Jon Athan - Am I Beautiful?

Adam said, “You know what I’m saying.”

“I–I don’t. ‘One-time thing,’ I’ve never heard that phrase before.”

Adam huffed and nodded. She’s playing stupid, he thought. He stepped closer to her, leaning in until their faces were just a few inches apart.

With a smirk, he said, “I should remind you that you’re fluent in English. I know that for a fact, so this little thing you’re trying to pull won’t work on me. You do understand me, so accept it and move on.”

Miki swiped at her nose, sniffled again, and said, “I should remind you… that you said… I was the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.”

Adam’s cocky grin was wiped off his face. He clenched his jaw and glanced around. An employee stocked some shelves in the bread aisle nearby and a salaryman browsed the sandwiches in the refrigerator. No one paid attention to them. He turned around and looked down at the freezer chests loaded with ice cream.

He said, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“I need you to leave me alone.”

“But why, Adam? We had a great time. It was so romantic. I never felt so close to anyone before. The way you touched my—”

“ Stop, ” Adam interrupted, his voice stern.

“ Sumimasen ,” the salaryman said as he squeezed past them, a strawberry sandwich in hand.

‘ Excuse me. ’

He grabbed a bottle of cold coffee from the refrigerator behind the couple, then he went over to the cash register. The other employee started stocking the shelves at the end of the bread aisle with snacks.

As soon as the coast was clear, in a quiet but steely tone, Adam said, “I don’t want you talking about us like that in public.”

“Why?”

“It’s… private, okay?”

“Most of the people here can’t understand us. We’re just an international couple at a store talking about our plans.”

“We’re not a couple and we don’t have any plans together.”

Miki said, “I’m sorry if I did anything wrong. I’m trying to understand you. I just want to spend time with you. What’s the big deal?”

‘ I’m married! ’ Adam held his breath to smother the shout before it could erupt from his mouth. His face reddened and crumpled into a grimace. He looked like he was in pain. He walked away from her, nostrils flaring with each heavy breath.

“Adam,” Miki said as she followed him through the store. “Adam, slow down. Let’s talk about this. I’m sorry.”

A group of tourists now sat at the seating area near the entrance, filming a video with a GoPro camera. Adam didn’t want to get caught in a viral video, so he stormed out of the convenience store. While running after him, Miki crashed into the high school student, sending stacks of paper spiraling to the floor. She helped the student pick up some of the sheets while apologizing in Japanese, then she ran out and chased after Adam.

Adam jogged towards his hotel while dodging the other busy salaryworkers on the sidewalk. Miki was right. Most of his business meetings were scheduled in Chiyoda, so his hotel was located in the district—just a few blocks away. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Miki outside of the 7-Eleven. As soon as she saw him, she started jogging after him while waving and yelling his name. Adam couldn’t—under any circumstance—afford to lead her to his hotel.

She’ll never leave you alone if she finds out where you’re staying, he told himself.

He saw an opening, so he took it. He sprinted across the street. Without stopping, he looked back. He saw Miki attempt to follow him, but a car honked at her. She waved at Adam from across the street, as if that would convince him to stop.

Adam took a right at the next intersection. He blinked rapidly as he inspected his surroundings, searching for a familiar landmark or restaurant to guide him to his hotel. He reached another intersection. He looked back as he waited for the crosswalk light to change. He couldn’t see Miki over the crowds of pedestrians.

Beads of sweat slid down his forehead and tickled his cheeks while his heart hit his sternum like a jackhammer. His wobbling legs burned and an uncomfortable warmth spread through his moist thighs. He wasn’t exhausted, though. He was on the cusp of middle age—hell, some people would say he was middle age—but he was healthy. He was scared now—anxious, concerned, downright terrified .

Chirp, chirp, the crosswalk signal sang as the light turned green.

He stopped for a moment, waiting to see if Miki would show up. She was nowhere to be found. He strode across the street. He could see his hotel towards the center of the block, wedged between two apartment buildings. His eyes bulged upon hearing a set of hurried footsteps. He glanced back and saw Miki running towards him.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He sprinted away. He ran straight past his hotel without glancing at it. He crossed another street, ran past a café and a bank, and then turned and ran down a narrow street. He recognized the area. He was close to Tokyo Station. He squeezed his briefcase between his arm and his ribcage and pulled his wallet out of his pocket as he went down a flight of stairs into the subway station.

“Adam, wait!” Miki yelled, her voice echoing through the stairwell. “I just want to talk! Please! Slow down!”

Her voice was drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the busy station—the endless footsteps, multilingual chatter from residents and tourists, announcements from store employees and loudspeaker announcements from the train station personnel, the beeping from the terminals—and it wasn’t even rush hour yet.

Adam was swept away by a sea of commuters. He slipped and slid as he ran through the station. He headed towards the Chiyoda Line. It was the only line he could remember from his travels so far. He took his Pasmo card—a rechargeable pass for public transportation—and tapped it on the terminal. He hurried down another flight of stairs.

A station employee warned him to stop running in Japanese. Since Adam was a foreigner, the employee didn’t bother chasing him down to scold him.

Adam ran into a train. He grabbed a pole and stopped himself from crashing on the parallel doors. He looked back at the platform. A jingle played from the station’s speakers—the departure melody. Another tourist and a Japanese man jogged into the train, then the doors closed behind them. Adam leaned back on the pole and caught his breath.

“ Matte! ” a woman yelled.

‘ Wait! ’

“You have to be kidding me,” Adam whispered.

Miki jogged up to the doors and knocked on the window. She spotted Adam. She knocked and waved at him. She looked like she was trying to ask him to open the doors for her. Adam could see her lips flapping, but he couldn’t hear her. The other passengers mumbled about her. Some were amused by her attempt to board the train. Others were scared by her bizarre behavior.

Emotional outbursts in public were uncommon in Japan. The country’s subway stations were especially clean, safe, and organized.

“Don’t let her in, don’t let her in, don’t let her in,” Adam said.

Through the tinted windows to his left, he saw the conductor speaking to someone through a radio. The gossip in the subway car became louder. The passengers were buzzing with excitement. Some of them connected the pieces and stared at Adam.

In English, an American woman said, “I think she’s talking about him.”

“ Kanojo daijōbu? ” a Japanese woman said.

‘ Is she okay? ’

On the platform, another train employee squeezed himself between Miki and the doors. He pushed her back while scolding her for endangering herself and the other passengers. Miki pointed at the subway car and said something along the lines of: ‘ I need to get in there. ’ Adam couldn’t hear her. He couldn’t understand her Japanese anyway.