Memorial

by Bryan Washington

  * * *

  • • •

  I used to wonder what Ma meant when I asked her about Japan, because I could only remember so much of that shit from when I was younger, and she’d tell me that it was different from home, but also the same. It was her home, not mine. But it was still home. Whatever that meant.

  This was after Eiju left the second time. After their last major break. Sometimes, we’d just be sitting together in some diner by the feeder road, or at the dinner table, or driving, and Ma’d inhale sharply, out of nowhere. As a kid, that shit terrified me. But I got older. I stopped being surprised. Stopped reacting to it.

  It was, I figured, just how Ma coped. No one gets to choose what steadies them.

  When I asked her what was wrong, all Ma ever said was, Nothing.

  Or, I just remembered something.

  Or, Never mind.

  Or, Don’t worry about it.

  I always thought it was over Eiju. That Ma missed him. And I was half-right. But at some point, way later, I realized what the gasp was about: not stability, or consistency, but comfort.

  The closest place for Ma to find it was home. Her home.

  * * *

  • • •

  Tan passed through the bar again the next evening.

  Eiju glanced up. He’d been feigning interest in whatever Sana, who’d arrived alone for once, was talking at him. Hana and Mieko sat stewing on opposite ends of the counter. They were pissed at each other about something or another, but Eiju teased them both that they’d still shown up to the bar together.

  Hana’s only here because she has nowhere else to go, said Mieko.

  I would, if you’d hurry up and drop your boyfriend, said Hana.

  At that, Tan walked in. He pursed his lips at everyone, nodding my way. I went to grab him a beer. And everyone else settled down.

  My father gave Tan a glance. Then he looked at me.

  Where you coming from? said Eiju.

  My mother’s, said Tan.

  Your actual mother? said Sana.

  The one who gave birth to me in Bedok, said Tan.

  Lucky mama, said Hana.

  Luckiest mama, said Mieko.

  All of a sudden, just like that, all was forgiven between the two women.

  What do you do that lets you travel like that? said Sana.

  I’m a photographer, said Tan. I take pictures.

  Of what?

  The city, usually. The site I work for tells me what and when.

  Lots of foreigners working in Osaka nowadays, said my father, and Sana hissed at him.

  That’s a good thing, old man, said Sana.

  Never said it wasn’t, said Eiju.

  I’m sure his mother loves the stability, said Sana.

  Stop that, idiot, said Hana.

  What? said Sana. Am I wrong?

  It’s fine, said Tan. What she loves is the bills being paid on time.

  And with that, he chugged from his beer.

  * * *

  It didn’t take him long to finish.

  When Tan stood to leave, I told Eiju I needed a cigarette.

  My father gave me a look, but he didn’t say anything about it. Tan raised an eyebrow. He paused for me at the door.

  Outside, I offered him my pack. He eyed it before taking out his own.

  Sorry, he said, in English. If I don’t borrow, I’ll smoke less.

  I tried that a long time ago, I said.

  And now? said Tan.

  I shrugged, waving my pack at him.

  The two of us stood under the railing, rubbing our hands. There was a chill in the air. The streets were clear except for some revelers, and they were fucked up, laughing way too loudly, swinging their arms. When one member of their party nearly slipped and busted his ass, the entire group screamed.

  You know Osaka pretty well? said Tan.

  I don’t know shit.

  Ha.

  How’s it different from back home? I asked.

  Tan looked at me. He grinned.

  It’s softer, he said. Or more present, maybe. Is that what you’d say?

  Nah. But English is flexible. Your words.

  My words. How long have you been here?

  About a month.

  That’s not very long.

  It isn’t.

  How much longer do you think you’ll stay?

  I don’t know. But eventually, I’ll leave.

  Do you mind if I ask why you’re here, said Tan.

  I gave him a long look. He stood an inch or so shorter than me. Today he’d tied his hair back, and the fur on his chin crept up the sides of his face.

  I’m here for my father, I said. The old bartender. He’s dying.

  It was the second time I’d allowed myself to say that out loud.

  Hunh, said Tan, I thought you two looked alike.

  I’ll take your word for it, I said. Think you’ll drop by the bar tomorrow, too?

  I might, said Tan, smiling.

  I’m flattered, I said.

  Don’t be, said Tan. Osaka’s a small town.

  * * *

  The bar was locked when I made it back. So I walked to the apartment.

  When I stepped through the door, Eiju was dozing on the sofa. The news projected variations of the weather across his face. We looked at each other for a moment.

  Early night? I said.

  Eiju blinked back at me. Then he shut his eyes again.

  Hard to compete when your partner’s out chasing ass, he said.

  Now I’m your business partner?

  Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m saying.

  Yeah, but I don’t think you know what you’re saying. I think you’re writing checks your ass can’t cash.

  Eiju stood up so fast that I couldn’t anticipate it. He’d definitely shrunken.

  And what now, he said, eyeing me. You’re gonna teach me a lesson? You’re gonna beat my ass?

  I was about to respond when I looked at Eiju, standing pantless with a single sock, looking absolutely fucking ridiculous.

  I realized, for the first time, I guess, that he really was an old man.

  But his fist still connected.

  On most days, I wouldn’t have fallen. But I was already off-balance. And then there was his uneven flooring, except Eiju must not have expected it either, because he fell into me, or onto me, and all of a sudden the two of us were on the floor.

  I lay on top of him. We looked at each other a little dumbly. And then I pushed myself off Eiju and away, jumped up, kicked on my shoes, grabbed my jacket.

  Just fuck off! he said. Run away! Just like her! It’s all you two are good at!

  I didn’t say anything to that, because I didn’t trust whatever was about to come out of my mouth. Once I’d slammed the door, I stopped for a cigarette on the stairway.

  Some dude and this kid stood beside each other on the stairway a floor down, investigating the noise. They could’ve been brothers. Or cousins. Or maybe a young father and his nephew. Eiju’s apartment was a quiet building, in a quiet neighborhood, and I could only imagine what we’d sounded like.

  The pair eyed me for a while. The kid picked his nose.

  I asked what the fuck they were looking at and the kid said, You.

  * * *

  It was only a few hours past midnight when I came back. I could feel the sleep creeping up my feet. One of the ladies living below us stepped outside to smoke, and when I smiled her way, she gave me a look, like, What the fuck?

  Which was a good fucking question. It was time to face facts, or at least catch a few hours of sleep. But when I tried Eiju’s door, the handle wouldn’t give.

  He’d locked it.

  Fuck, I said, quietly.

  And then, louder:
FUCK.

  As quiet as it was, I heard the woman below me sigh.

  And then, despite everything, I thought about Ben.

  So I started to text him.

  Deleted it.

  Sent him a handful of photos instead.

  A chill set in on the rail beside me. It slipped a little farther down my socks. It was midday in Texas, which meant he would’ve been at work, but I was putting my phone away when the text bubbles appeared on his end.

  They appeared. Disappeared. Appeared. Disappeared. And then they were finally, resolutely, gone, but I waited another five minutes, just to be sure.

  * * *

  The bubbles didn’t come back.

  So I walked.

  Tennoji, on a Sunday night, before the crack of fucking dawn, held an entirely different feel. Save for some stragglers, no one else was on the streets. The convenience stores glowed from block to block. The only other people outside were getting ready for the next day, sweeping at the entrances of Lawson’s and McDonald’s and 7-Eleven. At some point, it started drizzling. And then the rain picked up overhead. And I ducked underneath the awnings beside me, turning into this tiny all-night Chinese diner.

  A group of guys sat in a booth, smoking cigarettes over their soup. I nodded, and they nodded, and the cashier wordlessly passed me a menu. I wasn’t really hungry, so what I did was sit there, and it took another five minutes of staring into oblivion before I realized that Tan was sitting at the next table over.

  He looked my way, but it was more like he was looking past me. Smoking and staring.

  Once we made eye contact, he smiled. Walked over.

  Stalker, I said.

  I was already here, said Tan. And you spoke first. I thought you didn’t know your way around the city?

  I don’t.

  You don’t. And yet we’ve found ourselves at the best Chinese restaurant in Osaka.

  Bullshit.

  For real.

  Is this really the best one?

  It must be if we both made it here.

  The cashier appeared at our table again, shifting her head at Tan. She set a bowl of noodles in front of me and plate of steamed vegetables across from him. Tan smiled at her, said something in Mandarin, and she said something back, and he laughed.

  You’re like Google, I said, when the cashier stepped away. All those languages in your head.

  I’m not nearly as cheap, said Tan. If that’s what you mean.

  The two of us ate. The dudes behind us laughed and laughed.

  So what brings you out here? said Tan.

  A walk.

  Fair. It’s all right if you don’t want to say.

  Promise you won’t hold that against me?

  I’ll do my very best.

  We ate, whispering to each other in English. The guys in the booth behind us burst into laughter again, rattling their table. Our cashier looked up, just once, wiping at her bangs, but once they’d settled down, she slipped back to her phone.

  So listen, I said. Who are you?

  You really like to talk, said Tan.

  I just asked a question.

  There’s nothing to tell. I work for a dying industry. I live with my mother, and I want her to come home, back to Singapore, and she doesn’t want to come home, and I don’t know what to do about that. Your turn.

  I’m from the States, I said.

  Where?

  Texas.

  With the horses.

  Yeah.

  The Astros. Beyoncé.

  Sure. But I flew here for my father.

  Because he asked you to?

  Because he didn’t ask me to.

  I see.

  He’s stubborn.

  Many fathers are, said Tan. Mine was.

  And now?

  You tell me.

  I’m sorry, I said.

  Don’t be, said Tan. I’m well. My mother’s well. For me, home is wherever she is.

  You shouldn’t make a home out of other people.

  Is that right?

  I think so.

  You speaking from experience?

  You could say that, I said.

  Maybe you’ve met the wrong people, said Tan. Or you’ve met the wrong people for you.

  Maybe, I said. But people change. And then you’re stuck in whatever your idea of home was.

  There’s nothing wrong with that though, said Tan. We all change. We’ll all have plenty of homes in this life. It’s when you don’t that there’s an issue. That’s settling.

  And what’s the difference between that and settling into one person?

  That’s not for me to say. We all live our own lives.

  Well, I said. Thanks for nothing.

  It’s all I’m good for, laughed Tan.

  When the group of guys behind us stood, our table jostled just a bit. The cashier hustled over to their booth.

  No girlfriend to go back to? said Tan.

  You already asked me that, I said.

  I took a bite of rice, and he nodded.

  And for you? I said.

  With the beginning of a grin on his lips, Tan rose his bowl to his face, inhaling half of the broth.

  * * *

  When we stepped out of the diner, we walked for twenty, thirty minutes. Didn’t say much to each other.

  At some point, I realized we’d been wandering in loops.

  Looks like we’ve made a perfect circle, I said.

  It’s only perfect if you end up where you started, said Tan.

  That’s what we did, I said, and Tan looked up at me, reaching for my hand.

  He held it while we walked. His thumb looped across my palm, rubbing until he reached the edge of my pinky.

  I’ve been thinking about what you asked, said Tan, about home.

  Really, I said.

  Really, said Tan.

  And what have you decided?

  That loving a person means letting them change when they need to. And letting them go when they need to. And that doesn’t make them any less of a home. Just maybe not one for you. Or only for a season or two. But that doesn’t diminish the love. It just changes forms.

  I don’t say anything to that. Tan and I walk from one street to the next. His thumb grazes my knuckles, and I massage his palm, and we keep letting each other do that.

  And now, said Tan, swiping his finger, we split.

  Tan squeezed my shoulder, turning away. Leaving my ass to watch him cross the road and dip into a train station.

  Overhead, it’d gotten a little brighter. A little closer to morning. Osaka was rousing itself awake, and when I looked up, I realize he’d walked us back to Eiju’s bar.

  * * *

  This time, my father’s apartment door was unlocked. It was nearly five in the morning by the time I made it back.

  Eiju dozed outside of it, by the doormat, hands stuffed under his armpits.

  I squeezed the top of his head until he opened his eyes. Once he’d finished blinking himself awake, Eiju squinted up at me.

  I could’ve been anyone, I said.

  Where the fuck did you go? said Eiju.

  Could’ve been a robber. An arsonist.

  Nonsense.

  A serial murderer.

  I’m going to bed, said Eiju, hobbling.

  He couldn’t stand by himself. So I grabbed his elbow, easing him inside. And he didn’t shake me away. I locked the door behind us.

  * * *

  • • •

  The first few months living with Ben were fucking mundane. Fucking domestic.

  I went to work, he went to work.

  We came back.

  Drank.

  Ate dinner.

  Dishes.

  Laundry.

>   Napped.

  Fucked.

  One night, I asked Ben what he wanted. We steeped on the top of our mattress like tea bags. The A/C wheezed overhead.

  Ben sat up. He smiled.

  Honestly, he said, I hadn’t expected this to be anything.

  Oh, I said.

  Yeah. Whatever happens, happens. Isn’t that what you wanted?

  I want whatever’s best for both of us, I said.

  There’s no best. Things just happen.

  I don’t know if that’s true.

  Ben blinked at me, looking weary all of a sudden.

  Whatever happened, happened. That was the same attitude Eiju had carried around. It’s what he’d told my mother, so I knew exactly what it got you.

  Nobody’s assurances were permanent. I wasn’t a fucking dummy. But, the thing is, they were something.

  Whatever happened, happened.

  * * *

  And then there was something I noticed about Ben, a small thing, a nothing thing: he never acknowledged our neighbors.

  The Latino kids played on the stoop, releasing their fucking cacophony of music, grabbing at their poor cat. The Black couple across from us always sat on their porch. Everyone slogged through the business of living, getting through their shit, and whenever Mary or Harold waved our way, Ben never even waved back.

  One day, I asked him why. We were sitting in my car. Our problems were just on the horizon. We hadn’t gotten it up for each other in weeks, which had turned into months. And now, whenever we touched, it was just a passing thing. Like an idea you know you’ve had and then you lose it before the fucking thing comes to fruition.

  I hadn’t started the engine. Ben gave me The Look. He said he didn’t know Mary.

  So you can’t wave back when she waves at you?

  Why would I? Would that make you happy?

  I’d be overjoyed.

  Then you can do it for the both of us, said Ben, and he opened his door, shuffling out of the passenger seat, headed back inside.