What, I said.
Nothing, said Ben. You’re just interesting.
It’s nice of you to say so. With my cum on your palm.
And, at that, Ben looked at his hand. He ran his tongue across his wrist, sloping toward his fingertips.
There, he said. Gone.
Now I’ll tell you what’d feel nice, he said.
At that, Ben laid down and maneuvered himself into the sofa’s corner, pulling my elbow around him. We were, I think, in an impossible angle. My knees jutted from the cushion’s edge. Ben lay pressed into the crevice. I didn’t think it would work, there wasn’t any way we’d fall asleep like that, but then I woke up the next morning with Ben snoring in my arms, and I realized I hadn’t slept so comfortably in months.
* * *
So our days slipped into a familiar pattern: Ben took the 10 to his dad’s place in the mornings. We’d meet at some bar in the evening, wherever we could spend less than fifteen bucks. He’d pay for his shit, and I’d pay for my shit, and we’d take the sloping drive up Scott Street toward Wheeler.
Ben wouldn’t say much until we’d made it indoors. After that, we were on our backs, against the wall, loud as fuck.
I was already on PrEP, but we were good about condoms.
Ben always came last. I never knew why that was.
Afterward, we’d lay on the sofa or the wood or the mattress, a whole mess. He’d knock out first, or I’d knock out first, and when I jolted awake in the middle of the night, I’d find the blanket he’d settled over us, tucked just underneath our toes.
* * *
One night after I’d fucked him, Ben asked me to tell him a story.
Jesus, I said. That wasn’t enough for you?
I’m serious, he said.
How about you go first.
I don’t have any.
Everyone’s got a fucking story.
I don’t have any good ones, said Ben. And everyone doesn’t want theirs told.
We were naked under this quilt. It’d belonged to my mother’s mother. She’d knit the thing in Kanazawa, before her family moved east to Tokyo. Ben’s feet slumped between mine, and the TV was on in the corner. But it was only white noise. A stack of commercials. All you could hear was our breathing.
Come on, I said, that’s not what you tell the kids you work with.
Calm down, said Ben.
I was born in Katy, he said. Grew up gay in Katy. Stayed at home and fucked around and got sick and got kicked out and dropped out and got a job and then I met you at this party and now here we are.
Your folks kicked you out?
They did.
Because you’re gay?
Because they couldn’t ignore it once I tested positive, said Ben. That made my gayness something they had to deal with. And they didn’t want to. They didn’t want to deal.
That’s heavy, I said.
It’s whatever, said Ben.
It isn’t whatever.
It’s whatever. It’s my fault.
You can’t honestly think that.
I was being dumb, said Ben. I was fucking whoever. Whoever wanted to fuck, I’d fuck them, and that’s just what happens. I couldn’t even tell you who gave it to me. I couldn’t even reach out to tell them they have it, too.
Ben’s entire body loosened at that. I got a little closer, and when he didn’t pull away, I squeezed, just a bit. He squeezed back.
Sorry, he said.
For what, I said. What the fuck?
You probably weren’t trying to hear all of that. I made it weird.
Bullshit, I said. You let it out. You didn’t have to tell me, but you did. Wasn’t it invigorating?
You’re being mean.
I’m being serious.
That doesn’t make a story worth hearing, said Ben.
But you can’t just keep it holed up, I said. You can’t fucking beat yourself up.
Whatever you say, said Ben.
He leaned over to chew on my neck. The remote clattered onto the hardwood behind us. He stooped for it, nearly taking the quilt with him, and I fell on top of him, and he was under me. And then we were hard, again. But nothing actually came of it. It just was, and we lay beside each other, breathing and feeling and being.
* * *
• • •
A few of Eiju’s favorite things, scribbled in blue ink: smoked eel, tattered sweaters, the weather in late January. Sex before breakfast. Grapes. Leftover rice. The first steps taken after walking off a train. The first steps taken after walking off a plane.
* * *
• • •
One night, Eiju asked if I’d like a drink.
Before I could answer, he nodded at Kunihiko. The kid cheesed at the both of us. It was the end of the evening and we’d been cleaning up the bar; he’d already brought most of the glasses to the back. He’d wiped down the counters and swept the floors and started taking inventory.
Eiju swiped two Sapporo cans from the fridge beneath the bar. He waved me into the kitchen, hunching through the door by the window. A tiny deck stood behind the building, overlooking the alley beside it, and Eiju kept some sandals and a gaggle of plants back there, a tiny garden, but mostly it looked like no one had fucked with it in months.
The neighborhood was quiet. All you could see were the tops of houses. And then there was the moon in the sky, bare up there, something you’d never catch in Houston, and Eiju cracked open our beers, leaned on the railing, and I already knew how the conversation would go: He’d ask how long I was staying. I’d say I wasn’t leaving him the way that he left us, and Eiju’d reject that statement, cursing me for it, swearing that I deserved it, or that Ma deserved it, or that we deserved each other, and then I’d leave him to himself on this balcony in his bar, and I’d make the walk back to his apartment, in this city that I didn’t know, on this fucking island that was both mine mine mine mine mine mine mine and the furthest thing from anything I’d ever known, but what I did know is that I’d pack my bags, stuffing everything back into the tiny fucking duffel, bringing this whole misguided fucking trip to an end.
I knew that this would happen, because I knew how Eiju argued.
Because I knew Eiju.
Because I was still the fucker’s son.
When I opened my mouth to start us off, he put a finger to his lips.
Do you hear anything familiar, he said. Anything you might recognize?
I shut myself up. Despite everything, I strained my ears.
But there was nothing to listen to.
So we stood there, listening to nothing.
As if he’d heard my thoughts, Eiju said, Silence is a sound.
You’ll miss it when it’s gone, he said, drinking.
I’ll miss it when it’s gone, he said.
Or maybe it’ll all be silence, he said. I don’t know if that’s something to look forward to. Maybe I’ll still be able to listen.
Eiju took another pull from his beer. He glanced at me.
Maybe, I said.
Probably not, said Eiju.
He said, The bar’s still gonna be here. I know I haven’t given you much. I’m aware. But it’s yours if you want it.
Oh, I said.
Wait, said Eiju. Hear me out.
If you don’t take it, he said, I’m giving it to Kunihiko. He’s young, but he knows what he’s doing. I know he’ll treat it well. It’ll be in good hands.
And you don’t know what the hell I’d do with it, I said.
I don’t, said Eiju. Because I don’t know you. I really, truly don’t. But you’re my son, and what you do with it would be for you to decide. If you put your mind to it, I think you’d probably do all right. And if you decided to fuck me one last time, you’d make a nice chunk giving up the property.
The two of
us leaned on the balcony. Couples walked quietly down the side streets below. Stray bikers pulled into the road, dodging deliverymen on mopeds, and some young women walked home by themselves, clacking in heels down the steps toward the local station.
Eiju said my name, and I ignored him. Then he called me by my Japanese name.
Don’t fucking do that, I said.
That isn’t your name anymore?
It isn’t yours to spit out like I’m a fucking kid.
But you are my kid, said Eiju. And that’s your name.
It’s a little late for you to come back around to that, I said.
And then we were silent again. Osaka continued to unwind underneath us. My father and I watched a salary dude sprint after a bus, which he’d missed. But then the bus stopped, and the man climbed inside it, laughing and waving his hands.
You’ll have a little while to decide, said Eiju. The rent will be paid for the first six months afterward.
Afterward, I said.
Afterward, said Eiju. You can make arrangements in America and fly back, if that’s what you need to do.
It doesn’t matter to me what you choose, said Eiju.
Sure it does, I said. Or you wouldn’t be telling me this.
Don’t be simple, said Eiju. I’m saying that I know it’s a choice. But I want you to know that it’s there. That this is an option. That’s the important thing.
Once he’d finished, Eiju exhaled, shivering a little. He turned his body toward mine, tapping at his bottle. I knew it was my turn to say something.
I didn’t tell him not to give up so easily, because he’d already made his decision.
I didn’t tell him that we didn’t know he was going to die, because everyone dies.
I didn’t ask him why he’d already given up, because I didn’t need to know.
I didn’t tell him that it was too little too late, that forgiveness isn’t something you just hand out whenever you feel like it.
I said, Okay.
* * *
A car alarm popped off behind us, breaking the quiet. I nodded, for no reason at all, and Eiju did, too. He watched me drink, silently, and he started to open his mouth, and I started to open mine, but then Kunihiko yelped from the bar.
Eiju gave me a look, like, What can you do? Then he turned around, yelling the kid’s name, heading back inside, already gone.
* * *
• • •
Ma was the one who told me he was sick. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, not even our usual check-ins, and those had only lasted something like twenty seconds apiece. She told me she’d been busy with work. I’d been busy with Ben. We’d been too busy for each other.
But this time, my mother called.
We talked.
After Ma said the words, she lingered on the phone.
Say something, she said.
I’d been pushing some shopping carts around the grocery store’s parking lot with a coworker, a guy named Rafa, a big Salvadoran dude. He saw me on the phone, and then he saw my face. He put a palm on my shoulder, shooing me toward the sidewalk. I walked toward the neighborhood behind the store, away from the noise, not really looking where the hell I was headed.
After a while, still on the phone, I’d wandered a few blocks away. The neighborhood was rich as fuck, just stuffed with money, full of the fattest houses. This Latina nanny walked a little whiteboy on the sidewalk, and he skipped over the cracks, laughing. She held his hand while he did that. The toddler lifted both arms, and she’d pull him over the weeds. I couldn’t read the smile on her face. I wondered if the boy would remember it. Ben would’ve said something about how kids never really forget.
I said, It’s that bad?
It is, said Ma.
And you’re just telling me? Just now?
I am. Because it just became that bad.
A silence passed over the line. I could hear the traffic surrounding Ma, the sound of life going on in Tokyo. She’d called me at the end of her workday at the jeweler’s.
When did you find out? I asked.
Michael, said Ma.
When?
It’s been three weeks.
And you didn’t tell me?
You didn’t need to know.
Did he tell you? Is that how you found out?
He did, said Ma. It was.
So you’re talking again, I said.
It was mid-morning for me. It would’ve been well into the evening for my mother. I could see her stepping out of her shop, settling in front of a bike rack, clicking her heels toward the road.
So, I said, you’ve gone to see him?
What do you think?
I think you should.
It isn’t necessary, said Ma. We’ve already spoken. His doctor’s keeping me posted.
That’s not enough, I said, nearly shouting into the phone, and I heard Ma choke something back.
Listen to me, said Ma. I didn’t call you for advice.
I never said that you did.
No. Stop talking. You need to understand that I’m not asking you what to do, or for your help. I’m not asking you for anything. I’m just giving you the news.
Fine, I said. I’m sorry.
No you aren’t, said Ma. But I understand. I get it.
Ma.
It’s fine. Your father is dying.
The nanny and the whiteboy hobbled in place beside the intersection. He’d motion to cross, and the woman would tug on his arm. After the third time, he hugged her leg, and she set a palm on his hair.
Eiju told me he’s already made his arrangements, says Ma.
So he’s not even gonna try to fight this.
From what I understand, he’s done fighting. It’s over. He wants to ride out the time he has left.
Okay, I said. Then you should come here.
What? said Ma.
You should come back, I said. To Houston. Stay with me for a while.
You aren’t serious, said Ma.
There was genuine confusion in her voice. I was speaking before I was thinking.
I am.
You don’t have room for me, said Ma.
I’ll make room, I said.
And the person you’re living with?
Don’t worry about that.
I know you don’t want to worry about Eiju, I said. So come here and worry about me.
Ma stayed silent on the line. The kid and his nanny looked both ways, before she lifted him by the arms, jogging across the road. He laughed the whole way, and she laughed, too, and once they reached the sidewalk, he stomped at the cracks between them.
My mother told me she’d think about it. I told her the offer was there.
Good night, I said. You can let me know whenever.
I’ll do that, said Ma. Good morning.
* * *
• • •
Eiju’s favorite sounds in this life: the bridge of Frank Zappa’s “Watermelon in Easter Hay.” Crickets in the morning. The sound of a fresh beer mug fizzing. A car ignition struggling to turn. A train’s doors closing, the hum of a convenience store. Mitsuko humming after sex, just biding her time in the sheets.
* * *
• • •
From time to time, strangers wandered into Eiju’s bar. They were usually just locals who hadn’t known it existed before. They’d spot the alley lights from the road beside it, or they’d hear Hana or Sana laughing absurdly from the window. Or they were wildly drunk themselves, looking for more booze to hold their high. Sometimes tourists passed through because they just didn’t know any better, and Eiju was always the harshest with them. Most of his regulars couldn’t do shit to temper him.
One time Natsue told him that this was childish. That he’d open his eyes if he wanted to expand his business.
; Eiju asked why she thought he was trying to expand anything.
It’s called being a decent human, said Natsue. A good host.
Eiju asked her who’d said he was either.
They were backpacking through the country, staying in Osaka overnight. Or they were visiting from BnBs in Kyoto. Or they’d sojourned from Tokyo because they’d heard that Osaka was popping. Or they were in town for business. Or they were visiting a partner’s parents. And Eiju was always the gruffest around Americans; he didn’t want anything to do with them. One time a guy came through because he was teaching English in Chiba, and this was winter break. Once, an entire gang of British bros stumbled in, stuffing themselves through the sliding doors, and the entire bar fell silent while the four of them talked and talked. One time a mixed chick from California told me she was visiting her father, he’d fallen ill like a week beforehand, and this chill ran all over my fucking back until I asked her more about it. But she didn’t want to talk about her situation. She wanted to get fucked up.
Eiju was entirely inhospitable with these folks. Kunihiko did his best, but his English sucked. His boss sent him off on errands whenever they came through. Mieko would call Eiju bigoted, and Takeshi called him an asshat, and Eiju said that had nothing to do with anything, and he wouldn’t tell them why he acted the way he did, but of course I fucking knew.
So they became my responsibility. All of the people passing through. The second I spoke a lick of English, the Americans locked on to me, slapping my shoulder, getting all excited, telling me my English was so good, and was I from Los Angeles or San Francisco or Portland or Brooklyn and why was I in Japan and tossing high-fives and thanking me. Eiju would disappear, claiming he needed a cigarette. Sometimes, he’d just leave, silently, immediately. None of the other patrons said anything about it. But they didn’t have to. I got it. There was a degree of separation, this sort of wall that popped up, because I was one of them, but I wasn’t, and I never would be, and that’s just how it was.
Memorial Page 13
