"I have to talk to you," I said. "I have a million things to talk to you about. A million things we have to talk about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning."
Midori responded with a long, long silence—the silence of all the misty rain in the world falling on all the new-mown lawns of the world. Forehead pressed against the glass, I shut my eyes and waited.
At last, Midori's quiet voice broke the silence: "Where are you now?
Where was I now?
Gripping the receiver, I raised my head and turned to see what lay beyond the phone box. Where was I now? I had no idea. No idea at all. Where was this place? All that flashed into my eyes were the countless shapes of people walking by to nowhere. Again and again, I called out for Midori from the dead centre of this place that was no place.
.
.
.
.
I turned around and the bright white lights of Hamburg Airport shook me up.
"You are in Germany, and I am patiently waiting for your return in our tiny Tokyo apartment Watanabe-kun," Midori giggled sixteen years later from the other side of the world. "Come back to me, Okay?" she giggled again, definitely concerned but concealing it well. Sitting crossed leg on our high raised tool, twirling her hair, waiting just for me.
Midori's soft giggles still anchoring me to this world.