Mutual Gratification

Riding on the trains in Tokyo is where you get to see how much change has occurred or is underway, and how much things remain the same, but the events of this day really caught me off-guard

I’m on the train today, taking full advantage of the extra space I’m allotted so often by my faint-hearted fellow commuters. The car was full, but the seat beside mine was empty. I noticed it, of course, but on any given day the amount of attention I pay it varies from too much to as little as possible. This was one of those “as little as possible” days. I had my iPhone on my lap and was trying to pay it my full attention.

But life, as it has a habit of doing, intervened.

I looked up to see that the train had pulled into Jiyugaoka station. The person sitting on the opposite side of the empty space beside me got up, collected himself, and got off the train along with a good number of the other passengers.

As the boarding passengers filed in, I told myself not to pay them any mind. I hate that spat-on feeling I get when I see Japanese people, clearly eager to sit down, spot the empty seat near me, actually make an instinctual move toward it, then once their eyes scrape over me, abruptly alter their trajectory and scurry away. Almost as much as I hate the magnetism this behavior possesses, that of a 20-car pile-up on the highway, with bloodied corpses hanging out of shattered windshields.

I closed my eyes, nodded my head downward towards my iPhone, and re-opened them. I took a deep breath, and before I could exhale, I noticed two tiny legs standing before me. I looked up to see a mother and daughter that had boarded the train. The mother’s eyes and mine met as she pointed and aimed her daughter at the seat beside mine– frankly shocking the shit outta me. The youngster, all of 4 or 5, and more shocked than I was, resisted, though, and cried: “Kowai!!” (He’s scary!!) eyes brimming with fear. She grabbed and clung to her mother’s leg for dear life, eyes transfixed on me.

This response, though opposite from the usual (child paying me no mind, parent paying me far too much mind), restored order to my world; the same world her mother had rocked off its axis by directing her child to sit beside me.

It’s such an unusual thing to see that my mind started trying to solve the puzzle. Why would a mother do that to her child? I hoped it wasn’t as a punishment. I envisioned the little one showing her ass in a Jiyugaoka candy store, pouting and crying over some sweets she was denied, and Mom, behind an embarrassed smile, saying to herself, “You gonna pay for this outburst, you little miscreant!!”

And here I was, the perfect foil to use to dole out some payback!

But when I looked up at the mother, all I saw in her face was genuine dumbfoundedness and humiliation at her daughter’s reaction. I swear she would have died of an overdose if embarrassment were made of aspirin.

But there was something else there in her eyes and expression. Not payback though. Something else I couldn’t get a read on.

Generally when this kind of thing happens, if I’m acknowledged at all, the parent will adopt a bearing that suggests she/he is thinking, “Thank god he’s a foreigner and has no idea what my child said…” It’s almost cute, like this fear I tend to generate is some well-kept secret, like the body language of the child doesn’t scream the meaning of the word.

At least I tell myself it’s almost cute.

I braced for the next move. How will Mama address this? Will she reinforce the fear? Ignore it, as if it’s to be expected and syouganai (nothing can be done about it)? These are the two most popular options, and I expected nothing less now. I tried to turn away. Nothing worse than witnessing this type of irrational fear justified or normalized. But the rubbernecker in me seized control of my neck, and commanded, “Take it like a man!”

But, to my utter surprise, this woman did nothing of the sort.

Instead, she took the seat beside me herself, and planted her daughter in the seat on the other side of her.

She glanced my way, smiled warmly, nod/bowed and said, “Sumimasen…” (Sorry about that…kids, whatchagonnado).

I shook my head and waved it off, with a sympathetic and indulgent “iie” (Don’t sweat it. I work with kids every day and they say the damnedest things).

Instinctively, I slid away from her as far as I could, which was about half an inch or so. I do this whenever people sit down beside me. I’ve found that this gesture tends to alleviate some of their discomfort (and there is almost always discomfort). I’m not talking about physical discomfort. Generally, there is sufficient space for a person to sit beside me without having to squeeze in. Besides, I really don’t care about anyone’s physical comfort. It’s a crowded train. Nobody is supposed to be truly comfortable, and to expect to be comfortable borders on the irrational.

No, I’m talking about mental discomfort, evidenced by shifting, fidgeting, inching away, sometimes even scratching, and an inability to remember what to do with their hands or to sit still and relax.

She must have noticed me sliding away, for she looked at me sideways, then down at the little sliver of seat that appeared between us as a result of my scooting, and kind of smile/bowed again.

I just grinned…or grimaced. Not sure which.

I returned my attention to the iPhone, deciding to write it off as an anomaly I’ll likely never get a satisfactory explanation for. Life is full of them.

Every so often, I noticed, peripherally, a tiny head poking out from the other side of Mom. It was the little girl’s. Whenever I would turn my head her way, she’d duck back behind her mother, in that peek-a-boo way children do. Her face was still sour, though, like she hadn’t made up her mind whether I was Kowai-worthy or not, and was wondering what the hell her mom was thinking trying to seat her beside me.

Around the third or fourth time she peek-a-boo’d me, I waited with my face in her direction for her to re-emerge. When she did, I turned away. And waited for her to duck her head back behind her mother before I turned her way again and waited. When she re-emerged this time, before I turned away, I caught a glimpse of a smile on her face.

Then, I noticed we were pulling into my station, so I stood to disembark. As I made my way for the door, I turned one last time. The little girl was looking at me. Her fear was gone, replaced by what could have been glee. She waved at me, cracked a smile, and said, “bye bye.”

I waved back, glancing at her mother as I did. This time I could read the expression on her face.

It was gratitude!

And I knew exactly how she felt, cause I felt the same.

The story you just read was an excerpt from Words by Baye, Art by Miki, and there’s a lot more where that came from. So, if you dig what you’ve read and would like to show your support for independent artists, Amazon and other online booksellers carry it. Or if you’re in Japan and would like a signed copy, drop us a message in the comments or email me at: baye@bayemcneil.com and we’ll set you up!