to work on at work
“This is a good place,” he said.
“Yeah I like it.”
“Are you hunry?”
“I could eat.”
“How about yaki niku?”
“Always good.”
“Good. I’ll order.”
Itaru sat and smoked. I did the same, leaned back on the mats the way he was leaning back, smoked the way he smoked. When I realized what I was doing and gave it up, stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and put my arms on the table.
The waittress showed up with our beer. She knelt down on the mat next to our table and set the mugs down. Itaru thanked her, spoke with her quickly. She took his order mentally, writing nothing down, her head nodding mechanically. I picked up my beer and downed a quarter of it. The waittress bowed slightly, rose to her feet, clutched a thin, veiny hand at the small of her back as she stood up. I watched her hobble to the kitchen, felt bad that I lived in a world where an old woman like her had to wait on a guy like me, and then drowned the thought in a another mouthful of beer.
“Maybe I asked you this already,” I said to Itaru. “But what do you do?”
“You did ask me. The first night we met. English people always ask that question. Like ‘how are you.’”
“It makes us feel relaxed. I don’t think we know how to start a conversation without saying that.”
“Japanese is similar. We always have some kind of code to follow.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“The codes are different between Japanese and English, that’s why there are so many difficulties.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Are you enjoying nemu?”
“I’m not sure,”
“It can be... I’m not sure the exact word. Feeling bad. We would say ‘kimochi warui.’”
“Maybe you could say ‘unsettling.’”
“What is that?”
“You see this?” I said, taking my mug of beer in my hand. “Right now, on the table the glass is settled. The beer is not moving. But if there’s an earthquake or if I move it like this - ” I shook the mug. Some of the beer slopped over the side of the glass, dripped smoothly along its edge to the table surface. “That’s unsettled.”
“Yes,” he laughed. “Sometimes nemu is like that. You are a good teacher.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you take nemu today?”
“I didn’t. Did you?”
He shrugged.
“Maybe. After some time you will not remember if you took it or not. Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t.”
“Is that healthy?”
He shrugged again.
“I’m fine. I pay rent, have a girlfriend. What’s the problem?”
“None, I guess.”
“How have your trips been? The first trip you had sounded very good.”
“They’re usually like that. Sexy I guess. But not always.”
“You’re lucky to get any ones like that.”
I thought about telling him what had happened the night before, that I’d seen him in Kawasaki and I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. I wanted to ask him, but I kept my mouth shut. I figured if I mentioned that the rest of it would come out eventually, and the last thing I wanted was for him to know that I’d been false remembering fucking his girlfriend.
Our meat arrived. The waittress set it down on the table along with a pair of tongs. She turned on the grill, checked that the gas was burning properly. I looked at the white plates in front of me, the thin strips of pink and red flesh arranged on top of them, the watery blood pooling at the edges. Itaru took the tongs and began arranging the meat on the grill, ordered another round of beer. The waittress nodded and left the table. Smoke rose from our cigarettes to the yellow ceiling.
“I first tried nemu a year ago,” he said.
“Where did you get it?”
“Do you remember Ryota? My friend in Shinjuku? He gave it to me. I was working in Kouenji. Working for a real estate company as a katchi. Do you now this?”
“No.”
“A katchi stands on the street, giving advertisements to people. He tries to get them to come inside his store. To attract new customers. So I was working there, and Ryota was working at a used clothing store. Have you ever been to Kouenji?”
“No I haven’t.”
“You would like it. It’s a very interesting place. Many used clothing stores. Unusual fashions. I recommend it.” He took some pieces of charred meat from the grill and laid them out on the plate in front of me, poured sauce into a small tray and passed this to me as well. I took a piece of beef, dipped it in the sauce and stuffed it into my mouth, savouring the juices. Itaru called out for another round of beer.
“I was working there and I wasn’t going to school. I didn’t want to. I never liked school. It was always the same, every day. The same lesson, over and over again. The same clothes on everyone, the same faces. I don’t mean uniforms. I mean the clothes everyone wears, all of them thinking they are different when they are not. College or university is usually a time for Japanese students to be free, but that’s not how I felt. Everyone just changed one kind of uniform for another, and after college we would all put on a third uniform - a suit and a tie, or grey skirts for the girls. That’s how I felt. Everyone was still in a uniform, and so was I. We all talked about the same things and did the same things. This is not what I wanted. So I stopped going to school, and got a job as a katchi. I also moved from my parents’ house and got a small appartment. That’s how I lived. It wasn’t much better than school had been - I still had to wear a kind of uniform, but at least I was living for myself. At night, I went out with my friends, and smoked weed and drank. I wasn’t so crazy, but I enjoyed doing it. I felt more free than before. It was different.”
“That’s interesting,” I said.
“Is it?”
“Yes. People don’t usually talk like this here.”
“They would not in an English school, probably. But Tokyo is big, you know? It’s hard sometimes. It’s too big, and it becomes heavy. I think many people feel this way. I was using drugs, beer, lots of things as a kind of vacation. I couldn’t afford to go on any other kind.” He laughed. The waittress approached with a second round of beers. She set them on the table, gingerly, her motions stiff and precise. Itaru set some more meat on the grill. I watched the way his hand moved with the tongs, lethargic and relaxed.
“Ryota was similar to me, but a little older. He went to college for fashion design, and he was a good student. Unlike me, he could graduate. And after he was finished he started working at a store in Kouenji. He was working there for more than a year when I met him. I was looking around in the store and we started talking. He is gay, you probably saw, and maybe he liked me. He put his hand on my shoulder, but it was fine. I told him I am not interested in men and that was it. It was true - I'm not interested in men, but I thought he was interesting. More interesting than most people, the people you see on the street. On the street everyone is the same. Do you know what I mean? Salarymen all wear the same suit, school girls all have the same colour hair, the women all wear the same heels. Again, uniforms. And so many of the rest of us don’t want to be like them. We want to be different, but then we are all different in the same way. Ryota was different in a different way.” He shrugged. “I cannot explain it very well.”
“No,” I said. “I think understand you.”
He took out another cigarette, took pieces of meat from the grill and placed them on the plate in front of me. I ate, washed down the taste with a wave of beer. I was incredibly relaxed. Listening to him was simple. I wondered about his English, why it was so good, but it seemed to fit. I accepted it as another aspect of being there. There were a lot of things like that, things that fit but shouldn't have; it was unusual to hear a Japanese criticize their own culture, but Itaru was doing it, it was odd that he wanted to hang out with me, but there we were. I told myself that I’d met an interesting person, and that was all. I figured with 30 million people living in Tokyo the chances of running into someone like him were pretty good. I took it at face value, thought that meeting him had been a random, chance occurrence. Later, it wouldn't be that way - coincidences would come to seem planned, or at the least, manufactured, and after awhile I’d stop believing in such things as “chance occurrences” altogether. But that night in the restaurant with Itaru I was happy just to sit and listen. It was a smooth, zen-like state, and I was in Japan.
“I was happy to meet someone like Ryota,” he continued. “He did not care about what people thought. He did what he wanted, mostly. And when he offered me to try a new drug, of course I tried it. He told me that it was something very new, that he had only used it a few times before. But he said that it was like having another life. I didn’t hate my life, but having another one was an interesting idea.
“When I first took nemu I was alone. I was in my appartment after work and I was bored. I had nothing to do, no girlfriend, so I took the pill. And my first trip was very interesting.” He nodded to himself. “It was something to remember.”
“What happened?”
He sucked back on the tail-end of his cigarette, drank a mouthful of beer. I did the same. The waittress returned to clear our plates, and I ordered another round. Itaru shook his head and said something in Japanese. The waittress laughed. It was a dry sound, like leaves rustling.
“We’ll get some habushu instead.”
“Sounds good.”
“Something for you to remember,” he said. “Like my trip.
“That night, after I took the pills I remember leaving my appartment. I went down the hallway and I went outside for a walk. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t know where I was going. I was only walking. I have never done that before. Also, it was strange that the road was empty. There were no cars, and no one else was out. I was alone. It was like being in a dream, but I was awake, I knew it wasn’t a dream. I walked, and came to the interesection near my appartment. There is a convenience store there, and the lights were on, but no one was inside. It was empty. I looked down the road to the left and to the right, and also there was no one there. It looked like everyone had disappeared. This was something I had not experienced before. But soon I felt something strange. I could see that no one else was on the street, but at the same time I did not feel alone. There was someone else there with me. Not another person. It is a difficult feeling to explain. The other someone was the road. But not only the road. The sky, the buildings, and the light from the convenience store. The person with me was the whole city. And it was fine, very peaceful. We both watched each other. It was like being at a bar with a friend and saying nothing. Or if you are waiting for the train beside your girlfriend, and there’s no reason to talk... I can’t explain it.”
He shook his head in frustration.
“Anyway, I walked by myself but I didn’t feel alone. Soon, I passed another convenience store. This one was a 7/11, and again it was empty. The lights were on, everything was bright, the sign was on, but no one was inside. I felt like having a beer and some senbei, so I just went in and took them. I sat down on the corner in front of the store and I drank some beer and ate the crackers. I think if I was younger I would have been crazy in there, kicked and punched the racks of food, knocked them over. Maybe I would have smashed the windows just because I knew it wasn’t real. It was all like a dream. But I didn’t feel like doing any of that. I felt calm, and I didn’t need to do anything else.
“I finished the beer and I stood up. I started walking again. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I went back to my appartment. In a way, I was bored. Yes, I was calm, but calm is boring after awhile. I thought nemu was an interesting drug, and it was interesting to be the only person on the street. But it wasn’t very fun. I wanted something more. And then, something happened.
“I walked back to my appartment and I saw someone standing next to my building. He was leaning against the wall, and there was a dark shadow there. I could not see his face, but he seemed very casual. I went to him and saw that it was Ryota. He looked very serious, like he had been waiting a long time.
“‘Ryota,’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’
“‘I’m waiting for you. You’re late.’
“‘I am?’
“‘Yes. You invited me to your appartment. You don’t remember? Where have you been?’
“I thought that the trip was over then. I thought the only thing nemu would show me that night was the empty street. Here was my friend, and he was telling me that I invited him to my house. I could not remember doing this. Of course, it was possible that I was still in the false memory of nemu, but behind me, on the road, a car drove by, and a young girl on a bicycle came up the sidewalk. The world had people in it again, sounds, and this made me think the trip was over. I apologized to Ryota and we went into my appartment together. I tried talking with him, but he was very quiet, and much more serious than usual. He barely spoke to me, so I thought he was probably tired.
“Once we got inside my room I offered him some food, and he agreed. I stayed in the kitchen to prepare some edamame and he went into the bedroom. I could hear him turn on the television. He was watching the evening news. On the news the announcer was talking about an accident that had occurred earlier in the day. They said that a man had lost control of his car, and it had driven over the sidewalk, crushing another man on the street. The news announcer said that this accident happened in the same area I lived in. When I realized that, I left the kitchen and went into the bedroom to watch. Ryota was sitting on the end of the bed, and I could not see his face. The side of his body, and some of his hair, was blue from the TV screen. He was sitting exactly still, not moving at all, like a statue. I knelt on the floor beside him.
“The picture was from above, from a helicopter. It showed the car, and the site of the accident. The camera then moved back, and it showed more of the street, and many rescue workers moving around. There was an ambulance there, and two police cars. The crash was blocked off from the road by yellow tape. The camera then showed the street, and I saw the rescue workers lifting a body from the ground. They placed the body on a stretcher, and brought it to the ambulance, but I knew that this person was dead. No one was in a hurry - everyone moved very slowly. There was no need to rush, since they couldn’t save him. The body was wrapped in a black bag. The news announcer was saying the name of the victim.
“At first, I didn't hear it. I was just sitting and watching. It was strange to see such a quiet area like mine on the news. Why hadn’t I heard anything earlier? Why didn’t I see anything like this when I was outside? It must have been nemu.
“And then what I had heard came back to me. The victim’s name was mine. I felt cold, like someone was pouring water over my whole body. I closed my eyes, and listened to the announcer describing the victim - where he lived, how old he was, what he did for work. Everything he said was about me. I shook my head, and put my hand to my face. It was very, very difficult to hear these things. I looked over at Ryota, but he was gone. I turned around, and the appartment was empty. His shoes were gone, and it was like he was never there. I was alone, and on the television the news announcer said that I was dead.
“I knew I was still inside the nemu trip, but it was difficult to be calm. I thought of the quiet street, the empty roads. I thought of how free I felt walking, and calm. Was I dead? Did I take this drug, go out for a walk, and get killed in a sudden accident? If I was remembering this, didn’t that mean that I was still alive?”
He shook his head, and took a piece of meat from the grill.
“So for me, you can see that my first experience with nemu was very different from yours. For me, sometimes I think I am already dead, and everything I am living now is just a memory in the last moment of my life. Of course, I do not really believe this. I wake up in the morning and it is a new day, and I work and am with friends, and it is difficult to think that this is not life. I know this is my life. But sometimes that same calm feeling will come back to me, the same feeling I had standing on the road alone, and I will wonder. Just enough to make things interesting.”
He smiled.
“Isn’t that a strange story? Maybe it is too depressing.”
“No,” I said. “It’s a good one.”
He finished his third beer and I did the same. We had nearly run out of meat.
“Later, I told Ryota about this trip and I thought he would laugh and tell me not to worry. But he didn’t. He said what I had seen was serious. Ryota believes that what happens with neumu has an important meaning. He said that with nemu sometimes you will be shown things you need to see, things to guide you. He told me about the Indians in America, and how they sometimes took drugs to help them see things they needed to see. There is a word for this, but I don’t know it in English. It means something like a ghost, a ghost to help you reach your goal.”
“A spirit guide?”
“It could be that. I don’t know if I believe the same things, but it doesn’t matter. Even if there are no real spirit guides I was happy that I met Ryota, because he introduced me to Miho. They went to school together, studying fashion.”
I looked up.
“Miho studied fashion?”
“Yes. You don’t remember? She told you this I think.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t remember.”
“She is very talented. She’s working at a small fashion store now, in Harajuku.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yes you did,” he said, smiling. It was a cold, hard smile. He took the last piece of meat from the grill and put it in his mouth. “You did know it, but maybe you forgot what you knew. You see? It is a strange drug.”
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”
We finished the last of the meat, payed our bill and left, the old waittress waving feebly at us from the doorway. I walked Itaru to the station, and then I went home. I thought about what he’d told me, and realized that none of it really answered anything. I already knew that he was buying nemu from Ryota, and although the story of his first experience with the drug was interesting, I wasn't any closer to learning where it came from. I told myself that it didn’t matter; I liked Itaru, and it was good to hang out with him. I felt he was someone I could trust, even if I knew his entire store of memories was completely fucked. At least I could trust that he believed what he told me was the truth, and that was good enough. He had a relaxing way about him, he told a good story, and I respected the fact the he could tell it in a second language. He made me feel ignorant that I couldn’t do the same, and so I respected him more. I couldn’t even bring myself to resent him, despite (or because of - I didn't know which) the fact that he was with Miho.
“Yeah I like it.”
“Are you hunry?”
“I could eat.”
“How about yaki niku?”
“Always good.”
“Good. I’ll order.”
Itaru sat and smoked. I did the same, leaned back on the mats the way he was leaning back, smoked the way he smoked. When I realized what I was doing and gave it up, stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and put my arms on the table.
The waittress showed up with our beer. She knelt down on the mat next to our table and set the mugs down. Itaru thanked her, spoke with her quickly. She took his order mentally, writing nothing down, her head nodding mechanically. I picked up my beer and downed a quarter of it. The waittress bowed slightly, rose to her feet, clutched a thin, veiny hand at the small of her back as she stood up. I watched her hobble to the kitchen, felt bad that I lived in a world where an old woman like her had to wait on a guy like me, and then drowned the thought in a another mouthful of beer.
“Maybe I asked you this already,” I said to Itaru. “But what do you do?”
“You did ask me. The first night we met. English people always ask that question. Like ‘how are you.’”
“It makes us feel relaxed. I don’t think we know how to start a conversation without saying that.”
“Japanese is similar. We always have some kind of code to follow.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“The codes are different between Japanese and English, that’s why there are so many difficulties.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Are you enjoying nemu?”
“I’m not sure,”
“It can be... I’m not sure the exact word. Feeling bad. We would say ‘kimochi warui.’”
“Maybe you could say ‘unsettling.’”
“What is that?”
“You see this?” I said, taking my mug of beer in my hand. “Right now, on the table the glass is settled. The beer is not moving. But if there’s an earthquake or if I move it like this - ” I shook the mug. Some of the beer slopped over the side of the glass, dripped smoothly along its edge to the table surface. “That’s unsettled.”
“Yes,” he laughed. “Sometimes nemu is like that. You are a good teacher.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you take nemu today?”
“I didn’t. Did you?”
He shrugged.
“Maybe. After some time you will not remember if you took it or not. Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t.”
“Is that healthy?”
He shrugged again.
“I’m fine. I pay rent, have a girlfriend. What’s the problem?”
“None, I guess.”
“How have your trips been? The first trip you had sounded very good.”
“They’re usually like that. Sexy I guess. But not always.”
“You’re lucky to get any ones like that.”
I thought about telling him what had happened the night before, that I’d seen him in Kawasaki and I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. I wanted to ask him, but I kept my mouth shut. I figured if I mentioned that the rest of it would come out eventually, and the last thing I wanted was for him to know that I’d been false remembering fucking his girlfriend.
Our meat arrived. The waittress set it down on the table along with a pair of tongs. She turned on the grill, checked that the gas was burning properly. I looked at the white plates in front of me, the thin strips of pink and red flesh arranged on top of them, the watery blood pooling at the edges. Itaru took the tongs and began arranging the meat on the grill, ordered another round of beer. The waittress nodded and left the table. Smoke rose from our cigarettes to the yellow ceiling.
“I first tried nemu a year ago,” he said.
“Where did you get it?”
“Do you remember Ryota? My friend in Shinjuku? He gave it to me. I was working in Kouenji. Working for a real estate company as a katchi. Do you now this?”
“No.”
“A katchi stands on the street, giving advertisements to people. He tries to get them to come inside his store. To attract new customers. So I was working there, and Ryota was working at a used clothing store. Have you ever been to Kouenji?”
“No I haven’t.”
“You would like it. It’s a very interesting place. Many used clothing stores. Unusual fashions. I recommend it.” He took some pieces of charred meat from the grill and laid them out on the plate in front of me, poured sauce into a small tray and passed this to me as well. I took a piece of beef, dipped it in the sauce and stuffed it into my mouth, savouring the juices. Itaru called out for another round of beer.
“I was working there and I wasn’t going to school. I didn’t want to. I never liked school. It was always the same, every day. The same lesson, over and over again. The same clothes on everyone, the same faces. I don’t mean uniforms. I mean the clothes everyone wears, all of them thinking they are different when they are not. College or university is usually a time for Japanese students to be free, but that’s not how I felt. Everyone just changed one kind of uniform for another, and after college we would all put on a third uniform - a suit and a tie, or grey skirts for the girls. That’s how I felt. Everyone was still in a uniform, and so was I. We all talked about the same things and did the same things. This is not what I wanted. So I stopped going to school, and got a job as a katchi. I also moved from my parents’ house and got a small appartment. That’s how I lived. It wasn’t much better than school had been - I still had to wear a kind of uniform, but at least I was living for myself. At night, I went out with my friends, and smoked weed and drank. I wasn’t so crazy, but I enjoyed doing it. I felt more free than before. It was different.”
“That’s interesting,” I said.
“Is it?”
“Yes. People don’t usually talk like this here.”
“They would not in an English school, probably. But Tokyo is big, you know? It’s hard sometimes. It’s too big, and it becomes heavy. I think many people feel this way. I was using drugs, beer, lots of things as a kind of vacation. I couldn’t afford to go on any other kind.” He laughed. The waittress approached with a second round of beers. She set them on the table, gingerly, her motions stiff and precise. Itaru set some more meat on the grill. I watched the way his hand moved with the tongs, lethargic and relaxed.
“Ryota was similar to me, but a little older. He went to college for fashion design, and he was a good student. Unlike me, he could graduate. And after he was finished he started working at a store in Kouenji. He was working there for more than a year when I met him. I was looking around in the store and we started talking. He is gay, you probably saw, and maybe he liked me. He put his hand on my shoulder, but it was fine. I told him I am not interested in men and that was it. It was true - I'm not interested in men, but I thought he was interesting. More interesting than most people, the people you see on the street. On the street everyone is the same. Do you know what I mean? Salarymen all wear the same suit, school girls all have the same colour hair, the women all wear the same heels. Again, uniforms. And so many of the rest of us don’t want to be like them. We want to be different, but then we are all different in the same way. Ryota was different in a different way.” He shrugged. “I cannot explain it very well.”
“No,” I said. “I think understand you.”
He took out another cigarette, took pieces of meat from the grill and placed them on the plate in front of me. I ate, washed down the taste with a wave of beer. I was incredibly relaxed. Listening to him was simple. I wondered about his English, why it was so good, but it seemed to fit. I accepted it as another aspect of being there. There were a lot of things like that, things that fit but shouldn't have; it was unusual to hear a Japanese criticize their own culture, but Itaru was doing it, it was odd that he wanted to hang out with me, but there we were. I told myself that I’d met an interesting person, and that was all. I figured with 30 million people living in Tokyo the chances of running into someone like him were pretty good. I took it at face value, thought that meeting him had been a random, chance occurrence. Later, it wouldn't be that way - coincidences would come to seem planned, or at the least, manufactured, and after awhile I’d stop believing in such things as “chance occurrences” altogether. But that night in the restaurant with Itaru I was happy just to sit and listen. It was a smooth, zen-like state, and I was in Japan.
“I was happy to meet someone like Ryota,” he continued. “He did not care about what people thought. He did what he wanted, mostly. And when he offered me to try a new drug, of course I tried it. He told me that it was something very new, that he had only used it a few times before. But he said that it was like having another life. I didn’t hate my life, but having another one was an interesting idea.
“When I first took nemu I was alone. I was in my appartment after work and I was bored. I had nothing to do, no girlfriend, so I took the pill. And my first trip was very interesting.” He nodded to himself. “It was something to remember.”
“What happened?”
He sucked back on the tail-end of his cigarette, drank a mouthful of beer. I did the same. The waittress returned to clear our plates, and I ordered another round. Itaru shook his head and said something in Japanese. The waittress laughed. It was a dry sound, like leaves rustling.
“We’ll get some habushu instead.”
“Sounds good.”
“Something for you to remember,” he said. “Like my trip.
“That night, after I took the pills I remember leaving my appartment. I went down the hallway and I went outside for a walk. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t know where I was going. I was only walking. I have never done that before. Also, it was strange that the road was empty. There were no cars, and no one else was out. I was alone. It was like being in a dream, but I was awake, I knew it wasn’t a dream. I walked, and came to the interesection near my appartment. There is a convenience store there, and the lights were on, but no one was inside. It was empty. I looked down the road to the left and to the right, and also there was no one there. It looked like everyone had disappeared. This was something I had not experienced before. But soon I felt something strange. I could see that no one else was on the street, but at the same time I did not feel alone. There was someone else there with me. Not another person. It is a difficult feeling to explain. The other someone was the road. But not only the road. The sky, the buildings, and the light from the convenience store. The person with me was the whole city. And it was fine, very peaceful. We both watched each other. It was like being at a bar with a friend and saying nothing. Or if you are waiting for the train beside your girlfriend, and there’s no reason to talk... I can’t explain it.”
He shook his head in frustration.
“Anyway, I walked by myself but I didn’t feel alone. Soon, I passed another convenience store. This one was a 7/11, and again it was empty. The lights were on, everything was bright, the sign was on, but no one was inside. I felt like having a beer and some senbei, so I just went in and took them. I sat down on the corner in front of the store and I drank some beer and ate the crackers. I think if I was younger I would have been crazy in there, kicked and punched the racks of food, knocked them over. Maybe I would have smashed the windows just because I knew it wasn’t real. It was all like a dream. But I didn’t feel like doing any of that. I felt calm, and I didn’t need to do anything else.
“I finished the beer and I stood up. I started walking again. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I went back to my appartment. In a way, I was bored. Yes, I was calm, but calm is boring after awhile. I thought nemu was an interesting drug, and it was interesting to be the only person on the street. But it wasn’t very fun. I wanted something more. And then, something happened.
“I walked back to my appartment and I saw someone standing next to my building. He was leaning against the wall, and there was a dark shadow there. I could not see his face, but he seemed very casual. I went to him and saw that it was Ryota. He looked very serious, like he had been waiting a long time.
“‘Ryota,’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’
“‘I’m waiting for you. You’re late.’
“‘I am?’
“‘Yes. You invited me to your appartment. You don’t remember? Where have you been?’
“I thought that the trip was over then. I thought the only thing nemu would show me that night was the empty street. Here was my friend, and he was telling me that I invited him to my house. I could not remember doing this. Of course, it was possible that I was still in the false memory of nemu, but behind me, on the road, a car drove by, and a young girl on a bicycle came up the sidewalk. The world had people in it again, sounds, and this made me think the trip was over. I apologized to Ryota and we went into my appartment together. I tried talking with him, but he was very quiet, and much more serious than usual. He barely spoke to me, so I thought he was probably tired.
“Once we got inside my room I offered him some food, and he agreed. I stayed in the kitchen to prepare some edamame and he went into the bedroom. I could hear him turn on the television. He was watching the evening news. On the news the announcer was talking about an accident that had occurred earlier in the day. They said that a man had lost control of his car, and it had driven over the sidewalk, crushing another man on the street. The news announcer said that this accident happened in the same area I lived in. When I realized that, I left the kitchen and went into the bedroom to watch. Ryota was sitting on the end of the bed, and I could not see his face. The side of his body, and some of his hair, was blue from the TV screen. He was sitting exactly still, not moving at all, like a statue. I knelt on the floor beside him.
“The picture was from above, from a helicopter. It showed the car, and the site of the accident. The camera then moved back, and it showed more of the street, and many rescue workers moving around. There was an ambulance there, and two police cars. The crash was blocked off from the road by yellow tape. The camera then showed the street, and I saw the rescue workers lifting a body from the ground. They placed the body on a stretcher, and brought it to the ambulance, but I knew that this person was dead. No one was in a hurry - everyone moved very slowly. There was no need to rush, since they couldn’t save him. The body was wrapped in a black bag. The news announcer was saying the name of the victim.
“At first, I didn't hear it. I was just sitting and watching. It was strange to see such a quiet area like mine on the news. Why hadn’t I heard anything earlier? Why didn’t I see anything like this when I was outside? It must have been nemu.
“And then what I had heard came back to me. The victim’s name was mine. I felt cold, like someone was pouring water over my whole body. I closed my eyes, and listened to the announcer describing the victim - where he lived, how old he was, what he did for work. Everything he said was about me. I shook my head, and put my hand to my face. It was very, very difficult to hear these things. I looked over at Ryota, but he was gone. I turned around, and the appartment was empty. His shoes were gone, and it was like he was never there. I was alone, and on the television the news announcer said that I was dead.
“I knew I was still inside the nemu trip, but it was difficult to be calm. I thought of the quiet street, the empty roads. I thought of how free I felt walking, and calm. Was I dead? Did I take this drug, go out for a walk, and get killed in a sudden accident? If I was remembering this, didn’t that mean that I was still alive?”
He shook his head, and took a piece of meat from the grill.
“So for me, you can see that my first experience with nemu was very different from yours. For me, sometimes I think I am already dead, and everything I am living now is just a memory in the last moment of my life. Of course, I do not really believe this. I wake up in the morning and it is a new day, and I work and am with friends, and it is difficult to think that this is not life. I know this is my life. But sometimes that same calm feeling will come back to me, the same feeling I had standing on the road alone, and I will wonder. Just enough to make things interesting.”
He smiled.
“Isn’t that a strange story? Maybe it is too depressing.”
“No,” I said. “It’s a good one.”
He finished his third beer and I did the same. We had nearly run out of meat.
“Later, I told Ryota about this trip and I thought he would laugh and tell me not to worry. But he didn’t. He said what I had seen was serious. Ryota believes that what happens with neumu has an important meaning. He said that with nemu sometimes you will be shown things you need to see, things to guide you. He told me about the Indians in America, and how they sometimes took drugs to help them see things they needed to see. There is a word for this, but I don’t know it in English. It means something like a ghost, a ghost to help you reach your goal.”
“A spirit guide?”
“It could be that. I don’t know if I believe the same things, but it doesn’t matter. Even if there are no real spirit guides I was happy that I met Ryota, because he introduced me to Miho. They went to school together, studying fashion.”
I looked up.
“Miho studied fashion?”
“Yes. You don’t remember? She told you this I think.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t remember.”
“She is very talented. She’s working at a small fashion store now, in Harajuku.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yes you did,” he said, smiling. It was a cold, hard smile. He took the last piece of meat from the grill and put it in his mouth. “You did know it, but maybe you forgot what you knew. You see? It is a strange drug.”
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”
We finished the last of the meat, payed our bill and left, the old waittress waving feebly at us from the doorway. I walked Itaru to the station, and then I went home. I thought about what he’d told me, and realized that none of it really answered anything. I already knew that he was buying nemu from Ryota, and although the story of his first experience with the drug was interesting, I wasn't any closer to learning where it came from. I told myself that it didn’t matter; I liked Itaru, and it was good to hang out with him. I felt he was someone I could trust, even if I knew his entire store of memories was completely fucked. At least I could trust that he believed what he told me was the truth, and that was good enough. He had a relaxing way about him, he told a good story, and I respected the fact the he could tell it in a second language. He made me feel ignorant that I couldn’t do the same, and so I respected him more. I couldn’t even bring myself to resent him, despite (or because of - I didn't know which) the fact that he was with Miho.