Just another night

I’m sitting in my apartment, trying to read, thinking about all the shit I’ve got to do before graduation. I’m only 1 book, 4 papers, 1 presentation, and 1 exam away. AND I’ve only got 7 days to do it. I made a schedule, I got organized, I planned each day and what I had to do.

Today was Friday, my last day of lecture. As I sat in class I could not pay attention. I kept thinking to myself, “This is the last time I’ll ever do this.” I looked to my two favorite surfer girls from San Diego and thought, “I’ll never see them again.” I couldn’t pay attention. I fought back tears. I tried to put on a happy face and keep it together.

At the end of the lecture I wore my best smile and said goodbye to my friends. I tried not to think about things. I tried to keep it together–I didn’t want to cry. I made my way to the bookstore and picked up my cap and gown. I should have been happy, excited, carefree–and yet I was not.

I’ve felt so sad today. So sad that this is all coming to an end. Sad that I won’t see my new friends. Sad that I’ll never talk to them again. Sad that the comfort of being a college student is no more. I’m sad for all these things.

Needless to say I felt like partying; not doing my work. I have a million things to do and a short time to do them. And yet, I could not get to work. Janden called early, while I was at the gym. He called again on my way home, and twice during dinner. Kellie called too. And again, and again. My friends were going out drinking tonight, and I should have stayed home. I could not, and I did not.

Finally, at 11pm, Kellie called–this is the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

“We’re going down to Duffy’s to meet Janden. You coming?”

Shit. Fucking shit. I’ve got work to do. I can’t go out tonight. If I go out I won’t get anything done, I’ll be hung over tomorrow, and I won’t get anything done tomorrow either. I need to stay home.

“Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. I’ve got too much shit to do, Kellie.” I explained.

“OK, well, see you at Duffy’s!” she replied.

Dammit. She knows me too well. I sat there a moment, thinking. Shouldn’t I stay home? Don’t I have work to do?

I got in the shower. I’m not going out, I told myself. I’m just taking a nice refreshing shower. I got out, I put on some clean clothes, and I grabbed my essentials–wallet, keys, cell phone, knife. I started walking towards the door, damnit.

I walked out the door.

Fucking shit. I can’t go out tonight, I told myself. I made a bee-line for Duffy’s. “What are you doing, Tom?” I asked myself. 15 minutes later I was at Duffy’s. I bought a beer and looked for my friends.

Janden was playing pool with a super-cool gal I’ve seen before, but never met. Kellie and Sierra were sitting at a table, drinking beer, and chatting. I made my way over to them and poked Kellie in the back.

“Whassap dude?!?!??!”

“TOM!!!!!”

Awww yeah. It’s good to be the king.

The beer and rum flowed like wine, as usual. I entertained Kellie and Sierra with my best material, pausing for shots of motherfucking rum and bottles of beer. When the bar closed we all went back to my messy apartment for clam dip.

Kellie and Sierra soon left. Janden and his ladyfriend, Lainey, the coolest chick on Earth, hung out for a bit. We talked about life, and shit, and had a good time. We listened to Coltrane and Sinatra, Joan Jett and A-Ha. Janden and I argued over the rum, and then they left.

And here I am. Drunk. A little dizzy. I know I’ll be hung over tomorrow, and I know I won’t get to all the shit I planned on doing. I should have stayed home tonight and worked on my shiz. But you know what?

Fuck it. I’m glad I went out. You’re only young once, folks. In the game of life, there are no do-overs. I choose to live.

What can you do with that?

I was having a conversation with my much younger friend today. We’re both graduating this semester, and moving away from Chico.

“What are you doing after you graduate?” he asked me.

“I’m going to work for Union Pacific Railroad.” I said with a grin.

“You need a college degree for that?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t you want to do something with your degree?”

I thought for a moment.

“Nope.”

He looked perplexed. I continued.

“You know what I can do with my college degree? I can sit in stop-and-go traffic for 90 minutes on my way to work in the morning. I can go to the same building, the same job, the same cubicle farm, the same desk, the same computer, the same meetings and all that shit day in, day out, every day. I can work late because they really need me to, I can work Saturdays because they are really short handed, and I can come in early because extra work needs to be done. At the end of the day I can drive home for 90 minutes in stop-and-go traffic, get a few hours of free time, and go to bed. When I wake up, I get to do it all over again. After a couple of years they can lay me off because my job is being shipped overseas, so the CEO can get a big phat bonus. That’s what I can do with my college degree.”

He looked at me, obviously thinking about what I just said. He turned his gaze to the ground, and stayed there for a bit. When he lifted his head he turned to me and simply said:

“Yeah. Me too.”

Yeah.

I know what I can do with my college degree. I just choose not to “use” it.

Turning Japanese-ah

You know what the best thing about Japan is? Beer vending machines. They’re everywhere. On street corners, bus stops, everywhere–including ski resorts. In fact, there are beer vending machines at the bottom of the ski lifts. While you’re waiting in line you pop in a few Yen, get a brew, and slam it on the ride up the mountain.

When you ski back down you just tuck and run. You don’t sashe, you don’t turn, you don’t finesse–no. You tuck and you race your friends down the hill, buzzed, going mach 7. The only time you’re allowed to slow down, is if you find an incredible jump that you just have to launch over. If this is the case, you stop with all your buddies. You egg each other on, and you go as fast as you can. You SOAR! through the air, and wipe out. Then you all laugh, tuck, and run down the hill. While waiting in line you buy another beer, and slam it on the way back up the mountain. Do this all day.

Now, when you’re good and drunk, find the jump again. This time start farther up the hill than everyone else. When you land, make sure you twist your knee, and seriously fuck it up. That way your ship will leave you in Yokosuka, while your friends go to places like Fiji, Bali, and Australia.

This is what happened to me. I got stuck in Yokosuka, which is about an hour South of Tokyo. But you know what? I loved it.

You see, I met this gal while I was there. Junko Komae, Japanese girl. Short, sexy, funny. I fell head over heels in love with her. I was 20 years old. She was 36. We were inseperable.

We went places. She took me to the clubs in Tokyo. We went to gigantic waterparks with waterslides that put ours to shame. We went to the park, the beach, the ocean, the river, the countryside–everywhere.

I met her family. Her mother and father, her brother and sister. We ate dinner and drank sake and sang karaoke.

Japan started to feel like home. I wanted to stay soooo bad. I forgot all about Hayward. After my knee operation and rehab, I made every effort to stay in Japan. I managed to stay there for six months. Finally I got my orders from Washington. I was being shipped back to Long Beach.

Tom Bissell, 20. Junko Komae, 36. We were both very happy and still very much in love. Six month relationship. I’m being shipped back to the States.

I tried not to think about it. The date kept marching closer, ever closer. I tried to explain to Junko what was going on. It was difficult. Her English was bad, and my Japanese was worse. We communicated in a sort of 3-year-old kind of way (except in the bedroom). Finally the day was upon me.

We spent the night in a love hotel right outside the base. These things are all over Japan. You can rent them by the hour. The Japanese see nothing shady about this set up. To them it’s all part of their popular culture. So anyway, this love hotel place? Totally decked out rooms. Mirrors on the ceiling, pornos on the TV, basket full of condoms and lotions on the bedside, vibrating bed, all that. They even had room service.

That night I lay awake next to Junko, mind racing, as usual. I was resigned to my fate. I knew I couldn’t stay in Japan. I had to go home. Home. Isn’t this home? What the fuck is home, anyway?

In the morning she walked me back to the main gate of the Navy base. We said our goodbyes, my voice quivering, her eyes blootshot and watery. I put on my happy face and promised to call her as soon as possible, knowing full well that I’d never see her again. We parted ways, I turned towards the gate, and tried to keep it together. The tears started pouring down my face. I flashed my military ID, and turned away so the guards wouldn’t see me crying. When I had gotten a safe distance away, I sat down and lost myself in uncontrollable, hysterical sobbing.

Six hours later I was waiting for my flight out of Tokyo International; 20 hours later I landed at San Francisco International. One week later I was back in Long Beach.

Junko and I wrote and called each other for several months. As time went on we grew more distant, and eventually we stopped calling. Then I turned 21, and my social life exploded.

I still think about Junko, from time to time. She’s gotta be 48 years old now. I wonder if she remembers me?