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With the final email sent, I shut down my computer and lean back in my chair. The house feels quiet, almost serene. Having lived in Tokyo for a little over a year, it is easy, switching into running my online real estate agency and business consultancy for foreigners here in Japan. It is a life I can control, a life free from the cacophony of memories that cling to me like a stubborn shadow.
I stretch my legs and peer out of the window, gazing at the neatly trimmed garden I have just cultivated. Gardening has become a therapy of sorts, a way to clear my mind of this darkness that still occasionally plagues my thoughts. The rhythmic sound of cicadas fills the air, a quintessential Japanese summer soundtrack.
As I relax, my phone buzzes on the wooden table beside me. The screen displays several notifications, mostly from prospective clients eager to engage in real estate deals. My business has been rewarding, offering support and assistance to foreigners looking to establish themselves in Japan. It doesn’t consume too much of my energy, allowing me time to reflect and adjust to my new life.
I scroll through the messages, some filled with excitement about potential investments, while others are cautious with a series of inquiries. While I am going through the texts and mails, my screen lights up with a call. The caller’s name is Mr. Tanaka, a Japanese businessman whom I have consulted for previously. He has requested my services once again, but this time, it is for a venture located in the United States, in Tennessee to be precise.
I answer the call, and Mr. Tanaka’s voice resonates through the phone. His English is almost fluent, the result of the few years he’s spent studying and working in the States.
“Derrick, it’s good to hear from you again. I hope I’m not disturbing your day?” he says in his characteristic polite manner.
I assure him that he isn’t. We exchange pleasantries and inquire about each other’s well-being before he gets to the purpose of his call. Mr. Tanaka has expanded his business to Nashville, Tennessee, and he requires my expertise in setting up and managing his new venture. I listen carefully as he explains the details of his business venture and his vision for the future.
“We have acquired a piece of land for our new office building, and I believe your experience will be invaluable in ensuring a successful launch,” Mr. Tanaka says.
It sounds like an exciting opportunity, and I appreciate his trust in my abilities. Over the next week, I rearrange my schedule, adjourning my appointments and notifying my clients of my temporary absence. My destination is set: Nashville, Tennessee.
The days roll over swiftly. I pack a few essentials, mainly business attire and some personal belongings. The process feels routine, but the anticipation of returning to the United States stirs up mixed emotions. I book a one-way ticket to Nashville and, with a backpack slung over my shoulder, head for the airport.
The flight is long and boring. I pull out a book I had brought along and begin to read. It seems boring too. I close my eyes and then force myself to nap. Soon, my eyes open, as the pilot speaks to the passengers, informing us about landing. I look outside the window, watching the plane descend toward the Nashville International Airport, as a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I haven’t set foot in my home country for years, and returning now brings back memories, more painful than pleasant. The anticipation of the new business venture keeps me focused, but I can’t help but wonder what has become of my family in my absence.
I remember when I’d left. I did it without turning back. I channeled all of how I felt into my Navy SEAL training.
Now, as the plane touches down and the cabin crew announces our arrival, a mix of excitement and trepidation course through my insides. The possibility of something happening is high. But all I’d do is what I’ve come for. And I’d return in one piece. Or would I?
Chapter Three
Amber
Istepintothebedroom, its clean, modern lines a stark contrast to the centuries-old charm of the New York apartment. The tiles are cool beneath my bare feet as I reach for the light switch, flooding the space with a soft, muted glow. It’s early morning, Saturday, to be precise. The city outside stirs to life at a different rhythm than during the week. I can already hear the distant hum of traffic, the impatient blaring of car horns, and the shuffling of pedestrians.
My attire is simple, perfect for a quiet morning at home. I’m dressed in shorts and a loose-fitting top, its fabric gentle against my skin. Alex, my sweet little nephew, is still asleep in his room. The past weeks have been a whirlwind as I’ve rushed to prepare for my upcoming travel away from this hell hole.
A yawn escapes me as I gaze at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It’s been a challenging time, but it’s also been a time of rediscovery. The stench of my morning breath invades my senses, and I can’t help but scrunch my nose and chuckle at my own expense. Amid all the chaos, there’s a sense of freedom approaching, a sense of possibility.
My eyes meet the mirror’s gaze, and I’m reminded of the Japanese quote tucked in one corner. It’s a daily reminder of my obsession, my burning desire to explore the land of the rising sun. My brown hair cascades around my face, framing my features. My tanned skin hints at days spent basking in the warmth of the sun. I have thin lips that can curve into a smile as easily as they can convey determination. My nose, well, it’s pointy, a feature that’s always earned me a teasing nickname or two.
I use a little towel that hangs on the bathroom rod to wipe my wet face. I walk over to the toilet and sit for a wee. As my bladder empties its contents, I look around my little bathroom, memories from it seeping into me. I look at the bathtub and laugh. Jessica and I would fill it with water for a makeshift swimming pool when we were much smaller. I remember once, whilst we played in there, messing the whole place up with puddles of water, I had wanted to slide in from one end of the tub when I missed my steps and bashed the back of my head. It must have just been a little cut, but the blood mixed with the water in the bathtub, making it reddish.
Now, I laugh at how Jessica and I had feared that I lost blood the volume of the bathtub. Jess ran out naked to call Mother, screaming to her that I was dying. All that just for my mother to sigh and treat it with some spirit and a plaster to cover the cut.
I look at the slightly peeling wallpaper on the wall which must have witnessed our laughter, our tears, and our dreams. Now, they stand silent, as I take my steps toward an adventure I’ve yearned for since childhood.
The countdown to Japan has been a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement dances with nervousness, and uncertainty tugs at the edges of my anticipation. But this journey isn’t just about adventure; it’s a quest to find myself, to follow the trail of my own heart, and to discover the dreams I’ve been chasing in the shadow of others.
As the sun inches higher in the sky, casting a gentle morning glow through the window, I can’t help but wonder what lies ahead in the land of cherry blossoms and ancient traditions. Japan awaits, and with it, a chance for me to paint not just on a canvas but on the canvas of life itself.
I walk out of my room and into the living room, feeling the cool hardwood floor beneath my bare feet. A faint smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the air as I enter the living room. Lisa, my mother, stands on the balcony, her back to me, her silhouette framed by the soft morning light.
The balcony’s sliding glass door is left slightly ajar, allowing the cool morning breeze to snake its way into the room. The sound of Lisa’s soft humming mixes with the distant noises of the city awakening below.
I clear my throat, and Lisa turns her head slightly, not looking directly at me. A cigarette dangles between her fingers, smoke curling lazily from the tip as it disperses into the open air. My eyes fixate on the cigarette, and my tone carries a hint of disapproval.
“Mom, you shouldn’t smoke here. It’s not good for Alex,” I chide gently, taking a step closer to the balcony.
Lisa remains unfazed, her eyes still fixed on the sprawling cityscape before her. “Is that how you say good morning, dear?” she responds, her voice tinged with indifference.
I offer a hesitant smile, trying to break the ice. “Good morning.”
