Sometimes Monday is nothing more than a reluctant return to
the monotonous grind of another five-day countdown to freedom.
Sometimes Monday is the day you drag your violin to school
to finally join the brass band club only to find out that the third graders - the leaders of club activities - are on a school trip in Tokyo, and the first
and second graders go home after lunch so that the teachers are free to drive
to their houses to talk with their parents. Long story short, with the exception of track and field, and baseball, there are no afterschool activities today.
Sometimes Monday is the day you leave school at exactly four
PM because you've got no commitments, and the sun is calling, and
you decide you’d better start thinking seriously about training for that 5-km
run you (and a dozen awesome friends!) signed up for in a few weeks’ time.
Sometimes Monday has other plans, and, as you walk to the
bus stop, a car stops in the middle of the main road and an older gentleman
calls out to you, indiscernibly. You soon realize that he’s speaking English,
asking, “Do you remember me?”
You don’t, but try to pretend you do. He’s not convinced.
You feel guilty, which causes you to give up
making excuses and get in his car already. And, off you go to a nearby onsen, where you strip naked with three
old ladies, shower, and soak until you’re bright pink. Putting panty-hose back on is the
only disagreeable part of this spontaneous outing.
Next, it’s introduction time, where your (name-still-unknown)
host introduces you to his very good friend, Mr. Tanaka, who buys you a yoghurt
drink, repeatedly calls you bizi (beauty),
and insists on giving you a bag of freshly harvested bamboo shoots.
Then, it’s off to Hayashi-sensei’s (he’s given you such a thorough Japanese lesson over the
last hour, you figure you ought to call him “teacher”) house so that his wife
can show you how to prepare the bamboo shoots. This leads to an invitation to
supper, followed by Chinese tea and oranges, discussions on Japanese rice
versus varieties consumed in Canada, and, eventually, an offer to drive you
home since the last bus to town left an hour ago.
Sometimes Monday is all you never knew you hoped it would
be.
