Heart-Shaped Karaoke Box

Chapter One

 

    My dad drove me to the airport, with Mom in the passenger seat, both to see me off.

“This will be a great opportunity for you,” Dad said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

I was trying not to sulk in the back seat about the seventeen-hour flight ahead of me. “Aren’t you going to miss me?”

“Of course we are,” my parents chimed at once.

Mom turned to look at me. “We’re just excited for you.”

“You’re more excited than I am.”

“Eva, you’re going to learn so much from this move that you won’t even be the same person the next time we see you,” Mom said and I grimaced. She turned away to face the road again. “Thank goodness for Tobio,” she added, almost wistfully.

Dad pulled up to the departure gate doors and left the car running while they got out to say goodbye to me, their only child. Dad lifted my suitcases from the trunk and wheeled them to me.

They hugged me and I turned away, dragging the bags behind me into the Toronto Pearson airport, aghast that Dad wasn’t at least walking me to security.

Yeah, thank goodness for Tobio.

 

*

 

I had been at work the day after my graduation party, head still cloudy from a hangover and my heart still stinging from learning that my college band, a neon punk group that had met in my music production program, called The Rebel Zits, was, well… disbanding. We’d already known our singer, Sarah, was moving to Vancouver for a grad school scholarship, but me (the keyboardist) and the other band members were trying to keep it together. The party was where Leo and Alex, the bassist and guitarist, had let me know they’d taken jobs as teachers in a music store and wouldn’t have much time for practice. They’d been trying to convince me to become the new vocalist, but I didn’t want to be the one to take on Sarah’s role. It would feel strange, like I was trying to be her. With just me and the drummer, there was no point in keeping the band together.

Everyone, it seemed, had bigger and better opportunities than me, stuck working at the same call centre job I’d had throughout college and living with my parents.

I killed time on my phone between customer calls and was surprised to see a WhatsApp text from a student that had left school over a year ago to go back to his home country, Japan.

 

Tobio: Hey! Hello. I see you’re online. What’s new?

Eva: Hey! Long time no see. Nothing, just working. What are you up to?

Tobio: Working too. Waiting for my student to finish his worksheet.

Eva: Student?

Tobio: I’m working evenings at an English school. It’s good times.

Eva: What I’m jealous. I don’t think my work has ever been fun.

 

Then I proceeded to unload on him about how dull or annoying the shifts were, swinging erratically from one to the other depending on how irate the customers were. Tobio finished up at the school and kept texting with me until he went to sleep. Meanwhile, I was on the other side of the world, waiting impatiently for the end of my shift.

Tobio was online again the next day. We kept chatting over WhatsApp and the more I complained, the more he countered with stories from his work and life, though he empathized with my complaints.

 

On a brisk Monday, unseasonably cold, my manager, Marta, came to my desk after I’d hung up with a belligerent customer who did not seem to actually want help with their cable connection, but only to loudly complain about it.

“You may have heard Shannon is leaving us soon,” Marta said after some small talk.

“Oh? No, I hadn’t.” I glanced up sharply. Shannon was my team’s supervisor, and we spoke often, so I was surprised she hadn’t told me that she’d decided to quit.

“Since you’re the member of your team with the most seniority, I thought I would offer the position to you first.” Marta smiled.

“I am?” How could that be possible? I had been at the call centre for two years, but the turnover was so high that must be a relatively long time. Shannon had worked here for nearly five years, and it hadn’t taken long for her to become a supervisor. My stomach dropped as I glanced back at Marta. I could tell by her expression that I was not showing the reaction she wanted.

“The position comes with a significant pay increase. I can show you the contract if you’re interested,” Marta said.

“Sure, can you send it to my email?”

She perked up at that. “I’ll send it right over. Can you let me know your decision by the end of your shift on Thursday?”

I nodded and she left. I didn’t want to be a supervisor, and I didn’t want to stay here for years like Shannon and Marta. My inbox dinged and I opened the contract Marta had sent me. Yes, the pay was better. But I would likely have to take more hours as a supervisor, and would the money be worth more time in this grey-walled hell?

I sent a message to Tobio and my former band’s group chat to let them know about the promotion before another customer call could distract my thoughts.

“Take it!” Sarah said almost immediately, and the guys sent similar reactions.

 

Tobio: We have an opening at work too ; )

Eva: What are you implying?

Tobio: You should come to Japan.

Eva: Really? Don’t you think I should visit a place before moving there?

Tobio: It’s up to you. I hadn’t visited Canada before I moved there.

Eva: I don’t know anything about Japan.

 

I didn’t have to check my bank account to know that I didn’t have the funds for a round trip to Japan plus one more to go back if I wanted to. I did have enough for one flight, though. What the hell was I staying in Toronto for, anyway? I didn’t make enough money to move out of my parents’ home, and Tobio had told me about the living cost where he was—somewhere in the suburban sprawl of Osaka prefecture. I looked up his city on Google Maps between customer calls. It seemed cute, quaint. With interesting trees and architecture, the homes looked totally different from the high rises surrounding me in downtown Toronto. The apartments were much cheaper, the tax was lower, no tips expected at restaurants. Now that my friends from school had scattered, I didn’t have anyone to dissuade me from leaving.

I prepared to broach the topic with my parents that evening, having been let go from work and off the train in Scarborough in time to catch them at dinner. Their friends from the orchestra, Tim and Ramona, were sat at the dining table, the overhead chandelier turned low.

I dropped my bag indecorously at the doorway of the dining room. “Didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Well, congratulations on your graduation, Eva,” Ramona said, sending baguette crumbs flying.

“Yes, many congratulations,” her husband, Tim, agreed.

Mom and Dad came in with the rest of dinner and set the serving trays between us.

“Glad you made it home in time before the food got cold,” Dad said. He took my plate to begin serving me.

“So, when can we expect you in the orchestra?” Ramona asked. She didn’t look at me, her hands hovered above the table, waiting for dishes to be passed her way. “Have you been practicing your violin?”

“I haven’t touched it in a while.” There were several instruments in my bedroom with a fine layer of dust coating them. I felt four pairs of eyes glance at me over spectacles. Ramona was the second violin, Tim the second French horn in the Toronto Orchestra, where Mom worked as a conductor and Dad the artist manager. “Don’t you think everyone in the orchestra will dislike me if I join just because of my parents?”

This was not the first time I’d had this conversation with them but my parents exchanged a glance.

“Well, it was just expected when you went into your program that you would join after,” Ramona said.

Tim muttered an agreement with his mouth full.

“I don’t want to be a nepo baby. I have a degree now, I’d like to try to find something on my own.” I leaned back in my chair, making it balance on the rear legs. My mother tutted and I let it fall forward with a thump. “Some of my classmates have dreams of being in the Toronto orchestra, so it’s not fair to them if I take their spot just for the sake of a job. Besides, they’re probably better players than me.”

“That’s considerate of you.” Tim served himself mashed potatoes. “I auditioned for several years before I got in. Oh, but I’m sure you’re an excellent violinist.”

I wasn’t, and I had given up the practice once my band formed.

“And what about your um—” Ramona twisted her hand in the air. “Punk band, was it? That’s fun.”

I fought off a scowl. “Actually, I heard of a job today that I might be interested in.” My parents didn’t know Tobio, he had never come by the house and outside of school, I’d mostly come across him at house parties. I filled them in on our conversation.

“Japan?” My dad said after wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I think it might do you some good. Get out and see the world.”

“You could at least pretend you don’t want me to go,” I grimaced.

“Eva, you’ve been so down since the band broke up,” Mom said, sliding into her seat with a teetering glass of white wine. “We just want you to do what makes you happy. That might take some trial and error. Maybe you move somewhere for a few months, a year, and come home. And learn a lot along the way. This will always be your home, you’re welcome here.”

Ramona and Tim shared a glance, communicating that they were hearing something they shouldn’t and we were making them feel awkward.

“Well, I didn’t even apply yet. I guess it’s something to think about,” I said. Though it really felt like Mom and Dad were pushing me out of their nest. I didn’t let them know about the supervisor position in case they decided to push for that instead.

 

*

 

I changed planes in Tokyo, with an exhaustion headache bigger than the airplane waiting a distance from my gate. As I lined up for boarding, my eyes met with another foreigner’s. Of course, there may have been Asian foreigners that hid in plain sight, but this guy was clearly of European descent. I showed him a weak smile and he swiveled away without returning it. Did I detect an eye roll? What an ass.

On board the Airbus, I thought I should study Japanese from a travel book I’d bought before leaving home but I leaned back in the seat and shut my eyes. My body felt like it was three a.m. though it was mid-afternoon in Japan.

I woke only an hour later as we began our descent into Osaka, not as vast as the stacked sprawl of Tokyo but still a little intimidating. My stomach did a flutter as I pictured Tobio Hamada waiting for me. It did a double flutter when I considered that he might not be waiting for me. What would I do if he hadn’t shown up? I should have gotten another person’s contact info as a backup. Why didn’t I think of that before?

That’s when I did take out my guide and started flipping madly through phrases. If I had to, I could show someone at the airport “call me a taxi” and then show the cabbie “take me to a hotel”. But surely someone would speak English that worked at the airport? Wouldn’t they? Shit, shit.

I tried to look calm as I made my way through the Osaka airport toward baggage claim, but my shirt dampened with sweat. I became keenly aware that I could smell myself, and that my face and hair were greasy. I didn’t yet know if there was a romantic connection between Tobio and I, but at the very least, I didn’t want to repulse him.

People trotted past me to greet their loved ones, and I scanned for Tobio. It had only been a year since I’d last seen him so I should still recognize him. A guy in a white hoodie lifted his hand and waved subtly. I squinted.

“Tobio?” My voice cracked from disuse.

“Hey, Eva,” he called.

I wanted to cry with relief. He put his arm around me and I sank into him.

“Good to see you,” he said. “It’s a long trip, eh?”

“I feel like roadkill.” I broke away from his embrace. “Let me grab my bags.”

“I’ll get them,” he offered when I spotted them on the claim turnstile.

“Thanks,” I said as he lugged one bag off after the other. “So, you said we’re going to your parents’ house?”

“Yeah, is that alright?” Tobio led me away from the baggage claim crowd and down a hallway.

“Of course. We’re taking the train there?” I asked as we descended a set of stairs and I spotted the turnstiles ahead.

“Is that okay?” Tobio looked a bit surprised. He had a boyish round face, even now, and he’d cut his hair shorter than how he’d worn it in college, in a 2000s style with it gelled in angle like he was perpetually windswept. It looked good on him. He was cute and I wondered why I had taken so little notice of him in college. He just blended in so well with everyone. No friction.

“For sure.” I tamped down a sigh. “How long is the ride?”

“Just over forty-five minutes.”

I couldn’t stop myself from wincing. Tobio laughed lightly. “Sorry. Please hold on a little longer.”

I’d bought yen at a currency counter in the Toronto Airport so I removed a bill from my wallet and readied to purchase a train ticket. Tobio showed me how to select English on a touch screen kiosk then pointed to a map to show that you paid for the distance you were going. The map was insanely complicated and the information went over my head instantly. The machine spit out a little rectangular ticket.

We headed toward the turnstiles next but I stopped Tobio with my fingertips on his elbow. “Wait, how do I do this?”

Tobio chuckled. “Oh yeah, watch the other people.” He held up his train pass. When he passed through the turnstile, he tapped it on the sensor and at the same time looked back at me and pointed at a slot above it.

I looked around confused but watched as another person walked up and popped their ticket into the slot, passed through the gate and picked it up from where it was spat out on the other side.

I approached with caution and copied their actions.

“Make sure you hold onto it.” Tobio pocketed his pass again. “You need it to exit.”

Right, just like the tokens we used to use on the Toronto subway.

He turned and I watched his white-shirted back descend the concrete stairs to the platform with my suitcase. I looked around at the other Japanese people on the platform, who were dressed in light jackets or cardigans. I was the only person in t-shirt sleeves with my jacket slung through my rolling bag’s handle. Compared to Toronto, the late May air of Osaka felt like summer to me and all the walking made the warmth too close. Some other foreigners caught my eye, obviously tourists with blonde hair and backpacks. Taking after my Italian dad, my hair was dark and curly, and my olive skin tanned easily in the summer. I would be able to blend in from the back, but I was a good head and shoulders taller than most of the Japanese women waiting on the platform. Blogs by other ex-pats had warned me about small clothing sizes here, and I saw now I’d be no exception.

The train clattered into the station at an alarming speed. I jumped even though I was used to the Toronto subway.

We found seats and I glanced at Tobio’s face in the opposite window’s reflection. Other than his hair, he looked the same as he did in college but somehow different, seeing him in his home environment changed his framing.

“You can sleep if you want,” he said, turning to me.

I noticed other passengers had already folded their arms and closed their eyes, ready to nap.

“No, we can talk. We should catch up,” I said with my last string of energy. “What are your parents like? Anything I should know?”

“They’re just … normal? Easy to get along with, I think?” He smiled, self-conscious. “I don’t know what else to say about them, but I think you’ll like them. By the way, you can have my room while you’re staying. We have an extra futon that I can sleep on in the living room.”

“Are you sure? I can sleep there instead, I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“No, no.” Tobio waved his hands. “Since you’re a girl, you can have the bedroom.” After a moment, he laughed again. “Some Canadians fit in pretty well here.”

“Oh?”

“Japanese hate to inconvenience others, just like you.”

I laughed too.

“Do you want to come by my work tomorrow? I only have evening classes, so we won’t have to get up early.”

“I’d love to,” I said, hoping I’d be fully recharged after tonight.

The sun sank lower as the train rattled on. We had to disembark after a while and switched to another train line. I looked out the window with eagerness, all thoughts of napping gone.

“It’s too bad you just missed the cherry blossoms this year,” Tobio said when he noticed me gazing around.

“I can’t wait to see them next year.” I was already hopeful I would love it here, shocking myself with how quickly my outlook had changed now that the long flight was over with.

The train had gotten more crowded with people heading home after school or work and we stood to give our seats to an elderly couple. I noticed friendly stares as I looked around. It seemed like the longer the train rides went on, the fewer foreigners I saw. Some girls in high school uniforms stood nearby us, shrieking with laughter. I smiled, not annoyed by the noise but comforted by the familiarity. Tobio pointed out landmarks as we passed—a TV tower, a temple, a museum.

I had looked up plenty of photos of Japan after he’d suggested I come, especially of the Osaka area and sightseeing places to visit, but I was immediately intrigued by the architecture in person. The apartment buildings were boxy, mostly in off-white, but some in pleasant pastel pink, blue or green with outdoor stairs weaving their way up. Houses squatted, crowded together, with brown tile roofs and twisty bonsai-like trees in their yards.

“Next stop is ours,” Tobio said. “Takaishi.”

I looked around eagerly as we disembarked, taking in my new home. The station was another open-air platform with a mechanical tweeting coming from a speaker somewhere and bright overhead lights. It was nearly deserted. Tobio led me to a small building at one end of the station, and trotted downstairs, then up another flight, presumably under the tracks, to get to the street.

“Welcome to your new neighbourhood.” Tobio grinned at me. “What do you think?”

“Everything looks different here. But in a good way.” I made a grab for my suitcase. “Do you want me to take that? You’ve been dragging it this whole time.”

He laughed again. He laughed a lot. Tobio jerked the handle away from me, playfully. “No. Stop being so Canadian.”

I grumbled in mock exasperation. We passed through an area like a downtown core, with a 7/11 convenience store close to the station, and a dentist’s office with a cartoon of a happy tooth on its sign. The branding and aesthetic of nearly everything that I’d seen so far was soft and rounded, not much was overt or aggressive like back home. I had noticed too that there was barely any English to be found here in Takaishi and I ogled the signs with Japanese characters on them, thinking that if I stayed here long enough, I could learn to understand these mysterious figures. Even though I couldn’t read them, they were beautiful, seeming to describe a story within themselves.

We passed a bicycle parking lot and Tobio began walking down a suburban street. “We’re not too far from the station,” he said. “So you talk to anyone from college? Leo? Alex?”

Ah, yes, that was how we had ended up at the same parties. Tobio had been in a class with them. “A little bit here and there. I haven’t seen anyone much since we finished school.” I listened to the sound of both suitcases clacking over the grooves in the road and wondered why that was. I wasn’t engaging them enough. I needed to reach out more, make plans with them. Well, I should have done that, now I was on the other side of the planet. If I did manage to make new friends here, including Tobio, then I would vow to put in greater effort. My heart swelled a little. I had another chance here, a clean slate which I would begin to draw upon now.