Have a nice day.
...
I don't have nice days anymore. I don't bother with that. I'm beyond the nice day; I feel like I've outgrown the whole idea. I've already had my share of nice days. Since four years ago. So why should I be hogging them all? Let someone else have a few!
Naturally, everyone still wants me to have a nice day. In fact, nine out of ten people I meet wants me to have a nice day. Especially shop cashiers.
"Have a nice day."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You wanna give me my goddamned change now, please? My sister is about to kill me!"
Some of them are really insistent.
"I said have a nice day! DO IT!"
Fuck you, Tobe. "All right, all right! Get off me, you imbecile! I'll give it a shot."
That's the trouble with "Have a nice day." It puts all the obligation and pressure on you. So now, I have to go out of my way and somehow arrange a positive experience course for myself. All because of some loose-lipped idiot.
Have a nice day indeed! But what if I don't feel like having a nice day? Maybe- just maybe- I've had twenty-nine nice days in a row, and I'm ready for a much-needed crappy day. You never hear that, do you?
"Have a crappy day!"
"Why thank you, Miura. Right back at ya! And to your wonderful family as well!"
Take notes, gentlemen. A good friend is one that wishes both good and bad luck to you. Ironic.
A crappy day… that would be easy. No trouble at all, no planning involved- well, maybe a little. Just get out of bed and start moving around.
"Onii-chan! You look like you're in a good mood today!"
"Yes, Komachi. Now don't ruin it for me."
I'm going to have myself a crappy day!
I think what bothers me the most about the whole "Nice day" thing is that word "Nice." It's a weak word. Source: me.
It doesn't have a lot of character.
Nice.
"Isn't he a nice guy? He is so nice. And she's nice too! Isn't that nice? How nice they are!"
I'll bet you cringed a bit. Yeah? That's how unnecessary the word is, unless you're using it to describe something just as trivial.
Nice girls.
I don't care for it. It's like "Fine." Another weak word.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
Bullshit! Nobody is fine! Hair is fine.
"How does my hair look, Hikio?"
"Fine."
That makes more sense to me.
Some guys are "Great"! You ever meet those guys?
"This is great! Hayato-kun... isn't he great? Goddamn, he is great!"
Look! They're gonna kill that guy! Isn't that great?
"I enjoy watching people fuck up. It's funny. How 'bout you, Hikio?"
"Somehow, I enjoy watching people suffer."
"Hoh! Shit! You sadistic motherfu-"
Gentlemen, the key word: Somehow. After all, life is a show to be enjoyed. If they find entertainment in my mishaps, why shouldn't I find amusement in theirs?
Not me. I'm not fine. I'm not great. And most certainly, I am not nice. Did you ever think about it, the difference between "Nice" and "Good"? I'm not nice, but I'm certainly not a villain. That makes me a bit of a "Good" guy. In fact, one of my 108 loner skills is becoming the good guy in later arcs!
People ask me how I am, I don't give them any superlatives; nothing to gossip about. I tell them I'm "fairly decent." or "relatively okay." I might say, "I'm moderately neato." and if I am in a particularly jaunty mood, I'll tell them' "I'm not unwell, thank you."
"Hey, Hikio. How are you?"
"I'm not unwell, thank you."
"Hoh? That doesn't, like, make any sense."
Keep rolling your eyes, bitch. You might just find your brain back there.
That one always pisses them off. Because they have to figure it out for themselves.
...
It was a sweltering afternoon, and three figures are present out and under the sun. On the reddish cemented court, Hachiman and Miura are playing singles tennis. It is quite an unusual sight, but to most it is quite nothing out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, on the bleachers and under the cool shade of the white canopies, Kawasaki quietly observes the two, pleasantly sipping on a cool drink.
The elusive yellow ball once again touches down on his side.
Set two. Four to four.
"Deuce."
"You're getting good at this."
"That… tends to happen."
"Especially when you're up and playing with a pro."
Her green eyes watched him carefully, like a bird of prey preparing for the kill. A small smile evident on her lips. Hachiman knew this kind of look. She would always give him the death-glare, before finishing the game off.
But not today.
The sun was on his side. Literally.
How do you defeat a superior enemy? If not in skill, if not in strength, and certainly not in luck. But utilize nature, to your advantage. She cannot be beaten head on. But here, the sun is on my side of the court! Utilize this advantage.
His serve. Hachiman lines his body for the shot. Ready his limbs for the leap. Difference between victory or defeat.
Now.
He throws the ball high up into the air, and leaps after it. Miura had her vision locked on the ball, but when it flew directly in front of the blinding glare of the sun, she knew something was up.
Disoriented. Stun tactics. Allow the enemy to fall into a state of tunnel vision, then take advantage. It is good the sun is on my side. When that ball reaches the zenith of its trajectory, it would eclipse the sun behind it. And because she has her eyes on it, Miura is temporarily dazed by the bright light. Calculated time window before recovery: 1.8 seconds, give or take. She's good.
But not today.
Fire.
An audible cracking noise could be heard, as Hachiman struck the ball with a force that propelled it down to Miura's side of the court, leaving little time for her to intercept it. When she looked around, the tennis ball was already hopping around behind her.
"Advantage in."
"You clever bastard."
He nods. She smiles.
Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results.
Albert Einstein, make this one an exception. I need to win this game.
Now, it is her turn to serve. Who made up the rules in this game? He was going to lose on this one. Probability is critical. The two had been playing against each other for several weeks now, and Hachiman had gained considerable knowledge and skill from the queen of the court.
However, he is still no match against her. In attack, she is like fire. In movement, she is swift like the wind. Her form, close as stone. And she will hold her ground, like the mountain.
A fierce exchange began. He was nearly always on the defensive, only returning fire before the edge of defeat. It went on for several seconds, and by the seventh exchange, he found a window.
The ball flew no more than an inch above the white lapel of the net.
Which forced her to strike it upwards.
And Hachiman strikes again.
"That makes one on one."
"Third set!" says Miura, who was now wiping off her forehead with the back of her hand.
"I think we should call it a day." Hachiman too, was exhausted.
"You underestimate my power."
He chuckles. Seriously? That reference? "Don't try it, Anakin."
She is not going to give up. Typical Miura. "I have the higher ground."
"We'll see."
…
"Oh shit!"
"Love, forty! motherfucker!"
"Timeout!"
Well… that went by fast. Miura was cleaning the clock with ease. Even that was an understatement. So you can see how overpowered she really is, it was level 79 versus him, a puny level twenty-five or something amateur. But considering Hachiman had challenged and beaten her in chess that morning, this only evens out the score between the two.
"You look like you're gonna croak soon. Need backup?"
"Naw… I think I can still do this..."
"Bullshit. I'm calling in the backup." She waves out to a certain silver-head. "SakiSaki! Now's your cue! Get that ass over here!"
"Miura, tone it down, will you?"
"Heh." She shrugs and walks over to the shed.
Kawasaki appears beside Hachiman. "So. She wants to do that thing again?"
"Yeah. Are you game?"
Her cheeks seemed a bit red. "Yeah. sure."
Miura comes back with two extra rackets. She throws one at Kawasaki and wields the other on her left hand.
Seems like it's going to be two versus one. When did this start? Well…
…
"Oi. Hikio, move! You strike like a woman!"
"Grr… This is not my area of expertise, so don't expect me to go all Novak Djokovic on your ass!"
"We'll see!" she looks to her side, apparently setting her eyes on a certain Kawa-something.
"What's her name again… aha." Miura points at her. "SakiSaki! Git over here!"
The poor girl. She had the expression of a burglar caught red handed… and red faced.
"If this woman plays better than you, I will be very disappointed!"
…
"Good game guys!" Miura gives us two a beaming smile.
"You played well, Saki."
"T-thanks."
"You two are good. But not good enough."
"Is that a criticism or an appraisal?"
"Consider it both!"
The three share a hearty laugh. It was time to pack up.
Well… this is unexpected.
It was half an hour past five, and the sun already disappeared behind the urbanized horizon. Only the yellow and orange hues of the sky provided mellow sunlight to their surroundings. The air was still warm, but not as sweltering as before. But if you've played any sport that demands plenty of energy, you'd know that peculiar sensation of heat inside your body. What is that? It's like a residual feeling that remains for as long as several hours. And as any rational being subjected to an uncomfortable rise in temperature, the obvious course of action is to cool off.
You could imagine the surprise of Hachiman and Kawasaki when Miura suddenly pulls off her blue polo shirt without warning.
Fortunately, she wore a white tank top underneath. But still, does not relieve the shock that came with it.
"What are you two looking at?"
"Eh?" Fuck me! That had to be the stupidest response I ever came up with! Screw you, instinct!
The sweat made her skin glisten, emphasizing the curves and… body. Like those marble sculptures I see in museums, here is an example of beauty and- ok. And that tank top clung onto her like a suit! Leaving little to the imagination…
Hachiman, unknowingly, was stunned still like an opossum playing dead. I mean, who wouldn't be? See a beautiful, voluptuous woman, hot and moist with sweat, only a tight white top to separate decency from degeneracy…
Not even noticing Kawasaki beside him, crossing her arms, in disapproval.
Not even realizing Miura, glaring at him with a slight frown, while tying her hair into a ponytail.
It had to be said. No fashion can compete with nudity.
"The fuck you lookin' at?!"
"What?"
"Idiot!" Miura's face was red. From embarrassment. No denying it.
Kawasaki was shaking her head, the way a mother would to a troublesome child.
"Fine. Allow me to lay out my cards on the table." no good denying now. Might as well throw at them their assumptions.
"I think you were expecting me to say something between the lines of 'I wasn't looking!' and 'I've seen better'." Hachiman sighs. And smirks.
"But goddammit, Miura. I have eyes. And all I see is a sexy woman in front of me."
There is a very interesting phenomenon in psychology. I call it processing delay. When you say something that incites the attention of another person, there is a certain delay before they realize and react. In this case, the calculated processing delay before the volatile reaction is five… four… three…
"Hikio." She gives Hachiman a sweet smile. Too sweet. "I will kill you."
"Calm down. This mustn't register on an emotional level- oh shit!"
"Get back here!" Miura shrieks at him in irritation. He had dodged death by an inch.
For women like her, they are like jewels. Everyone will want to steal her.
On the other hand, women will try to physically harass you whether you compliment them or otherwise.
Because the thorns on a rose symbolize a woman's ferocity.
"I think we should celebrate this. It's Friday, and you know the place." Miura had an iron grip on Hachiman's shoulder. She gives him one of the few smiles he recognized. This one says "I go my way, and you go my way."
"Y-yeah sure! It's on me!" At Least she isn't going to cook up a deadly meal for me.
"Excellent! SakiSaki, you should join us!"
"I think I should go-"
"Nonsense! I insist!"
So the three of us, two loners flanking a blonde fire queen, headed off into the evening.
You see, this is one of the trademark qualities of the fire queen of Soubu. Imperious and imposing. Gentlemen, take note: when a woman tells you "I think we should" that, when translated, is "I think I'll do this, and you will too."
And God, when she insists, there is no saying no.
Because you have to remember, fire cannot be tamed.
Maybe that is why I admire her.
…
"Thank fuckin' God it's Friday!"
"Oi. Language, woman."
"This is the prime beef!" She gave me an elbow, enthusiastically.
"Yeah. Knock yourself out." Kawasaki sighs.
T.G.I Friday's is your typical high-end american diner, and in Chiba it's one of the few. Ironically, there's not many people inside. Miura, being the chic riajuu she is, loves these kinds of western restaurants. It's a real good steakhouse, or so she says. Not too long ago when Miura got a hold of my email address (originally for academic purposes) she sent me an e-mail with a link to the T.G.I. Friday's website. The subject heading was titled, "F-day" and the body simply said, "This is fucking prime beef!" with the link to their menu.
There was a subtle tension between the three of us- it seemed very unusual to see Miura in this kind of good mood. Or maybe I was just paranoid that she might knock me out with a tennis racket the moment I turn my head around. I let Kawasaki sit in first, followed by me. Miura sat in front of me, just like how we would play chess. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that this whole affair seemed alarmingly similar, being in the company of two women. Kawasaki seemed like a passive, cool Yukinoshita and Miura was like Yuigahama with ADHD and increased affinity for cursing. When we got our drinks, she immediately called for a toast. Quite silly, but alright.
Well… between Miura and I, silence was usually tolerable. But with Kawasaki around, it was a different story. She looked like the odd one out- no, actually, every one of us is the odd one out. The three of us are like apples, oranges and pears in the proverbial fruit basket.
Very OCD inducing.
In an attempt to start a conversation I tried, "What kind of fruit do you guys like?"
"The fuck are you getting to?"
Goddammit Miura.
"Well, sensing that there is a suffocating silence between us, I thought I'd be the gentleman to break the ice."
"Hoh. The answer is strawberry. End of conversation."
"Fair enough."
Both of us turn towards Kawasaki, who had an amused smile on her lips. That was rare. She was giggling.
"Do you two always act like this?" she asked.
Miura looks at me, as if to hand me the responsibility of answering. "Not quite," was my answer.
"I didn't know you two were such close friends."
"I know right? Who would've thought mister lonely here would be my partner in crime?"
"Forget that last one. I'm not your 'partner in crime'." I interjected.
"You see?"
Like a rock boulder, now that my duty of getting the conversation rolling, I'll peacefully sit back and relax. Tuck into a little book I brought with me, Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift.
Now this is good company.
It saddens me a bit, reminiscing my former times with a certain sweet airhead and ice queen.
…
The waitress who was covering our table was a brunette, with charming blue eyes. Even in the ill-fitting Friday's uniform, she looked very attractive. Careful evaluation tells me this woman is a 9/10. Still, I wouldn't lay my hands on her. On any woman, actually. As usual, Miura went into full Riajuu mode and started socializing with the unfortunate waitress, asking her every conceivable question about T.G.I. Friday's history, the fire-grilled pork ribs, even the goddamned seasonings. If that wasn't enough, she followed up with questions about her personal life- where she lived (Narita), what she did (obviously, waitering!)- and so on. When I made the mistake of ordering the only tempura dish on the menu, Miura used the opportunity to crack a joke.
"Aw, Hikio. You're killing me. Killing me. This is Friday's. This is prime beef. You can't come here and order seafood," she said, a little too enthusiastically, to Kawasaki. "Am I right or am I right?" she added, giving the waitress a bright grin.
Though Miura likes to say she isn't a flirt, her way with women, and generally every other youth, is a big running gag between us. Whenever I call her out for it, she always replies with, "Oh please. I'm already taken. I'd never cheat on him, he'd dump me if he so much as finds out I'm hanging out with you."
I think I know who he is.
Poor you. It seems like old dogs don't learn new tricks after all.
In addition to loving children, Miura has always had a great affection for waiters and waitresses. She thinks they're hard workers who often get treated poorly by customers, so anytime she eats out, she tips 20-30 percent, no matter what. I don't know where she gets the money, but that sure as hell is a lot of money blown away to some stranger. Oh well. Cheers, to each their own.
So when I saw the bill, which was in total, 8,000 yen, I nearly fainted. Suddenly, those delicious, buttery tempuras seemed to induce nausea. This will knock my allowance back a month! I never go out for fancy meals, not of my own volition at least. As I stared down at the bill, I noticed Miura jotting down 2,000 yen for the tip.
"What are you doing?" I hissed at her.
"Why, I'm being a good fellow!" Miura smiled back.
"No, no, no. Listen to me, woman. You do not tip out two-thousand yen."
"Says who?"
"Not on my watch."
"Try me." she smirks.
I look to my side, and I see Kawasaki cringing. Being the ever-so diligent person she is, who secretly works as a part time bartender at the Angel's Ladder cafe to make hard-earned money, I could empathize with her. This blonde woman was too liberal with money. As expected with every typical blue blood.
Kawasaki and I look at each other. And nod.
"Split bill?"
"Yeah."
The two of us lay our cash on the little tray, alongside the fire queen's generous tip.
Miura throws money like a damned gambler. Know the value of a dollar. She must.
But folks, I can tell you from experience that waiters operate on the same principle a stripper does; "Give them money, and they'll pretend they like you."
After our waitress saw the tip, she sashayed back to our table and began chatting us up even more. When Miura found out that she was single, guess what she did.
"That one is single too. He lives up here in Chiba. You two should get together!"
Because if there's any indication that two people should begin having sexual intercourse, it's that they live in the same city.
Source: Miura Yumiko.
Ten minutes later, we finally got up from our table. My good friend Miura, thanked each and every employee she saw on the way out as if she were walking offstage after winning an Oscar award. Then she grabbed several toothpicks from the dispenser at the hostess desk, handed one to me and Kawasaki, popped it into her mouth and strolled out the door.
Picture me, in a disheveled white shirt, Kawasaki Saki in her grey hoodie and dark undergarment, and Miura Yumiko. In a tight, white tank top with her green jacket tied around her skirt. The three of us, chewing mint-tipped toothpicks. Walk out into the night.
Straight out of a western rom-com movie.
"That waitress, she was sweet on you. She was chatting you up for ten minutes." Miura glanced at me.
"No. you gave her a huge tip, so she was being nice." I retorted. "You asked her to describe in-depth the American steak preparation, and that took eight of those ten minutes." I added.
"You don't know shit! I know when a girl's being sweet to someone, and that girl was sweet on you."
Our argument escalated, with Miura insisting that she liked me, and me refusing to believe that, while Kawasaki was grinning and chuckling at our banter. Just like old times.
It finally ended with Miura yelling, "Fine! She thought you were a jackass! You're right, I'm wrong!"
A good twelve seconds of silence ensued. Until Kawasaki walked right up beside me, looked me right in the eye, smiled, and said, "I think you're… personable."
"So there you go!" Miura throws her arms in the air. "Kawasaki thinks you're handsome! This should be an exciting night for you!"
"I-I didn't!-" Kawasaki was red.
"Don't mind her." I gave her a light pat.
Miura was throwing her hissy fit at me, walking ahead of us with a pout.
Only now, did I realize that her outfit made her look like a certain movie character we saw. Blonde hair tied messily in a ponytail? White tank top? She looked like…
"Rita Vrataski."
Movie references never failed to turn her mood by 180 degrees.
She looks back at me with a grin, though her brows are still furrowed. "Is there something on my face, soldier?"
Both of us burst out laughing. Unfortunately, Kawasaki was left out of our in-joke.
"What does that even mean?"
"Have you seen Edge of Tomorrow?" Miura excitedly asks the silver-head.
"No..."
"Well, have you read the manga All you need is Kill?"
Kawasaki shakes her head.
"Goddammit. We three should watch that!"
"Hold on there, Miura. Another day, another time." I said.
"Next week?"
"I'll think about it." Kawasaki said.
"You know, this is nice. We should do this more often." Miura looks at the two of us with a smile.
"Yeah." Kawasaki agrees.
"What about you, Hikio?" the two look at me. Odd one out.
I shrug. "Sure. I guess." No. That wasn't supposed to be my answer.
It is another strange psychological phenomenon; crowd mentality. When the majority agrees on something, more often than not you are also coerced into agreeing. This situation is no exception. That answer was involuntary. We call it influence.
We three keep on walking into the night and eventually, we reach a street intersection.
"Well, this is where we part ways." I say.
"Hold it right there." Miura holds up a finger, as if an idea had struck her. "You know what we need?"
Me and Kawasaki look at each other. "World peace?" Kawasaki tried.
"Yes, yes," she frowns and rubs her temple. "That can wait." No Miura. You do not make world peace wait!
"Let's take a selfie- three of us together."
She pulls out her pink Apple smartphone, holds it in front of her and beckons the two of us to come closer.
"Hoy, Hikio. Show some teeth!"
I face-palm myself, as I felt my cheeks flush up. Miura and Kawasaki laugh, to my expense.
Finally, we manage to keep it together and she snaps a picture of us.
The trio.
"Hmm… good, good." she nods repeatedly. "I think this will do."
"You think?"
She looks at me and gives me a smile. A different kind of smile.
Happiness?
"Alright! Let's get a move on!" she turns around. If she didn't I would've seen a definite blush on her face.
"Yeah. Have a… good night?"
"Was that a question or what?" she looks back at me with a smirk.
I raise a hand. "Or what. Take care, you two."
And so we part ways. Looking back one last time, I see the two figures. One of blonde, the other of bluish silver. The former drapes an arm over the other's shoulders, much to the silver-head's exasperation.
...
Just like old times?
Remember
Reminisce
What could have been
But no
Because I did not value it enough
This quixotic and fickle thing
Called friendship.
I am sorry, Yukino Yukinoshita. Yui Yuigahama.
I hope not to make the same mistake again.
...
…
…