Grace

Grace

On the morning of Akemi's disappearance I told her before going to work. "Now that my father is getting old, I have an idea what I want to do with him. Know what it is?"

Akemi said she didn't. Of course.  

"Talk about life. Mine. And the past, Our family's."

I could see Akemi was surprised, looked doubtful. She knew I didn't see much of my father, hadn't even been calling him much lately. She didn't question my statement, though. We were both busy getting to leave the house.  

I added, "It's just an idea I woke up with, maybe came from a dream. It might pass.."

A whim, in other words, that I probably wouldn't act on.  

I thought for some reason then of my friend Jerry, my visit to him in Germany where he lived with his wife. I'd seen, noted, felt, how differently they lived from us, the food they ate, etc. They had a cake. Berthe showed me in their kitchen when we arrived at their home. It was on the white countertop, a sort of large tart, with pieces of fruit arrayed in a ring around the surface, the center a sort of peach color, sticky like aspic.  

Berthe and I had had trouble communicating. We were waiting for Jerry, who had gone somewhere else in the house to take care of something. She and I hadn't spent much time together. We smiled shyly at each other and made conversation. I told her about a Japanese restaurant I'd been to (because we were in the kitchen, the topic food) and she misunderstood, thought the people I described there, the owners, were members of Akemi's family (whose home I'd been visiting?) They weren't of course. I'd said the place was a family restaurant- I liked it a lot, by the way, was praising the chef, owner, a very creative woman. I guess Berthe picked up the word "family" I'd used and extrapolated. That happens when you don't know a language well. Berthe was fluent in English but not used to the American version.  

I thought if Akemi doesn't come back I might even return to Grace, the psychotherapist I used to see. A great person who'd helped a lot and at least might soothe me some now. One of my last visits came to mind. It was a summer day, hot, anyway humid, and I'd wondered if the shirt I was wearing would be okay, light flannel button-down number, if I'd be sweating by the time I arrived in her office, my armpits redolent. It turned out not to be a problem. I was kept waiting in the reception a fairly long time. The delay was unusual. When the door to the inner sanctum finally opened I saw Grace talking to the receptionist. "Has he really been there that long?" About me. A half hour had elapsed. She'd been busy, lost track of time. Apologized to me. I said I didn't mind at all, and meant it. At least patients there were treated as people, not just another appointment in the schedule book, as in some  offices.  

But Akemi would come back soon, I reassured myself. The period when I needed the kind of help Grace gave was over. I wouldn't return to life as it was before Akemi came into it any more than I would start visiting my father to talk about the past, his and mine. (He'd called Akemi "charming," said he liked her because she "seemed not to have many hang-ups," strange language from my father, which seemed to suggest his own history with women and that he saw her as one, not just as his son's new girlfriend- which made me feel proud of myself, proud I was keeping company with a woman like Akemi, that I'd grown up, come of age).

She looked good that night, in black silk top and bottom, not shiny but with a dark luster matching her eyes, made up differently from usual, light as usual, no drama, fine but more intense suiting the lighting of the piano bar.

She didn't make up for drama but it was there all the same, came through nuances beyond my ken- I don't know how she did that. The effect owed mostly to her own looks- she'd enhanced them; she was a pro when it came to cosmetics, anything visual- and no wonder; painting, art her thing- knew by training or instinct how to match clothing and accessory, only one then, tight pearl choker, just right, adding light luster to the dark kind.

Uncanny good sense. She'd applied eye-liner a touch more densely than she would during the day- again, drawing out rather than changing the drama of her eyes as they were; they burned with it, her fine eyes, the rims etc. which looked dark-lined to begin with, a minute thread of black decorating the lower edge, there by nature and now complemented - think kohl or whatever.

I really have no knack for describing this stuff. I'm just trying, however clumsily, to make you see it as I did, my father did. Can you?

Yes, she'd dressed up some for that dinner, her first meeting with the old man, which, I see in retrospect, she must have felt important.

The future was golden, I hammered the idea into my head.   I didn't feel even slightly drowsy but sleep was needed for work in the morning and it came, drenched me like a downpour, an act of nature in which I played no part, or like getting knocked out on an operating table. Boom, you're out. I must have been exhausted from all the thinking I'd been doing- reflected in these pages! Had Akemi's departure set in motion mania, real mental illness? What would Grace say? Was Grace even around any more?

Fortunately, I'd gone running earlier in the day. That helped. Anyway, this is about Akemi, not about me and how crazy I've become. Of course if she'd been here I would have nodded off easily, spent from a workout no gym could give.

I had another episode of "sleep paralysis," woke up screaming. The unsettling phenomenon came from a dream again, but this time I had no idea what it was.

When I say my job was a tough one I mean in lots of ways. I was once accused by a student of "inappropriate behavior" bordering on sexual harassment. It was a mistake, not even vindictive on the part of the student, who had nothing against me, but a cultural misunderstanding. I had shown the class a film that had sex in it and she was Muslim. Regardless of the merits of the case or lack thereof, procedures had to be followed. I was called in to see the college psychologist. I'd met her before but this time she behaved toward me differently. We had only a passing acquaintance until then and now I was the accused. For all she knew I was a closet rapist. Her attitude had changed. She would not respond to the playful jokes I made on the way to her office she led me toward. She didn't want to engage in humorous banter under the circumstances. To her mind, this was a gravely serious matter. And I understand that, respect it. After all, she didn't know the context.

For my part I was in good spirits, fairly unconcerned. I'd done nothing wrong. Still, a slightly heavy feeling descended on me as we walked the long corridor to the psychologist's room near the end. It all felt pretty strange! For one thing, our appointment was very early morning. I'd just gotten up and was bleary-eyed when my name was called in the waiting room. I'd had to hurry to get dressed and leave the house- and I made sure to dress well- and completely, ha ha, to look respectable, not like someone who would jump on the psychologist while we were alone in her office- frankly, I was surprised she hadn't insisted on bringing a third person, a witness, with us.

One of the jokes I tried was about almost forgetting to put on socks in my rush to leave the house, and of course it landed flat. It wasn't funny and even had a slight ring of desperation, as if I were trying to win the counselor over to my side, and she wasn't having that, as I said, remained strictly professional.  

Why so little sleep? The night before the smoke alarm had gone off in my apartment. Candle too close. Neighbors had lit one. Caribbean family from downstairs had dropped in to perform a ritual from their country they'd promised to show me. Bad timing and not really my thing, and annoying given the result. And I didn't know how to turn the device off. Getting the sound to stop took a while. That kept me up.  

Akemi and I were already together then! I was a married man, not the type to go in for sexual harassment- though, needless to say, some of them also do. I thought of time in Japan with Akemi and her friends, some of whom I'd also like to have fucked.  

I thought of all the photos I took, a lot of overlapping shots in an effort to get the one I wanted.  

Now, of course, multiple alarms were going off nonstop and loud. Akemi was gone, disappeared!