WITH KISS AND HEART MARKS ❤

She is a 19-year-old girl,

cute and pretty, charming and cheerful.

She sent me an e-mail,

“I’d like to chat with you over a cup of coffee.”

Really?

An e-mail from such a young girl to

such an old man like me.

How happy I was!

 

I met her at a coffee shop three months ago.

She was working as a waitress.

She became so friendly with me that

we shook hands whenever we met.

One day I saw a poster advertising

a vocational school at a subway station.

A cute girl was smiling in the poster.

She was the spitting image of the waitress.

How surprising!

 

The next time I went to the coffee shop,

I asked her if it was her.

“Yes, it is. I am working as a model.”

That’s why she is cute and pretty,

charming and cheerful.

 

I sent back an e-mail,

“I’d like to chat with you, too.

She sent back an-email,

“I can’t wait to see you, too.”

At the end of the text

there were kiss and heart marks.    ❤

I was too excited to sleep.

 

We were to meet in Sakae at noon.

We were to eat lunch.

Around 11 o’clock she texted,

“Sorry, I’ll be late. I’ll be there at 1:00.”

“All right, I’ll be waiting for you.”

I arrived there at 12:50 and waited for her.

I waited and waited and waited.

No telephone call. No e-mail.

I telephoned. I texted.

No reply.

 

I got impatient.

I got irritated.

I got angry.

She must have had an accident.

She must have fallen ill.

Still no reply. No nothing.

I waited and waited and waited.

 

The next day.

No e-mail from her. No call.

I sent an e-mail,

“Why don’t you mail me?

Why don’t you call me?

I am disappointed with you.”

 

The next day, she texted me,

“Sorry, but I had trouble at home.

I’m now staying with my friend.

I’ll contact you later when

the trouble is solved”

with a crying face mark.

 

I waited for her message

I waited and waited and waited.

At last she e-mailed me.

“I’d like to see you on such and such day.”

On the morning of that day

she sent me an email,

“I am sick and can’t come.

I’ll contact you soon.”

 

Since then she has sent me no messages.

Since then she hasn’t called me.

  Since then my messages haven’t been replied to.

  Since then no telephone reply.

  No response, no nothing.

  Why did she say,

  “I can’t wait to see you, too”

  with kiss and heart marks?

How disappointing!

 

  Two months have passed.

  I’ve given up on her.

  Is she a bad girl?

  Did she intend to tease me from the start?

  Did she enjoy teasing me?

How could such a pretty girl

have played a prank on me?

How could she?

How could she?

 

  What still haunts me are her posters.

  I see them on subway trains.

  Whichever seat I sit on,

 I see her poster.

 How depressing!

 

MY SISTER'S MYSTERIOUS WORDS

MY SISTER'S MYSTERIOUS WORDS
 

My sister has been dead for about ten years. I still do not understand the mysterious words she said to me several months before she died.
　　One day when she was in bed in a hospital (She had been hospitalized for several years because of her broken leg and a chronic disease), she said, “There is a precious thing on the border between the west room and east room on the second floor of our house, and another at the south end of the kitchen floor.” At first, I didn’t comprehend what she was talking about. There was only a wall between the two rooms.
　　 Several weeks later, however, I opened the drawer of a tansu chest that stood against the wall between the two rooms. In the drawer lay an old bereaved family pension bond. My uncle had been killed in China during World War II. So the government had issued the bond to my late father. I wondered how my sister knew about it? She had her leg broken many years before and had not been able to climb to the second floor. It was unlikely that my father had told her about the bond while he was alive.
　　 I went to a post office with the bond and received the pension once a month for about a year. Without her words, I couldn’t have gotte the money.
　   As for the kitchen floor, I was not able to find any precious thing. Because the floor was covered with concrete, I was not able to break it to dig a hole in the ground.
　   What is strange is how she could know the location of the pension bond? She did not tell me to open the drawer of the tansu chest. She just mentioned the border between the west and east rooms. Was it her sixth sense that told her about it? Do chronically diseased people have special abilities?
 

TOO MUCH IS TOO MUCH

TOO MUCH IS TOO MUCH

 

   When I was 28 years old, I participated in the All Japan Teachers’ English Speech Contest which was held in November in Tokyo. The allotted time for the speech was seven minutes. I had participated in it twice before because I thought I had to be an example for my students as an English teacher before recommending them to participate in an English speech contest. The first two times I had tried and failed to win the first prize.

   My title for the speech for the third time was “How to Win the Last Prize in a Speech Contest.” (Honestly though, I couldn’t think of a topic that I would appeal to the audience.) I practiced my speech day after day until I memorized all the lines. I practiced it even on the Shinkansen bound for Tokyo standing in the space between the cars looking at the passing scenery out of the door window.

   My speech focused on such points as:

1. Do not look at the audience, but look at the ceiling or the floor while speaking. (I actually looked at the ceiling and the floor while speaking this line.)

2. Mumble or stutter as many times as possible. (I demonstrated mumbling.)

3. Make your speech illogical so that the audience could not comprehend you at all. (My speech was logical, however.)

   My turn came. I walked on the stage and stood at the podium. I began to speak as I had prepared. As I had practiced the speech dozens times, I spoke fluently or, I should say, too fluently. Since my mouth and tongue moved automatically, I did not have to follow the chain of thought.

   When I finished about two thirds of my speech, one of the doors of the hall opened and my acquaintance entered the hall. He was Mr. H, a university professor and the leader of the tour to the United States which I had attended that summer. I thought, “Oh, Mr. H. I haven’t seen him for four or five months. Glad to see him.” Suddenly, I forgot what to say next. I stopped speaking. I sweated. I looked at the audience intently. They looked at me intently. Both of us were being embarrassed. The silence continued for about 10 seconds, which seemed as long as 10 hours. Then, luckily I remembered the next sentence. And thus I managed to finish my long, long speech, literally wining the last prize.

   One of the judges said to me during the review meeting, “I thought you were intentionally demonstrating how to forget a speech line.”

   I did not intend to; I forgot what to say. Practice did not make perfect. Too much practice spoils the broth.