As the days get shorter and the cold makes it too frigid to want to explore Japan I’m going to backtrack a couple of weeks to a crazy night with Part II of my Grandmothers in Japan story. Last part I ended with the ominous cocktail party taking place the next day. Let’s just say that I was right when I said I had no idea what I was getting into.
The morning of the cocktail party I was really in no mood to go. I had gotten very little sleep the night before, was rushing to finish a project and had even skipped my morning shower to try to make the deadline. The only thing that kept me from telling Reiko that I was sick was the wonder of what a senior Japanese party might have been like. My curiosity got the better of me.
First off, when Reiko picked me up I felt very underdressed. I asked her if I had to dress up for the party and when she replied “casual” I figured my bright turquoise jacket and jeans would be just fine. When I compared my bright cotton to the dark satin of the other guests we met outside of the restaurant, I was very aware of my gaijin complexion, (not to mention the age difference).
When we went inside the restaurant, Reiko had to grab my arm from walking down the hallway to the main dinery. No, we weren’t eating at the restaurant; they escorted me down the stairs out of obvious sight. I imagined it to be something like a Japanese speakeasy as it seemed very… exclusive. When the room below came into focus, it was a dimly lit dining area equipped with seating up to 20 people with a small bartop in the near left-hand corner of the room. Dark reds and sundrenched yellows accented the ethnic Indian cuisine for the night. Reiko and I made five inside the dreadfully quiet room room. Considering my abysmal Japanese conversation skills, as I awkwardly followed Rieko I smiled and nodded robotically, tuning out and preparing myself for a very slow night.
But strangely, as more people arrived, it seemed that more people took notice to my extreme out-of-place appearance in the group, so each of those with some comfort of English was sure to come up and introduce themselves to me. Reiko boasted about her new friend to each of her fellow English-learning peers, mind you, the youngest being no less than 60 years old I’m sure. As I met each one, they each exclaimed at how pretty I was, making me very aware of my youth, and how they too, had visited America. I couldn’t repeat a single of the ever-so-challenging Japanese names, but I remember thinking repeatedly how on earth did I get here? Maybe I was overwhelmed by how this was not only my first cocktail party, but also how I was spending it with Japanese folks thirty years my senior.
I’m certain that the part that threw me off the most was the fact that my very own sensei, who I had taught class no less than three hours earlier, was sitting at the bar. I’m not sure if its illegal in America, but it’s definitely taboo to be seen somewhere outside school with your teacher. I think at that point I had no choice but just to roll with it, because no one else seemed to have an issue.
Once I started to relax, not only was the food amazing, naan and kebabs, but the drinks were unlimited. They asked me what my favorite cocktail was, and I assure you, at this age I have no idea– yogurt parfaits? I made many friends that night, including three retired English teachers of the rival university. It seemed to me like the retired English teacher club and their students, and I was both teacher and student in the most absurd way possible.
Reiko had told me many times prior about the adorably large black woman who sang in Japanese. When such a woman walked onto the makeshift stage just next to my seat I was nearly certain this was the one she had been referring to. Reiko bolted up and ran over to introduce us sole foreigners in the overwhelmingly Japanese room.
It’s amazing how being on the other side of the world made me feel like I had so much in common with this woman from North Carolina (not to mention she looked only in her 30s). When we spoke it was so comforting to use my casual English and idiomatic phrases, rather than my precise, simple words. I learned that Miss J, as they call her, moved to Japan on a whim after getting bored with the American life. She started singing in Japanese bars and the Japanese people absolutely adore her. As she learned Japanese Miss J found herself singing in Japanese on TV in Tokyo. Miss J was the winner of a Japanese equivalent of American Idol, and here I was talking to her: she seemed just a humble woman looking for a dose of adventure on the other side of the globe. It was pretty inspirational in a way. She explained that I had found myself with a bit of a ritzy crowd, but she loves their kindness and performs for them often.
When she got up to sing it was great to hear her performing what she loved, with tunes I grew up hearing everywhere in the states. To my surprise, the white-haired Japanese group behind me clearly knew the tunes too , and sang the sounds (I won’t quite say words) with Miss J. They were more in their element when they handed me a pamphlet to sing along with the best Japanese song that won Miss J votes on air.
After Miss J’s familiar set and 20+ selfies with my drink-happy friends, Reiko and I ran out to catch a taxi home. Curiosity could not possibly have prepared me for such an event, or for the copious amounts of naan I saved from being thrown out that night. For the next three nights I ate Indian and reminisced on the odd circumstance. When I saw my teacher in class next he told the whole class about the event, so I guess it’s pretty normal in Japan.
I suppose I’m invited to the Christmas party this December, too.
[ In Japan TrVL] 