Poets at night

And so I started telling the story...of a lonesome man.

It had been a terribly beautiful night. The kind of night you think you’ll only experience once in your life. The sky was filled with little stars, something you only really notice when you’re young. And then you wonder:“Is it truly possible that so many awful people live beneath such a beautiful sky, the one I’m looking at right now?”

Unfortunately, I have to set aside those irritating people who have been pestering me all day. They ruin everything for me. I still remember how, early that morning, I calmly made my way through the streets of Tokyo, walking between the tall buildings, when suddenly an old man bumped into me and then walked on without even saying “sorry.” Strange people.

For the rest of the day, it felt as if I’d been cut off from the world and that no one liked me. Later that day, when I boarded the train, which was, of course, completely packed, I sat down and turned toward the window behind me. After a brief moment, the train departed. An elderly lady of about eighty was the last to get on and naturally expected that a young man like me would stand up and give her his seat. So I did.

But even in that overcrowded train, I was alone, terribly alone. It felt as if everyone in Tokyo I had ever known suddenly no longer existed. And by “the people I used to know,” I don’t mean anything mysterious. I lived in a tiny room at the edge of Shibuya. I lived in the attic of an old lady’s house, Miyo, who had never moved to a larger apartment. Apart from Miyo, I had befriended a few colleagues, but that grew old quickly, too. And why should I know anyone else in Tokyo anyway? I was already quite aware of everything the city had to offer, and outside of work, nothing really interested me, except dreaming.

Yes, dreaming.

I dreamed on the train, I dreamed at work, I dreamed everywhere I could. And whenever the train departed, I saw countless houses pass by, each unique, each special. But as many know, at night, the darkness hides all beauty from us. So I pressed my small head against the window, just so I could still barely make out the buildings.

“The train is arriving at Shibuya. The next train is arriving at Shibuya.”

And just like that a train ride came to an end. When I stepped off and made my way through the long corridors of the station, I finally reached the outside. I was free again, and I could return to my room. Back to my little room, where I could continue dreaming.

Yet something about that evening caught my attention. While walking home, I crossed a small bridge built over a brook, hardly noticeable. And still, there was a young woman crouched on her knees, staring at the water. I stopped for a moment; it stood out to me. I watched how she looked at the flowing water. The lamppost cast a faint light on the back of her neck, making her stand out even more.

As any dreamer would, I slowly walked toward her and crouched down as well. I looked at the water in the darkness of the night, but the light beside me pulled my gaze toward her.

“Ma’am,” I whispered. I knew it was the most cliché way to address someone — it must have been said hundreds of times before. But the girl noticed how uncomfortable and flustered I was, saw that I couldn’t find any more words, and stood up without looking at me. She walked away without saying another word.

It had been a long night. When I came inside, Miyo immediately called “welcome” from the second floor. “You must be tired,” she said softly. “I’ve already made the bed. Now, do you want breakfast tomorrow?”

I shook my head.“It’s fine, Miyo. I’m having breakfast with my colleagues tomorrow.”

I slowly climbed the steep stairs and sat down next to her.

“Oh, if you keep spending your money on things like that, how are you ever going to pay your rent?” she sighed. She had a point.

“You’re already three months behind, you know. You have to be more careful with your money!”

I nodded.

“You’re eating here tomorrow!”

I had no choice. When Miyo commands something, I must abide. Still, to say that I was discontent with this proposal would be a gigantic lie. As I climbed these wooden stairs to go to the second floor, I was already thinking of what I would be doing the very next day. Unfortunately, fate had another plan for me, for as I climbed the stairs, an unknown humanoid shadow was now becoming visible to me, lying in the bed. This shadow became more and more noticeable, as it was taking up a big part of the bed where I would be sleeping. A small candlelight illuminated the room, so only the face of the girl who was lying in my room was clearly visible. Not only was this a girl lying in my bed, but it was also the girl who had run away from me earlier! She was lying on the wooden frame of the bed near the window, on her stomach, with a small book in her arms, which she was reading with intense focus. To say that I was surprised would be an understatement.

‘Uhm... Miyooooo!’ I yelled out below me. Suddenly, the girl jolted and turned her small head towards me quickly, noticed me, and blushed so earnestly that I cannot imagine a tomato that can be redder than she was at that very moment.

’What is the problem, dear? Have you met your new roommate yet? Miyuki is such a sweetie once you know her! After buying groceries this afternoon, I was walking around aimlessly while looking at those buildings you describe so passionately, while eating dinner! One of those buildings, you know which one I mean, was the old wooden bookstore you like so much. As it is your birthday in a week or so, I thought of buying you the newly released book of Murakami, ‘The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle...’. The shop was filled to the brim with customers, and the presale nearly ended when I arrived. Luckily, this nice lady, who is now lying in your bed, when she saw my distress when I heard that all copies were sold out, offered to sell her own copy to me for 550 yen. I politely declined the request as I had no intention of ‘stealing’ her copy. She, after some back and forths, insisted that I buy hers. After that, I had invited her for dinner here because it was incredibly rude of me to buy her a copy from her as soon as she had acquired it. She, being the sweet person she is, refused at first. But I finally managed to convince her to come over after telling her I had an author living under my roof. Not that I like bragging about the fact that you have written several works, but rather that I noticed that she was quite the reader.′

I lied. Miyuki was now even redder than before, turning and spinning in the bed, holding her arms stretched before her as she rolled. God knows what happened to me, but I smiled.

‘I see, but why is she in my bed?’ I shouted. Quickly thereafter, I whispered to Miyuki. ‘No offence...’ She now sat upright and put her back against the back wall, her short, snow-white hair still somewhat stuck to the wall. Her hair was messy, and her clothes were not tidy at all. Her leggings were covered with dirt, and her blouse was soft but outspoken. To look back at this moment, I truly wonder how a person can live without falling in love with this girl at first sight. But I did. The way her brown eyes reflected in the candlelight was just too perfect in my mind.

I heard the old woman once more answering my question. ‘Well, see boy... on top of being a massive book reader, she is quite poor. She wanders the streets and does some hustles to get by. After she went with me, told me about herself, and told me that she has no job, I offered her to work as an editor for your writing company. You needed extra editors, right?’ She hastily spoke without interruption. During the whole conversation about the girl, I looked at her. Smiled, went to sit down beside her.

‘So...This is quite awkward... huh...’ I said as I sat down on the bed next to her. I also put my back against the wall, and before we knew it, we started talking. ‘So do you like writing?’ I asked, not entirely sure what to ask or how to ask it. It was a very, very important question. ‘Yes, I have written a few books myself...They were never actually published, though. I preferred not to, not that people would want to read them anyway.’ She chuckled, but her eyes looked down as she mumbled the last part of the sentence.

‘That is not true!’ I spoke up. Her breath became visible as it condensed, and her face looked at me, a hint of intrigue in her expression. ‘Oh, and why would that be the case?’ She chuckled, cutely putting her hand before her mouth as she spoke. If only she knew what I thought about her eloquence, having only heard her speech, she would blush a hundred times more. Even this, without seeing my response or what I would have responded, her response was nearly baffling. Baffling! ’You just seem very eloquent, is all I’d say!” I chuckled with her, and all I can say is that we talked a lot that night. We discussed the weather, the current state of penmanship, and various types of art we had studied in our free time, among other topics. The sun had long set when we went to sleep. I slept on a small couch while she slept in the bed, and I could see the starry night through the glass while I lay on my back. A calm and serene stillness entered the room as we put out the light and closed our eyes.

That was the night. I needed no more in this entire life and needed no less. I did not sleep at all! I was fulfilled and was looking forward to the next day, such that I might continue the conversation with her about some small, but lovely things. The day went by so quickly that I wondered where those 24 hours went, as if they were stolen from me by a strange thief who entered a room at night to steal the most important thing to you and walked away, without you ever noticing.

The night was a short one. I tried oh-so stubbornly not to fall asleep (for one must cherish a moment like this), but after two hours of lying in a pitch-black room, the tiredness overcame me and the night took me away into a new world. It was a new world, and it was snowing. We were standing on a nearly completely flat plane that was fully covered in snow. She wore a small fur jacket that fit tightly around her. She put her arms around the other and slightly bowed her head forward, indicating she was feeling cold.

And then I awoke and saw her standing in front of me. I spoke softly: ‘I know. I truly do know. If we are made for each other, and I know we are, then no matter what happens, we will cross paths once more. So I will leave you now, and the hospita.’ And she went to sit in front of me, with her legs crossed, and smiled.

‘I also know. I do truly know that if we are made for each other, we will cross paths once more. So let us see now if we are made for each other!’

The dream still clung to me as I stood up: The flat snowfield, the cold air, everything crept into my soul. ‘I..should go downstairs,’ I finally whispered, but not a single word carried its original meaning. ‘If we are made for each other, we’ll meet again. I believe that.’

She nodded slowly, her hands resting in her lap. ‘I believe that too,’ she replied. ‘But what if we are not...’ She shrugged softly.

‘Then I am glad to have met you.’

I smiled. It surprised me how natural everything felt in that very moment. I brushed off my trousers. She rose too, quietly, delicately. At the doorframe, I turned towards her. She stood there in the candlelight, her book still lying open on the bed behind her, the faint chill of the morning coming through the window. She held her hands in front of her chest out of shyness.

‘Later.’ I said.

‘Later.’ She answered

And that was everything we had to say.

I walked down the old stairs and heard it creaking underneath me. Miyo was still sleeping and we could hear her snoring from her room. The clock ticked slowly away. I stepped through the front door, pulled it softly behind me, and stood for a single moment in the cold air. It was snowing.

Nothing had really happened.

And yet everything had.

I didn’t look back. If I had, perhaps I would have seen her head peek around the bannister, or her shadow against the window. But some things lose their beauty when you check too soon. I turned the corner. And that was it.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Then more than I dared to count. Life went on as usual, with its indifferent attitude. Work. Trains. Stupid meetings. I changed jobs twice. I met people, really kind people, clever people, people who laughed at my jokes and those who didn’t. And I had some relationships. Some lasted longer than others. They were good people and do not regret a single of them.

Then one late afternoon, the kind of afternoon that neither feels like day nor evening, I was walking home along a narrow street near Shinjuku. I had just finished work. My mind was completely somewhere else entirely, thinking about dinner, small things.

And then I saw her.

She came walking from the opposite direction, her pace calm, her posture the same as that one fateful evening. Her hair was longer now. Her clothes were different now. Her face was a little older, perhaps. But her eyes were unmistakably hers.

We both stopped.

Just a second in a huge crowd. Our eyes met, softly, like two leaves drifting amongst each other when falling from a gigantic tree. She opened her mouth slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but said nothing. And I felt a small warmth, the kind that comes from a memory finally coming to life once more. We stood there, two adults on a busy street, looking each other in the eyes and smiling. Smiling turned to giggling. The weight of the many years we were divided seemed out of sight.

Then, almost at the same time, we gave each other the faintest nod.

And we turned.

She walked her way.

I walked mine.

And neither of us looked back.

Because I lived just long enough to know that some moments live best, exactly as they are.