BY AARON BROWN-EWING
Copyright is held by the author.
THE TWO women took their seats on the last train from Ichinoseki Station. They sat hand in hand, fingers interlaced.
It was a cold and wet November night, and they were tired from exploring Sendai, train-hopping their way up to Sapporo without using a shinkansen. It was their own little adventure, seeing what they could of the north, getting out of the hustle-bustle of Tokyo. A little celebration for their secret engagement. It’s where Shiori was from, and Kanda wanted to see it.
The Tohoku Line cut through the middle of Iwate Prefecture like a steel comet shooting through the night. It rode past rice paddy after rice paddy on its way to Morioka. Their hotel was up there. It’d be close to eleven by the time they got there. Probably around midnight by the time they checked in, ate something, took their baths.
“It’s cold,” Kanda said. She nestled into her big winter coat. Cold air burst into the train whenever the doors slid open. Despite dressing like she was ready for an expedition into the arctic — her wool coat, wool gloves, huge wool scarf — the cold cut into her without remorse. It was her Thai blood, she’d say.
Shiori, on the other hand, was more accustomed to Tohoku’s weather. She was fine in her sweatshirt and knit hat. The blood of the frozen north, like a barbarian.
“Are you nervous?” Kanda asked.
“Ask me tomorrow,” Shiori said.
The doors opened in Oshu and people shambled off as more shambled on with the cold air. The train went on. Elderlies, tired business people, tired students who fell asleep the moment they hit the seats. Some gave them a glance, but the women didn’t care.
“Are you OK?” Shiori asked.
“Yeah. I’m OK,” Kanda said.
Kanda gave Shiori’s hand a squeeze.
“We don’t have to stay in Aomori,” Kanda said. “We can go straight to Hakodate instead.”
“No, it’s OK,” Shiori said. “We don’t have a reservation for tomorrow. We might as well stay with my folks.”
“Will they be OK with it?”
“Probably.” A pause. Shiori changed the subject. “Is there anything you’d like to do in Morioka?”
“Drink beer.”
“We can drink beer anywhere.”
“In the hotel room?”
“Of course.”
“Then that’s what I want to do.”
Shiori squeezed Kanda’s hand.
The train stopped in Kitakami. People shambled off, more shambled on. Drunk businessmen, tired high school students out late. The train went on.
“What about Morioka reimen?” Shiori asked.
“What about it?”
“Do you want to try it?”
“It’s too cold for reimen,” Kanda said.
“What about soba? I know some places.”
“Ask me again tomorrow.”
The train stopped in Hanamaki. People shambled off, nearly emptying the train. There were a few other stragglers, on for the long haul to Morioka. Fat, fluffy snowflakes fell outside the train. They glowed like white fireflies in the November darkness, vanishing the moment they touched the windows.
Kanda put her head on Shiori’s shoulder. She was tired. They both were. Their backs began to hurt from sitting for too long. Shiori fidgeted. Kanda’s legs ached.
“Is it true that it snows like crazy up here?” Kanda asked.
“In the mountains, yeah. It can get intense here, but it’s in the mountains where it snows the heaviest.”
“Worse than Hokkaido?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you like the snow?”
“It’s fine. I used to ski as a kid, but not since moving to Tokyo.”
“I don’t like the snow.”
“Of course you don’t, city girl.”
A hand squeeze.
“My mom grew up in the countryside. In Thailand. I’m a country girl, by blood.”
“Does it snow in Thailand?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
The train rattled as it slowed. The next stop was Morioka.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Shiori asked.
“What do you mean?” Kanda asked.
“I mean, we check out of the hotel by 10. Do you want to do anything before we go to Aomori?”
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to go straight to Aomori?”
“I don’t know.”
A squeeze.
“I’ll ask you tomorrow.”
***
Aaron is an Ohio native who currently lives and works in Iwate prefecture, Japan as an English language teacher and travel blogger. As a writer, he enjoys creating narratives and imagery with the surreal and the fantastic. You can follow his travels at aaronhimself.com.”
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