decisions, lies, broken promises, broken blood vessels.
Meta was beginning to think she’d done what she could to help her friend and that she should start thinking about herself. Though her own family was peaceful and loving, she’d seen violence and mistreatment as she was growing up. She’d pursued an education for herself to make sure she could lift herself out of the hemmed-in world of poverty, ignorance, and violence she’d been forced to look at up-close. Now, despite her best efforts, here she was: mired in the same muck she’d moved away from in Canada. She wasn’t sleeping well at night. She’d have nightmares when she did sleep. She was distracted in the daytime, wondering how many of the strangers she saw were enduring a home life that was making them less than fully human. This was the last way she’d expected to be living when she’d come to Tokyo.
She had promised herself before now that the next time Yuka came to the door with a bruise or a swelling, she was going to close the door in her face. But she’d been unable to go through with it. She’d resigned herself to resolving nothing with Yuka, but she felt a responsibility to listen with even a pretended sympathy. She was the only support Yuka had.
It was past ten when Yuka left Meta’s apartment. They stood inside the door and embraced carefully, so as not to cause Yukafurther pain. Yuka smelled of hospital disinfectant and the tobacco of the last cigarette she’d smoked, hours before. The next day was a workday, but Meta felt she’d sleep better if she went up on the roof one more time. She might be able to unwind a little. She put on her heavy jacket and boots and watched out the peephole in the door as Yuka went back to her own place. When she thought Yuka could not hear, she left her apartment and rode the elevator to the top floor again, for one more look from the roof before she went to bed. The sky was still clouded, and in the darkness the reflected light of Tokyo turned the clouds a sickly yellow-brown. Shinjuku was in full bloom. A few tops of the highest neon signs were visible to her, and a red-and-blue haze enveloped the entire western sector of the horizon. The city roared and blinked in the darkness, creating its own kind of daylight. She lay on her back on the sand-and-asphalt roof, looking up at the hazy yellow clouds. The chill from the cold roof seeped up into her through her clothes. An imperceptible breeze moved the sky to the east, and now and again, when the clouds thinned and the sky got dark in a particular spot, she caught a hint of the stars that lay beyond.
She jolted awake and pressed the light button on her watch. It was almost one thirty a.m. She stood unsteadily, pounded her feet into the roof to warm up, and walked the two flights to the elevator. As she waited for the elevator to arrive, she had the sensation she often got while waiting for an elevator in Tokyo, the sensation of the building moving slightly in a lateral direction, and for a moment she wondered if this would be another earthquake. And as always when an earthquake would begin, she wondered if this would be the Big Earthquake, the oneeveryone knew was coming, the one that would flatten the city again, as had happened in 1923. When the elevator doors opened, she understood that what she’d felt was the motion set up in the building by the moving elevator. She got in and rode it to her floor.
The radio alarm came on at six and she quickly hit the snooze bar to give herself a few more minutes. It took several seconds for her to realize what she’d heard, and by the time she’d switched the radio back on, the AP network news was over. She lay in bed pondering. Could she have heard the words
Albion Mines
? It was rare to hear the name
Canada
on the American Armed Forces Radio broadcasts, and for a few moments she thought she must have been mistaken.
But when she switched on the television in the living room/kitchen, the 6:00 a.m. newscast
Meta was beginning to think she’d done what she could to help her friend and that she should start thinking about herself. Though her own family was peaceful and loving, she’d seen violence and mistreatment as she was growing up. She’d pursued an education for herself to make sure she could lift herself out of the hemmed-in world of poverty, ignorance, and violence she’d been forced to look at up-close. Now, despite her best efforts, here she was: mired in the same muck she’d moved away from in Canada. She wasn’t sleeping well at night. She’d have nightmares when she did sleep. She was distracted in the daytime, wondering how many of the strangers she saw were enduring a home life that was making them less than fully human. This was the last way she’d expected to be living when she’d come to Tokyo.
She had promised herself before now that the next time Yuka came to the door with a bruise or a swelling, she was going to close the door in her face. But she’d been unable to go through with it. She’d resigned herself to resolving nothing with Yuka, but she felt a responsibility to listen with even a pretended sympathy. She was the only support Yuka had.
It was past ten when Yuka left Meta’s apartment. They stood inside the door and embraced carefully, so as not to cause Yukafurther pain. Yuka smelled of hospital disinfectant and the tobacco of the last cigarette she’d smoked, hours before. The next day was a workday, but Meta felt she’d sleep better if she went up on the roof one more time. She might be able to unwind a little. She put on her heavy jacket and boots and watched out the peephole in the door as Yuka went back to her own place. When she thought Yuka could not hear, she left her apartment and rode the elevator to the top floor again, for one more look from the roof before she went to bed. The sky was still clouded, and in the darkness the reflected light of Tokyo turned the clouds a sickly yellow-brown. Shinjuku was in full bloom. A few tops of the highest neon signs were visible to her, and a red-and-blue haze enveloped the entire western sector of the horizon. The city roared and blinked in the darkness, creating its own kind of daylight. She lay on her back on the sand-and-asphalt roof, looking up at the hazy yellow clouds. The chill from the cold roof seeped up into her through her clothes. An imperceptible breeze moved the sky to the east, and now and again, when the clouds thinned and the sky got dark in a particular spot, she caught a hint of the stars that lay beyond.
She jolted awake and pressed the light button on her watch. It was almost one thirty a.m. She stood unsteadily, pounded her feet into the roof to warm up, and walked the two flights to the elevator. As she waited for the elevator to arrive, she had the sensation she often got while waiting for an elevator in Tokyo, the sensation of the building moving slightly in a lateral direction, and for a moment she wondered if this would be another earthquake. And as always when an earthquake would begin, she wondered if this would be the Big Earthquake, the oneeveryone knew was coming, the one that would flatten the city again, as had happened in 1923. When the elevator doors opened, she understood that what she’d felt was the motion set up in the building by the moving elevator. She got in and rode it to her floor.
The radio alarm came on at six and she quickly hit the snooze bar to give herself a few more minutes. It took several seconds for her to realize what she’d heard, and by the time she’d switched the radio back on, the AP network news was over. She lay in bed pondering. Could she have heard the words
Albion Mines
? It was rare to hear the name
Canada
on the American Armed Forces Radio broadcasts, and for a few moments she thought she must have been mistaken.
But when she switched on the television in the living room/kitchen, the 6:00 a.m. newscast
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