

Betrayal

W

inter 1972-73, I was 16 going on 17. I was naive and still a virgin, but it was my time to grow up, to taste the complexities of a burgeoning adulthood. I was never very good at doing what I was told. Mom told me that as the eldest I had to be reliable, my 8th grade teacher discussed being faithful to friends, country and God. But it rarely sank in. I was one of those stubborn kids who had to actually experience things before understanding them, before practicing them. So I learned values such as responsibility, loyalty, and obligation by trial and error. Of course, it sometimes seemed that the greater the error, the better the lesson.

---

"Hello?" I answered the phone.

"Hi, how was school?" It was DKLA.

"Okay. How'd you get our number?"

"I asked Angel."

"Um... I'm not sure if..."

"I told him that I needed to get a hold of your sister."

"Oooh... I mean," I paused briefly, trying to figure out how to handle this situation. "Do you realize what's going on?"

"Uh-huh. Angel's been pretty obvious," DKLA said.

"Then you know that you shouldn't be talking to me."

"Why? I can't live my life based on someone else's feelings. I have to do what I want to do, not what someone else wants me to do."

"Yeah, but..."

"Besides, Angel's not my type. You are."

She said it. You are... I mean I am. I'm her type.

No sooner had she uttered these words that I had forgotten my dilemma. Angel? Angel who. This was my very first experience of having a girl tell my they like me. It was like an narcotic--not that I would know the effects of an illegal pharmaceutical product, mind you, but if I did, I was sure that it felt like this. I became light headed.

"Yeah, you're my type, too," I said, starting to giggle like her, like a girl. Among other things, I had yet to learn the value of remaining cool at times such as this.

We talked for an hour about everything, about nothing. The only thing that we knew was that we were interested in each other, and it became obvious that we wanted to pursue our feelings regardless. Although, I suspect now, in hindsight, that our reasons were different. While she perhaps was genuinely interested in me, I was more interested in experiencing the feelings of being wanted. I wanted to bathe myself in the euphoria aroused when one becomes the target of another's desire. For too long I had been on the other side of yearning.

When I was 13, our 7th grade class went on a field trip to Knott's Berry Farm. As a bunch of kids suffering through puberty, all any of us could think of was spending the day with a person of the opposite sex. Some of the guys in class already had predetermined partners. I hesitate to use the word "steady" or even "girlfriend" because back then the most we could do was hang out together at lunch or after school. Once we got on the school bus to go home, we re-entered reality and had to lead lives that did not allow for open girl-boy relationships, particularly in our Japanese American sphere. For two weeks, the topic of conversation was who was going to "date" who at Knott's. I too wanted desperately to date a girl I thought was pretty cute, but I knew she was already set. I asked two other girls who I had heard did not yet have a date, but they rejected me. I ended up going with a skinny girl who rode the same school bus as I did--the sister of a Boy Scout patrol mate.

In high school, at 15, I once attended a mixer. I went to a private Catholic school--all male--and the girls who were invited came from other private schools in the area. My friends would never go. Why go? they'd say. There ain't anyone you'd know. This was true, but I went anyway, because I wanted to hear the Flying Burrito Brothers play. (I dare anyone to say they've heard of this group!) At the mixer, I soon learned why my friends would not go. Everyone at the dance was white. There were a few Blacks and Hispanics, but 95% percent of the students there were white. At school the white population hovered around 65% I'd figure, but when it came to social events, this school turned white. I must have asked five or six girls to dance and every single one of them looked at me as if I was a Martian. I espied one Filipino girl and asked her, but she rejected me as well. Needless to say, I did not have a good time.

My first real job was at the confectionary shop in J-Town. I had worked since I was 14 doing maintenance work at my elementary school over the summer. They paid me cash--$1 an hour!--but it was enough to let me buy my own Panasonic radio-cassette player. But for the job in J-Town, I had to fill out an application form and submit a social security number. I was joining the ranks of tax payers. I had inquired K about the job over the phone and she told me to come in on Tuesday and ask for Billie. It was my first day of my first real job, and I was a bit excited. I walked into the store and told one of the lady clerks that I was new and was supposed to meet Billie. She nodded and went to the back room, and out came a cute girl in a white uniform. She introduced herself as Billie. After allowing me a moment to recover, she led downstairs to pick up a large bundle of boxes, then she handed me a stack of labels and a jar of glue.

"Here. Paste these labels on the lid. The black label little from the top and the green address label about a quarter inch from the bottom edge. After you finish, bring another bundle up..."

I was in love.

Billie and I got along well enough as work colleagues. But after a month, she quit. She had just graduated high school and was about to start college, starting with summer school. She had no time to work at the shop anymore, and certainly no time for me. I was crushed but did not give up. I asked her out to a concert, and she agreed to go see Dave Mason at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, as long as someone else came. So Angel came along, too. We had a great time, and even went bowling after that. But the evening ended with a solid "thanks" and a wave "good-bye". While I had a serious crush on her and was still infatuated--I would pine away to anyone who would listen--I was not an idiot. I could take a hint.

So this heretofore unknown situation, of being the pursued rather than the pursuer, had a narcotic effect on me. And DKLA was the pusher.

"My parents are having a Christmas party next week, but, uh, you wanna come?"

"Who's coming?" she asked, perhaps not so innocently.

"Just my parents' friends. No one my... our age."

"Hmmm, your house?"

"Yeah, say you'll come?"

"Well, if I have to..." she said feigning helplessness.

That Saturday, I went to pick her up and we ate dinner at my house with my parents friends. The situation was almost perfect. Since my parents had to entertain their guests, they didn't pepper me or DKLA with questions. We listened to a few songs in my room--a room that I had actually cleaned up willingly--and then we went bowling. (Yeah, it was pretty popular back then.) Around 11 o'clock, she said that she should go home--she was, after all, 16, and I had just turned 17 the day before. The whole evening, I had done nothing untoward. I was the perfect gentleman, mostly because I really didn't know what to do. I was so naive.

But as I drove her home in my mother's Camaro, she placed her hand on my sleeve and I instantly got nervous. Shit, what am I supposed to do when we get to her house? I laughed nervously, trying oh so hard to stay composed. Right, walk her to the door. But do I kiss her? Shit. Why don't I have an older brother? I was turning into a wreck. Okay, I'll kiss her... but what if she sticks her hand out when I try? Damn, do I just shake it? Oh, God, fuck, what am I supposed to do? When we reached her house, I parked in front and was about to get out of the car, but she stopped me.

"No, don't get out."

Oh shit, she wants to avoid the scene altogether, I thought, crestfallen. Was inviting her a bad idea? Was bowling a bad idea? Do I have bad breath? Oh man, here we go again. All these thoughts flashed through my mind in a nanosecond.

"Well, I should at least walk you to the door," I protested meekly. "I think it's the polite thing to do."

"Look at the second window from the left," she said, motioning vaguely to her dark pink house. I looked and saw the drapes pushed aside just slightly and the silhouette of a head peering through. "That's my mom."

Ooooh. DKLA reached into her bag, and took out a box wrapped in blue paper and a red ribbon. "Your birthday was yesterday, right? So here: Happy Birthday."

I was speechless. I looked down at the box to accept the gift. I felt so flattered, so excited, so happy. "I don't know what to..." I looked back up to thank her when she leaned over and kissed me full on the lips...

Flame Out

T

his time, I was truly speechless. But before I could gather myself, she opened the door, got out and skipped up the concrete steps. The porch light immediately turned on and she waved at me. I waved back, and when the door opened and I knew she was safe at home, I left.

She kissed me. I squeezed the steering wheel firmly with both hands as I drove down First Street. She kissed me! My heart raced. I could feel it thumping at my temples, on my fingertips. How old was I? I had just turned seventeen, an age where many others have already experienced kissing, petting, geez, even sex. But not me. This was a brand new sensation.

When I got home, my parents friends had already left. Mom asked if I had a good time, and I told her it was "okay". I went to my bedroom, turned of the night and laid down on my bed, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Now what should I do? I can't keep this hidden. Who do I tell? Cary? Tomahawk? Nah, What would they say? I had betrayed Angel.

I was wary of being judged by my peers. What made it worse was that it seems like I was being so secretive about it. I had to open up, falsely believing that if was honest and up front about it, things would mellow out.

I'll tell Angel next week at school, I thought. But the right opportunity never arose. There were just too many other people around, too many eyes to judge me. Then on Thursday, Angel dropped by the confectionary.

It was nearing the winter solstice and by 5:00 in the afternoon the sky was already black. It had been a drizzling, miserable day in LA, even for December. But Angel walked in rather perkily asking me what I was going to do this weekend.

"Got any plans?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Well, I was gonna ask DKLA if she wanted to go out," he said as he straddled one of the stools at the counter.

"Actually, um, she's going to be sorta... busy this weekend," I sputtered, trying to express this as frankly and reasonably as possible.

Angel just laughed. "How would YOU know?"

"Well..." and I told him what happened the previous Saturday, except for that little detail of her kissing me. Angel kept looking down at the floor as I talked, spinning quarter circles on the stool.

"And that's what happened," I concluded, preparing for God knows what.

After a few moments, Angle looked up and laughed, "Hey, that's alright! Good for you! She's quite a catch, mind you." He stood to leave. "Be good to her," he said in an unexpectedly gay tone, as he turned and left.

I wasn't sure what I had just experienced. Was he really happy for me? Was I worried for nothing? I wasn't sure, but eventually I concluded that he was putting up a front. He really had a crush on DKLA and it couldn't have gone down that easily. I mean, no way, right? He'd have to be superhuman. Still, pretty sure that he was torn up inside and just too proud to admit it, Angel seemed pretty magnanimous about the whole thing.

That Saturday, I spent the afternoon at DKLA's house. It was just before Christmas and her brother had gone to Vegas while her parents were out shopping. The shades were drawn and we were alone. We cuddled on the sofa in front of the Christmas tree. The TV set was on when I arrived, but DKLA turned it off and turned on the radio. This particular winter, it seemed that every station played one song. Billy Paul's "Me and Mrs. Jones".

Me and Mrs. Jones We got a thing goin' on We both know that it's wrong But it's much too strong To let it go now

On the sofa, I had my arms around her shoulder as she rested her head against my chest. I breathed in the scent of her freshly washed hair and enjoyed the warmth she generated.

"Did you tell Angel about us?"

"Yeah. I mean, we are friends, sort of, and I couldn't not tell him, you know?"

"I guess," she replied rather lazily.

We gotta be extra careful That we don't build our hopes up too high Because she's got her own obligations And so, and so, do I

"Do you still work with Billie?" she asked unexpectedly.

What an odd question, I thought. Here we are, spending a quiet afternoon alone and she brings up a name that has no place in our conversation, the name of a girl I still... used to have a crush on.

"Um, yeah, well, we used to work together for a month and she quit. I see her around sometimes but that's about it." You are such a fucking liar. Why? What's up?" I tried to sound so calm.

"Oh nothing. I go to school with her brother and he mentioned that she worked at the same confectionary as you."

"Oh, is that all?" I felt temporarily relieved.

"Why? Is there more?" she asked, almost seductively.

"Oh, no, no, no, " Shit, is this some kind of trick?

Well, it's time for us to be leaving It hurts so much, it hurts so much inside Now she'll go her way and I'll go mine Tomorrow we'll meet The same place, the same time

Suddenly, the phone rang. DKLA got up to answer it, as I contemplated what was going on. Why would she ask about Billie? Did she hear something? But what? And There actually is nothing between us, Billie made sure of that. My uneasiness grew as DKLA handed me the phone. "It's for you."

"Who the..." I took the phone cautiously as DKLA simply turned her back on me and walked to the kitchen. "Hello?" I said slowly as I stood up, no longer comfortable on the sofa

"O-man, is that you? We've been calling all over looking for you."

"How'd you know I was here?" It was a girl who worked weekends at the confectionary.

"I called Angel and he told me to try this number," she was almost screaming. "Anyway, Billie's had an attack of kidney stones and had to go to the hospital. And we're shorthanded. You have to come down right away."

"Is she alright?" I couldn't mask my concern. "Which hospital did they take her?"

"Nevermind that, we need you here at the shop, so come right away."

"But, but," but the line went dead.

I turned around to hang up the phone and DKLA was standing there with her hand extended to receive it.

"What was that all about?"

"Um, Billie, you know, the one you asked about? She's sick or something and I have to go to the shop right away. They're short-handed and I have to fill in. It's kind of an emergency."

"I thought you said she quit."

"No, I mean, yes, I said that, and she did, but K asked her to come back for the weekends during Christmas and New Years, that's all," I tried to explain tripping over my tongue.

"Which hospital is she at?"

"I didn't get the..." I stopped in mid-sentence and looked at DKLA as she stared right back at me with her arms crossed in front of her. Why did she ask that? Was she going to visit her? Of course not. Then, why ask? What fuck does she know that she's not telling me? But before I could sort out these various questions, she showed me the door.

"Well, I think you'd better go. Sounds like they're pretty busy at the shop." And she virtually shooed me out. I walked down the steps and turned around only to get a glimpse of her as she shut the door.

It was the last glimpse in 8 years. What had developed in a blink of an eye, disappeared just as quickly...

Not Even a Goodbye

T

hat night, I called her house. It was just before 11pm. But no one answered. Is no one home? Is it too late? What's next? I worried as I hung up the phone.

The next morning was Christmas Eve, Sunday. I called again and she answered. "I have to go now," she said hanging up the phone.

As I gift wrapped boxes of rice crackers and rice cakes for last minute Christmas shoppers, all I could think of was DKLA. A person who was basically a non-entity just a few weeks earlier now wouldn't vacate my mind. She's the one who showed an interst in me. She's the one who approached me. So I run with... and what? Now she doesn't want to see me? I wonder if it had to do something with Billie? I hadn't really lied to her about Billie. We weren't seeing each other; we didn't have a thing going on. Although somewhere deep in my heart, I still had a thing for Billie, it was a one-sided affair, and shouldn't really matter. What was I supposed to do? I thought. Tell her, "Yeah, I think your a cool chick, but I gotta thing for another girl, but don't worry because it ain't going nowhere"? Yeah, right, that would go over great. But I still couldn't figure out why DKLA had asked me about her. It was so out of the blue. Did someone told her about my feelings for her?

No one's asleep now, it's only 8 o'clock, I thought as I dialed her number from home after long day. But no answer. Okay, maybe I dialed the the wrong number, so I dialed it again and let it ring--nine, ten, eleven, twe...

"Hello?" a sleepy man's voice said.

"Hi, um, I was wondering if DKLA was home?"

"Uh, who's this," he asked perturbed. I told him who I was and he replied with a calm but threatening voice. "I don't think you should be calling my sister... again." And he hung up on me.

And that was that.

I heard what he said. I know what he meant. Don't bother my sister anymore. What started with a bus ride, what turned into something promising with a single kiss, had turned into a train wreck. What the hell went wrong? I thought over and over again. Christmas was the next day and... Shit, I hadn't even bought her a present. Everything had gone up and down so fast that I hadn't even thought about a simple thing like getting her a present. Is that why she doesn't want to see me anymore?

The following week, I saw Angel at work. He had asked me to get him a part-time New Year's gig at the confectionary shop and I had come through for him. He was just as chipper as he was the day I told him about DKLA and me.

"How are you guys doing?" he asked.

"We ain't doin' nothing," I confessed. I didn't go into the particulars. "She didn't give me a reason. She didn't even say goodbye."

"Ah, that's too bad. You still got Billie, right?" he smiled and went back to work.

During the week leading to New Year's, we worked together at Mikawaya. It is a particularly busy time of year and we hire a number of part-timers to help out. On of them was the son of my boss's hairdresser, Diddly.

We talked about J-Town and school and music. After hours, we'd get a bite to eat at Denny's and hang out. We talked about Angel and I jammed together with others on weekends for fun and he told us he used to be a drummer for the Koyasan Boy Scouts. He said he wanted to hear me play the piano and perhaps jam a bit at my house. Angel, of course, was all over this.

Epilogue: What Goes Around Comes Around

In 1980, I worked at a travel agency, MitsuiLine, located in J-Town. I delivered tickets as far away as Costa Mesa and as close as downtown LA. Once, on my way back from a downtown delivery by bus, I noticed L.A. Councilman Gilbert Lindsay, and sitting right next to him was DKLA. I said Hi and she said Hi, giggled a bit, like she did on that first bus ride we took eight years earlier. She told me she had graduated from a local university and now worked for the Councilman. Councilman Lindsay's district encompassed J-Town and DKLA was designated Lil' Tokyo Liaison to the Councilman. As a result, she had to work closely with the Lil' Tokyo Chamber of Commerce which was headed at the time by K, my boss at the confectionary. They became friends and every time I would visit the shop, she would be there. I never stayed long.

In 1982, I met a girl that I thought was really nice. We got along well enough. We'd eat lunch together and sometimes study together at UCLA. I told a good friend of mine all about her, how I felt, and I wanted him to meet her. Guess what happened? She fell for him, and he succumbed. A guy who I thought was a good friend, a solid friend, hooked up with the girl that he knew I was interested in. If I hadn't an inkling regarding how Angel felt before, I had a pretty good idea now. Their relationship lasted longer than my little whirlwind with DKLA--of course that wouldn't be hard for anybody.

While hurt and dumfounded, the irony of it all was not lost on me. And I learned a couple of things. One, in life, there is balance. If you are good to others, good things will come to you. If you screw others, others will screw you. It may not be the same person, but it will happen, I firmly believe this. I'm hoping someday, a student or two of mine will become wildly rich and/or famous and remember little ol' me... *sigh* I wish! I alos learned that friends--really true friends--are few and far between. It is something that can be easily made perhaps, but not so easily maintained.

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