tears under a bridge

by Aylanda Dwinugroho (Indonesia)

Making a local connection Japan

Every minute lost is an hour back home. I ran ahead. Chest aching with the burden of unshed tears. A working class family, we saved up for a trip to Hakone, yet, "Heavy snow, no way to Hakone," they would shrug, "No more taxi." We were stranded, no where to go, no where to come back to. Just then, as if heavensent, she came. With her thigh length dyed hair and a mumbled Sumimasen, she showed me her phone. Google Translate asked, "Are you going to Hakone?" I nodded. "Eto," she hummed and typed a response. I waited for white on blue to show. "Let's go together!" it read Along with her brother, they were going to Hakone for work, she told me. And like us, they were stuck. Let's find a taxi, her phone read. The both of us walked around the back of the station, through snow-kissed rail tracks and slushy roads. My soggy shoes made squelchy noises with every small step. There was no taxi, no other person, no one, only us. We continued, through parking lots and suburban homes. No one. I glanced for guidance and she stared back. A moment of solemn graveness passed, then two. And we went back. She made some calls while I opened a treasured heat pack. I was in the midst of updating my parents on the situation when her fingers touched an elbow. The light of her phone like a beacon of doom, "My friend will take me." Selfish fear caressed the back of my neck. I feigned incomprehension. Feeling abandoned by someone who did not owe me anything, yet feeling silly for doing so, I kept my silence and prayed. She showed me a nearby budget hotel. 22 minutes on foot. My elderly father could never make it. A tinge of sweet desperation laced my voice, "Is there room for three more?" I spoke to my mic. Perhaps her friend had a station wagon? "We are ready to pay anything." Her eyes drifted back and forth to read. She hummed. And she left. She was gone for a long time. The wind was biting sharper every second. We moved underneath a bridge where we huddled to wait. In the solitude, guilt plagued me. I couldn't bear to look at my parents. Fingers numb but my face hot, I braved a look. "Gimana, non?" my father, gentle as ever. What now? I moved to answer but nothing came out. I should have an answer, I must have an answer. But I didn't. Water warmed my cheeks, followed by little sniffles, followed by silent hiccups. Under the bridge in the middle of nowhere, I cried. When she came back, I was ready to say goodbye. It was a blessing enough to meet her and her brother. I brushed my cheeks, stood up, and smiled, when she said, "Come. Now. Rush!" Hope sparked anew. Adrenaline made winter feel warm. My head whispered, it's too good to be true. My throat clogged, expecting disappointment. I hauled two of the luggages, wheels unusable, bouncing them atop the snow. My parents waddled through the slush behind me. We stopped at a junction with two taxis and a dark-skinned man. "So you're the English speaker," he started. "These guys will take you to Hakone." English felt like a balm on frostbitten skin, it broke me out of reverie. Sudden, unadulterated laughter burst out. "Thank you so much," I smiled until my cheeks hurt. The taxi driver hurriedly ushered us in. Yet, one last thought alarmed me. "Wait, wait! What's your name--" "You don't even know her name?" Shocked, Dimples turned to me and huffed a laugh. "--I don't even know your name!" Broken Japanese had become my niche, "Namae! Watashi no namae wa Winona," my tongue was frozen still. "Ah, namae?" tinkling laughter seemed to stop time. "Gira," she smiled. Gira? Nira? Her name was lost to the wind. "Thank you so much! For everything--" "Hayakku," said the driver. Hurry. "--see you in Hakone!" I waved as hard as I could. As the engines revved up, I leaned against the car windows. The sound of a shy Sumimasen lingered in my ears. I smiled.