Toshiki Okada - The End of the Moment We Had

So he said, yeah, when it comes to soundtracks, sometimes I want to buy it right after I’ve seen the movie, and especially if it’s like a good movie, or like if the music made a strong impression, so sometimes I feel like I have to buy it —and I said, uh huh, yeah. He kept going, so, yeah, I get it, sure, but you know, every time I go and buy one, and I’ve bought a bunch, it’s always like, I mean I’m saying this from experience here, because I’ve bought a whole bunch, but don’t you always just get tired of the soundtrack like almost right away? No? Maybe you don’t, but I do, you know, and at some point I realized that, and I was like, okay, from now on, no more soundtracks for me, so I stopped. He was still standing there, not leaning on the wall. I thought what he was saying was so right on. I mean, I was pretty impressed. Yeah, I totally get what you’re saying, I said, I mean totally! And then I felt like I was kind of floating. I got nervous, I had to say something, so I blurted out, I guess I should stop buying soundtracks too . But as soon as I said it, that floating sensation got worse, I didn’t feel like I had got anywhere. All he said was, it’s whatever you want, buy ’em or don’t. And I said, oh, right, you’re so right. And I kept going, basically everyone’s got their preferences—or, you know, not preferences, but you know what I mean—and so like everyone’s different, right? So everyone can buy them if they want or not buy them if they don’t, is what you’re saying, right? He said, sure . Oh god, I was so unbelievably stupid, when I said, I guess I should stop buying soundtracks too, I mean what kind of a statement is that, I have no clue—I should just shut my mouth and die. But even if it was a statement, the response is obvious, so saying something like that like it’s a statement, I mean it was so lame, but I said it, and thinking about myself saying it, I was like oh my god, I’m the worst, my life is over, and I actually said that out loud, which I didn’t even realize until after I said it, I’m so stupid I should just die, and he must have been thinking the exact same thing. When he heard me say my life is over, he made a confused face, or I’m pretty sure he did. But he wasn’t making that face to be mean or anything, it just happened, which actually made it hurt even worse, and I had no idea what to do next. I never know what to do next. I’m always about to fall apart, which I guess is selfish of me, or weak. I couldn’t stop thinking about our soundtrack conversation when I said, I guess I should stop buying soundtracks too and he said, it’s whatever you want . But what he really meant to say was make up your own fuckin’ mind, moron. And I finally realized it, I mean I only just realized—too late—but that’s what it was. It took me this long to understand that I really am a moron. I felt humiliated, even though it was too late to do anything about it, and my body started getting all hot. But maybe I was getting hot from something besides humiliation, maybe something a little different, but I’m a moron, so I don’t really know what else it could be. But either way, I was getting hot, and I felt like I needed to say something, and I ended up saying something totally stupid. Today’s like my lucky day, I’m the worst at getting tickets, I know I should have pre-brought a ticket ’cause it’s cheaper that way but I didn’t, but I mean because of, you know, I got my ticket for cheaper so I totally got lucky, really. So I really, I want to say thanks —and then I took the quickest little breath, like as if I was swimming, and I kept going. But I know if there was an extra ticket, that means that there was supposed to be someone else (with you), so like, sorry, um, if it’s no big deal, and I mean if it is, then don’t worry about it, but I’d like to know (your) name, first name only would be okay, or like a nickname, but I just want to know what I can call (you). By that point I was barely keeping it together. By the way, about the (you) (in parentheses), that’s because I wanted to say it out loud but couldn’t even do that. Before I knew what I was doing, I told him he could call me Miffy, which is my screen name, and it’s so lame I’ve never actually told it to anyone who I know in real life, but I went and told him. I wasn’t sure any more if I was saying the words I was thinking, if they were coming out of my mouth and he heard them, or if they were all still in my head, unsaid, which meant they never reached him and I just wanted to say them, I couldn’t tell. My body was still feeling hot, but it was like I didn’t know which part of my body felt hot. And I just kept talking. I had to find out his name. If I didn’t, then I would be totally worthless. That terrified me. The heat in my body made me feel like I was somehow outside the moment I was living in. That made me get reckless, and want to stay that way, so I really went for it. Sorry, um, I just want to ask again, it totally doesn’t have to be a real name, just anything, like a screen name would be fine, I just wanna know, what should I call (you)? is what’s on my mind, I mean, I’ve just really been wondering, I mean, wanting to ask, so, like, I’m asking now, um. That’s what I said to him. But in the end he never told me his name. He didn’t lie or make up a screen name, he just ignored the question, so even though I tried, it didn’t mean anything, which was like the worst. In the hour or so since the movie ended, how many stupid mistakes had I made? It’d be like counting stars, and I didn’t feel like counting. If I tried, I would just feel worse and worse, I’d probably want to die, so I didn’t. I thought that my body was getting hotter because it didn’t want to live any more. I knew I was losing him. I knew he wasn’t actually listening to anything I was saying, that he wouldn’t remember any of it. But he felt like he couldn’t just ditch me, so he stood there pretending to listen, zoning out, thinking about whatever. Like what would be the funniest song to play over this pathetic situation, or something like that. Normally that would embarrass me to death, but I was already torturing myself plenty, so getting ignored wasn’t anything I was worrying about. He was saying something to me. At that moment I didn’t have the energy to understand him. But I could get the idea, he was making moves to leave, and sure enough he made a little apologetic face and right away said goodbye and walked off, footsteps hurrying towards the movie theatre exit. When I was completely out of sight, he slowed down, then looked over his shoulder to make sure I wasn’t like stalking him. Then he called his girlfriend, the one who was supposed to go to the movies with him, and told her the movie was shit, he slept through half of it. They talked about other stuff, then made plans to meet up, and he got on a different subway from the one he would usually take to go home.

The performance started. The mood in the room shifted with almost no warning, like an ambush. Or maybe it just felt that way to the guys because we were all drunk and had no concept of time. There was a change in the quality of quiet, like when snow suddenly stops falling. The murmurs of the crowd died down, and the house lights dimmed a little—not that they had been very bright to begin with. So maybe it was just the impression of the lights dimming. The six of us were all still drinking beer, to the point where none of us knew how many we’d had. Everyone finished the little bit that remained in our paper cups—it seemed like the thing to do with the lights going down and the feeling that the show was about to start, and after a bit the performers came out. There was nothing flashy about it, neither their entrance nor the performance that followed, it had a totally relaxed feel. First, a white girl took the mic. She wound the cord a few times, which there didn’t seem to be any reason for doing other than to mark time. She started talking in English. Next to her stood a Japanese girl who was interpreting, and she had a mic in her hand too. The white girl spoke in a rich voice, sometimes suddenly getting louder, and the first couple of times she raised her voice it triggered a screech of feedback, but the feedback stopped quickly enough. She was explaining what the performance was going to be about. Although the explanation was already part of the performance. We’ll be talking about things, but we don’t know what we’ll be talking about, and the reason why not is that we haven’t prepared anything. But we’ll talk anyway. That must have been what she said, because that’s what the interpreter interpreted after her. There aren’t just mics on the stage, she said, there’s also a mic on a stand in the audience, and it’s open to anyone who wants to speak. The audience mic stood right behind where the six of us were sitting, kind of blocking the aisle. If anyone has anything they want to say, feel free to get on the mic at any time . The interpreter said all that in Japanese. Of course nobody got up and went to the mic. The room fell silent. This is, after all, Japan. The girl, and I’m just guessing here, she let the silence go on, thinking maybe that would get past the Japan-ness. But before the silence could get too heavy it was broken. One of the performers, the young black guy who might have been in the movie I saw, walked over to the audience mic and started telling his story. He had dreads, but they didn’t make his head look that much bigger and they weren’t flashy or intimidating, if anything they made him look sophisticated. His story didn’t last long. When I was sixteen I got my first ever job. A janitor in a Dunkin’ Donuts. At the end of my first day, the manager called me into the office and asked, how do you like the job? But I didn’t answer. That was the end of the story. He stepped away from the mic, opened one of the folding chairs onstage and sat down. Silence returned to the room. It lasted a lot longer than the first time. At first everyone thought it would end right away, that someone else would stand up and go to the mic and pick up where the first performer left off. But no one did, and the silence stretched on much longer than anyone thought it would. It must have been part of the performance, an intentional silence. It went on and on, to the point where the least secure people in the audience must have been squirming under the weight of the silence, when finally the girl sitting next to the black guy on the stage made a move like she was going to stand up, and then she actually did stand up, took the mic and started talking. It was just when people were starting to think that the silence had gone on for too long, just as they were facing the need to decide what they were prepared to do about it. Thanks to the girl standing up, everything taking shape in their minds settled back, only half-formed. All their discomfort was neutralized along with everything else they were feeling, then it vanished, as if it had never been there at all.