by Lucy Dickens
While Riku and his other pals are being a great posse to their Minaj-loving friend, Moko and I have a shimmy together. I think it’s safe to say we’re all feeling the sake in our systems. Moko is great fun. They’re all great fun.
But there’s my boy; I feel hands on my hips and turn to see Riku and we dance close in more ways than one, until we find ourselves in a corner, where it’s just a little darker.
Riku sits down on the sofa, taking my hands and pulling me with him, so I’m sat on top of him.
His forehead is moist, his hair still pushed to the side, his lips parted and his shirt open an extra button.
‘Here we are again,’ I say, enjoying watching him watch my lips.
He lets go of my hands and moves both of his to behind my back. I lean forward, propping my forearms on his chest and trace his jawline.
‘You make me dizzy,’ he says. ‘I can’t keep away from you.’
‘You can’t?’
‘Can’t you tell?’
I move my head closer so that my lips are side-on to his, and say to him, ‘I don’t know, maybe you’re all talk.’
Next to mine his mouth curls into a grin, which I return. ‘I’m not all talk.’
‘Show me.’
Those hands sweep up my back, up my neck, and into my hair. I take a breath as his lips, still grinning, close in on mine.
He kisses me, strong and soft, squeezing into me and I feel like the both of us can’t stop smiling throughout. He tastes of sweet sake and smoky air. He’s everything I anticipated, and I like it.
I grab his hair and run my hands over the ripples of his chest and shoulders. He brings his hands down and wraps his arms tightly around my back, brushing my behind, just lightly. And in case you’re wondering … I don’t think about how for the first time since I was fourteen years old I’m kissing the lips of someone who isn’t Matt. I don’t think about how Riku feels different to Matt. All of that comes much later, but for the next two and a half minutes I don’t think of Matt even a little bit. I’m not even trying not to, but all I’m thinking about is this moment in time, and this person in front of me.
Yes, I feel weird, but no, I don’t feel guilty. Matt and I broke up over a month ago, and I’m not ready to move on – I can’t even begin to tell you how much I don’t want a new boyfriend – but I’m free now. I’m so free. And that means if I want to get a little drunk and do a little kissing with a cute boy, then I have just as much right to do that than any of the things I’m trying on this vacation.
I’m not necessarily trying to claim this in the name of ikigai, but imma give Charlotte what she wants.
Uh-oh, we’ve gone into third person.
He’s so cute though and he’s only a couple (cough, four) years younger than me.
We don’t leave the karaoke bar for some time, and by the time we do, we all have scratchy voices (and some of us have chapped lips). The yawn-to-not-yawning ratio has gone up so it might just be time to call time.
Riku pauses at a vending machine on the street to get us some water while we wait for taxis to take us all back to the hostel.
I don’t want the evening to end. Tonight the neon lights have been on inside me and I’ve buzzed and glowed and I wouldn’t change a second of it. Although ask me that tomorrow because I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a hangover.
In the cab, Riku and I lean our heads together, watching the city rush by, flashes of streetlamps and shop signs illuminating his face in the dark.
‘You leave Hiroshima in the morning?’ he asks, quietly.
I nod, eyes locked.
‘How early?’ A wicked twitch in the corner of his lips.
I think I mentioned that I didn’t want the evening to end. So I say, ‘Not that early.’
Chapter 13
Cherry blossom breeze
Bring memories back to me
Monkey stole my shades
I did have to leave early and it’s a long journey back on the train from Hiroshima to the city of Nagano, right back up level (ish) with Tokyo. Famed for its snow monkeys and hot springs, I’ll be spending at least two or three nights there, and hopefully by the time I leave again this sake hangover will have gone.
Oish, this hangover might even beat the one after my twenty-first, when both Matt and I had to lie face down in our bed for a good twenty-four hours afterwards. Matt had been lovely after we finally got up, doing a run to the shops for bacon and potato waffles, and he must have cleaned up more than his fair share of puke from a couple of party guests who hadn’t managed it themselves. He didn’t even crash about in a grump like he usually did if I had a hangover, bothered by the fact that I was trudging through the house like an extra from The Walking Dead instead of snapping back to normaldom like he could.
Actually, no, the hangover after my twenty-first was worse, but both were worth it.
I use the journey to think things over, and in doing so, I find a lot of my thinking revolves around my just-been-kissed lips, which curve into a smile.
Ah, Riku. What a yummy interruption you were. We exchanged details but I doubt our paths will cross again, and that’s okay, he can stay a happy memory, one of my happiest, and one of the many fireflies that this trip has presented me with that I’ll keep in a box in my heart for ever.
I’m rather proud of myself, if I’m honest with you!
Oh that reminds me, I had a text from Brienne last night. I go back and read it again.
Hey Charlie, just checking in at the midway point. We all miss you! I know you need space away and to think but just say the word if you need to chat at all. Saw Matt today moping about – he’s grown a bit of a beard and it looks awful on him, just thought you’d want to know. What are you up to tonight?
Smiling to myself at the image of Matt trying to grow a beard I tap back, Good morning, sunshine! Sorry for not getting back to you last night. I was somewhat occupied …
Minutes later, Brienne flashes up again with another message. DOING WHAT???
I check the time. Isn’t it the middle of the night in England?
I don’t care, I am wide awake now, girl, tell me what happened.
… I might have done a little kissing …
Brienne stays texting me for the next twenty minutes, asking question after question, but imagine my surprise when I finally get her to go back to sleep and open my Instagram, only to find Mr Weirdy-Beardy himself has made an appearance in my notifications.
Among the handful of new ‘likes’ for my photos from the past few days, there is Matt’s name. So he is looking at my Instagram. And the photo he’s liked is of me grinning from within a snorkel from a few days ago, which is interesting.
I wait for the heartache to wobble over me but … it doesn’t come. I’m not saying I feel good, although I am a little smug that he’s seeing what a good time I’m having, but I don’t have the craving I did back in Kyoto to start cyber-stalking him. Is this indifference?
Settling back against the train seat and letting my eyes close, I forget my ex-fiancé for now, wallowing in the apathy that comes hand-in-hand with my little sake hangover, and I let the train rumble me forwards.
I’ve made it to Nagano, and these snow monkeys are a vibe. I’m transfixed by one gal (or guy) sitting in the steely-grey water of the hot spring, steam rising around her, submerged up to her shoulders and with her eyes closing like she’s having a bath and a glass of vino following a bastardly long week at work. She looks serene and deserving, with her khaki fur in chilly, wet spikes around her pink face.
She rubs her eyes. You’ve got the weekend to relax now, Karen. You chill, girl.
And she’s not alone, though maybe she wishes she was. Because around her are many of these wild monkeys who live here and wander to and from the natural hot springs of Jigokudani Monkey Park every day of the year. What a life! Three of the dudes are literally propping themselves up at the side of the pool, posing for a line of snapping cameras.
After that looooooong journ
ey yesterday and a sleep interrupted by dreams about Matt and Riku turning out to be long-lost brothers, I boarded a bus early today to get over to the monkey park before too many visitors arrived.
There’s a gasp and some whispering and pointing from one of the other visitors this morning, and I follow her line of vision.
I take out my phone and start a video, adding a little quiet commentary. ‘Alert, alert, this is not a drill. We have a baby monkey going for a swim in the hot spring. He just showed up with his mum and dad and all of us in the crowd are beside ourselves, but in the most restrained way so we don’t scare the animals.’ I pan to the onlookers, who appear to be holding their breaths. ‘Seriously, every one of us watching might pass out with cuteness overload.’ I crouch down to get some shots of the baby, plus my favourite relaxing goddess who is now tipping her head back and letting the warmth envelop her.
It looks lush and I want to get in too … wait a minute … ‘Hey!’
Someone just tried to slide my sunglasses off my face. I turn to the side to see another young monkey hanging from the fence, little hand stretched out as he tries to pilfer my Primark aviators. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, keeping my phone on video, holding it low in front of me and hoping I’m getting him in the shot.
He makes eye contact with me and reaches out again, stretching his tiny fingers with determination. ‘These are not for you, the frames aren’t right for your face,’ Guffaw. ‘You’re not supposed to be over here, why don’t you head back into the pool with your mum?’
We’re supposed to keep a good distance from the monkeys, but we’ve also been advised that if they come to us, we should let them, rather than making an issue of it or running away. But I don’t think I have to actually give them my sunnies.
When he sees I’m not playing ball, my little monkey pal whizzes back towards his friend, the other baby monkey, and splashes her with hot spring water before screeching and bumbling in the other direction.
I stay for a while, watching the monkeys, some of whom are watching me. The smell of sulphur from the hot spring is in the air, along with the soundscape of bubbling water, padding little feet, sudden happy screeches and the cli-click of long-lens cameras.
Eventually, I tear myself away, feeling inspired to go and have a bath myself. But I know when I get to Mount Fuji, where I plan to stay in a ryokan (a traditional Japanese inn) which has its own onsen (a Japanese hot spring, but usually for humans not monkeys) it’s going to be even better. And like my gal pal in the water, I plan to submerge myself up to my shoulders and let the water help me feel serene and deserving.
Remember how I said Japan has a population of nearly 127 million? I think all of them must be here at my hotel in Nagano. After the serenity of monkey bath time over at the park, I find myself at the back of a long check-in queue that weaves from the reception desk, back and forth like a Disneyland ride, and I swear I can feel the breeze from the lobby door coming in. Looks like I was lucky to get a room yesterday, and I’m glad I booked this in a week ago when I was in Ishigaki. I think I’d be turned away if I’d thought I could just rock up today instead. Thankfully, I’m just queueing to pick up some info on the local area, which now that I’ve been in the queue for a while I’m wishing I’d just looked up on my phone, but I like to practise a little Japanese when I can.
I wonder why it’s so busy? These don’t look like business people, so it can’t be a convention. And those already checked in seem to be walking briskly through the crowd to the door, clutching cameras and picnics.
And that’s when I hear a word I remember learning, sakura. It’s stirred into several conversations around me, and when the line moves forward a little I notice a big photo board to the right-hand side. Cherry blossoms. They must have opened up here, and that’s why the crowds have come to town, to admire them.
I’ve seen a few cherry blossom trees at various stages of bloom while I’ve been here, but not managed to be in the exact right-place-right-time for the full open experience. This is a really special time for the Japanese and visitors from around the world check forecasts months in advance to try and catch sakura season in all its glory. I gather the thing to do is take a picnic and a blanket and sit under the trees, appreciating their fleeting beauty and taking some time out to be with nature. Well, sign me up, you had me at picnic.
Eventually the queue rolls on and I get a map and a guide about some local eateries, and take them up to my room. I send a photo of the monkeys to my siblings, and my mum, and then I pack my day bag with my camera, the little tripod I bought in Hiroshima, the snacks I have left (but I noticed a small essentials store in the lobby so I might pick up a few more), my sunglasses and, on a whim, a pink lipstick I’d been carrying with me since England but had yet to wear. It will coordinate well with the cherry blossoms!
I’m going to take a wild guess that I go left out of the hotel, judging by the quick-footed excitement of the other guests. I’m buoyed up by their keenness and I too have a spring in my step as I follow the path that takes us back on the road, down a hillside and towards where the blossoms must be.
We see the tops at first, a blanket that looks like the field has been swallowed by overflowing foam that’s been dyed a pale blush. Then as we descend, the blanket rises, until we’re under it looking up at this canopy of pinks and whites and a baby-blue sky that you can only just make out. It’s absolutely breathtaking, and I stand there without taking a breath until somebody bumps into me from behind because they’ve also been staring up.
‘Sumimasen!’ We both laugh – sorry! – and I remember to take in a little oxygen rather than pass out and miss the whole thing.
I make my way through the crowd and find a tiny spot under a tree a fair distance from the opening of the park where I lay out my hotel towel (I didn’t have a blanket) and crack open my can of coffee. I then slick on my lipstick, totally vibing with nature already, and lie back to look at the scenery.
From this viewpoint, the trees seem tall and proud, though compared to the bamboo trees in Kyoto they’re much closer to the ground. But as I lie here I like how they stand, lifting their branches, showing off their finest garments, like teens the first time they dress up for prom and they feel special and for once don’t automatically cringe at the compliments. Or like brides on a wedding day.
The folds and the layers of the petals, the sunlight bouncing off the whitest highlights, the elegant ruffle of the branches that is so similar to the sound of thick fabric being shaken out and positioned around you, it was all very much how I expected to feel getting into my wedding dress on the day that never happened.
I lie for a while, giving myself time to feel these feelings and wondering if I’ll be able to let them go when it’s time, like the branches of these trees will let go of their flowers. Maybe one day it’ll happen for me again and perhaps, if the timing is right, I’d incorporate a little cherry blossom in somehow, because no matter what, it keeps finding itself again and coming back.
A thought enters my brain, courtesy of the part of me that is acting as my side-kick and my travel companion while we’re away. She shoves in a little memory, designed to make me laugh, about another time in my life that a marriage of mine fell through, and the suddenness of this makes me snort out loud with laughter.
4 May 2003
Saturday, 10am
I appeared at the kitchen door, where my mum was making her fourth batch of marmalade this year. We had way too much marmalade and I didn’t think we were ever going to get through it but Mum seemed to think it was very important to make a lot of marmalade now Daddy was gone.
This would cheer her up.
‘Mummy?’
She looked up from the pan, her face beaded with sweat from the steam. Her eyebrows jumped up in surprise. ‘Well, hello, where are you off to in that fine outfit?’
I twirled for her, showing off her own white cotton nightdress that billowed out from where I’d tucked its too-long length into my knickers. Around the waist was
my purple woollen scarf and on my feet were some zebra-print kitten heels I pilfered from the back of Mara’s wardrobe that Mum didn’t know about yet. ‘It’s my wedding day.’
‘Is it?’ Mum said with interest and took off her apron. ‘Is the wedding now?’
‘Yes, and you’re invited!’
‘Jolly kind!’ She turned off the hob. ‘Should I put on a mother-of-the-bride outfit?’
I stared at her like she was mad and pointed at her jeans and jumper. ‘You’re wearing one.’
‘Oh right. Who are you marrying?’
‘Benny,’ I told her and pointed at my little brother, four years old, sitting on our sofa in the other room where I told him he had to stay. He looked a bit grumpy, but I wouldn’t let that ruin my wedding day.
‘You’re marrying your brother?’ Mum clarified. ‘Where did you get those shoes?’
I ignored the second question, I’m no snitch. ‘Yes, me and Benny will be the mummy and daddy now so you don’t have to any more.’
Mum pulled me into a big hug, which could have been because she was pleased she didn’t have to make marmalade any more and she held me like that until I said, ‘Mum, the vicar is only available for an hour so we should get on with it.’
‘Of course, who is the vicar?’
‘Mouse.’ Mouse was our cat and she’d found a nice spot in the sunshine on the windowsill so I guess that was where we were getting married.
‘And Benny, do you want to marry your sister?’
‘No,’ he replied, folding his chubby little arms across his chest.
‘You said you would!’ I shouted.
Foreshadowing, amirite?
‘If Benny doesn’t want to get married that’s okay,’ said Mum. ‘I’m happy to carry on being the mummy.’
