Along the River

"Misaki, thanks for coming," Takeshi says.

I don't know why Takeshi brought me here. It's spring. We should be in Kyoto admiring the cherry blossoms, not in Osaka walking amongst skyscrapers.

But I am happy enough to be with him, here and now, glad that he invited me. His hand almost brushed against mine as we got off the subway train. For a fleeting moment, I thought he would take my hand in his. Even under the pandemonium of hundreds of people getting on and off the train-dressed in casual wear instead of business suits for once-I could still hear myself take in a sharp breath. He didn't take my hand.

It was about a twenty-minute walk from the subway station to here. We walked along the path where the annual Illumination parade is held every Christmas Eve, a fantastic display of lights of all colors, forming different figures and designs. Dozens of cities across the nation compete for the top Illumination awards every year.

I've been told that I was once here, in Osaka, on Christmas Eve, walking this same path, enjoying the Illumination. But I don't remember. Ever since my accident, I've only been able to remember things up until the end of high school.

When my friend found out Takeshi was taking me here, she gave me a note and told me not to open it yet. I would know when to open it, she said.

"Isn't it beautiful here?" Takeshi asks.

Takeshi has a playful, boyish charm that is exuded through his eyes, his smile, and, most of all, his voice. Most women find him attractive for his good looks and, more importantly, his uninhibited spirit. It's refreshing to meet a man in Japan who has not fully conformed to societal standards. Takeshi is a foreigner, though, a gaijin. Even though his looks and speech don't give him away, his mannerisms do. Watching him interact with Japanese men is like watching a river stream across a valley, its direction dictated by the flow of its surroundings, ready to be free once again in the ocean.

"Yes, it's beautiful," I answer.