Satisfaction
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It was at some point in Narashino, after passing another turnpike without hardly slowing down, that two of us in the car realized who was certainly the maddest of us all.
Kawasaki tried to sleep while cramped in the back together with our stuff, still groggy from having to wake up so early to embark on our way to Tokyo. No mercy for her - the newfangled Bose sound system wedged between the rear glass window and back dash was a complete menace. This time, Rolling Stones played through the jet-black speakers relentlessly. The bass was powerful. It beat any ideas about getting a wink out of us. It was like the voice of God, if He'd been singing to you with a Mick Jagger accent. I was glad it had run through from the previous album to what was on now. Miura had sung about being a rebel just for kicks twice before hitting 'next'. The least I could deal with was dated music instead of the newer, painfully mediocre crap that was being put out these days.
"I can't get no satisfaction," Miura cooed, rocking her head. "Cause I try, and I try… I can't get no, no, no-oh!"
Very fitting. That near completely encompassed her personality. Enough is never enough for the fire queen; maybe she was dubbed the fire queen for a reason, for being greedy like fire. Burn everything! She wanted everything good, none of the bitter aftertaste and hangovers, and then some more.
I kept my composure for the whole hour that had passed. We had already stopped at a gas station the last hour to grab a bite of donuts and croissants, some coffee, and also to fill up the tank. When Miura swerved into the station, jockey boy was already trying to flirt with her. Of course, a kind of girl like Miura could also scare any guy. She tried to back into the pumps after missing it when we rolled past it the first try.
"Say, uh… this is your car?" the young man asked Miura, smiling.
"What, you think I rented this?! Damn straight."
"Well, you guys be careful with it, alright?" he said, peering at the three of us in the car.
"Sure, sure," Miura giggled.
"I mean, shit. You look really young," he said. He didn't even want to know how old our driver is. "You just pulled up to me without slowing down! And going forty miles in reverse! You almost crashed into the pumps!"
"No harm done, baby," Miura said again. "I roll just about that way," she winked.
"Are you guys drinking?" the young man asked suspiciously, glancing at the large blue cooler sitting beside the sleepy, silver-haired girl in the backseat.
"Drinking?" Miura snapped. "Not me!"
"Just fill our goddamn tank, man," I shouted, sounding like an envious boyfriend, stretching my arm past Miura and out her window, holding a fold of cash.
Miura adjusted her yellow sunglasses. "Sorry baby, but we're in a hurry. We're chasing the Japanese Dream. Maybe I'll join the Super-Supra race down at the Bay."
"You wouldn't dare," I ground out at her.
"Don't worry, baby," she said to the gas jockey again. "We're responsible people." We watched as the young man, evidently shaken, put the cap back on the Challenger and twist it shut. Miura shifted into second gear, revved and dumped the clutch ceremoniously, leaving the gas station in a cloud of rubber smoke.
"Did you see that guy?" Miura shouted. The noise of the V-8, the fast winds flowing through our open windows and the cars we're passing made it necessary to use our utmost vocal strength to conversate. "There you have another worrier! He's barely twenty-five, I can see that he thinks I'm hot, but damn - he has no spirit! There's why this country is going down the tubes! I wouldn't fuck anyone like that! Guys don't even flirt properly anymore!"
"Excellent observation, Miura-san," I shouted back. "Let him know the next time around!"
"No need," she laughed. "A bloody normie like that is beyond all saving!"
A riajuu like Miura Yumiko had no business using the word 'normie'! Even I barely uttered it these days. It had lost all its meaning, the same way art loses everything good about it the moment it hits the mainstream; the very reason why the mainstream is considered a 'stream' is because it's shallow.
But what if she's right? How different was a stark loner to an extreme top dog fallen from grace, really? If anything in between two polar points on the line was considered square and normal, then that allowed her to use 'normie' unironically. She was part of the black sheep on the other side of the fence, like me.
That was an hour ago. The two large frappucinos she had downed made it necessary to stop at the next gas station. I know for a fact that if Miura was a guy, make no mistake, he'd have no problems going no.1 on the side of the road. It was a blessing in disguise that the universe decided otherwise - call it feminine principle; only thing stopping some people from pushing their limits.
"We're pulling over," Miura announced. "Nature calls."
All of us got out of the car, and Miura went ahead to the restrooms. I leaned on the side of the car. With a trembling hand, Kawasaki pulled out a white pack of cigarettes and slipped one in between her lips.
"You smoke now?" I asked her.
"I don't usually, but now I do, yes." Kawasaki smiled wryly. "If I don't, I might total the fucking car."
She was courteous enough to offer me some, and I took a cigarette gratefully. She lit up the end of mine with hers, in a peculiar little cigarette 'kiss'.
"It's your turn, but can you even drive?" I said.
She nodded that it's no problem. But I insisted on driving; I was still fresh. I wanted her to rest for now.
Kawasaki shuddered. "God, Hachiman. I didn't know Miura was nuts. Why'd you pick her again?"
What do I say? That I don't know? Or is it because I trusted her?
"You actually trust Miura-chan?!"
"Esper," I accused her. "And no! Well, I suppose what reason could I give? Trusting Miura are two words that should be combined with caution. It was too late when I found out what kind of plan she made up. This is it."
Kawasaki sighed. "It's not the worst thing that could happen," she said in a foreboding tone. "Let's just get to the hotel as fast as possible."
Agreed. The three of us had reservations at the InterContinental ANA, courtesy of the Soubu student council headed by Isshiki-san and the acting secretary, Yukinoshita. But what would they think that almost all of our allowances were spent on an expensive Dodge Challenger, a stereo set and a trunkload of tube ice and alcoholic drinks? We were only one speedtrap or patrol inspection away from being sent to hell. Yukinoshita would likely have a heart attack once I text her the course of our day tonight. We had one regular room which we had to make do with and share. The only thing that had worried Miura so far was the distinction between the two InterContinentals in the city, and she sighed in great relief to find out we were not staying at the Bay area, which she explained was actually less scenic.
Kawasaki and I were both on edge, naturally. Miura returned, coming around on the gravel path towards us.
"You look like you're in a good mood," I said.
"Yeah," Kawasaki concurred. "Like you've just taken a shit or something. You've got a spring in your step, Miura-chan."
"Why, you're not wrong, Saki Saki," Miura said curtly. She proceeded to do a set of stretches in front of us. Then she stuck her arm in the car window, unlocked the cooler and took out a wet can of cold Suntory.
She was halfway through the beer before I stopped her. "Hey, hey!" I stormed over to her, stopping her hand which held the can. "Don't drink and drive!"
"I'm not! I'm drinking then driving!"
If you thought I was a smartass, here was Miura Yumiko. Apparently she learned from the best and became her own master. Her twisted logic attracted me. If you wanted to drink, do it first; get it out of the way before you drive. Never drink on the wheel. Smart call. After wrestling the drink away from her, we all climbed back in the car this time with me behind the wheel. We got back on the road, and I drove much more smoother than anything.
"Shit," Miura complained. "You're getting smoke up my eyes! You two! Stop! Not in the car," she snarled. She did look like she was about to cry.
I glanced at Kawasaki in the backseat. We both shared a mischievous smile. Kawasaki puffed a big, nasty cloud and said haughtily, "whatever are we gonna do, give sheep the vote?"
We both laughed. Miura was incensed.
"Very funny, guys," she said, growing really furious. "Yeah, just keep laughing while you both still got lungs to do it!"
"God, Miura-chan," Kawasaki chuckled. "What's the matter with you? It's just a cigarette. I'll smoke, I'll get the cancers, I'll die. Deal? Relax. Our youth, right?" she added ironically.
"Well, it's not just you," Miura shot back. "What about the secondary smoke? It's the secondary smoke that's still just as bad and it's gonna give me cancers as well, you stupid bitch!"
I laughed, joining in. "What about the secondary smoke? Na-na-na-na-na, secondary smoke," I mocked her. Kawasaki was wheezing.
"Listen, Miura. If this bothers you so much, I would recommend looking around in the polluted world in which we live and, I don't know… shuttin' your mouth," I said gently.
Miura seemed to go full Nazi-environmentalist with that last one. "The point is if you want to poison yourselves, keep me out of it!" she shouted.
"Whoa, hey," Kawasaki leaned in between us. "Look, it seems like she's got a point. Hachi, what do you think? Can you weigh this in logically?"
I hummed pensively. I glanced at Miura this time. "Well, let's put it this way. Miura, you drink but don't smoke. We smoke, but don't drink. The way I see it, we're trading vices. Besides, both are just as bad as the other."
"My point is you should stop not because you're gonna die, but because I'm also gonna die because of your inconsiderate bullshit!" Miura screamed.
"The more the merrier, right?" Kawasaki remarked sardonically.
"You can't possibly run over a dog or a person, or get imprisoned by the police, or beat the ever-loving crap out of your wife and kids when you smoke," I said, rather philosophical now. I was suprised at how calm I was behaving, driving despite the mayhem inside the car. I continued, "but if you drink, guess what? So you see… from a logical perspective, there's really no white-black way to go about it."
Miura was now silent. Both of us quickly piped down. Kawasaki said, "Christ, we're kidding." She chucked her cigarette out of the window; I put out mine in the ashtray.
"So, our friend here is afraid of death." Kawasaki said quietly, still smiling as she sat back in her seat. "An apparent health nut sometimes too. What about you, Hachiman?"
"Me? Growing old." I shook my head.
"I'd hate to be hospitalized," Kawasaki said. "Something about white rooms and doctors menace the living daylights out of me."
I reiterated the reason and explained why I never invite or bring them both to my house when my parents were around, especially if my father was at home. It wasn't just because they were unfriendly - that was not as bad of an issue with me. "My father is bizarre," I said. "He's always half dressed, and when he's lounging in the couch, he's twisted in horrific positions. My mother's asked me why I never seem to show anyone around to them. It's because my Pa is shaped like a pretzel. And he's oblivious to it. How would you like him to conversate with you like that? That's not the worst. Sometimes he steps out in the yard like that, just basking in his domain. I don't imagine myself like that. Saki, blow me away if you see me like that."
She nodded. "Anyway, it's not just the ambiance," Kawasaki added after a moment. "I mean these fucking doctors have no tact. No sense of empathy at all when speaking to you, I tell you. They deliver terminal news like a boxer throwing you a combination to the gut and jaw. God, they should allow some of those crying nuns to make rounds in the wards, actually. The ones which wail and grieve terrifically. Just to balance it all out. We used to have more of those in medicine…"
After a minute of that, we were still not getting a word out of Miura. She was rooted in her seat beside me, dead set with a deep grudging look. But what expertise did we have at comforting people? Of the three of us misfits, two of us were loners, and the only one with a remote sense of social empathy was a fire queen with an attitude. Then I remember one particular story that I told her once, when she was visiting our house. It was a risk, so I tried.
"Miura," I say to her gently. "Still remember that time you met my mom?"
No answer.
"You remember how she is, right?" I continued. "We were having lunch. You liked the berry pie, initially at least. Remember her tale? About her great aunt? The one with fat arms that sag and clap against your face every time she hugs you? Well, she's passed away. I guess 'pass' is not the right word; she died. She always wanted to go on a diet, get slim. So one day, she up and ordered a giant trampoline from online and set it up in her living room."
"Took three jumps, before she realized she didn't turn off the ceiling fan," I said. "Like a blender with the top off." I asked, "So, Yumiko, you still wanna come over and eat some red cranberry pie at my place?"
Miura could not help as slow, guttering squeaks of laughter escaped her lips. She hiccuped and started laughing breathily. Kawasaki gasped, then laughed uneasily, unsure as it was the first time she had heard the story from me, and looked genuinely concerned.
"God. Is that true?"
"I don't know, Saki," I shrugged. We passed by a toll booth, which let us by thanks to the electronic sticker already on the windshield. There was a minute of silence.
Miura said, "I just can't figure out how come both of you guys seem so cavalier about something so serious like death."
Kawasaki and I both looked at her. I had to say something. I thought hard. "Well," I said quietly. "Death's nothing to be afraid of. You remember what I said. Worry about living instead, where you got a body and a head and all that bullshit right now."
"But it's all coming to get us at the end, isn't it?" Miura said. "How can you ignore that?"
Kawasaki was listening, and thought as well. "Well, I mean, sure…"
"Sure," I nodded. "But, well. What is it exactly? Death?"
"A word," Kawasaki said.
I nodded again. "It's a word. A priori. It comprises everything we don't know, and never will know. A greek doctor, Epicurus, once explained that when you're alive, death isn't around. And when you're finally dead, why, you wouldn't even know it. So why should you be afraid of something that only exists the moment you leave?"
"The problem with that theory is Epicurus never accounted for the fact that you also only see death if you're alive," Miura said. "You can watch people get sick, get hurt, and die. You couldn't possibly come close to knowing how dreadful it is unless it's right in front of you. It exists the moment you leave, and it doesn't care - it'll still be there whether you come back or not. First it's your mum, then dad, then your siblings and friends, then you; in that order even! I don't enjoy joking about death. When we're dead, we're dead. If we're alive, we're next."
We're both struck speechless by Miura's sudden exposition.
After a very long silence, Kawasaki said, "I didn't know you were that deep," she said, then adding quickly, "I mean it in a good way. That's a very… fine way of saying it, Miura-san."
I wholeheartedly agreed. Sometimes, respect is due and it had to be given. I didn't say anything, still thinking over Miura's words. Then I wondered, how come she's not like this more often? What made the fire queen so reclusive behind that mask of extrovertedness she puts up? I thought it was lovely whenever she showed the poignant side of her, but I wondered if it was because of her past, her elementary years, and maybe something more serious. Then I remembered that I had never seen Miura's mother, much less hear her talk about her much at all. The pieces slowly came together in my head.
"If it makes you feel better, we're not going anywhere," Kawasaki said coolly.
I glared at her. "Hey, don't make promises you can't keep! And don't rope me in! Now I'll have to put in the effort."
Miura chuckled. "I don't mind," she said. "Don't get me wrong, I've no illusions anymore about youth and romance and all that. By the end of this year, we'd probably part ways for good. We still have college to deal with, yeah?"
She wasn't wrong. And Miura, I reckoned, was the sort of person that coped with disillusionment by hiking to the farthest she can, then slowly walking back down to do it all over again. Every so often when real life becomes complicated and Kafkaesque horrific nightmares start happening, the only other sensible recourse and coping mechanism would be to crank up the deluge and terrific consumerism; American Angels drive Harley Davidsons to stave off the urge to cannibalize fellow human beings. Suicidal maniacs cut open their limbs with box cutters. Peak-of-hormone girls like Miura Yumiko rent muscle cars, sing "I'm a rebel just for kicks!" and "I can't get no satisfaction!" and drive like that bastard Smokey Nagata on Japanese highways, running from something she could not identify and put a name on. Anything to stimulate the reward system of the brain and feel something good.
But in a way, the three of us had mutual sentiments: we all treated the getaway from Chiba to Tokyo at the very least a breath of fresh air. To relax in the most sincere hedonist sense, right there, at the throbbing heart of the densest capital of the world. With six thousand people per square kilometer and a rising new counterculture in '22, how can the most extreme loner, much less us, feel alone in a fucking place like that? I was part of the 'youth' once - still am I guess. I know I agreed to bring my swimming trunks on a journalist mission because we were going to the beach and swim at the InterContinental pools, not just type up pointless articles like old people.
I looked at Miura, who had closed her eyes. You poor fool - Never lose sight of the primary objective. Love. Live. Enjoy youth. Have your Dodge Challengers and Suntory beers, Miura Yumiko, but don't forget to cover the main story of this trip. Roll the milk-white convertible roof back and get a tan at the beach. And Kawasaki-san? She must have her own designs. And me? The conversation in the car just gave me an idea for our article's opening line.
Right. But what was the main story? What nerve would my article appeal to? Nobody ever told me. Not even Yukinoshita. It was up to the three of us. Do we cover the politics and upcoming election this July? The utter state of Japan? Or do we document this macabre, cosmopolitan impulse my friend had just carried us into? Free enterprise, Zaimokuza-kun would always tell me, when asked how he could possibly make money from writing his shitty fanfictions. Appreciate the courage of the endangered species: optimists. I could learn from one, right beside me.
"I'm sleepy," Miura muttered with finality. "Wake me up when we reach the hotel."
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