Pieces begin falling into place, just before they’re shaken up again.
I remember many summers spent at Saylorville. Man-made and city owned, it never was terribly clear, even for a lake. After a heavy rain, though, the water would be even murkier, clusters of driftwood and sediments and dead fish all churned up and spit up onto the beach. The stink was incredible. But, soon enough, the water would settle and clear to its normal shade of brown and be deemed swimable once again.
Living in Japan has been like a year of heavy rain in Saylorville. My sediments haven’t had the chance to settle and fish bones have been abundant. Only recently since I began full time work at No Borders and nestled into my little niche in the working world of Nagoya have I begun the process of calming my waters. The rain has ceased and pieces are falling into place. I am recognized in the company as a good teacher, better than some who have been there many years. I am making some decent money. I feel positive about my Japanese lifestyle.
Yet, over the mile-long bridge there’s a storm brewing, because we’re preparing for our trip back to America. Filling out the last bits of paperwork, I browse Craigslist for a place to live in Iowa City, knowing that I won’t have a job right away to pay for groceries, let alone rent or utilities. At least beer is cheap in Iowa.
I will be sad to leave my job. It has provided me with purpose and has taught me the meaning of patience. I will miss the most trivial things about Japan. Vending machines at every corner stocked with green tea, the ridiculously huge selection of cup noodles, drinking a beer as I walk home, fabric softener… the list goes on…
But here in Japan my roots are loose. Iowa roots run deep. There is support for me. It’s where I belong. It’s where Tetsuya belongs.
The first thing I want to do when I get back is go to HyVee. I dream of HyVee. I want to browse the isles, understand every word around me. I want to find exactly what I want at the right price. I want to hear that jingle again, the one about the “helpful smiles.” I want to be home.
The second thing I want to do is go to a Mexican restaurant. I want to order food by giving a number, “I’ll take the number 5 combo.” I want a monster margarita. I want to be annoyed at the bad service and give a lousy tip.
Then maybe after a while, I’ll take a long drive. I say a while because I’m terrified of driving when I get back. I wasn’t too fond of it in the first place. Anyway, I’ll drive all the way up Merle Hay Road. I’ll zoom past the mall, up to the big fork. I’ll take the left road all the way around ‘till I hit the mile long bridge. I’ll keep two hands on the steering wheel, “Beware of Strong Crosswinds” and I’ll try not to be distracted by the big lake underneath. Maybe I’ll hold my breath like I used to when I was a kid. I won’t speed when I get into Polk City. I’ll creep my way around at least two hidden police cars, ready to strike. Then I’ll let her loose up until Oak Grove. I’ll park, trudge down to the beach and wade in the shallows.
Maybe by then we’ll both be settled enough for a dip.
