Ever since I saw it on Okasan’s schedule, I dreaded the day I’d have to do laundry. At least I could check English teacher off the list. It was only Tuesday, not my assigned day, but if I didn’t wash something tonight, I wouldn’t have anything to wear tomorrow.
Gathering up my clothes, I headed downstairs in hot pursuit of the washing machine. I searched everywhere and found myself standing in front of the screen in the kitchen. Now for the moment of truth. What lurked behind door number one? Carefully moving a large bag of rice that blocked my way, I pulled back the screen and found a tiny bright red machine. No wonder Okasan wanted to hide the contraption. Was this a typical example of a Japanese washing machine? The vacuum seemed totally normal, but this thing looked like one of those three-quarter scale plastic toys kids played pretend house with. I gazed around the kitchen. Even the microwave seemed like a toy.
I opened the lid. The entire inside was made of plastic. You must have to use cold water as the plastic looked like it would melt with the slightest contact with anything hot. I wondered how hard it could be to start the machine. All I needed to do was push a button—right?
I examined the touch control pad that looked like it would be more at home on the Spaceship Enterprise than on a household appliance. After dumping in my first load of clothes, which consisted of a pair of jeans because the machine was so tiny, I pushed the largest button on the keypad and waited. Nothing.
Okay, that sure didn’t work. I kept wishing I could read Japanese as I stared at the hieroglyphics in front of me. I noticed a group of letters in red towards the center of the keypad and pushed the middle button. The agitator in the middle of the washer started to move. Great! I had one problem, where was the water?
I decided to quit while I was ahead and went and filled the plastic washbasin with cold water and poured it into the machine. Feeling proud of myself, I poured the dishwashing soap in and watched the jeans slowly churn around. I watched the denim dance for a couple of minutes. I could probably do a better job washing the clothes by hand.
After emptying out the water, I dragged the jeans out of the machine. I’d forgotten one small detail, where would I dry the clothes? I never noticed where Okasan hung her clothes. Maybe if I draped them all over my room, they’d dry in the summer heat. I really didn’t want Okasan to know I picked the wrong day to do my laundry.
Back upstairs, I tossed the jeans on the chair by the desk. Deciding to wash only the essentials for now, I zipped back down to do a load of underwear, socks, and a couple of uniform blouses. I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to cover my tracks before everyone came home. You never knew what could happen with Okasan’s hot temper. Her brother could say the wrong thing and they would be back in half an hour.
Despite my fears, I decided to take advantage of the empty house and call my mom. Even though I’d be severely tapping into my monthly phone allowance, I wanted to explain to her why I missed school. As much as I hated to admit it, I really cherished her respect. I walked to the cute little built-in nook close to the front door. Like most things in the house, the phone was an old-fashioned type, the only one in the house unless Okasan had another one hidden in her bedroom. The fragrance of the urinal nearby lingered in the air. No wonder I never saw the Moris’ use the phone.
Holding my nose, I looked at my watch. Six thirty in the morning Idaho time. I pushed in the international code and then her cell number, hoping she’d pick up, though I doubted it. Coming from a family of champion phone taggers, we usually spoke to each other only through text messages. My parents had booming careers and were hardly ever home. That’s what was so amazing about hearing Mom’s voice this morning.
The all-too-familiar message came through the receiver. “This is Dr. Elisabeth Van Horn. I’m sorry I missed your call. Please leave a message.”
“Hi, Mom. Sorry about the call from school. Just my luck you actually picked up the phone. I just wanted to let you know I missed school because my host brother got too drunk at a party to drive me home. I know how you feel about driving drunk. Like I said, my host family is a bit difficult, but you’d be proud of me because I’ve figured out a way to work the problem. Hey, you’re not going to believe what I’m doing. Laundry! Yes, it’s true. I came all the way to Japan to do my laundry. It’s so humid here I’ve already gone through everything. Talk to you soon. Oh, and if you want to give me a call back, I left the host family info sheet on the fridge.”
A loud banging noise came from near the living room. My paranoia kicked in, cutting short my last load. I ran upstairs, hung my underwear across the top of the curtain rod, and hurried back downstairs.
Visions of Okasan storming through the front door and heading straight towards the kitchen filled my head. She’d received a psychic message while at her brother’s house and knew exactly what I was up to. I could see her coming right up to me and in perfect
English saying, “That’s it. I want you out of this house! This washing machine is for my ancestors only. Now we are cursed!”
A wave of panic hit me. What if I had ticked off the ancestors? I’d better look in on them to make sure they hadn’t tossed a box of incense at the wall.
Entering the shrine room, I had to give credit to Okasan for making a lovely tribute to the family ancestors. Their ashes were in a special little alcove at the front of the room. Huge photographs of her deceased relatives hugged the ceiling of the tiny room. Okasan had them tilted down at an angle so they stared down at you. The first time I’d snuck into the room, I waited for their eyes to follow me around like in the old horror films—but nothing happened.
Across one wall stood an imposing gilded wooden shrine with little lotus flowers and bird carvings climbing from the feet to the top of the cabinet. I smiled remembering the time I’d spied on Okasan visiting her ancestors. Out of respect and a strong fear of her of wrath, I made sure to keep a safe distance. Funny, I actually admired Okasan’s devotion to her ancestors. They were almost as important to her as her living family. She said a prayer for them, and burned incense in the large metal urn in the center of the shrine. She brought several food offerings with her. One relative must have been very partial to tangerines as she filled a huge brass bowl to the point of overflowing.
Standing before the shine tonight, I noticed the brass bowl stood empty. Where had all the tangerines gone? I scanned the floor to see if somehow they had fallen out of the bowl, but there was nothing there. Then a flash of orange caught my eye. I cautiously walked over and picked it up. It was a piece of rind from a tangerine. First the episode with the vacuum—then the tangerines were missing except for a piece of rind. Maybe the Mori’s house really was haunted. Nope. I never felt a cold chill in the shrine room like I did at Heavenly Burger. There had to be another explanation.
I heard the sound of a car engine as I left the shrine room and raced toward the kitchen. I moved the screen back in place, and dragged the large bag of rice to the exact place I found it. I’d finished covering up all evidence of my washing adventure just as I heard the family approaching the front door. Tearing out of the kitchen, I ran all the way up the stairs to my room and pretended to be asleep. Hopefully no one would discover my little secret.
I hadn’t thought about what I’d do in the morning if my clothes weren’t dry. The bedroom looked like a Dali painting, artfully draped with dripping wet clothing. The puddle on the floor by the jeans was reaching the size of a small pond. I took the fringed throw from the end of the bed and wiped up the mess and realized that Tori’s to-do list lay drowning in the front pocket. She’d kill me if she knew I hadn’t put the list in a safe place.
Opening the pocket, I carefully pulled out the soaking wet paper. When I placed the barely legible note on the desk several grains of rice fell to the floor. Strange, I must have picked them up when I moved the bag. I opened the desk drawer, took out a sheet of paper and copied down the list.
Erin’s Japan to-do list
1. Get a fantastic rock star boyfrien
d. (Kenzo is a definite possibility. Wonder if he plays in a band?)
2. Make some great new friends. Find a new Tori. (Think I can safely cross this off the list soon. Gina is almost like Tori’s sister. Setsuko on the other hand won’t be so easy.)
3. Chronicle all your adventures. Even bathroom visits. (Got to buy a camera. I need to keep writing in the journal every day.)
4. Study under a famous artist. (Need to set up another meeting with Kawanasan. Side benefit—I get to have Fudo as my translator.)
5. Eat something adventurous. (First thing checked off the list! I would have celebrated if the shrimp weren’t so yucky!)
6. Buy the latest Hello Kitty must-have item. (Tori was sure asking a lot of me. Like having a Hello Kitty alarm clock wasn’t enough kitty torture.)
7. Japan is a mystical and spiritual place. Open your eyes to the mysteries around you. If you have a close encounter get a picture! (With the way things are going I might just see something after all.)
8. Visit Tori’s relatives and search for anything interesting hidden in the family’s closet. (Dreading this one. I need to get a tutor!)
I pinned the list dead center on the bulletin board above my desk. There was no way I could forget my obligation now. Then it dawned on me. There might have been an ulterior motive for Tori giving me the to-do list. Before the winner of the scholarship had even been announced, I caught her scribbling on a piece of paper. She never told me what she was doing except to say, it was a matter of life and death.
The telephone interrupted my thoughts. Ring, ring, ring.
Why wasn’t anyone answering the phone? Could I have imagined the family returned home?
As if reading my mind, Aki knocked on the door. “The phone is for you, Erin.”
Trudging down the stairs, I picked up the receiver wondering who it could be. There was sobbing on the line. “Hello, Mom?”
The sound of sniffling echoed through the phone. Had something happened to my brother? He competed in extreme sports, which meant his life was constantly in jeopardy.
“Mom. What’s wrong?”
More muffled crying. “Erin, it’s Tori. My dad died.”
I’d been waiting for her to call me, but not with bad news. My eyes welled up.
Tori’s father was a great guy. He always encouraged her to be anything she wanted to be—even a starving artist. He was the father I wished I’d had. “Oh, no, Tori. I’m so sorry. I wish I wasn’t so far away. I’d be giving you a huge hug right now.”
She took a breath. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re there. My dad was disappointed I didn’t win the scholarship, but he always thought of you as his adopted daughter. He said you were the perfect second choice.”
My heart ached for her. She worshiped her father. I fought back the tears forming in my eyes. “I just can’t believe he’s gone. He was such the avid golfer. Plus, he quit smoking.”
Tori blew her nose. ”The doctor said he didn’t stop soon enough. He started when he was twelve.”
Not wanting to get Tori any more upset, I stuffed back my feelings. “I’m so sorry, Tori.”
“I have to go. Mom’s a wreck. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Why did this have to happen when I am so far away? I fought back tears. “I’m sending you a phone hug. Hug your mother for me.”
“I will.” Tori blew her nose again. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure…anything.”
“You know number eight on the to-do list?”
Now wasn’t the time to ask her about the true meaning of the list. “Sure. Visit your relatives and see what’s hidden in the family closet.”
“Now that my father’s gone, I really want to know. I need you to do it. Soon.”
Chapter 7
Reality Check
September 6, 6:00 AM
Thanks to the dripping wet laundry and the mound of spent tissues, I woke up feeling like some kind of amphibian. My skin had a slimy outer coating and I was desperately in need of sun, but decided to take my reptilian self down to the bathroom and clean up. My eyes were bloodshot from crying half the night. The pain of losing Tori’s father hurt even more knowing I couldn’t attend his funeral. Poor Tori would be standing next to her mother alone. Her best friend ironically stuck in her father’s homeland.
I needed a distraction from the sadness of the last 24 hours. So, I headed down the stairs and hoped I’d have an exciting day at school. Thankfully, no one else was awake downstairs. They were probably hung over from drinking too much at Okasan’s brother’s house. I made myself a piece of inch thick toast and a glass of the drink invented for astronauts. I guzzled down the last of the Tang while absently thumbing through the latest issue of SWEET. I still couldn’t quite comprehend that Tori’s father was gone. He had been such a large part of my world. I turned another page, but my hands shook. I wondered how I’d handle my own father’s death.
Sensing I wasn’t alone, I looked up. Okasan dangled a purple sock in my face.
Aki stood next to her with a huge grin. “Erin, is this yours?”
I picked up the napkin holder and held it like a shield in front of Okasan. “Yes.”
“My mother would like to know how the sock got in her rice washer.”
No way! The red machine wasn’t for laundry? Boy was I wrong about everything being similar to the American version. No wonder they put a note on the vacuum. They should have put notes on every appliance in the house. I peered at Okasan as she dropped the sock on top of my half-eaten toast. “I’m so sorry. I thought it was for clothes.”
Okasan rattled off what sounded like a long list of expletives. She stood with her hands on her hips and then looked at me and laughed. Great, maybe she had a sense of humor.
Aki picked up the sock and waved it in the air like a flag, causing a few grains of rice to tumble to the floor. “You have lost your washing privileges. My mother would like you to clean your clothes at the community facility.”
“I have to wash my clothes at a prison?”
Aki let out a sigh. “There is a public washing area ten blocks from here.” She leaned in and whispered in my ear. “At least you can do your clothes whenever you want.”
Gee, what a blessing. Not wanting to be late for school, I rushed past Aki and headed straight for the only dry piece of clothing I had, my black embroidered skirt. Hopefully no one would notice my non-regulation uniform. Pulling on a pair of squishy pink underwear, I grabbed a slightly damp T-shirt and flew out the door.
Walking towards the train station, I tried to put the laundry debacle behind me. Even though it was only my second trip, I felt like a veteran. Hurrying down Ginko Road, I took in the neighborhood for the first time. At the end of the block stood an enormous multi-level Bonsai garden. Otosan had quite the rival. Footsteps followed me and I slowed to let the person pass. A policeman talking on his cell phone strode past me and continued quickly down the street. Was he following me? No. I was just being paranoid as the missing tangerines still nagged at me. Where did they go?
I shook off the feeling of dread and continued down the next block. Clothes hung like colorful lanterns on strings. Wednesday must be the neighborhood washday. No wonder Okasan had put it on her list.
Several of my regular platform mates stared at me while I waited for the train. I wondered if they’d ever get used to seeing a blonde American. I looked down. A large wet stain showed on the front of my skirt. My underwear wanted my skirt to join the wet garment party already in progress. Face blazing, I held my books over the stain but realized I must surely have watermarks on the back of the skirt, too. Maybe if I stood by an open window on the train, I could dry myself out. One thing for sure, I had no fear of falling asleep with my squishy underwear clinging to my butt. I glanced around the train platform, making sure some guy with a cell phone wasn’t capturing yet another embarrassing life moment.
I boarded the train and found an inconspicuous place to stand while I practically stuck my skirt out the op
ened window. Thank goodness it was still fairly early, so I didn’t have a lot of company on the train. I enjoyed the solitude. I pulled my course book out of my bag to hide what was left of the stain. My list of classes stuck out from the front cover.
First up, Japanese literature. The books were all in English, so I was actually looking forward to the reading list. Plus, Tori told me some of the Japanese writers were pretty twisted. Nothing I liked better than a writer with a major psychological problem. It made for fascinating reading.
I decided to glance through my Social Politics book but quickly changed my mind. My brain started to misfire. “Japan has an extremely varied and diverse social political history, which the Japanese as a people are very proud of.” What a loaded sentence. I usually heard the word “varied” used in a sentence like, “My boyfriend has a varied past (usually meaning jail time) but he is an upstanding citizen now!” The book might actually be entertaining if I read between the lines.
I executed my train change like a native and navigated the several blocks to school with a huge grin on my face. I actually knew where I was going! I broke off a chunk of my Lotte bar, popped the piece in my mouth and happily munched away until I heard someone calling my name off in the distance.
It was Setsuko playing up the little schoolgirl look with her hair held back by barrettes. She probably skipped the whole two blocks to school.
“Hey, Erin. The way you’re downing that chocolate, I wonder if your host family is starving you. What happened to your uniform?”
First Contact Page 7