Sayonara

Shoko was departing for Hong Kong at the end of the month. As much as I made encouraging sounds about what a wonderful opportunity it was for her, I couldn't help but wanting to howl at the moon in anguish. Imagining my time in Japan without Shoko gave me an empty feeling. It was with a heavy heart that I planned to meet Shoko for the last time before she set off for her new life. Osaka was decided to be our meeting place, and throughout my coach journey to this city, my head hung low and my face was grim and sullen.
I tried my best to be in a happy mood when I met Shoko outside Hankyu Station, but she sensed something was wrong, and asked what the matter was.
“I don't want you to go,” I said directly.
“Sam, please don't say things like that otherwise I'll start crying,” she said, already sniffling.
“If you go I will start crying,” I replied, beginning to cry.
“Don't say things like that,” Shoko said, crying.
“Don't cry,” I said, also crying.
So there we were, outside the entrance of a busy train terminal weeping into each others arms. The violin busker opposite started playing a sentimental tune to make the scene tragically complete.
This was not the beginning I had in mind for our final meet-up. I wanted to have a fun time, to conclude all the other wonderful times I had shared with Shoko. I didn't want a weeping face-off.
After drying our eyes, we agreed that we should remain upbeat about the future and enjoy each others company before we parted. The first thing we did to dispel the gloomy atmosphere was go to a Turkish restaurant and smoke a sheehan.
Our table was on the top floor of the restaurant, and we were situated amongst a dozen hippies who were in the middle of a spoken poetry session. Everyone was sitting on the floor, surrounded by multi-coloured pillows. The smell of marijuana was in the air.
Opposite Shoko and I were two girls, one with blue hair the other with orange, and both done up in bunches. Their garish appearance was in stark contrast to their lifeless faces as they sat staring vacantly at us throughout our stay in the place. I waved in their faces to distract them, but they didn't bat an eyelid, even when their joints had burnt down to an ember.
The Sheehan had a soothing effect and I was contentedly puffing away.
In between puffs, Shoko asked if I wanted to go back to her parents’ house with her and help her pack for Hong Kong.
I said that would be fine.
“Can you come with me and see me off at Narita Airport?” she asked.
Before I committed myself, I had to make a few calculations because I had an evening lesson back at Terakoya on the same day as her flight. I contemplated calling in sick, but realized Martin couldn't cover my lesson because he was on leave in Okinawa, and the Asanos were away on holiday in Kyshu. It was effectively just me running the school. There was no way out of this. I had to be at Terakoya the next day.
I asked Shoko when her flight was scheduled to depart. She said at one o' clock.
I calculated that after saying goodbye to Shoko at the airport, I would make it in time for my lesson, with thirty minutes to spare, if the trains and coaches ran on time. I agreed to go with her to Narita and received a fountain of kisses from Shoko in response.
Shoko drew back from me and stared at me with a lovely smile and a glowing face.
To hell with my lesson! If making Shoko happy meant missing a lesson, then so be it. After all, it was a lesson with a group of bratty kids who never listened to me anyway.
The rest of the evening was spent in a karaoke booth. It seemed fitting that we would start and finish our time in Japan together in a karaoke booth. It was also telling that my singing had not improved, which caused someone in the next booth, to enter our one and politely asked if I could perhaps “sing better” because I was causing a disturbance.
Despite this interruption, we had a fun time and I concluded the evening by singing 'The End'. I had wanted the Beatles tune, but accidentally picked the depressing Doors song, which left a foul atmosphere in the air after I had finished murdering the already death inducing song.
Shoko and I went back to her house in Kobe and I helped her pack for her trip to Hong Kong the next day. Her mother and father also helped. Whilst Shoko and her mum talked in Japanese, her father and me continued to name Stones' songs we didn't name the last time. At midnight, with everything packed, everyone went to bed. As Shoko lay sleeping beside me, I was still wide-awake, fearful that I might miss my lesson tomorrow and lose my job.
Next morning came, and the sun was shining ferociously through the curtains. Shoko and I both woke up to her alarm, and got ready to go to Narita. Shoko said a teary farewell to her mother and father, and as we got into the taxi that would take us to Kobe station, Shoko's dad shouted at me from the house, “Let’s Spend the Night Together!” which I felt was inappropriate considering the situation.
From Kobe Station, we caught a Shinkansen train that took us to Tokyo Station, and from there we took a JR train to Narita airport. I don't know how Shoko would have managed to carry her suitcase by herself because it weighed a tonne and I was struggling to carry it as we changed trains throughout our journey.
We arrived at Narita airport in good time, leaving us time to eat an eel lunch called.
We didn't say much over lunch, and when we did it was only to comment on the nice weather and wishing each other good luck for the future. By the time Shoko was ready to check-in, the first signs of blubbering were apparent from each of us. After we hugged goodbye, the floods began and we broke out into loud sobs.
“Call me!” Shoko called out to me as she went through passport control.
“I will, don’t worry about THAT!” I shouted back, increasing the volume of each word as Shoko slowly faded away. An old lady next to me thumped me on the arm with her handbag and told me to be quiet.
With the combination of being attacked and Shoko leaving, I started to cry and staggered towards the exit. All I wanted to do was curl up on the ground in a foetal position and close my eyes. But I understood my job was on the line, so I made my way to the coach station in Shinjuku.
The Iida coach came on time, and once seated I felt I was composing myself, even though I felt I had a Shoko shaped hole in my heart. My composure was destroyed when I received a text from Shoko, which read: “Miss you Sam. I had a wonderful time with you x”
My face went through a series of expressions when I read this. At first I smiled, then I looked remorseful, then my lip trembled, then I sobbed in loud splutters that made the man next to me look worried.
I slumped my head against the window and watched the Tokyo skyline drift away as the coach pulled out of Shinjuku and made its way to Iida.
The coach arrived twenty minutes early at Iida Station, allowing me time to walk slowly to Terakoya and wallow in my misery.
I entered the empty classroom on time and sat down. I buried my head in my hands and waited for my students. Five minutes later I heard the patter of feet charging towards the door, before a dozen ten year olds burst into the room and shouted, “Sam is a toilet!”
This was not what I needed.