Yokohama

I walked to Yokohama, a moment quicker than necessary. I willingly left the past behind and stepped in with a wavering heart. Despite my anxiety, my steps were certain and sure– this is a place that I had to go to.

I was directed to a place to sit and as I took the time to look around, I was disappointed. It was a lot smaller than I had seen in the pictures, a lot less glamorous. The ferris wheel, though large and impressive, was slowly spinning in its gaudy flashes of colored lights, making patterns that I had seen from the Tokyo Tower. It had looked more beautiful miles away in the observatory of the Tower. In the cold night, it looked menacing, towering over me, slowly spinning. Kuruma, kuruma.

He came trailing behind and I mustered up a smile and said hello. He took a seat across from me and we began to talk about our days.

“Shigoto ga isogashikatta yo,” he said.  It would be another one of these conversations, the mundane hum of another day gone by.

I listened as attentively as I could yet my mind wandered. A hot cup of tea was placed in front of me and I immediately took it and wrapped my shaking hands around it. My icy fingers felt a sharp pain as the hot ceramic cup came in contact with them.

As the night progressed, as the ferris wheel spun around as it did, I found fear rising in my stomach. There were a lot of false starts and I wasn’t sure of what to say, how to say it– so I let him continue with the conversation.

I walked away from Yokohama that evening, hitoride. I looked up at the mountains ahead and smiled at them, the future that awaited me. I wondered if it were necessary, if there was no other way, and I knew in my bones, in my core, my innermost being, that this is what had to be done.

The winter cold bit at my cheeks and feet and I knew that I probably couldn’t get very far, but wrapping my jacket around my small frame tighter, I took the first step toward the mountains, alone.

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