January 2020
I detested her. She is scum. I despise myself for having got involved with them at all; there was no need to keep rehashing my past―she was ugly and she gave me the creeps. “Huh” or “Eh” with a deep, brief sigh popped into my mind and at the same time I felt an intense irritation with her, every time my neck itched. I has had keloids on my neck―big, red and swell on my neck. People used to ask what was wrong with me, like I had had scars of burns to something.
It had been ten years since I was told that these bombs is not healed, but I wrote to a plastic surgeon about my keloids, and I got a reply from the doctor the next morning, which made me grateful. Fairly quickly. Any good doctor would not do so. Feeling hopeful, I read the mail: “Regarding the treatment of hypertrophic scars and keloids, I had surgeries…”
*
May 2008
In the mornings, I put my report on her desk. Later in the afternoons, she asks with a goofy face: “How many hours did you sleep last night?” I was a student trainee and Matsu a case advisor. If I say “Two hours,” she asks “What the hell is that?”and if I do “No sleep,” she “Huh. You’re a liar.” and if I “Five hours,” she “Do you feel like doing anything? Other students have been studying so hard, all the day, without sleeping. You goof off, eh?”
Her mouth with buckteeth lights up in acrid tones, and it is creeping me out even though I find it what a dope. I can tell by the way she looks at me that she has sensed I am such an airhead, and if so, then what is the right answer? she also had the way of appending a phrase to “Huh” or “Eh” with a sullen face, as if to be at a loss of words, which really pissed me off. It was like she gave me countless jabs in my heart.
Goof off? This bitch. I pride myself on being stoic. She would be the first and last person to say that, like I am lazy, which touches my deep core of rage. Actually, come to think of it, she worked hard being aloof with her stoic endurance, which made her moody at all hours―it felt like there was something inside her that wanted to wreck someones life.
In the evenings, Matsu would appear, telling me to come. Then she asks bluntly: “What’s this all about?” I can see my report on her desk in the middle of nowhere. There would be silence that indicated anything I say would be just a waste. After a while, I hear her sigh heavily. Then she dose again: “How many hours did you sleep last night?” There would be another short silence; I start to explain the contents of my report. “No,”she says. “I mean, how many hours did you sleep last night?” Shut up! Fucking bastard!
She never have much to do with her co-workers nor was she popular. Only occasionally an agreeable and kind man made effort to be nice to her, but she had no sense of humor, ignoring him in a high-handed attitude. Just so you know. There is a type of ugly that men never find attractive.
In Izakaya, a Japanese pub, was the welcome party for us students. For some reason―perhaps Umeno, Matsu’s manager, had given an instruction to her―she was sitting awkwardly on the tatami mat across from me and sulking, while all around her people sat laughing and talking in little groups.
“Let’s have a glass,” said a man. “Cheers!” “Cheers!” everyone cheered loudly. One by one I took turn touching glasses, the bottom of my glass on my left palm, shifting my weight forward and bobbing my head. Naturally I was about to touch a glass to Matsu, who raised hers much higher to me than to others. The bottom of hers shoved the top of mine.
Everywhere people were enjoying themselves, seating around a long rectangular table, and I listened for the CEO in my line and Matsu sat sullenly in front of me. Ugh. I detested her. She did not to try to talk to anyone; the others did not do to her, either. No one came to her. She deserved it. Would I pour you a drink?”I asked. “No, thank you.” She said, throwing a look of cold fury. How dare this uppity bitch? What’s come over her? Always.
There was nowhere for her to go, no mechanism to hang out with her co-workers. I was glad to see it, feeling both contempt and pity. I was drinking my beer eating from plates, not wanting to her look that disgusted me. And then out of the blue Umeno nudged me in a whisper. Glancing at her, I could see Matsu’s patience from solitariness, boredom, and aversion to me, pretending to fiddle with her phone. “Of course,” I said randomly, feigning that I was busy picking at a grilled fish with my chopstick and I was pleased that Umeno pitied her: there was nothing she can do and she never laughed. I got obsessed by my crazy thought this kind of woman was supposed to stay single forever. Ha-ha. She deserves to do.
Eventually Matsu never talked anyone and was about to leave the pub, and Umeno pushed me, and finally I followed her to the exit and she put on her shoes in a hurry and I said with my bowed head: “Otsukaresamadesita.” It does not mean either “Go to the hell” nor “Get lost, bitch.” It means, like thank you very much for today. She said it too, without looking at me, shoving the short sprit curtain away disappearing.
A few days after the party, I was a student trainee and Matsu a case advisor, as usual. She gave me an order: “You are supposed to wait at the staff room, while I talk with my client,” “I understand,” I could tell it was something important, so I walked off, all the way to the room. As I waited for her to come back there, I could see Umeno looking around uncomfortably, walking up the passage. There was an urgency in her manner and she noticed me, getting freaked out. “Ah, here you are,” she said, approaching me. “Matsusan’s looking for you.” “What?” I said, astonished. “Don’t have your own way. I can’t deal with you anymore. I’ll call your school teacher for help,” she said, not loudly but quite distinctly.
Damn, I thought. Matsu. Fucking crazy.
