Eastern Reflections

            The dry, hot Bakersfield air that sat on my chest as I walked from my apartment to the bus stop kept me from wanting to venture outside.  At the time, I didn’t have a car, it had just broken down and was beyond repair, so I took the bus to save up enough money to eventually buy a car.  I found myself on the bus stop of the number 41 bus.  This bus would eventually take me to the mall.  It was a nice, long bus ride since every quarter mile someone would want to get on or get off.  I had ridden this bus a thousand times and each time I got off at the same place.  It was a small bus depot where many buses would meet, and you could transfer to another one if needed.  My stop was there.  I would make the walk over to the mall.  I knew all the stores and I would often go visit a few of my friends who worked at different stores in the mall.   

This time, it was a little different.  One of my friends hadn’t shown up to work so I had extra time before my movie started.  I walked around aimlessly and came across this little store.  It was quaint with its hand painted geisha figurines in the windows.  Japanese scrolls that hung on either side of the entrance with little hand-written notes translating them.  My
first thought was “Wow!  Whoever wrote these has nice handwriting!”  I always notice penmanship because mine is horrible!  I blame it on the fact that I’m left-handed.  So, after reading them, I proceeded to greet the woman who was working at the counter.   

I complimented the store on how beautiful it was, and I wished that I could read Japanese, because of all the books she sold that had no English translation.  She awkwardly shouted, “Everything is made in Japan, not China!”  I gave her a confused nod and thanked her.  I started asking her about all the figurines she had behind glass cases and why they were behind glass and the others were on a shelf.  She explained that the ones behind the glass were antiques and the other ones were replicas.  This store kept me visually occupied for at least an hour.  I had so many questions and touched everything!  She followed me around the store talking in her beautifully broken English.  I knew that I wasn’t going to leave that store without buying something.  So, as we continued to talk, I couldn’t help but notice that the music playing in the background was not in English, so I asked her about that as well. Knowing that a CD couldn’t be more than $20, I could at least afford that to show her appreciation for her time.   

Before stepping in that store, I had only ever heard a Japanese song one time and that was thanks to an old tv station called “Music Box”, which is no longer around.  It’s been replaced by things like YouTube and vine.  This station would allow you to call in and request a video to play for a small fee.  I had done it about three times.  The Japanese song I had heard was sung by a popular J-Pop artist named, Utata Hikaru.  It wasn’t until I left the store that I realized that the CD I bought was by the very same singer!  Now with this CD in hand I couldn’t wait to pop it into my portable CD player!  Yes, in 2003 there were still CD players and Cassette players!   

Excited to tell my friends about the new store I discovered, they didn’t seem too impressed.  I was a little hurt because I told them about the amazing time, I had with the kind woman at the store and how she took the time to explain anything I had a question about.  My friend Greg and I had gone back to the mall the following week because I was going to get my very first cell phone!  It was inside a Radio Shack and it took forever to get my phone because the process was a little more complicated back then.  After we got my phone, I asked him to walk over with me to the store so that he could see what I was talking about.  We got to the door only to be greeting by a sign that read “Closed Today.  Come Tomorrow!”   

My work schedule was a little tricky which didn’t allow me to get back to the mall for about two weeks.  When I finally arrived the first place I went to, was that store.  As I walked in there she was, brush in hand.  She was making a sign for her store.  As I approached the counter, I could see whatever she was writing was in Japanese.  I asked her what it said, and she told me it meant “Your Name.”  I asked her why she would take so much time to perfectly write that in Kanji and she explained to me that it was something new she was trying with her store.  She would write anyone’s name on this fancy piece of cardstock in Kanji for $25.  It was beautiful the way she wrote.  I immediately asked her to write my name and I would pay for it right away!  She tells me “For you, I give discount.  You are so nice, and you talk too much.”  This made me giggle because it wasn’t the first time, I had been told that. 

I had come back to that store about four days later when she said that my name would be ready.  I woke up early so I could be there as soon as she opened to pick up my name and so that I could have it framed.  I got on the bus, got off the bus and trekked to the mall from the depot as fast as my legs would take me.   I was in a bit of a sweat just to get to this store.  I turn the corner that led to the small store and I swing into the entrance!  I couldn’t wait to see my name in Japanese!  Then, I focus to the front of the store.  There’s a line!  A line?  Are you kidding me?!  Move!  I want my name!  What seemed to take about three hours was about eight minutes.  I finally had it in my hands, and I was so excited!  I thanked her so many times for this and as we talked about the process another customer walked in. 

This lady was an older white woman who was drawn in by all the beautiful geishas in the window.  Mariko was so shy when it came to explain to customers about all the different items in her store.  She was embarrassed of her English.  So, since I had spent so much time there asking her so many questions, I was able to assist the lady and helped Mariko close her sale.  After the woman left, Mariko wanted to give me my money back for my name in Kanji for helping her.  I couldn’t let her do that.  She insisted.  So, to not be disrespectful I took it.  Then I waited a couple of days and then I “accidently” dropped it in her store and told her that a customer had dropped it.  I told her to hold onto it just in case that customer ever came back.  A part of me thought she knew that it was me, but we never spoke of it again. 

Some time had passed, and I had noticed Mariko in not such great spirits, and she said she was going to close the store for a couple of days.  I would come back every day I could over the next couple of weeks and each time she was closed for the day.  Then, about a month later I went to the store and she was there.  I noticed that she had a stool behind the counter that she would sit on.  This was strange because she would always walk around and the only chair, she had was in the office area out of customer sight.  She looked up at me with a heavy smile and worried eyes and said hello to me as she normally would.  This time she asked me if she could hug me.  Without hesitation I said yes!  I had never hugged her since I had met her.  I was so happy that she would let me hug her.  She says to me with those same eyes, “Julien san, I want you to know that I am so grateful to your help.  You have been so nice to me.  That I will never forget.”  The way she told me this worried me.  It was almost as if she was saying goodbye. 

A couple of weeks passed since we talked and when I saw her again, she told me that she had decided to close her store.  She gave me the date she was closing the store in it was in about two weeks.  She was to sell whatever she could and take home and put in storage what she didn’t.  I asked her on multiple occasions what made her decide to close the store.  Every time she would have the same response.  “I have to”, never elaborating, never explaining.  So, on the second to last day of her closing I was with her.  I knew I had to be there until she closed the doors of her shop.  She took me into her office and sat me down at the small table she kept there so that she could eat with no one looking at her.  She told me that she wanted to tell me something because she trusted me and that she respected the person I was.  She finally looks up at me with a painful brow and looks me in the eyes with tears coming from her face and she tells me that she had cancer.  This was the reason why she had been coming less and less.  This was the reason for her closing the shop.  They found it too late and there wasn’t much they could do except wait.  She told me “Julien, I don’t want to die.”  I didn’t know what to say or how to respond, so we just sat there in silence staring at each other until we had to get up and assist someone coming into the store.

The next day which was closing day, it was about 11am and she still hadn’t been in and she normally would open around 9am.  I sat at the bench close to her shop which was located by the barber shop in the mall.  I eventually got hungry, so I went to the food court grabbed lunch and hurried back in case she showed up.  I sat there on that bench eating my lunch and I waited until about 6 pm.  She never showed up for her last day.  I feared the worst and was afraid that something happened to her.  Before I left, I went to the dollar store in the mall and bought a paper and a pen so that I could leave her a note.  I asked her to call me when she could and that no matter how late it was or early.  I myself was moving back to Texas in a few months and I was afraid I wouldn’t talk to her ever again.  I glanced up at the sign of her store one last time with its simple design which read, “Eastern Reflections” I was going to miss that place. 

While I lived in California, I cultivated a few friendships and attempted to maintain most of them, but with social media being not what it is today, it was a little difficult.  Every time my phone rang, and it was a call from California, I would hope it was Mariko.  It wouldn’t be until the fall of 2005 that I heard her voice.  I had this voicemail on my cell phone, and I couldn’t check it until I was going to my lunch break.  Then, I worked at a call center and they were notorious for writing you up if you even glanced at your phone or if it was seen.  So, I sat there and stared at the clock impatiently waiting for my lunch break.  Even on my calls with my customers I wasn’t focused.  They would ask me questions and I had to ask them to repeat themselves so many times. 

Finally!  After almost three hours of waiting I could go on my lunch break!  The first thing I did was run into the break area and check my voicemail.  It was Mariko!  The voicemail was about two minutes long and she apologized for her absence and that she was calling me from her new cell phone number.  So many people had been contacting her about her sickness and it overwhelmed her.  So, she changed her number.  We talked for the entirety of my lunch break and I asked her if I could call her when I got out of work, she said it was fine.  With tears in my eyes I walked back to my desk and try to get back to work.  It was clearly not going to happen, but I had to power through the rest of my shift and keep a smile in my voice until I clocked out.  I get to my truck and I call her, only to be greeted by a message saying that she couldn’t answer the phone.  It wasn’t her voice, but an automated recording. 

I would call her throughout the coming months and check to see if she would answer her phone.  With no luck I pushed on my days.  I would call at the most random times with hopes to reach her when she was available.  With no answer, I feared that she had already passed.  I didn’t want to think that, so I told myself she was probably too weak or tired to answer.  No luck.

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It wouldn’t be until December when I would hear her voice again.  The call came in at around 4am my time, which made it 2am her time.  Her voice was shaky and uncertain.  “Julien san… It’s Mariko.  I am sorry to not call.  I have been not feeling well.  I’m calling to let you know I may not be able to call anymore.  I am getting really bad.  I am sorry.  I don’t want you to cry or feel bad.  You helped me so much.  Keep me with you ok?  Daisuki.  Goodbye.” 

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That would be the last time I heard her voice.  She passed away a couple of months later in February of 2006.  I would call and search the obituaries for the Bakersfield Californian, which was the local paper.  They had finally announced it and I knew then; she was gone. 

She may have left this world so long ago, but she lives in my heart every day.  Nothing, not age, time or disease will take the countless laughs, lunches and hugs we shared.  I felt it was important to tell this story.  She taught me to be more open minded to things I didn’t understand.  Especially language.  To not fear it, but embrace it.  To build bridges to places uncertain. 

You’ll always be with me Mariko Mochizuki.  Daisuki.