Soy Sauce Face

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

When I get back to the emergency room, Jun is awake. He’s staring ahead vacantly. He doesn’t even look at me until I’m at his bedside.

Dark circles stain the skin under his eyes, and the bandages on his left cheek add to the appearance of someone who’s survived a train wreck.

“Hi,” I say softly.

Jun’s same contradictory demeanor from the night before prevents me from immediately dropping into the bedside chair and taking his hand again. Some kind of inner conflict he’s enduring bounces on the airwaves between us. He wants me here but he doesn’t want me here at the same time. We’ve lived too closely all these years for me not to sense it.

I hold out the see-through shopping bag I have with me. “I brought you some clothes for later. They said there’s a good chance you’ll be able to go home in a while.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and I see his gaze rest on the simple white cap-sleeved shirt, dark cargo pants and light jacket I’ve picked out for him. It’s his favorite jacket, a black zipper down in the shiny lamé material he favors, with fake fur lining the hood.

“Thank you,” he mutters.

“I also brought you a mango shake.” Jun’s favorite. I hold out the cup with the straw. The colorful orange substance within the clear cup looks woefully out of place in the sterile room. “Would you like some now?”

“No thank you.”

I set the clothing and cup down on the bedside table and reluctantly sink into the chair. At the last second, I stop myself from asking him how he feels. It’s a stupid, cruel question. The misery haunting his injured features tells me how he’s feeling. So I keep my gaze respectfully turned downward, at my hands.

Of course, just knowing that his cheek has been slashed tells me of more misery to come. Jun’s face, his beautiful, flawless soy sauce face, has been his primary means of attracting clients to him in the host club. If he’s scarred, how will he be able to continue his work? Knowing Jun and the meticulous care he takes with his appearance, I am certain this scar will be devastating for him. Even if he should try to have it fixed with plastic surgery, his looks might never be the same and he’ll know it.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this, Tomo.”

I look up. Now he’s returning my gaze, as if he’s been reading my mind. The statement lingers in the air, along with his inner conflict. Living like brothers as we have all these years, we both know without saying it in words: Jun’s life as he’s known it is over.

I don’t answer right away. I so don’t want to say anything patronizing to him. Jun truly believes that his appearance is what makes him desirable. He doesn’t understand it’s his vulnerability and sweetness that have captured my heart, and probably others’ as well.

“I understand,” I say softly, “but I don’t care about that. I’m just grateful you’re alive.” Sudden tears rush my eyes. “I was terrified I’d…lost you.”

“Some loss.”

I stare at him a moment then pain fans through my chest. “Don’t say such a thing.”

He glances at me with an if you only knew me expression.

His behavior indicates that my suspicions about the shabu are probably correct. Even so, that’s never a reason to feel losing Jun would be nothing. If I lost him, I don’t know how I’d go on. I bite back another attempt to convince him of his worth. Instead, I lean forward and retrieve the mango shake. The condensation around the sides of the cup wets my fingers. “Here,” I say, my tone that of an adult coaxing a child out of his upset, “take a sip. You’ll be glad you did.” I hold the cup closer to him.

After a pause, he takes the cup and brings the straw to his lips. I watch him drink, watch his delicate throat muscles as he swallows.

He takes several long sips before handing the cup back to me. “Thank you. You were right.”

I smile at him and put the cup back on the table.

“You always look out for me,” he says.

I smile again. “You’ve done your fair share of looking out for me too. Remember when I broke my arm?” We were twelve, climbing trees in the park at our apartment complex. I fell from a branch. Jun bunched up his jacket, put it under my head so I’d be comfortable, then ran and got help. Of course there are other examples, but they’d be too numerous to name.

He looks down. “I guess so.”

After that, neither of us speaks. Jun dozes from the medicine and exhaustion, and I’m happy just to sit at his bedside. After a while, Michiko returns. This time, she’s dressed in a blouse and jeans and is carrying a small vase bursting with roses in various colors.

I leave the room so they can visit together and go out to the sidewalk for some fresh air. Truthfully, as I pace up and down, I’m feeling glad that Dad isn’t here to see what happened to Jun. Dad would have been devastated to see Jun so hurt, although at the same time, I’m not sure Jun would have been hosting in the first place had Dad still been alive. Jun started that work a few months after Dad’s death. Jun had gone to trade school, same as me, only he studied hospitality, thinking he’d work in a fancy hotel or something like that. But then, with Dad gone, without the security of his presence in our lives…I don’t know…Jun’s direction changed.

When Michiko leaves with a kind offer to contact her if we need any help, I go back in and sit with Jun. Slowly he finishes the mango shake I brought, sipping it in between nurses’ visits to check his status and mark his chart. Finally, the doctor comes and officially releases him with painkillers and antibiotics.

I take Jun’s wallet to the cashier, present his National Health card and pay the balance before helping Jun out to the curb and into a cab. I left my motorcycle at home, knowing that Jun isn't in shape to ride behind me, gripping my waist.

Once home, Jun lets me help him out of the taxi and up the stairs. Thankfully, there’s no one outside or on the walkway to see us. Despite his painkiller-induced haze, Jun would be embarrassed.

I set the roses from Michiko on the dining room table and then give my full attention to Jun. Like a lost child, Jun lets me lead him into his room. I pull back his covers for him. Without bothering to undress, Jun lowers himself down and lies back, staring up at the ceiling. Even though his body is here in the bed, he seems far away. I’ve seen him withdrawn and dejected before, but not for a long time and never quite like this. His demeanor sends cold prickles all over my skin.

Tentatively, I kneel down close to his bedside. A long time ago, Jun took the frame off the bed so that the box spring and mattress were on the floor. “Yamada-san is making us lots of good things to eat for later,” I tell him. The Yamadas, a couple my father’s age, have been our next door neighbors as long as I can remember; Mrs. Yamada looks after us in a motherly way. I saw her earlier today when I came back from the hospital to change and told her what happened. That’s when she offered to make sure we had food when we got back.

Slowly he turns his head on the pillow. “That’s kind of her. Please thank her for me.”

“I will.”

Jun looks so small and battered my heart lurches. Unable to resist, I reach out again and pick up his hand as tenderly as I can. Just to feel the weight of his hand in mine, the warmth of his skin, reassures me. At least he’s alive. The physical wounds are superficial and will heal up soon enough. But the way Jun looks, the haunted loneliness in his eyes…I’m afraid for him.

Jun yawns and his eyelids flutter.

“I’m going to let you rest,” I say. “I’ll check on you later.”

He exhales. “Thank you. I’m such a bother, Tomo. I’m sorry.”

My heart pounding, I turn my hand over and curl my fingers with his. “Shh, Jun-chan. You’re never a bother.” You’re the person I love most in the whole world. “Rest now.” I dare to brush the pad of my thumb into his palm. The touch seems to soothe him and his eyelids flutter closed again. His breathing evens.

“I’m here for you, Jun-chan,” I murmur. “Always.”

I wait for his response, but his eyes remain closed. With a sigh, I rise quietly and go out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

However, as the night passes, he doesn’t need anything but to be left alone to rest. Sometime in the early morning, he gets up once to pull off his clothes and put on a white sleeveless tank and pajama pants that I set out for him then goes back to bed where he stays.

The first couple of days he sleeps, aided by the prescription painkillers. In between bouts of slumber, he gets up only go to the bathroom and shakes his head at any offer from me for anything except a drink of water before he collapses back onto his bed.

On the third day, while I’m sitting in front of the TV, he trudges into the living room, still wearing the same sleeveless tank and pajama pants.

My heart thumps. I sit up and scoot over to make room for him. “Hi.” I pick up the remote and mute the sound on the TV.

He sinks down on the sofa next to me. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

A look of guilt darkens his sleep-worn, still-bandaged face. “Why aren’t you at work?”

I clear my throat. “I have time off.”

Jun stiffens. “You don’t have to miss work…for me.”

“I’m not. It’s my vacation time. Always around now. Remember?” I’m not lying, but I also had a couple weeks’ worth of personal and sick days accrued that I have never taken. My employers let me take them all together. The owner of the garage I work for went to high school with my dad, and they stayed friends up until his death. Tanaka-san is a very nice person and was sympathetic when I told him what had happened to Jun.

Jun looks doubtful but clearly lacks the energy to argue. “Okay.” He picks up his cigarettes on the table, pulls one out and lights up. With the first exhale he leans back, shoulders hunched, and stares at the TV.

I offer to put something on he might like, but he politely refuses and sits quietly, smoking and gazing absently at the screen. He doesn’t even seem to care whether I turn the volume back on.

In the days that follow, Jun spends a lot of time this way—in between nibbling at some eggs and rice that I insist he eat—staring at the TV for long periods while slowly taking drags on a cigarette. He watches whatever I watch, shaking his head at my offers to change the program. The only time he moves is if there’s a noise somewhere. A knock on a neighbor’s door. A dog barking. A tire blowing out on the street in front of our building. Each time, he jumps and sits up, his body rigid until I reassure him. Then he sinks back down into his trancelike state.

He also jumps the first time my cell phone rings. It is Michiko asking after Jun and offering any help we might need. But when I tell Jun she’s asked to say hello to him, a pained expression tightens his face and he politely refuses, asking me to thank her for her concern. Once I hang up, I turn the ringer off.

Setting the phone on the coffee table, I steal a glance at Jun. A chill shudders through me. Jun is a shell of the person he was just a few days ago. I rake a hand through my hair while the TV drones in the background. Sudden guilt claws at my insides. I’ve wished so often over the years for Jun to stay at home with me. Is this some perverse way of my having gotten my wish? For God’s sake, I wouldn’t want him injured and traumatized just to get what I want!

Thankfully, though, by the weekend, he gains more energy. From the kitchen where I’m preparing lunch, I watch him trudge to the patio door, slide it open and lie on his favorite lounge chair. At least now he’s getting some fresh air. The noises outside don’t make him jump, but he remains in his quiet state, smoking and staring. I get a pang when I see him, remembering the countless days he’s spent in that same lounge chair, working on his tan while reading men’s fashion magazines like Men’s Egg and Men’s Knuckle and speaking on his cell phone to clients. He spent a great deal of his waking hours out of the club following up with the women he was hosting to ensure their repeat business.

In all this time he hasn’t touched the bandage on his face, and I know why. He’s terrified to look at what’s underneath. However, now that it’s been a week, I decide to push the issue. He can’t leave the bandage on forever. The stitches are supposed to be dissolving and the wound must be kept clean.

It’s just after sunset when I slide open the patio door. “Jun,” I say in my adult-comforting-child tone, “come have something to eat.” He’s barely eaten anything since he first emerged from his bed days ago.

He exhales a cloud of smoke from his current cigarette. The ashtray on the little table next to him is full of butts. I so want him to quit but haven’t bothered him about it. He has enough to worry about.

Slowly he sits up. “I’m not hungry.” He flashes me one of his guilt-filled looks.

My heart squeezes and I take a deep breath. “Well, in that case, I was thinking it’s probably time to take off the bandage. They said seven days at the hospital.” I fall silent and watch him for a response.

He sighs and crushes the stub of his cigarette into the pile of others. “What’s the point?”

The resignation in his voice sends a chill through me. Propelled by an inner force, I step out onto the terrace and reach for his hand. “Please, Jun, it’s not good to leave it. Come, now. It’s been healing, I’m sure. The doctor himself said it wasn’t deep and that you’d be fine.”

To my relief he lets me tug him inside. But I sense his resistance. His fear is like a cloak around him. “No one can know that for sure,” he mumbles.

I stand, facing him. “Tell you what. Let me take off the bandage and look at it first.”

Lines ring his eyes and his skin pales in spite of the sun he’s gotten the last couple of days. “Forget it,” he says and heads toward the bathroom. “I’m being such a baby.”

I follow him to the bathroom and hang back in the doorway.

Jun stands in front of the mirror. For one second, our gazes meet and then he pulls his away. One hand goes to the bandage and peels it back, a merciless tug that makes me lurch inwardly. He stares. His eyes widen and he lets out a breath. He leans on the sink, his head bowed.

I come forward. “Let me see.” I urge him to look up with gentle fingertips on his jaw. The suture looks ugly. The skin is lumpy where each stitch entered his skin, and pieces of the filament stick out at odd angles as Jun’s body dissolves them. Clearly the wound is healing, although just as clearly, there will be probably be some scarring. “It’s healing, Jun-chan.” I try to speak as soothingly as possible. “It won’t stay looking like this.”

Jun’s eyes reflect horror, sorrow and a host of other feelings swirling inside him. His angst is nearly a palpable force in the air. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. “My life is over.”

Icy fingers grip my nerve endings. This week at home with Jun has brought nearly nothing but chills. “What? No, it’s not. You’re young and strong. You’ll recover and get on with things.”

He leans back from me, stopped from getting farther away by the sink behind him. “What things? What other things are you talking about? I’m a bar host, Tomo. A male p********e. What else do I know how to do? It’s easy for you to say. You have a useful skill. You could go anywhere and fix cars.”

My heart is racing now. In all our years as friends, he’s never once raised his voice to me. He looks and sounds like a trapped animal.

“I’m sorry, Jun-chan.” I bow my head. “I didn’t mean to patronize you.”

He’s quiet a moment then his eyes mist over. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve never spoken to you that way.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot. You—“

“No, it’s not okay!” Jun’s eyes flash, as if he hadn’t just apologized the moment before. “Nothing’s okay. Not only is my life over, but you’re wasting yours now, taking care of me. You need to get a life, Tomohito.”

I stare at him. It’s like he’s a complete stranger who’s appeared at my door from nowhere, ranting. I’ve never seen this side of him. “But I do have a life.”

He throws up his hands, gesturing to our surroundings as if they are a shithole I’m crazy enough to feel is a treasure. “You call this a life? You work all day on greasy cars then you come home, eat and fall asleep waiting up for me to get back. You don’t have a girlfriend. You don’t go out with people. You don’t travel on your vacations. You’re like a hermit who cringes from the world.”

You think your life is better? The question rises angrily in my mind. But looking at his wild eyes, his heaving chest, his wounded cheek, I can’t bring myself to say the words. Instead, shame floods me. What must I look like to him? A nothing. A grease monkey who grovels at his feet for a smile. I bow my head again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I cling to what I have because I’ve already lost too much. I’m a coward.”

Jun rests against the edge of the sink, his arms folded, his face a mask of misery. “I didn’t mean that,” he mumbles. “I just…well, I can’t stand how you want to hang around and look after me all the time. I’m robbing you of your chance to have a good life. I feel so guilty. It’s not like all you and Dad sacrificed has come to anything where I’m concerned. Look how I ended up. I don’t deserve you.”

Jun’s little speech renews the chills that keep skittering over me. “What do you mean by that, Jun-chan?,” I say, my voice growing tight, forceful, as if that energy will break through Jun’s denial. “I don’t care about deserve. I don’t care what you do. I care about what you are. You’re my friend. My best friend in the world.”

He takes a deep breath and rolls his head back so he’s staring up at the ceiling. A strange air settles over him. “You deserve better, Tomo. Get real. My own mother left me. What kind of person could I really be?”

“What?” I step back as if his words were a physical blow. He doesn’t look at me. “Jun, what the hell do you mean? You think your mother left because…you…” The realization of what Jun believes hits me. When I was on the judo team in high school, no attack from an opponent ever had the impact Jun’s statement has on me now. “You…blame yourself?”

Jun unfolds his arms and stands away from the sink. His lip curls as though he tastes his own inner bitterness. “Of course. Why else would she have left?”

Anger flares from deep within me. The horror that’s befallen him coupled with his words unleash feelings I’ve long kept squashed down for fear that expressing them would shock and hurt him. Words form inside me and spill out, beyond my control. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” My voice rises, but I don’t care. “Maybe a better question would be, What kind of shitball would abandon a beautiful, sweet gentle child?”

Jun’s eyes widen. “What did you just say?” For a second he looks again like that abandoned child, his expression the one he wore the day his mother got into a waiting taxi with her suitcase. Shock and emotional agony as he stood on the sidewalk, his hand limp in mine, watching the cab pull away, tears on his cheeks.

That horrible memory haunts me to this day. Jun suddenly trying to break away from me and chase the taxi as it went down the street. Me restraining him and half-dragging him back upstairs where I called Dad, who was on duty and had to come running home. “You heard me. What kind of shitball would abandon a beautiful, sweet, gentle child?”

“Tomo, you can’t—“

“I’ll tell you what kind of person would have left you, Jun. A heartless cunt, that’s who!”

Shock waves seem to pass through his eyes. He stares at me as if I’m a demon who has sprung up out of the earth to tear him apart. ”I…can’t believe what…You can’t mean that.”

I clench my hands into fists. “I mean it from the bottom of my soul! Your f*****g mother is worse than a yakuza.” I’m practically yelling and my entire body shakes. Though I know Jun is in no shape for my tirade, I can’t stop. “Worse than a f*****g yakuza!”

He points to me. “Are you comparing my mother to a gangster?”

“I sure as hell am! At least the yakuza take people in who’ve been rejected by society. They make sure that person has a place, feels like he belongs. Your mother is a selfish b***h. You were her precious son, her little boy. Instead she abandoned you and made you feel like a freak! She’s supposed to protect you. If the b***h were here right now I’d kick the living s**t out of her.”

“Stop it!” Jun pushes past me, out of the bathroom and into his room.

I follow, like a terrier on his heels. “Why should I stop? It’s about time you acknowledged the truth.”

“Stop, Tomo.” He collapses on his bed and rolls over so his back is to me, leaving me shaking and staring at him.

Jun’s retreat hits me like a slap in the face. In the wake of his silence, the echoes of my rant ring through me.

Suddenly I feel like I’m some kind of madman who’s violated him in a way I never intended. My emotions spilled beyond my control. And yet I don’t feel cleansed. Not one bit.

My heart is racing, my breathing sharp and shallow. The room feels so hot, as if the sun is burning on me right through the walls. I practically double over. Jun is already so hurt. How could I be so awful?

I drop to my knees. “I’m sorry, Jun-chan,” I say to his back. “Please, forgive me. I beg you.” I stare down at my hands folded on my lap and try to catch my breath.

In the quiet that follows I hear him sigh. I swallow past the dryness in my throat and wait, my entire body tensed, for his blessed forgiveness.

More silence. Then, “Just let me alone…please?”

My blood chills. Not the words I’d prayed to hear. In fact, he’s never said anything like that to me, ever. The chill becomes a freeze. The entire world is a dark, dark place, without hope of light or redemption. The words I’ve said about his mother can never be taken back, never erased. I’ve probably only added to his emotional scars.

Slowly, still desperate for a word of forgiveness, I rise to my feet. “Let me know if you need anything,” I say. It’s something, I guess, an offer that maintains a connection with him. As if he’s slipping away from me forever.

“Okay. But I don’t need anything.”

“Just in case.”

“Tomo.” Jun’s voice is the weariest I’ve ever heard it.

“All right.” I turn and go out, deliberately leaving his door ajar, as if that tiny c***k will leave some sort of a connection open between us.

Out in the living room, I pace. Every inch of the small apartment gets covered by my feverish steps. Back and forth in front of the sliding glass doors I move, clutching my hair with both hands. What was I thinking, yelling at Jun that way? And calling his mother a cunt? I don’t think I’ve even let that word enter my mind, much less pass from my lips.

Even if it’s true.

I halt. My heart is still pounding. I now understand fully the meaning of the words inner battle. I’m so not sorry I said those things. But that doesn’t mean Jun can hear them, or accept them.

I’d take them back in a heartbeat. Leave them unsaid, even un-thought, if it means Jun won’t hate me. Losing him is the worst thing that could happen to me.

I stand quietly, listening. The apartment is silent. Dark except for a the small lamp on next to the sofa and the tiny bit of light stealing out into the hallway from Jun’s bedroom.

The wedge of light in the hall increases. I catch my breath. Jun’s coming out. I tense, waiting for him to appear, but all that happens is the bathroom door closes. The bathroom light goes on and then the shower.

Shimatta. I heave a deep sigh and go into the kitchen. At the sink, I fill a glass of water, gulp it down then stand there, listening to the spray of the shower.

After a few minutes it stops. The requisite amount of time passes for Jun to dry off and do whatever he does after a shower. Then the bathroom door opens, followed by a quiet click. He’s shut his bedroom door.

My body breaks out in a cold sweat. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Never before have Jun and I argued this way or spent time in tense silence because we’ve argued.

With another deep sigh, I set the glass down on the counter and trudge into the living room where I see Dad’s and Mom’s pictures. I do the only thing I can do in such a moment of hopelessness. I cross over to the little table holding my parents’ photographs and fall to my knees in front of them. “Dad,” I whisper, “Please, reassure me. I said the most horrible things to Jun. I’m terrified he’ll never forgive me.”

Dad’s face, frozen in time, smiles out at me. I know that when the picture was taken, I wasn’t in the room with him, but the warmth in his eyes seems meant for me. I don’t think all people’s fathers were special like he was. I was lucky.

Don’t ever be afraid to speak the truth, Tomo. I hear Dad’s voice clearly inside me. Hearing him speak to me is something that began to happen even while he was still alive. If something was bothering me or I didn’t know what to do, I’d hear him speak inside me, guiding me.

“But what if I lose him? I hurt his feelings so badly.” I rake a hand through my hair.

If you speak the truth, he’ll always know he can trust you. Even when he hates what you’re saying.

I sigh and remain where I am, gazing at Dad’s photograph. A long time passes. Even after my feet fall asleep from my position, I don’t want to move. In this spot I’ve found some comfort, some solace in the face of my fears. I desperately want to know whether Jun hates me, yet I also don’t want to know. I want to hear his door open and know he’s coming out and yet, the unknown quantity of what could happen is terrifying and so I want to stay right here, as if remaining here with my parents’ pictures can hold off fate indefinitely.

Of course it can’t. I can hear the wall clock ticking even though I refuse to look up to see the time. I sense it’s after midnight. Finally the discomfort in my feet and legs is so great I must move. I unfold my legs and stand up, working out the sensation of pins and needles assaulting my feet. I take a few steps toward the sliding glass doors.

The wall that encloses our little balcony is low enough to give me a good view of the treetops in the park behind the building. There’s too much ground light from streetlamps and from the spread of Tokyo to see many stars, but I stare at the few I can spot peeping from the night sky. That infinite world out there is comforting, even though in this moment, I feel like a slug clinging desperately to a leaf in a garden.

I hear a tiny noise behind me. My ears prick up and I freeze. My heart lurches. The light in the hallway brightens the room, and I see a shadow from the corner of my eye.

“Tomo?”

My insides jump. I turn.

Jun is there, the light of the hallway making his slim form into a silhouette.