Divorce Can Be Difficult

The staffroom is still and quiet. The only sound I hear is the wind blowing outside, signifying that the gusty lion of March is upon us. I stretch and look up from my sedative studying and realize that all the teachers have vaporized again. The phone has stopped ringing and the staffroom shuffle of slippers has completely faded away. I leave the ghost town office to wander around for a bit. Upon returning I find a woman who works in the main office puttering around, shutting the lights and turning off the heat. She and I are on friendly terms. In the past year and a half we have talked about the weather, discussed her studying English, chatted about her trip to Germany and have even gone for coffee once or twice and made oishii noises at each other. But, in the past two years, she and I have spent approximately eight hours total in each others company.

Upon finding me alone she is eager to chat and despite the fact that graduation is quickly approaching and the office is a bustle of activity, she promptly forgets the work at hand and we begin one of our talks, complete with Japanese-filler and gestures to make ambiguous points more intelligible. I turn into a bit of a cartoon character for a while – my eyes grow larger, my attention span elongates, and, at times, I feel as though my face has morphed into an emoticon to make my magnified understanding, confusion or astonishment clear so that even a porcupine would be able to understand what I was saying.

We chat for a while and then she asks me what I plan on doing next year. “Well, after August I won’t be here. I will be somewhere else in Japan.”

I continue prattling on about my possible plans and my desire to experience new things and she begins to rub her eyes.

“Ah tired, are you? You must be very busy with graduation and everyth….”

And it is that moment when she looks up at me and begins to blubber.

Her eyes disappear under layers of redness and the sniveling ensues.

Oh. Crap. I have made a thirty-something year old woman CRY.

Oh the tears. Oh the awkwardness. I consider slowly backing away from her and bolting for the door. Or perhaps cavalierly pretending that nothing is happening and there are no waterworks in my line of view. But these options seem rather callous, even for me.

“… I… er… You’re not… crying are you?!”

She looks at me again and begins to sob even more. I give her an awkward hug and she calms down a little.

“…. I… I don’t know why I am crying. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sometimes… divorce? Is difficult?”

I give her another couple of hugs, assure her that we can keep in touch via e-mail (and that we were never really married) and then send her back to the office, fraught with worry, blotchy eyed and damp.

Eights hours. We have spent eight hours together. And even that is a generous estimate.

The day draws to a close and I pack up to go home. As I walk down the hill, I hear the rusty rattle of a bike close behind me. One of my first year students is also on her way home. During the cold winter months at school she has taken to making me her 人間炬燵 (human kotatsu). The minute I walk into class she hurls herself towards me and clings on like a baby koala. And there she stays smiling happily, breathing in my perfume with sighs of contentment and stealing whatever warmth I am, apparently, giving off. I feel like one of those air-conditioning heating units that filter out cigarette smoke for a good five minutes before class begins every week. During class as I am walking around the room she will grab on to me from behind, and in stairwells I will have unsuspected hugs thrown upon me when I least expect it. Whilst I don’t mind this behavior during the winter, as I, too, am usually feeling rather hypothermic in class, if the fusty, fetid, sticky summer arrives and she continues this behavior we may have to talk and set up some boundaries.

I look at her bike. “No hug today then, hmm?” I say to her as she slows down on the steep incline that winds down from the school. I ask her what she thought of the graduation assembly we had at school that day and we share giggles over the fact that we both nearly fell asleep.

“Nikki’s going to be at our graduation too, right?”

“Oh. Hm. In two years, right? No. Nikki won’t be at your graduation. I’m sorry.”

A look of consternation comes over her face and she looks downright peeved: “What do you mean you’re not going to be at my graduation?”

Despite global warming, there is a good chance that in two years time, March 1st will still be rather chilly in Shikoku. I understand her dismay at finding out I will not be there to warm her hands.

“I’m sorry. After July I won’t be here any more.”

Her brow furrows.

“… but you’ll have a new ALT! It’ll be great! Really!”

“Pah! I don’t want a new ALT. If it’s not Nikki, then whoever it is can just fuck off!”

She reminds me that a photo session is mandatory before I leave. And then assures me that she will mail me the pictures if I would be kind enough to give her my address. She searches me with a look of irritated disappointment, sighs and then hops back on her bike. She leaves me with a “Be careful!” and then pedals off.

Despite being here for two years and only completely successfully managing to communicate “hello” and “goodbye” to most people on a daily basis, it’s cheering to know that at least a couple of people are sad to see me go. I’ll have to buy my Koala-Hugger a nice, warm sweater to say goodbye.

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Published:
3.3.08 / 4pm
Category:
amusing incidents, what i call life