David Meredith's Blog - Posts Tagged "3-11-11"
An Ordinary Train Ride From Sendai
On this, the 5th anniversary of the Tohoku Earthquake and Tsunami I thought it appropriate to repost this piece I first wrote right after it happened. Don't forget to say a prayer for the survivors who are still struggling to recover
An Ordinary Train Ride From Sendai
Ga-tan -ga-tan. Ga-tan -ga-tan. Ga-tan -ga-tan.
The steady rhythm of the “One-man” car gliding down the tracks lulled him. His coal black school uniform was disheveled and unbuttoned in the manner that was most stylish among his classmates - his hair carefully sprayed and sculpted. His fit and trim figure slouched drowsily in the handicapped-only seat.
Screw ‘em, he glanced at the sign clearly indicating his spot's very specific designation and grimaced in disdain. The train’s nearly empty anyway…
There were few other passengers in the car at this time of day - most other people more gainfully occupied with either work or school. Still, an old woman clutched shopping bags to her chest and muttered under her breath a few feet away. A couple of business men stared down at their keitais, motionless but for their frantic thumbs. Near the door, a young mother played a rhyming game with a little girl of about three or four who giggled and shrieked at the diversion. He wished she would shut up.
The young man glanced out the windows. Endless rice fields stretched toward the distant mountains on his left. On his right was the glittering ocean, dotted here and there with fishing boats and barges. He slouched lower. Why did he even bother looking? It was the exact same view every day. Sometimes it was sunny, sometimes cloudy. In the winter it might spit snow, but otherwise the sea and the fields were immutable.
Dull, dull, dull, he thought sullenly making a face at his own dim reflection in the glass.
His keitai buzzed and he dug it out of his pocket with a growl. The text was short. Where are you? (Frowny face). It was from his Kokugo teacher.
He did not reply to the message. It was Friday, Goddamn it. He didn’t feel like thinking about her or his least favorite class. The nagging old prude could wait until next week when he would have an appropriate and elaborate excuse dreamed up for ditching. He checked the time.
2:31pm… Home in a half hour…
Mom and Dad wouldn’t be back until well after six leaving him completely free to turn his music up loud and flip through the porn magazine he had shop-lifted from the konbini yesterday morning. It was something to look forward to. He slouched ever deeper in his seat resolving to nap until he got to his stop.
The breaks of the train squealed as they pulled into the next station. The old lady had fallen asleep and one of her half-dozen bags overturned, contents dumping across the lurching floor. One of the business men looked up, but quickly went back to his phone. The other remained motionless except for his madly tapping thumb. The little girl laughed in delight at her clapping, screaming game with her mother and he hoped to God they got off as the old woman growled and mumbled under her breath, stiffly bending to collect her spilled belongings.
He looked at his phone again; 2:37pm. Would this ride never end?
The doors opened. A couple more people got on and the previously immobile business man leapt from his seat to rush out. A grey-haired, older man in a green argyle sweater and the tall rubber boots of a farmer took his place. The doors began to slide closed once more, but just before the portal could completely seal a girl stuck her school bag in the narrowing gap. The doors opened in response to the impediment and she stepped lightly into the car.
The high school boy sat a little straighter and pulled a small mirror from his pocket, checking his meticulously coiffed hair. She was pretty.
She wore her high school uniform almost as carelessly as he did – top two buttons undone, navy skirt tight-rolled to expose a dangerous portion of bare leg. Her eyes were large and luminous and her pretty face liberally decorated with glitter – cheeks, eyes, lips. She looked almost like a fairy, he thought and had a sudden, comic vision of shaking her to obtain pixie dust. He smiled, but did not look up at her directly. It seemed someone else was skipping school today too.
She sat down, crossed her legs prettily, and immediately began texting on her keitai. She made no show of noticing him.
Why do girls do that, he wondered? Going to so much trouble to make him look and then pretending like he didn’t exist! Of course, he mused ironically, he himself was far too self-conscious to even look at her directly so talking to her was certainly out of the question.
He sighed to himself silently. Oh well, he thought wistfully. At least I’ll have something nice to look at until I get home.
He checked his phone; 2:41pm.
He could not help but stare at the girl’s legs. She must walk a long way to school every day, he thought. Muscular lines were vivid in her slender calves and thighs, made all the more tantalizing by the fact that her skirt covered exactly enough skin to avoid indecency, but not one millimeter more. It might be nice to walk behind her up the platform stairs when she got off, he idly supposed, even if not his stop. He could always hop on the next train.
She caught him looking and he quickly pretended to be texting; 2:43 pm.
Was that a smile he saw? Did she like that he had noticed her? He pulled out his mirror again. Was she interested? Could he talk to her?
Of course not, he thought immediately, but chanced another peek anyway. The girl had bent over to dig determinedly through her school bag. A heart-shaped necklace fell out of her gaping collar and he sucked in a breath as he caught the unmistakable flash of bright pink bra and olive cleavage.
She looked up at him and he turned his head as if looking out the window. His cheeks flushed brilliantly pink. She had smiled at him that time!
His keitai buzzed.
Karaoke tonight? It read.
Yeah, he wrote back. Meet at station: 6:30.
It was 2:45 as he pressed ‘send’.
The train lurched suddenly and he gasped in surprise. Breaks squealed and the young man was thrown out of his seat. The car quickly came to a halt, but the shaking did not cease. Bags and briefcases crashed down from the luggage rack and the other riders exclaimed in dismay. The girl he had been ogling screamed and the toddler began to cry.
The farmer in the argyle sweater shouted, “Earthquake!”
It was a big one too. The train car lurched and bounced. People shouted and cried. The shaking went on and on then intensified. He had experience earthquakes many times without concern. This was Japan. You waited for the shaking to stop then cleaned up the mess, but this was something completely different. It felt as though God himself had picked up their little car and given it a long, vigorous rattle.
Then everything went still. The train was eerily silent. Very slowly the passengers picked themselves up and collected their scattered effects. Taken by a suddenly brave impulse, he offered his hand to the girl and pulled her to her feet.
“Wow,” she said shyly. “That was a big one.”
He nodded, but before he could reply a voice
crackled across the loudspeaker. “There will regrettably be a delay. We humbly apologize for the inconvenience. Please wait for instructions.”
No kidding, he thought ruefully. They would probably have to get off now and walk to the next station, then God only knew when the trains would start up again. So much for karaoke. They stood in silence for several minutes waiting to be told what to do next.
“Mommy,” the little girl exclaimed abruptly, pointing toward the ocean. “What’s wrong with water? Why is it going away?”
Everyone looked. Something was wrong. His eyes widened.
He had seen the same ocean out this same window for over a year every day on his way to school. Where was it now? He could barely see the waterline anymore. There was only bare, grey sand. Several boats hung awkwardly from docks at their moorings as the water inexplicably retreated, bows pointed high, sterns buried.
No one spoke. Everyone stared at the inexplicably missing sea. Minutes passed. His keitai buzzed again, but he did not answer it.
“Wait, what’s that?”
“Do, you see something?”
“No, it’s nothing. We just need to wait.”
“No, I see something out there. It looks like…”
The old lady with the shopping bags made a strangled sound then started murmuring a prayer. She rocked back and forth clutching a strand of juzu prayer beads. The businessman started shouting and pulling on the doors to the outside. When they did not open, he ran to the next car, his panicked screaming audible long after he was out of sight. The child began crying again.
The ocean…
“Oh, God…” the young man breathed.
Taller than an office building, a great, sable juggernaut raced towards them. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run, but the awesome vision was paralyzing. In that towering wall of water, the young man saw inexorable Death.
Someone seized his hand and he jumped. He stared into the terror stricken eyes of the high school girl. She was breathing very quickly.
“Please,” she whispered fearfully. “Please, look at me… And… And… I’ll look at you! I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna see... Please, look at me.”
He nodded, squeezed her hands, and stared into her pretty face. A tear leaked from her eye to make a shimmering trail through the glitter on her cheek - So beautiful.
A low roar came to his ears. It grew louder and louder, but he and the girl continued to gaze into each other’s eye terrified eyes. She squeezed his hands more tightly.
“My name is Masato,” he breathed.
“I’m Marika,” she answered.
The noise grew deafening. He pulled Marika tightly against his chest - so small and warm. He buried his nose in her hair. The smell made him think of flowers – Sakura, perhaps - The kind that would soon turn the cherry trees in the park pink, and under which his friends would sit singing, eating, drinking, and laughing. Maybe, Marika would be there too - Hanami together. He clenched his eyes tightly closed, concentrating on Marika’s sweet scent.
The thirty-foot tidal wave struck the train.
On March 11, 2011 over 18,000 people of Tohoku lost their lives in the worst tsunami in Japanese history. The death toll was six times the number killed on 9/11. The bodies of many of the lost were never found and their stories remain untold, their families and friends never knowing their fate.
An Ordinary Train Ride From Sendai
Ga-tan -ga-tan. Ga-tan -ga-tan. Ga-tan -ga-tan.
The steady rhythm of the “One-man” car gliding down the tracks lulled him. His coal black school uniform was disheveled and unbuttoned in the manner that was most stylish among his classmates - his hair carefully sprayed and sculpted. His fit and trim figure slouched drowsily in the handicapped-only seat.
Screw ‘em, he glanced at the sign clearly indicating his spot's very specific designation and grimaced in disdain. The train’s nearly empty anyway…
There were few other passengers in the car at this time of day - most other people more gainfully occupied with either work or school. Still, an old woman clutched shopping bags to her chest and muttered under her breath a few feet away. A couple of business men stared down at their keitais, motionless but for their frantic thumbs. Near the door, a young mother played a rhyming game with a little girl of about three or four who giggled and shrieked at the diversion. He wished she would shut up.
The young man glanced out the windows. Endless rice fields stretched toward the distant mountains on his left. On his right was the glittering ocean, dotted here and there with fishing boats and barges. He slouched lower. Why did he even bother looking? It was the exact same view every day. Sometimes it was sunny, sometimes cloudy. In the winter it might spit snow, but otherwise the sea and the fields were immutable.
Dull, dull, dull, he thought sullenly making a face at his own dim reflection in the glass.
His keitai buzzed and he dug it out of his pocket with a growl. The text was short. Where are you? (Frowny face). It was from his Kokugo teacher.
He did not reply to the message. It was Friday, Goddamn it. He didn’t feel like thinking about her or his least favorite class. The nagging old prude could wait until next week when he would have an appropriate and elaborate excuse dreamed up for ditching. He checked the time.
2:31pm… Home in a half hour…
Mom and Dad wouldn’t be back until well after six leaving him completely free to turn his music up loud and flip through the porn magazine he had shop-lifted from the konbini yesterday morning. It was something to look forward to. He slouched ever deeper in his seat resolving to nap until he got to his stop.
The breaks of the train squealed as they pulled into the next station. The old lady had fallen asleep and one of her half-dozen bags overturned, contents dumping across the lurching floor. One of the business men looked up, but quickly went back to his phone. The other remained motionless except for his madly tapping thumb. The little girl laughed in delight at her clapping, screaming game with her mother and he hoped to God they got off as the old woman growled and mumbled under her breath, stiffly bending to collect her spilled belongings.
He looked at his phone again; 2:37pm. Would this ride never end?
The doors opened. A couple more people got on and the previously immobile business man leapt from his seat to rush out. A grey-haired, older man in a green argyle sweater and the tall rubber boots of a farmer took his place. The doors began to slide closed once more, but just before the portal could completely seal a girl stuck her school bag in the narrowing gap. The doors opened in response to the impediment and she stepped lightly into the car.
The high school boy sat a little straighter and pulled a small mirror from his pocket, checking his meticulously coiffed hair. She was pretty.
She wore her high school uniform almost as carelessly as he did – top two buttons undone, navy skirt tight-rolled to expose a dangerous portion of bare leg. Her eyes were large and luminous and her pretty face liberally decorated with glitter – cheeks, eyes, lips. She looked almost like a fairy, he thought and had a sudden, comic vision of shaking her to obtain pixie dust. He smiled, but did not look up at her directly. It seemed someone else was skipping school today too.
She sat down, crossed her legs prettily, and immediately began texting on her keitai. She made no show of noticing him.
Why do girls do that, he wondered? Going to so much trouble to make him look and then pretending like he didn’t exist! Of course, he mused ironically, he himself was far too self-conscious to even look at her directly so talking to her was certainly out of the question.
He sighed to himself silently. Oh well, he thought wistfully. At least I’ll have something nice to look at until I get home.
He checked his phone; 2:41pm.
He could not help but stare at the girl’s legs. She must walk a long way to school every day, he thought. Muscular lines were vivid in her slender calves and thighs, made all the more tantalizing by the fact that her skirt covered exactly enough skin to avoid indecency, but not one millimeter more. It might be nice to walk behind her up the platform stairs when she got off, he idly supposed, even if not his stop. He could always hop on the next train.
She caught him looking and he quickly pretended to be texting; 2:43 pm.
Was that a smile he saw? Did she like that he had noticed her? He pulled out his mirror again. Was she interested? Could he talk to her?
Of course not, he thought immediately, but chanced another peek anyway. The girl had bent over to dig determinedly through her school bag. A heart-shaped necklace fell out of her gaping collar and he sucked in a breath as he caught the unmistakable flash of bright pink bra and olive cleavage.
She looked up at him and he turned his head as if looking out the window. His cheeks flushed brilliantly pink. She had smiled at him that time!
His keitai buzzed.
Karaoke tonight? It read.
Yeah, he wrote back. Meet at station: 6:30.
It was 2:45 as he pressed ‘send’.
The train lurched suddenly and he gasped in surprise. Breaks squealed and the young man was thrown out of his seat. The car quickly came to a halt, but the shaking did not cease. Bags and briefcases crashed down from the luggage rack and the other riders exclaimed in dismay. The girl he had been ogling screamed and the toddler began to cry.
The farmer in the argyle sweater shouted, “Earthquake!”
It was a big one too. The train car lurched and bounced. People shouted and cried. The shaking went on and on then intensified. He had experience earthquakes many times without concern. This was Japan. You waited for the shaking to stop then cleaned up the mess, but this was something completely different. It felt as though God himself had picked up their little car and given it a long, vigorous rattle.
Then everything went still. The train was eerily silent. Very slowly the passengers picked themselves up and collected their scattered effects. Taken by a suddenly brave impulse, he offered his hand to the girl and pulled her to her feet.
“Wow,” she said shyly. “That was a big one.”
He nodded, but before he could reply a voice
crackled across the loudspeaker. “There will regrettably be a delay. We humbly apologize for the inconvenience. Please wait for instructions.”
No kidding, he thought ruefully. They would probably have to get off now and walk to the next station, then God only knew when the trains would start up again. So much for karaoke. They stood in silence for several minutes waiting to be told what to do next.
“Mommy,” the little girl exclaimed abruptly, pointing toward the ocean. “What’s wrong with water? Why is it going away?”
Everyone looked. Something was wrong. His eyes widened.
He had seen the same ocean out this same window for over a year every day on his way to school. Where was it now? He could barely see the waterline anymore. There was only bare, grey sand. Several boats hung awkwardly from docks at their moorings as the water inexplicably retreated, bows pointed high, sterns buried.
No one spoke. Everyone stared at the inexplicably missing sea. Minutes passed. His keitai buzzed again, but he did not answer it.
“Wait, what’s that?”
“Do, you see something?”
“No, it’s nothing. We just need to wait.”
“No, I see something out there. It looks like…”
The old lady with the shopping bags made a strangled sound then started murmuring a prayer. She rocked back and forth clutching a strand of juzu prayer beads. The businessman started shouting and pulling on the doors to the outside. When they did not open, he ran to the next car, his panicked screaming audible long after he was out of sight. The child began crying again.
The ocean…
“Oh, God…” the young man breathed.
Taller than an office building, a great, sable juggernaut raced towards them. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run, but the awesome vision was paralyzing. In that towering wall of water, the young man saw inexorable Death.
Someone seized his hand and he jumped. He stared into the terror stricken eyes of the high school girl. She was breathing very quickly.
“Please,” she whispered fearfully. “Please, look at me… And… And… I’ll look at you! I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna see... Please, look at me.”
He nodded, squeezed her hands, and stared into her pretty face. A tear leaked from her eye to make a shimmering trail through the glitter on her cheek - So beautiful.
A low roar came to his ears. It grew louder and louder, but he and the girl continued to gaze into each other’s eye terrified eyes. She squeezed his hands more tightly.
“My name is Masato,” he breathed.
“I’m Marika,” she answered.
The noise grew deafening. He pulled Marika tightly against his chest - so small and warm. He buried his nose in her hair. The smell made him think of flowers – Sakura, perhaps - The kind that would soon turn the cherry trees in the park pink, and under which his friends would sit singing, eating, drinking, and laughing. Maybe, Marika would be there too - Hanami together. He clenched his eyes tightly closed, concentrating on Marika’s sweet scent.
The thirty-foot tidal wave struck the train.
On March 11, 2011 over 18,000 people of Tohoku lost their lives in the worst tsunami in Japanese history. The death toll was six times the number killed on 9/11. The bodies of many of the lost were never found and their stories remain untold, their families and friends never knowing their fate.
