A Sadness Broken
...written on 11.14.02, @ 10:02 a.m.
Thu November 14, 2002
I stared out my third floor apartment window, my head tilted against the glass, my breath making wispy smoky patterns obscuring my view as I swept my eyes from side to side. I felt incredibly sad. Something had happened at work that may put a serious crimp in my holiday plans and I was contemplating the worst.
I wanted to tell someone about it, or somehow vent just a little of what I was feeling, but it was late and I didn't know who to call or what I would really say. I sat down at my kitchen table and on a small piece of paper wrote:
Nov 12, 2002
11:16 p.m.
O,
I am very sad. Maybe a good night's sleep will help. I hope so.
Sorry,
K.
I took the piece of paper in my hand, walked to my door, stepped into my shoes in the genkan, opened my door, walked down to my neighbor's door and slipped the note in between the wood slats on the door's window pane and silently went back to my apartment. His light was on, but I didn't want to disturb him.
I sat down at the computer and started attending to email and then surfing and all the while sighing, until 12:26 a.m. when I heard a knock at my door. I jumped up and opened the door to see Obata-san there with his eyes wide open with concern. He asked me what was wrong and I tried to explain. I stopped and thanked him for coming and invited him in.
I asked him if he ever worried, but he didn't understand what I meant, so I changed the subject. He picked up my Japanese study cards and started quizzing me. He asked me if I had been listening to the Simon and Garfunkel Live cd that he had lent me, and I said yes and we talked about other music.
I showed him the "talent catchers" I had made the other day. They are moldable frames strung with thin wire with beads and other trinkets woven in. I showed him the one called "Obata's Dream" and he asked me to explain it to him.
I pointed to the various elements and tied them to the story he had told me. He liked the feather and I told him that was his spirit. He wondered aloud what the green rock was next to it and I told him that represented my idea of him as a grounded being, a "natural man". He mused on that for a little while.
Over and over again I was feeling amazed and touched that he came over. I hadn't expected it really, thought he might just leave me a note in the morning like, "Hope you're feeling better." Now though, I could watch him up close. His hair is clean and shiny; jet black spiked with a few silver strands. His chin is stubbled, his eyes squint as he tries to remember a word in English.
We talked some more and the subject of massages came up and I asked if he wanted another one. He said yes and I asked him to lay down on my tatami floor. I got a soft orange pillow for his head and I proceeded to give him a long and thorough massage.
I could hear his acknowledgments of pleasure as I tried to make an impression through his heavy sweatshirt. He asked me to move lower on his back and then even lower still. After about a half hour, I made it all the way down to his feet, laying them gently on the tatami mat. He lay still and with much effort said "O.K." about three times before rolling into a seated position.
We talked again and then he looked at me and asked, "So how are you now? Is your sad broken?" I smiled and replied, "Yes, my sad is broken."
At 2:45 a.m. he shuffled out of my door and down to his.