Quiet

Chapter 4 - Boys

A few days after New Year's, more stores and shops reopen. That's when I head to Roppongi to hang out with Cynthia. We meet in the same area as last time. I haven't seen him, but my father's still in Japan, and he's staying at a nearby luxury hotel. If my mother thinks of him while dropping me off, she doesn't let on, and neither do I.

Of course I think about him, knowing he's somewhere close. I'm like him in some ways. He secretly met women, and I secretly meet boys. My mother doesn't forbid it exactly, but telling her would just cause problems.

I get out of the car. As soon as my mother turns the corner at the bottom of the hill, I catch myself on the lookout for my father. He probably won't recognize me, so I don't worry about him spotting me first. My mother claims that women interest him for only one reason. She doesn't say it like that, but I got the idea years ago. She means I don't interest him.

According to her, my father came to Japan to attend a Buddhist ceremony for a Japanese journalist killed the day he survived. When he leaves in a few days, I'll disappear from his mind, but he never disappears from ours. My mother left him years ago and is remarried, but he still makes her so angry. That means something, even though she obviously loves Mr. Lombardi. I don't think she still loves my father... but something keeps her anger burning so long.

A pedestrian bridge spans the road where my mother dropped me off. Beyond it, a playground is tucked away among the buildings. To get there, I take an escalator and a roundabout way I know, on the lookout for my father the whole time. A morbid feeling swells up inside me that one of the boys will be there first, or all of them. Before Cynthia. It freaks me out and thrills me too. When I get there, Cynthia's armwrestling a boy on a circular bench. She doesn't break her concentration to greet me. Two boys milling around nearby notice though. They drift over like pleasure boats.

"Hi." He keeps his hands in his coat pockets. His perfect hair does not move. His soft features and K-Pop style will conquer the world, just like they conquer my poor heart. "You're Makiko, right?" He smiles.

The other boy, a white boy, massages one of his biceps like he lost to Cynthia before I arrived. He looks me up and down with a casual, curious lechery. I don't mind, because I notice him too, both of them: lean bodies in long coats, square jaws, and tight jeans. I want to shout, Kiss me, you fools!

Cynthia wins and stands up. "Happy New Year."

The third boy shakes out his arm and looks at Cynthia admiringly, then at me. My guess is he's Chinese, but his chiseled Hollywood cheeks and forehead could be Japanese or Korean too. He pushes past his two friends and shakes my hand. "Any friend of Cynthia's is a friend of mine." If he lifted me off the ground, I wouldn't protest. I rock back and forth from my toes to the balls of my feet, but I don't launch myself into his arms, even though I really want to.

It's cold in the park, and there are no little kids or parents around. Besides the boys, my favorite thing is a long slide made of tiny metal wheels. I crash into them, and they crash into me. They make trains with me crushed in the middle. Other slides are large, brightly-colored, plastic tubes. We go down in pairs and end up face-to-face, eye-to-eye, hip-to-hip - I'm in heaven. Those seconds to the bottom of the slide dig deep grooves into my mind and heart. They chase away my mother and the demon.

After playing awhile, we sit on earthwork steps that go down to a narrow service road. The white boy is from Australia. He throws the occasional wood chip from between the steps and listens more than the others, but I listen the most. The two Asian boys with dreamy good looks like to debate. Cynthia throws out opinions too. They talk about things I rarely or never do, like physics and the universe. They don't talk about runaways or demons, and I wonder if they know Cynthia is bi. They must.