Dreams for Sale!

Hi. This is Miwa, a Middle School drop-out. I sell dreams for a living. I didn't drop out because school life was tough. In fact, quite the opposite. Life outside the school was what I’d call tough. I am not the 15 years old delinquent everyone imagines me to be when their eyes squint at my ash dyed wolf-cut.

Today as usual, I pulled open the sales window of our small RV straight at 8 AM. The bookstore across the street had opened as well. The sun was still yawning behind the clouds. Legally, I am not allowed to park an RV on a main street but nobody follows the rules around the rundown parts of Tokyo. At least not in trivial matters. You have to have the right connections. That's all that matters.

I crack two eggs in a frying pan on the stove right next to the sales window. These two eggs are the last of what we had in the fridge this month. “Miwa-chan¹!” my 9 year old brother, Arashi, comes shouting from the makeshift closet. A closet we made out of cardboard. “I can't find my other sock.” He frowns, fixing his uniform's red tie. I put the frying pan with eggs on the table as soon as they're done. Now, don't judge for eating straight out of the pan; we don't have many plates. I put the pot of leftover boiled rice on the table next to the eggs.

“Sit down and eat. I’ll look for the other pair.” I say. “Are we having eggs again?” Arashi’s chopsticks dive into a bowl of rice for breakfast. With his mouth full, he asks, “What do I get in the lunch box today?”

I fetch his bag and socks from a pile of clothes next to the Futon² on the wooden floor. I say, “I packed you some onigiri with tuna.”

“Yippee!! Tuna’s my favorite!”

“What did you dream about, last night?”

“Oh, I had three of them! Very good ones.”

“What were they about?”

“I met dad and mom. And Somi-chan. And I was king of Sugarland for a day!”

“Seems you enjoyed them well. Who’s Somi though?”

“Don't tell me Miwa-chan forgot again. Somi’s a friend from our previous neighborhood. She's cute and I like her.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Silly Somi with pigtails.”

“She’s not silly. You are.”

“Alright alright finish your bowl.”

Arashi finishes his bowl, puts on the pair of socks and grabs his bag in a haste. He leaves out the RV’s door, bending down to tie his laces he asks, “Onee-san, Can we go back home soon?” I put the lunchbox in his bag and zip it up, “I enjoy sleeping in the RV but rain and thunder are scary. How long are we going to camp out?”

I pat his head, “We’ll go home soon.” I give him the warmest smile possible. I wish I had this warmth inside too. “Promise?” He brings up his pinky. “Yep.” I nod, as we lock out pinkies together for a promise. Arashi waves goodbye. “Have a good day working!” his cheerful voice fades in the distance as he dashes on the concrete road. I haven't felt warn ever since dad left.

I shut the door and now with a stronger resolve I begin my day. I need to make up for this month’s groceries and save for Arashi’s school year in April. I scoop up the tea bags under Arashi’s pillow. Every night I lay them out to fish for Arashi’s dreams. Three out of seven teabags were now colored. One blue and the other two are hues of red and orange. The color of dreams is locked in them. Now, I don’t know which tea bag contains which dream. One is about meeting parents, being king for a day and one is classic; meeting your crush. Labeling them would be a real hassle. That's the problem when Arashi dreams too many at once. Still, I'm grateful for a pleasant dreamer as a brother, mine are always nightmares. I often wonder how dreamy tea companies like Cloud 9 label dreams. Taking my bowl of rice and egg, I leave the RV. The sight of chores makes me put my breakfast on the counter for later.

The Sakura blossoms covered the wet concrete road. I rake the dry pink petals away with my feet. For me, these petals were once beautiful but now cleaning them every morning is a pain in the butt. Once I'm done with the cleaning, I put up the sign board, writing with chalk, “Only for today! Cloud 9’s Special deal! A pleasant dream for 99 Yen. Meet your parents. See your Lover. Become a King. All for 99 Yen!”

I sit behind the sales window. wearing a green apron, keeping teacups, envelopes. a kettle and tea bags fresh from today and some leftovers from the previous month on the side. I chomp down the meal now that it has gotten cold. I nibble at my pathetic piece of breakfast. Ah no, I should call it humble not pathetic.

An old lady stops by. I stood up at once at the sight of a potential customer. Her duff white coat and gloves told me she had some riches to spare on a casual stroll, here, in an old part of Tokyo. “Welcome to Cloud 9! We brew it. You dream it. How may I serve you?” I copy the employees at Cloud 9 as best as possible.

“Does the Dream Tea work for realsies?” She asks.

“Yes ma’am!” I speak.

She seems hesitant. It's rare for old people to try new things even if they're stinky rich.

“Ma’am, you can choose from a variety of themes from here.”

I point at the board. She glances at it and something makes her smile softly. “Then, should I make a fresh brew for you Ma’am? or you can take it home for brewing yourself. Sipping the whole cup guarantees a dream experience of the theme chosen!” God, I hate faking cheerfulness. Only if customer service didn't have to be customer friendly.

“Oh dear. That sounds exciting! I’d like that one. Fresh brew for now. How much will it be?”

The lady says pointing at the chalkboard, “See your lover.”

“99 Yen for you, ma’am.”

She hands me a few coins. I take a good sniff of the coins before putting them in the register. Ah yes, now this is what makes smiling like an idiot all worth it. I packed her teabag in a neat envelope, handing it to her, I say, “Enjoy your dream, personalized only for you.”

The only reason selling dreams work is because the dreams become personalized. Whoever drinks dream tea with a certain theme finds themselves as the hero of it, they become the protagonist. It's like inserting yourself in a movie. If I were to drink a 'meet your lover', I wonder who I'd meet. Nothing guarantees if it'll be a platonic lover… or a romantic one.

The lady puts the enveloped tea bag in her purse. She asks,

“Young lady, how would I know the dream I had was not because of my own conscience?”

This is a question first timers often ask.

“Well, you see the tea we will serve you is blue. In your dream, the sunlight will have an infused blue color in it.”

“I hope it works wonders like you say!"

“It will! I hope our products don't disappoint you. Visit again sometime.”

I think we should call it a potion instead of ‘Dreamy Tea’ but ordinary people might freak out, calling it black magic or something. You can see what can go wrong with that, right?

If only Cloud 9 hired middle-schoolers, I wouldn't have to infringe their brand name like this. But I guess, anything is valid as long as it correlates with “Eat the rich.”— my life motto.

Usually, Aunt Adebola; the owner of the bookstore right across the street; sends us some treats. An errand boy named Yukio comes by to deliver those almost every other day. He’s one lean dude with curly fun hair. I could take him out in a match. He tans a lot too and it's hard not to notice him because he’s so tall. Yukio often tries to be sneaky by hiding behind our RV for a startle prank. He hasn't mustered up the courage to pull it off yet. I can always see his shadow when he brings Aunt Adebola’s snacks and hides, standing there for a good fifteen minutes. He might as well be shy for a Tokyo boy.

I turn away from the counter for a sip of water. “There you are! You cunning little bitch!” Said a man infuriated. He knocks the teacups over and a jar of cookies I've been saving. Slamming the counter, he shouts, “Give me my money back!” The people on the street didn't bother looking my way. Everyone walks away with their business with only empty glares at the man. That’s the way Tokyo is. Busy and minding their own business.

“Sir. Calm down. What seems to be the problem?”

“Calm down?! You scammed me. You’re a scammer!” A button falls off from the man's sleeve and tinkles on the counter.

“Was there something wrong-” I ask, trying to calm him down. His wrinkly shirt, unkempt grey hair and his receding hairline told me his wife divorced him. She perhaps had left with the kids and took all his wealth in alimony. Typical grumpy ol' customer. He screams,

“Hah? Don’t act like you don’t know what you did!”

“Alright. Has there been a mix up-”

“Give me my money back. I spent damned 200 Yen on these shitty tea bags!”

“Sure. I’d refund you if you describe the problem.”

“Listen here you bitch! you gave me nightmares! Me, a poor insomniac man, I am agonized by your cheap tea!”

“Sir. You need to quiet down. I won't help you if you keep shouting over a no big deal.”

“No big deal? Oh what would a delinquent like you know shit about insomnia. You better cough up my money.”

“Our products aren't for medical purpose-”

“Medical purposes. My ass. You better give my money back or better yet I’ll take it myself.”

The man reaches in for the cash register. I grab his wrist and he makes a grave mistake; he grips my face. I hold and twist his elbow. All those 6 years of Kyujutsu and Judo classes would come in handy today. I choke him with my other arm. He screamed,

“Argh! Let go of my arm you rascal!”

“Why? Can't you get yourself free from a kid?”

“Ah! Let go you slu-” The man struggles and squirms. When it comes to an arm chokehold, the strength and weight class difference doesn't matter. As long as your technique is right, your opponent goes through agony. His muscles would completely give up in a matter of seconds. I say,“One more word and I’ll break your creaky elbow.”

The man soon calms down as his body gives in. No energy left in his muscles now. He might even die if I held on any longer. I let go and he strays away from the counter, whimpering. Reminds me of a little pup running away with its tail between the legs.

“Sir. There’s a security camera here. If you don't stop harassing me this minute. A law file will be suited against you. You'll be charged for assault and attempted robbery. 200 Yen would cost you 200 million in bail.” I say in a tired tone, brushing invisible specs of dirt from my apron. There is no security cameras here, by the way.

“Oh and a police car patrols around here in five minutes.”

The man stares at me with such furious eyes. Nevertheless, I'm sure my very own glare is cold as ice too.

He stares at me yet he is shaking, still in pain from the chokehold. Ugh, this isn't the first time I've had to handle a mad man. I'm quite used to a ruckus.

“Respectfully, I’d like you to show me your receipt. I’ll see what I can do.”

He rubs his neck and whips out his receipt. Of-course he must be wondering how a girl quarter his size can be stronger than him. Heh. Even his hands are shaking. I read his receipt,

“Sorry. The receipt is a week old. I can’t help you with it.” I say nonchalantly, glancing at the date on the receipt.

“What seems to be the problem buddy?” The officer on patrol towers over the man. I could swear he appeared out of thin air without smoke or the sound of footsteps. I say,

“Good morning, Officer Hinata. This customer is demanding a refund. But our refund policy only deals within a week.” I handed the receipt to the officer. He twirls his mustache and asks, “Is your receipt older than a week, sir?”

“Yes but-” The man stutters.

Officer Hinata twirls his mustache and raises an eyebrow,

“But?” He gives the receipt back to the man.

“I'm afraid you'll have to leave.”

Seeing I was on good terms with the scary looking officer, the man practically ran away, grumbling under his breath.

“I’ll see you around, kid. Give me a call if trouble comes your way.” I nod at the officer as he tips his hat to me, leaving in his mobile parked a few yards away.

The mad man is gone. For now at least. Sigh. He made such a mess. I gloom at broken teacups and cookie jar on the ground. I can see Yukio’s shadow, standing behind the RV. He’s been standing there the whole time like a coward. I blow the hair strands away from my eyes with a pout, “Um, Yukio, do you mind helping me with this?”

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¹ Chan: Japanese Honorific for respect.

² Futon: An unsprung mattress commonly used in Japan.