I found myself staring off into the avenue before me. With each passing vehicle, I was reminded of my once great life in America. A stare full of longing resided on my face and my legs stood loosely apart on the paved walkway. A melodic piano tune played in my head acting as a pseudo-score for my crumbling life. And with the symphony of honking complemented by the squealing of tires and hissing of air brakes, I was taken back to my home in the West.

Life was so much simpler back then. I was a teenager still, but I felt as if I never aged a day. I always had my quaint group of friends and we always got up to zany activities, but I was happy. Now I'm sad to say that I've bore witness to quite the change in both demeanor and outlook. I found it excruciatingly hard to muster up the will to arise and face the dreary day. My motivations were not but a brush of dusty air. I had walked to school with a group, yet I was in no way connected. Our souls were like continents separated by the expanse of the sea even though I stood beside them. I talked yet I did not speak. My innermost thoughts and revelations were of no use to these mere acquaintances. I could move my lips and flex my tongue to the tune of my own brain waves, yet I could not sync it with my heart's deepest anticipations.

There was no reason for me to continue in these flimsy academic studies for they served no purpose to me in this world of perpetual delusion. The instructors flaunted their power and abused it every chance they had. And though I knew they only had the best intentions, they made sure that we knew our place and that we never stepped out of line. I challenged those boundaries and questioned their very foundations when I waltzed in cloaked in my casual dress. I presented a new view to my peers in those moments and gave them a glimpse into a whole new world. Whether the American way of life is superior to the one of Japan isn't the question at hand, yet I cannot help but wonder if any of them secretly envied my previous years of laxed rules and abounding personal freedom. The students were a bunch that I wish to never experience again. With each classmate giving their own opinion on my shortcomings and the awkward snigger at my seemingly unprofessional way of going about. I feel as if the club speaks for itself. If I hadn't been turned off before my demo, I was now fully committed in my choice to avoid it. It may have had an unmistakable charm, yet I couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness. Each member gave off an ominous aura to the likes of which I've never seen before. There was a certain quality to the club that I can't place, but I knew full well that it was a dangerous place to be. A silly conclusion perhaps, but this is a corrupt world I live in isn't it?

The smell of the chilly spring air and blooming flora was enough to make me fall into a cascade of deep longing for my past endeavors. An innocent feeling at first but it soon overcame me full force and turned my happy memories into intense and torturous misery. I could relive these moments in my head, but I could never form knew ones. For all I knew my family and friends aside from Mark and Trent were either dead or entirely nonexistent. And were these even the friends that I knew? They weren't from the US and seemed to be oblivious to my situation. Was it possible that they were some fake version that only existed to confuse me? My entire life was torn up at such a velocity that I couldn't even begin to string together my thoughts. I was hopelessly wandering around in a figurative and literal sense. I had not a clue on where to go or what my purpose was anymore.

I dwelled on my past for quite a while and played the same melancholy piano riff over and over in my head. The riff was mystical and distant yet familiar all the same. The ambient notes with little form soon grew into a full orchestra of emotions with my brain conducting a melody of my past. The familiar tune of Delfino Plaza, the Star-Spangled Banner, and the festive whistling of Sherbet Land were just a few in my grand symphony. A slow tear cascaded down my cheek but gradually picked up speed before crashing to my chest akin to a meteor. My sweatshirt soaked up its salty loss leaving a damp gray stain in its place. A few more slid down my cheeks before crashing in the same way. My tears only became more frequent as the nostalgic album repeated over and over this time with memories coinciding along with it; the first time I gazed upon my platinum Gamecube on Christmas morning of 2004, the long drive in the U-Haul as we packed up and moved to Manhattan and the Nintendo soundtracks that played during it, the nightly walks with my parents through the crisp night air. My emotions only grew, and I was left as a mere shell of a man. Nothing in life mattered and the only thing I could think about was my past. A quick glance over showed a light hand grasping my shoulder intently. His short brown hair and loose-fitting Snoopy t shirt was impossible to misconstrue. His movements were quick and energetic leaving little time for me to react. Our tears fell in unison. Though just like my past, he was gone in the blink of an eye with no hope of returning.

I couldn't tell for what amount of time I spent there listening to my album of delightful misery nor did I want to. For every moment I kept my mind on things of the past was one moment in which I was veiled from my dim future, a future that relied solely on my actions in the present. Though even if I made the best of my grim circumstances, it made little difference as I had no will to partake in my present or future. Time would past still, yet in my heart time was as meaningless as a stale loaf of bread. It was important at one point but holds little use as of now.

An unknown visitor knocked on the doors of my concert hall and interrupted my symphony. He boasted a mighty black suit coat with light gray slacks. A matching gray vest cloaked his chest with a bright red bowtie laced properly around his neck. At first glance he looked to be no different than my other uniformed colleagues, but formal white gloves and a regal silk top hat black as night proved otherwise. He marched up to me and let out a discrete greeting, "I can't say we've met before, must you be a recent attendee?"

I made the attempt to seem professional and thus wiped the tears from my watery eyes. "N-no, I just joined," I croaked.

He silently nodded and reached into his coat. His gloved hand returned seconds later with a handkerchief. He extended his arm towards me and smiled. I gladly took his offering and wiped my eyes free of tears. He took this opportunity to speak and cleared his throat, "Where might you be from?"

I paused my actions and looked into his eyes. "America" was my only word.

"Well of course you're from America, I mean one doesn't waltz in dawning a Florida sweatshirt if they weren't." I shook my head in amazement at my own mistake and crumpled the handkerchief into a ball. "No doubt you're from America, but where exactly?", he rephrased.

"Florida?", I elaborated with confusion. He nodded slowly and tensed up his muscles to form a frown, but a cheery smile stretched along his face soon enough.

"I understand that this is all a tad bit strange. For one we don't often have a dapper lad like me charging up and bombarding you with questionnaires!" I stood stone faced and barley acknowledged his poor attempt at a joke. "However, I must assure you that I only have the best of intentions. My name is Garbanzo and I am president of the esteemed culture club. The sole goal of our club is to offer a comfortable space for exchange students to relax and unwind while experiencing the world's cultures firsthand." I turned to leave at the sound of this as I was in no mood to be haggled into joining a club. He reached out his gloved hand as a token of friendship, but I pushed it away and turned to leave. "I understand that your life is hectic enough as it is so the last you probably want is a guy like me shoving this down your gullet, but I only ask that you accept this invitation and consider it thoroughly." I expected his invitation to be solely verbal, but he fished around inside his pocket and pulled out a surprisingly regal looking envelope. He extended his arm and held out the parcel. I thought twice about taking it but decided that it wouldn't hurt to at least accept.

My eyes widened as I felt the cold paper fall into my open hands. It's cream colored paper was textured in a way that it felt as if I were holding a piece of royal felt and it's edges we're embroidered with gold trimming that felt of real metal. It was fastened shut by a scarlet wax stamp with two capital C's sitting side by side within the circle. I carefully turned it over to see my name scribed in beautiful calligraphy. I turned back to the boy with trembling hands and felt the urge to bow. He reached out his hand once more to which I couldn't refuse. We firmly shook hands and he tipped his cap to signal farewell. I reached out the handkerchief as to return it to him but he merely smiled and jovial informed, "Keep it. Let it be a memento of our first meeting." I looked at the handkerchief to see a single named stitched in fine gold thread, 'Garbanzo'.

The walk home was a somber affair. My strides were short and low, and my hands sat crumpled inside my pockets. I held my head low and only looked up when crossing the street. The regal letter sat pitifully crumpled up inside my pocket and was crushed by the pressing force of my depressed hands. I muttered to myself about the pure lunacy that is a club and continued my parade. With each step a new tear ran down my dirty face. Each tear held a memory and it felt as if they ran from my brain and out of my eyes. Each memory, each face, each activity that I took joy in ran down my face and sizzled against the sidewalk. With each one a new metaphor was created, and an old memory lost its luster.

I came to my 'house' and tried to unlock the scarlet door. The cold metal a firm blockade into the world that brought me little comfort. I tried a few more times before cursing all that I knew. My frame twisted and curled as I hobbled over to the steps and sat down on them. I cried and cried yet out came no tears. I cried memories. The orchestra had long since abandoned my symphony hall and the amphitheater was left a derelict mess. The hall, a once proud testament to human engineering sat empty and as a shell. No one cared for it nor did it care for itself. Its future was of no importance and its past was a fleeting memory.

I was depressed.