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Typhoon headed our way

A typhoon is coming. I know nothing of typhoons. When we asked Okamoto what to expect, he flipped his hand up as if it were nothing and said Oh, something like a hurricane. My mind boggles. Matt and I still haven’t been able to get any reception on our television and all the English speaking radio stations seem to be more concerned with Britney Spears future marriage and Nelly’s latest scandal than the severe weather warning.

Matt had a horrid headache and sent me out to find him aspirin. The convenience stores don’t carry any over-the-counter medicine; neither does the grocery store near our house. I had to take the train to Kitaguchi Station, to the big drug store. It was my first time taking the train alone, but I already felt like an old pro from the few times I went with Matt and Kiomye. The trains sing a cheerful “hurry hurry” song just before they leave the station. Kitaguchi is just two stops away. I get of with the crowds and head towards the North East exit. At the crossing to the department store, vendors gather to hand out fliers and little packets of tissue with coupons printed on the backs. They usually ignore me, the gaijin who couldn’t possibly speak Japanese. One woman called out to me today. Haw-pee housewife, haw-pee housewife! Amusing.

The drug store astounds me. Tightly packed boxes of indiscernible drugs fill entire walls. I stand blinking, mouth open, and contemplate my choices. I can only guess at the various healing properties of the medicines by the cartoon depictions of people suffering from obviously life-threatening ailments. Many of the cartoon people seem to have extreme stomach problems as they clutch their middles and bend over, faces grossly contorted.

After I’ve been standing dumbfounded in front of the medicine wall for about ten minutes, a clerk approaches me and throws some lightening fast Japanese at me. I assume she’s asking me if I need assistance, so I start to pantomime a headache. I’m a very good actress. I get really into it. I hold my hands at the side of my head, scrunch my face and say oww, oww, oww. That just seems to confuse her, so I throw out a bunch of lightening fast English words, hoping she’ll understand even one.

“Head pain. Aspirin. Head hurt. Excedrin.”
“How about this?” She says in perfectly clear English. “Ibuprofen.”
“Oh, yes. Great.” I blush and duck my head.
“She rings me up and hands me the box of pills in a bag. “Take to at a time.”
“Arigato.” I slur even the simple Japanese. “Thanks,” I say, bow a couple of times, and retreat quickly.

I moved my desk in front of the sliding doors to the balcony. It screws with the feng shui of the living room, but I hate staring at a wall when I write. Now I look out on the lights of Nishinomiya and Osaka. The bullet train slides by below me, a glowing caterpillar. A heavy yellow moon peaks at me from behind the gathering clouds – typhoon clouds, I am told.

The heat bears down on us the second we step outside our thoroughly air-conditioned living box. The people on the streets carry hanker-chiefs to mop the sweat from their faces, necks and chests. The women carry dark umbrellas on clear days to block the sun. No one wears cool clothing – jeans and light jackets are the norm – even when it’s over 90 and steamier than a rice cooker. Glowing vending machines offer ice cold bottles of juice and water, but Matt and I seem to be the only ones to ever make a purchase. I gulp down familiar brands of bottled water while Kio chugs mini bottles of apple juice with tweaked-out kitty cartoons on the wrapper. We wilt in the heat. Kiomye falls asleep on the train ride home from the Sannomiya shopping street, melting into my body. When we finally return to our frigid living box, I kick off my sandals and then sit on the couch to peel off my jeans. We spend two hours laying half naked on our bed under the air conditioner to recover.

posted by Scribbler @ Saturday, August 28, 2004