Have you ever been to a foreign country? Where the language is not your own? Where the culture does not resemble what you're accustomed to in the slightest? Well, that's me. I've come to Japan for the first time. But, contrary to what you may be thinking right now, this is no mere visit, you see. No, no; this is my home. The country of Japan.
The story I am about to tell you will sound like your typical sports manga, but I decided I'm going to relay it to you through my words anyway. It's about me, an ambition, and all the crazy things that happen to me along the way.
Moving on, now; my father was an American marine who died in the heat of combat serving his country. I was thirteen years old when he died. We held the memorial ceremony after the troops came home, and more than a hundred people attended. My mother was never the same after that, and her happiness and health slowly began to decline. In her final days she was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer, and a year later, almost to the day my father died, my mother passed away. They had both left me, and so I was alone.
For approximately another year, I lived with various family members. Once for about seven months with an uncle and aunt who lived in Canada. They were nice people, but I always felt out of place and unsure of myself. Then for four months after that, I lived with another aunt and uncle and cousin in Tennessee. Those were the worst four months of my life. My cousin is a crazy drama queen, and I hate people like that. They irk me so much. But that's getting off topic.
One day, some lawyer from my hometown had called me about my parents' will. That was weird, because the wills had been read at each of their funerals. Apparently, however, after they both pass away, access is given to their lawyer so that he can view a joint will; a plan-B type of will that was created in the circumstance that they had both died before I was married. And since they had, about a year ago, when my mother passed on, everything went off like a chain reaction. My information was sent to an adoption agency along with phone numbers and such so that I could be adopted by a good, loving family and/or guardian. As it turned out, the agency was international, meaning I could be adopted by anyone who had the means and background to take care of me. He called to inform me that my information had been available in this manner, and that there had finally been someone who fit the necessary requirements. He was a fortysomething-year-old called Ryūsuke Ōshisama who lived in Tokyo, Japan. Once the legal papers had been processed and confirmed, I was shipped off to Japan. Luckily for me I could speak a good amount of Japanese already, so it wouldn't be too difficult for me to communicate with people when I arrived.
After I escaped the plane with minimal air sickness, I quickly went to baggage claim and grabbed my stuff, and then I tried to find my way out, which proved difficult. When I finally did, though, then came the real hard part; hailing a taxicab. People came in and out of taxis as if their lives depended on it. And I suppose my life did depend on it; if I didn't get one, I'd be stuck here for a long while. Try, after try, after one more try, I called out, "Takushi, kudasai!" When I reached the 15th try, rightabouts, a taxicab stopped very abruptly in front of me, and the trunk flew open. Almost by an instinct I threw all my bags into it, slammed it shut, and slid into the backseat of the cab, and the cabby quickly put his foot down on the gas. When we were clear of the airport, he asked me something in Japanese that I didn't completely understand, but he obviously needed to know where to take me, so I got a piece of paper from the one bag I kept with me, pointed to the address and said, "Koko, kudasai." He looked from it to his GPS screen as he input the address and so we were set.
As the cabby and I parted ways, I waved goodbye to him, and, with my bags firmly grasped, I turned to face a new enemy; that is, a fifty-story apartment building. This is definitely where Mr. Ōshisama lived, but alas, only just then did I realize I didn't have his apartment number. Sigh… Well, it was about time for another Japanese test, anyway. I marched into the lobby (where there were more people than I was expecting) and waited in the line to get a hold of the receptionist lady, so I could ask her in which apartment my adoptive guardian lived.
"Kyō wa," I said in my best accent to her when it was my turn.
"Kyō wa," she replied to me in her native accent, smiling. Then she asked me how she could help me, and I told her I needed the room number of a man called Ōshisama-san. She typed out something on her computer and told me there were two people living in the building who had that last name, so she asked for a given name.
"Ryūsuke, onegaishimasu," I replied as politely as I could. Then she handed me a little cutout with the room number on it and told me to come back for a room key if he wasn't home. "Arigatogozaimash'ta," I said, and made a small wave to her. "Ja na."
"Ja," she said, as she turned to tend to the next customer.
I looked down at the cutout she gave me. In raised, shiny, rose gold letters, it said "Rumu 3057, 30th rebaru" using katakana for the Japanizations. Thirtieth level… that's a high ways up, I thought. Even by the elevator, it took forever to get up there. When I arrived at the thirtieth floor, no one was in the hallways, however wide they were. Everything in this apartment building was so fancy! It was like a hotel, almost. And in hotels, the higher up you go the bigger the rooms get… does that mean Mr. Ōshisama is a rich man? Whoa, nobody told me that!
As I walked toward the end of the hallway where 3057 was, someone came out of 3028. By instinct I turned my head to look at the person, but right then, I wished I hadn't. He was a tall, nice-looking boy, and when he made eye contact with me he smiled, and my stomach felt funny. I decided not to be stoic, and I smiled back, and then I turned my head away and walked a little faster. I would've died if he had said something to me! Having been homeschooled for most of my life, I'm not good with people my own age.
There was this little stone plaque with "3057" etched into it beside the door. This was it. The doors were two, enormous, glossy, traditional-style doors that were stained almost a black color. The handles were brass, and also served as knockers, so I used one to knock on the door. I straightened myself, pulled up my jeans, pulled down my shirt, and put my shoulders back. I had no idea what to expect, as I had never seen his picture, but I braced myself because I knew I would be an awkward wreck around him.
I held my breath and had a staring contest with the door as I waited. Seconds went by; then a minute; then two… what is this suspense? I hate suspense! It was completely silent for a while, except for the sound of a clock ticking. Pure and utter silence. Just when I reached up my hand to knock again, the lock began to jiggle and the door creaked as it opened, just enough so that whoever was standing behind the door could see me. "Hai?" he said. His voice was more deep and masculine sounding than I expected, I suppose, if I actually expected anything.
"Ōshisama Ryūsuke-san?" I asked, tilting my head to the left somewhat so I could see a little more of his face. He used his middle finger to push his glasses further up onto his nose.
"Oh yes, yes," he said in English, opening the door more so I could enter. "Prease, come in."