Pandora on the Your-Japan Blog Network

Thank you for all of your comments and your patronage. I guess I should go into the story of how I met my current boyfriend. It was my third day here in Tokyo, and I went down to a bar in Harajuku that I had read about that served mostly foreigners. Not being in Japan for a while, I had forgotten how lonely and isolated it can make one feel. After a long day of unsuccessful job hunting, that feeling of not belonging and isolation was biting pretty deep. I really needed to be around other foreigners- even if they weren’t white or American- to remind myself that there WAS a world outside the one-ness of daily Japanese life. Unfortunately, they tend to card in these bars, so I was enjoying my Shirley Temple when this group of rather tall guys walked in. They were being sort of loud and obnoxious, but they quickly sought out a table and left everyone else alone, so the rest of the customers- myself included- went ahead and ignored them. After maybe an hour, when I was thinking about calling it a night and going back to the hostel, I turned and saw one of the guys from the group sitting at the bar next to me. Our eyes met, and he opened up with, “’Sup?”

 

Needless to say, I was swept off my feet immediately [/sarcasm]

 

I turned away, and lifted my glass to drain my drink, and he went on to ask, “You American?”

 

I nodded and gave a small murmur of acknowledgement while I waved the bartender over to get my check. He said something along the lines of, “That’s cool,” then looked around the bar a bit. Assuming that’s as far as our conversation would go, I dug in my purse to get some yen out of my wallet and counted out how much I would need. Just as I went to slide off my barstool, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned.

 

“Where’re you going? The night’s still young. Hang out with me a bit.” He said.

 

Not in the mood to deal with a giant moron, I shoved his hand off me and said, “Look- ‘jerk’ really isn’t my type. Find another skirt to chase.”

 

I went home that night and more or less brushed off the situation. I didn’t even remember him until I went back to that same bar two nights later, and that guy was already there, sitting in a booth with all of his goofy friends. I took my usual seat at the bar and ordered my usual Shirley Temple, and it only took five minutes before I hear a soft, “’Scuse me” over my right shoulder. It was one of the jerk’s friends- about 6’2”, dirty blonde hair, and a scruffy face, as if he hadn’t had the chance to shave in a few days.

 

I looked him up and down, then met his gaze, waiting for him to piss me off. “Yeah? What is it?”

 

“My friend told me about how you shot him down last night; that was pretty brutal.”

 

“Well then tell him to put his big girl panties on and deal with it. Life is brutal.”

 

He laughed- REALLY loudly, and I looked around to see everyone staring at us.

 

“Don’t get pissed at me,” he said, “I didn’t come here to chew you out. If I did you’d be crying by now.”

 

I just gave him a blank stare.

 

“Okay, well maybe not,” he amended, “But I just wanted to say that what you did was a first for him. He’s NEVER been shot down by ANYONE. In fact he’s pretty used to having girls line up down the block to date him. You really struck his ego hard, which is probably something he really needed. Anyway, I thought it was cool.”

 

“You thought it was cool some strange girl shot down your buddy and crushed his masculine pride? You’re not a very good friend.”

 

“I guess you could see it that way- but I don’t have to be a good or bad friend to recognize a strong woman when I see one.”

 

I wasn’t really sure what to say to that, so I told him to either pull up a chair or walk away- that him standing awkwardly by the bar was drawing attention to us. He sat down next to me, and he and I talked for a bit. Everyone calls him Fluffy- due to his constantly unshaven face and excessive body hair. Turns out most of him and his friends are from the suburbs of New Orleans, about half an hour to forty-five minutes away from where my house was. They’ve attended college in southern Georgia for the past three years, and are here on a “Semester Abroad” trip. Apparently they applied to the Study Abroad program at the last minute, and they only had a choice of either Japan or Turkey. Understandably, they favored Japan.

 

After maybe thirty minutes of light conversation, the rest of Fluffy’s friends meandered over and the jerk clapped him on the shoulder and said they were just about ready to leave.

 

“Oh okay.” He said, then introduced me, “Guys, this is Pandora. She’s from New Orleans, but she managed to get a pretty kick-ass job at a martial arts school around here just this afternoon.”

 

“Really?” the jerk piped up, “That’s more information then she would give me. Guess I’m not worthy of the same respect, huh?”

 

I looked up at him and just glared. I did NOT appreciate his tone at ALL and told him in front of all his friends a favorite quote I learned from my father: “Stop your bitching. My respect is worked for and earned, not freely given.”

 

There was a bit of an awkward silence, then Fluffy bid me goodbye and got up from his stool. I stood as well and went to shake his hand- and he pulled me into a big bear hug. Oddly, it felt nice- it reminded me of the way my older brother used to hug me when we were kids. So I hugged him back and buried my face in his chest. We separated after a moment- and he was blushing! He stammered out another goodbye then left with his friends. I hung out at the bar a bit longer, celebrating my new job at the martial arts school and telling the bartender all about my first day. Maybe two to three hours later I saw how late it had gotten and made my way outside to catch the last train. However, when I left the bar and turned- there was the jerk. He had been leaning against the wall smoking, but when he saw me he stood up straight and extinguished the cigarette under his shoe, then walked over to me.

 

“Hey.” He said.

 

“…Hi.” I turned around. “Bye.”

 

“Wait!”

 

“Sigh. Yes?”

 

“Let me walk you home.”

 

“….”

 

“It’s not safe for a woman to walk alone so late at night!”

 

“Thanks, but no thanks. I can handle myself.”

 

I turned around again, reaching for my pack of cigarettes and wondering just WHAT the hell has come over him- when that bastard snatched my pack out of my hand and held it over his head! He’s six-foot-four! I’m five-foot-six! Playing keep-away with a girl half your height is just cruel.

 

“Give those back!”

 

“Let me walk you home.”

 

“I’m taking the train!”

 

“So?”

 

“You’d really walk me to the station, ride the train with me, then walk me all the way home?”

 

“Yeah.Why not?”

 

“You’re insane. Please just give me my cigarettes.”

 

“I’ll give them back because you said ‘please’. But I’m still walking you home.”   

 

“If you insist, Dudley Do-right.”

 

He gave back my cigs and he walked beside me on the way to the station in silence. I was feeling irritated that I was being messed with by a guy who was more or less a stranger to me, but I didn’t feel like getting into a pointless argument, so I just walked as fast as I could without breaking into an actual sprint and kept smoking my cigarette to keep my hands busy.

 

“So you’re name’s Pandora, huh? That’s a pretty name. You don’t hear that very often.” He piped up.

 

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I get that a lot. And your name is…?”

 

“The Casanova*”

 

“……The Casanova?”

 

*Just to make clear, his name is NOT really ‘Casanova’ nor did he call himself a Casanova. However, he did put a ‘the’ in front of his real name, which made me pause and repeat it the way I did. I mean, could you imagine asking someone their name and getting a response like, “The George” or “The Terry”? It reminds me of The Todd from Scrubs, and I couldn’t decide at the time if he was joking or not.

 

He wasn’t.

 

“Yeah- The Casanova” he grinned “It’s sort of what my friends call me, and it just stuck.”

 

“Is that because you’re the only Casanova in your group, or..?” I asked, hoping not to get the answer I thought I was.

 

“Nope!” he smiled, pleased with himself, “It’s because I AM The Casanova, and I’m the shit. Praise me.”

 

Yup. There it was- the kind of answer I thought he would give.

 

“…………..Good night.” I stressed, turning on my heel and walking away quickly before I caught his severe case of Stupid.

 

“Wait! I’m sorry-!” he called out, but he didn’t try to follow me. I made it to the train station alone, and rode all the way home, my mind mostly filled with thoughts of how stupid American men were and how much I wanted to see Fujiomi again. I had originally planned to meet him that day for lunch, but he had cancelled when I mentioned my job ‘interview’ and said it was more important to make sure I had a job so I could stay in Japan. We hadn’t had a chance to reschedule and I was dying to see him. Unfortunately, I had no idea just how persistent The Casanova would be…

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