It was raining in Yosemite National Park. I got off the bus and trotted toward the nearest eaves of a house. After a few minutes, eager to get into a building, I started to walk under my umbrella. The rain splashed on the road, thunder, maybe, on the way.
When I entered The Mountain Room Lounge, where many families were eating lunch, I recognized how lonely I could be up here, idling in the nearby souvenir shop. Having nothing to do in particular, I headed for the place I got off the bus twenty minutes before the bus departure time.
I was waiting for the bus beneath the eaves, staring at rain streaming down from the trees, however, and neither the bus nor any of the tour guests emerged. I remained uncertain as to whether they come here. Did I miss it at the wrong time or place? No way―I was coming and going on the road, looking here and there.
Several buses passing before my eyes, I immediately checked one license plate after another. I felt my face turned pale―the bus left me stranded in the darkness of the forest?; the next thing I knew, I ran as fast as I could back to the lounge. With a sigh of relief, I toweled off my head, took off my drenched hoodie and wrung it, for I discovered the tour guests sat around the table enjoying lunch.
Los Angeles, in contrast to San Francisco, was hot and sunny (June). What excited me in Hollywood was that there were many people in outlandish outfits. Whatever that makes you unique seemed to be significant for those who wanted to achieve great success. I was jealous of them―I was determined to be marginalized in Japanese society, which embraces normal people.
When I strolled about Hollywood Blvd., I found a stylish cafe where there were people in long lines. I walked in and stood in a line. They chose something to eat and drink, talked to the staff and left―this process smooth and quick―however, I shrank back at the sight of their small conversations. That reminded me that when I ordered a coke at McDonald’s I got three. There was so much pressure on me―people were waiting behind me. I casually stepped out of the line and I entered a Mexican restaurant where the seats were empty.
I came into Los Vegas to go to Grand Canyon and see “O” by Clique du Soleil. One morning, I was running along Las Vegas Blvd street. Each time I crossed path with strangers who ran or walked, I would say good morning―it was very pleasant moment. I pulled off my T-shirt on the way and continued to run.
After running I lifted the weights at my hostel, believing that building up my muscles would offset my weakness that had sapped my confidence. It temporarily made me more positive, and while there was something wrong with my mind. I got the feeling that if stripped of an armor called muscles, my weakness came to light, as a mere masquerade.
For instance, some people would cling too much to the position of authority, by acknowledging he can do nothing without it at heart. Fear of losing what he gained would freeze him to the place he has been. Others who had settled into the company’s strong brand power when starting his own will bring home to him the reality that nobody deals with him. But, in other words, it is time to show them what I was made of.
I had gone away from Grand Canyon vantage point. I became aware three women figures waiting for the tour bus at the roundabout. At that time, of course, I had made sure of the departure time and location since the mishap had beset my Yosemite tour; I knew the buses never come on time, and that nobody was as strict about time as Japanese.
As I was standing a little away from them, the other tour guests had not turned up. I noticed three women, two Asian and a white, having anxious faces. A white woman, who seems to be traveling alone and who was a what imposing figure, was as much as to say that she did not associate with Asian men, and so I said to Asian women, “The bus hasn’t come.” (Read part1.) “No, but the bus driver dare said ‘twenty minutes,’” one of Asian women tilted her head thoughtfully. I begun to walk off toward the pathway. After a few minutes, I saw the other guests leaning against the back of the couch.
To find out myself, as so many come, I had come to New York. I passed through the gait of Colombia University later in the evening. I walked by students―intelligent faces―reading books: biology or physics or philosophy or … ? And then, when I saw a group having conversation on a flight of stone steps, for some reason, I recalled my teenage years―remorse welled up through me. If I had not strayed from right path, this kind of university was where I should have been long ago. I turned my gaze away and walked into the path with greenery in the dark.
The next morning, I ran at a faster speed than usual in Central park. What on earth can I do?―no career and no friends and no person I can lean on and no … . Suddenly I stopped to know where I was and looked around―at the top of the concrete slope stood a matronly woman with her dog on a leash, gazing at me. “May I help you?”
