Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

White Snow

- White Snow -

I reach the coffee shop next to Kinokuniya without much incident. The trees above indeed looked like they were budding and the air warming. The streets weren't too crowded and a hush fell over the city as school began to wind down - extracurriculars started and fatigue settled in. There weren't many people off work yet but some had an early leave for what should be holiday festivities. But I can no longer be sure of the flow of time and space.

There had been a tingling on the back of my neck the whole while, but if there was someone tailing me, they were thoroughly and rigorously careful. I had used the reflections in windows, car windshields and changed my pace but there was nothing to confirm my suspicion. It was just like it had been when I left the apartment in the morning. In fact, I was certain I was being watched, but I just couldn't tell who it was. It could entirely be my skewed perception, but as the Emoto man had prescribed, I had no disguise on now: I'm walking in broad daylight, in full view. If it had been proposed by someone else, it surely couldn't be only my imagination, could it?

The coffee shop is pretty much the same. It strikes me hard, like seeing an old friend after what must be many years, discovering that nothing had changed. The same rickety old antique furniture arranged haphazardly and the pungent aroma of industrial coffee in the air. A quiet track of Lisa Ono's rendition of "Volare". It isn't summer or Italy – just plain squashed up urban infrastructure – but she sings in the background. These sorts of old cafes are hard to find these days, replaced by newer speedy joints and places that focus more on WiFi than the drinks.

Giving the interior a scan, I see no one I recognize. Nor does anyone raise a hand in greeting. No one looks at me and I find a spot in the corner where I could see the rest of the room. No Shizuka. It couldn't have been Shizuka or any version of Shizuka. Memories of her begin to well up as if I had hit a water table below ground while I was digging. Digging for something. I can't restrain them now. They pool up at my feet and soak the dirt. Then they rise and rise, swallowing my feet and climbing up to my knees: towards my neck. I can see it. She would be walking over calmly, tap, tap, tap of her heels, plopping herself down on the chair in front of me, this table for two. Her cup of chai tea latte steaming in her hands. She has on a bright yellow blouse and a summer skirt, stockings underneath. Her cardigan hangs off her shoulders. I am worried about it falling off, but it doesn't. It's all at once precariously and perfectly balanced. Her hair brushed to the side, and stray strands breathe as she does. She stares at me through the mist and asks what I had ordered. All I do is stare and stare back, into her intense eyes. Like looking into the depths of a bottomless well. Maybe the well I had dug. Eventually I realize it's a tunnel of some sort, pulling me through space time into another dimension. A new world. It's too late to climb out. This time, hopefully a new world without men in black suits and disappearing acts. A world where we can live together in a little apartment in the suburbs, buy simple groceries and cook together, go out for coffee or a movie sometime.

I don't know when tears had sprung up. I blink a few times.

After I set down my backpack and hoodie, I order a cappuccino. I considered the chai tea latte but it didn't feel right to have it without her around. Back at my seat, I crack open a paperback I had brought along, reading for the third time, a Soseki from the viewpoint of a cat observing and commenting on human behaviour. Perhaps I had chosen it amongst the few I have with me because it reminds me of the tabby cat at the bus stop. Where is it now and what is it doing?

About twenty or so pages in, I reach for my cappuccino, only to realize it isn't where I had left it. I look up and set my book down.

"Is it April?"