To Wrap Things Up

8:10

When we arrived at the pub in Ginza where the party was to be held, the band was waiting. Yes, there was a band, a “big band” kind of band. Let me say two things about the band: One is that the band was led by one of our students, a man who has been playing the trumpet for about twenty years and who is a tremendously talented musician. The other is that this was not your American idea of a big band, a kind of twelve or fourteen member band with a horn section and a lead singer and and and. No, the Japanese idea of a big band is about six musicians that can set up in one corner of a room and make music that sounds like the Japanese version of a big American band.

I am used to the small spaces that define this city and I am accustomed to the behaviors that suit these small spaces, but even I was amazed at the size of the room and wondered if the party was going to be the equivalent of the last train out of Ginza on Friday night--with a band tossed in for good measure. Fortunately, it didn’t turn out to be that way.

Because I am also accustomed to how arranged parties go, so little of it held my attention. I will explain that it was a two-hour nomihodai (all-you-can-drink) and food was included. Of course, since it was a work party, I only sat to chat with students (about ten minutes in two hours) and I all I had to drink was three-fourths of a club soda. My dinner was a piece of chicken about the size of a McD’s chicken nugget and a handful of fruit (grapes, apple slices, and a few wedges of orange). The party was fun and sad in equal measures and The Brain, unwilling and perhaps unable to collect any more sadness, comes up with many blank spaces when I try to recollect the actual conversations that I had. I remember talking with Chie, who held my hand through much of the conversation. I remember singing to Ben, a song that Masashi chose. I remember Takahiro asking me, “Brenda, when is your birthday?” I remember teasing Ai, a lower-level student, about how much her English improved when she had five beers (not four, not six, but five) in her. I remember taking photos and having photos taken of me. I remember and remember and remember. I remember next to nothing.

10:45 or 11:00

The nijikai (second party) was at Seitestu’s bar. Only a handful of students followed, and the few that did were either tremendously annoying, or were really wonderful. For some reason, many of them wanted to pet and pet and pet me. I normally resent the petting. I don’t like to feel like I am the family dog, so I often hold myself apart from others, shaking hands when I have to. But on this night, at Seitetsu’s, many students wanted to hug me and one took my face in his hands and patted my cheeks. I don’t know if I was exuding the sadness I was feeling, but whatever it was, it seemed to warrant petting and I let myself be pet because it...seemed warranted.

Having had nothing to eat, I ordered a grapefruit juice and drank it while I spoke with several students and teachers. After a bit, I broke down and ordered a tequila sunrise, much to the delight of those watching. (I have something of a reputation of being a tequila drinker after drinking a few rounds of shots with a few rounds of students at a few parties. And honestly, it wasn’t that much tequila, but tequila is a rarity in these parts, and tequila drinkers a whole different--and exotic--breed.) I drank my tequila sunrise and had another and then I found myself drunk and climbing into a taxi with Tomomi and another student (Mariko, maybe?) and Jun. Our taxi chased another taxi through the streets of Tokyo into Roppongi. Roppongi is a neighborhood famous for its clubs, its clubs that cater to foreigners and the natives who want to be near them.

The club we were headed for was called Club Muse. Club Muse was three or four stories worth of club in a city with twelve million stories in it. We ordered drinks at one of the many bars (I had water since I had the most raging headache) and we followed Ben out to a dance floor. We danced. There was fake smoke and laser lights and a pair of DJ’s spinning records in the corner. I had another water. I still had a raging headache, so I had another water, and another, and another. I still had a raging headache. Ben disappeared and I danced with the others. I sat out a few dances and watched the crowd, a move that prompted Jeremy, one of the former teachers and a friend of Ben’s, to comment, “You’re more of an observer, aren’t you?” I tried to think of something to reply, but The Dehydrated Brain just told us to nod and dance some more.

At some point in the evening, I decided that it was just a headache. I wasn’t going to die of a headache--maybe--and so I just had to deal with it. I held my head as I danced. And danced. And danced.

I should, or would, if I were any kind of writer--any kind of unbroken-hearted writer--tell you that there is some lesson in dancing through the pain, ignoring the pain and dancing anyway.

So I danced for three hours.

We left the club a little after five a.m. and walked through the streets of Roppongi looking for the station. At one point, someone said, “That’s Roppongi Hills.” I looked up at a forty story shopping mall. I was informed that it was one of the major sightseeing spots in Tokyo. I asked why and was told, “It’s the newest.”

This is Tokyo, I thought cynically, where shopping malls are tourist destinations. Not like America, I guess, where the Mall of America--or whatever in the hell the big mall in Minnesota is called--is also a tourist destination, right? Don’t let anyone tell you we are any different from the Japanese.

We ate nikuman on the streets of Roppongi and some of us took taxis home and some of us rode the trains home.

Me? I ditched a few students and was ditched by a few students. I slept most of Sunday away and went to the gym and bought groceries and slept and slept until Monday, when I woke up late and went to work.

And that was how we celebrated Ben’s leaving.