Back to Michael's life in Japan. Thanks for reading.

best, w.

and Cn - yes, I am still here working on this. If you have a problem with it, nobody is forcing you to read. I am planning on working on this until it is finished, which, to your apparent relief, will be in two chapters.

April

(1)

In early April, the spring arrived. It seemed to happen right over night; the grass got greener, the flowers began blooming, the air outside was fresh and the temperatures smoothing. A wild cherry growing in front of our lab was especially breath-taking, so my colleagues and I brought a table from the lab, placing it under the tree. From then on, we ate our lunches there.

With April, a promise I had to fulfill also reappeared.

In autumn, Renate and I had gone to the statue of Buddha, called 'Ushiku Daibutsu'. There was a garden that supposedly changed as seasons went by. I promised myself to check out whether or not it was true, and now, with spring surrounding me, it was time.

I left work early and drove down the familiar road. I couldn't help but to think of Renata, wonder about where she was and what she was up to. I had promised her not to dwell on her memory, so I didn't; I just hoped she knew what a positive impact she had had on my life, and that she was happy. As happy as I was when I walked into the gardens, and realized that their structure had completely changed since I was here. I found myself standing amidst colors, every color you could imagine. The blooms were thriving in bright daylight, and they reminded me of a rainbow. That kind of rainbow that is its own hidden treasure.

"I am not going deaf," I told Midori.

"Not yet," she argued. "If you really are to play this much with Henry and the guys, it will affect your hearing, unless you wear earplugs."

"You can't wear earplugs while plying rock," I rolled my eyes at her. "If you want to play good music, you have to feel it, and in order to feel it, you gotta hear it!"

I think your ears would really appreciate a break every once in a while," she insisted. "And I think a quiet atmosphere of the cooking class three times per week is a perfect solution."

"Why cooking class?" I laughed. "Why not painting or something?"

"You can paint in your spare time all you want," she said. "But I know you won't practice cooking, and cooking is something every man should be capable of, and I am telling you this a girl whose boyfriend doesn't even know how to make himself scrambled eggs for breakfast."

She wouldn't take no for an answer, and so I found myself attending a cooking class three times per week with her. I admit, it, at first I went just to make her happy.

I was off to a rough start. Even though my Japanese might be quite good in everyday life, it turned out I wasn't anywhere near to knowing how vegetables and spices were called. Midori was appalled by it, of course, and didn't even consider my explanation that while grocery shopping, I was buying goods based on their appearance, not what the package said. She blamed it on my love for fast food and heated dinners.

During our first class, the woman teaching class handed out printed recipe we were supposed to follow. I had to keep asking Midori what certain words meant and she patiently translated for me, but I still managed to make the dish uneatable. I knew I was basically the laughing stock of the class, and determined to never let it happen again, I spent that night learning vocabulary pertaining to food.

For two weeks I was bringing the dictionary with me, not caring how silly it made me look, and my food was getting better. Skepticism in teacher's eyes began changing into contentment. When we were making sushi, she named my plate as the best. It's funny how proud I felt.

When after four weeks the class ended, all everyone who stuck with it till the end got a special plaque. I think it goes without saying that I hung it in the kitchen, above the herbs in pots I had bought.

I continued playing with Henry and the guys. Now we had a proper name – Rock Wanders, and in fact, we all started to make some money with it. Owners of the local bars practically competed against each other as to at whom we would play most often. We gained reputation of attracting visitors of all sorts. We played old rock, music known all over the globe, which particularly resonated with male student population. Women on the other hands, flocked in to see us.

"Can you blame them?" Henry laughed. "We're nice looking fellas! Plus, you're an American, Akira is Japanese, Tim has a cool accent, Johan is from Europe, and I, well, I am just in my own league."

Whatever the reason, we were an attraction, and it always took us hours to leave the bar, as everyone wanted to take a picture with us.

One night, though, someone other than a fan approached us.

He was wearing an old AC/DC T-shirt and worn-out jeans. He introduced himself as Clive, and said he was working for a record label in Tokyo.

"Record label?" Henry repeated, spilling beer all over his lap.

"We heard some good things you guys," Clive went on, "so I came over to see it for myself. You're good."

"Thanks," Johan said, but most of his attention was aimed at the women around us.

"Are you doing your own material as well?" he inquired.

"Look, man, we just do it for fun," Tim explained.

"And ladies," Johan added.

"But we could," Henry said. "We just think people like covers better. Because they know them."

I glanced at Akira, our prodigy. He was quiet, slowly playing his guitar, but the sound got lost in the throb of the bar. I doubted he understood much of what we were talking about, and something told me that as long as he had his guitar in hands, he didn't really care.

"Anyway," Clive continued, "I am searching for some talent that would appeal to the student population. I would really like if you guys could make a demo of some kind and, you know, see what my bosses think."

Honestly, the offer came out of nowhere. We had started paying for fun, for our love of music, and here we were now, asked to record a demo for industry people. We of course agreed to it at once, not really thinking it through. We went back on stage to celebrate, and played rock version of the most popular songs of the moment. We decided to do so practically on spot, without rehearsing, and we were consequently terrible. But we loved every second of it, and that resonated with our audience.

We stayed until the bar closed, that was at five in the morning. All the beer I drank showed as I got to the lab in a worse state than probably ever before.

It wasn't until the following afternoon that we sat down to discuss the offer. Tim bought the telephone book (he said browsing Japanese pages often made his old phone freeze) so that we could find the recording studios nearby. The money wasn't the problem, we made enough of it playing in bars; we wondered if there even was any point to trying to get a hold of a record deal.

As many of us were exchange students, there wasn't any solid future in sight for our band. Soon we'd be scattered all over the world. Johan was finishing his studies here and was the band was only his way of going out with a bang. Tim met a girl during his stay in Tsukuba, and while he wasn't planning on going back to New Zealand any time soon, the girl lived on the other side of Japan. I too wasn't sure how long I'd be in Japan for, and with my robotic arm hopefully taking off soon, I wasn't sure if I could commit to the band, even if we landed a record deal.

"Well, I guess that only leaves you and me," Henry embraced Akira over the shoulder. "I can chase the rock dreams while staying at aunt's."

"Listen, guys," I spoke up, "let's just go and record the demo, to have fun. If something comes out of, we'll just cross that bridge when we get to it."

My bandmates thought about my words and nodded in agreement. Well, minus Johan, who kept asking why we would even get to any bridges.

**break**

I booked us the recording studio for the following Saturday.

It was a new experience for all of us, and we wanted to try out as many things as we could. Of course, we also made sure to take the similar amount of photos.

I had met up with Henry the day before, and we discussed the list of sings we would record. We agreed it would be a good idea to include at least one song of our own, so I decided to play him a ballad I had wrote back in the Skinner Box days. Besides that one, we chose five covers we were most sure of.

We agreed that our chances of securing a deal were slim. None of us really dreamed of being a professional musicians – well, minus Akira, that was. He had left him home in an attempt to make music for living. Henry and I decided to use or demo as a way of helping him get noticed. We picked the covers we thought he most excelled at.

"Alright, everyone, let's go rock this thing," Henry said after everything was photographed. "And remember, we're here to have fun, whether or not this leads anywhere."

We recorded the demo in a same fashion we played – enthusiastically, with our hearts poured into every melody. We didn't worry about a few little slips, we wanted an authentic sound. We wanted to play rock the way it deserved, if you want.

And we had a hell a good time.

Toward the end of the month Clive called and told us the label decided to pursue another band. Even if any of us was disappointed, it only lasted for a split second. Then we just shook it off and went to play another show.

To Be Continued.

Broughttoyouby:::winter.