Chapter Text
As the lecture ended and I stood up to leave, I was broken from my habitual stupor by the professor calling my name.
“Hana, a moment? I want to talk to you.” he said, still sitting at his desk. He was a mousy-looking type of man, with a brown tweed coat, a crisp white shirt and a face that was eternally marred by an expression of polite frustration. I sat down across from him and felt a brief urge to adopt some kind of disrespectful posture, put my feet up on his desk or something like that. Instead I folded my hands in my lap and fixed my eyes on his. I have been told I do not make eye contact enough, so I have been trying to correct this behavior as of lately. He averted his eyes. I was not certain why. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been participating in the discussion recently.” he said.
“I see.” I said.
“I just hope it's not because I told you to allow others to get a word in.” He said. When I first began the class I had been enthusiastic enough to ramble for 10 minutes at a time, argue from across the room and belabor my points into the ground. After a few gentle nudges to the contrary I had quieted down.
“No. I simply find I don’t have much to say on these topics.” I said. He exhaled through his teeth.
“What would you say are the two kinds of thinking that Heidegger identifies?” he said after a moment.
“Ontic and Ontological.” I said.
“Well you see…” he said “That’s correct for his work in general, but in the pieces we’ve been discussing in class the answer would be meditative and calculative.” He said, pursing his lips. I felt somewhat ashamed. “Just… I know you’re very knowledgeable, and you’re very enthusiastic, but you’ve got to find a way to participate without speaking over everybody. You can’t just check out. There’s got to be a middle way. You've got to have some subtlety and... tact.” he said. I felt my face turn red and squirmed slightly in my seat before forcing myself back into stillness.
“I understand completely.” I said, nodding along.
“I don’t mean to discourage you. I just… you know.” he said.
“I understand sir. No trouble. I’ll pay more attention next class.” I said.
“I’m glad you got it, Hana.” he said. His tone made it sound as if he were talking to a child. I bristled internally.
“Can I go, sir?” I said. He looked at me with a small amount of pity, as if I might be a lost cause.
“Go on. See you next class.” he said. I stood up, slung my bag around my shoulder and gave a shallow bow on my way out.
I was hissing at myself and my professor under my breath as I walked down the hall, unsure of who I wanted to curse. I dragged my feet in a display of petulance and relished at the annoying, albeit fairly quiet noise it made. My bad mood was further heightened when I tried to pull the push door to exit the building but it reached its peak when I found the bike-rack completely bare and my single-speed 1982 Bridgestone Eurasia totally missing. I had been told to buy a bike-lock but never got around to doing it.
I allowed myself a slight tantrum. I stomped around and swore up a storm without actually saying anything. I made a few exasperated gestures into the air. Then I accepted the loss and began my walk home. I believe one of the keys to prudent and ethical living is self-discipline.
I wondered vaguely if I should have learned to drive a motorcycle like my cousin. It would certainly give me a greater intimidation factor, and I imagine it would be harder to steal. Instead, I had been satisfied with my poor old bicycle which I would likely never see again. I could just about imagine it in the hands of some hoodlum who didn’t know how to treat it, though the thought sent a shiver down my spine. It has been a trusty bike, its metal frame and sturdy wheels had never failed me. Its basket had never broken and had always kept my possessions safe. Surely it didn’t deserve this fate.
Still in this generally dour mood, I walked down the edge of campus where the academic buildings began to blend with the city more generally and found my eyes caught by a pair of boots sitting in a window of a shoe store across the street. I stopped and back-tracked a few steps to better appreciate what I was seeing. They were leather boots, not proper work boots, but something more stylish, colored shiny red and white with enormously thick semi-transparent rubber soles and buttons up the side that seemed completely unnecessary. They had a certain angular grace to them, as if they had been assembled from sharp lines. I crossed the street and decided to investigate further, pushing the door open to make my way into the store. The bell rang, alerting the woman at the counter to my presence.
“Can I help you?” she said, looking up from her newspaper. She was an odd looking woman, with a mop of graying hair tied up in a sloppy knot behind her head and the shiny metal rims of her glasses encircling her eyes.
“I was just having a look at those boots in the window.” I said.
“Ah yes. The size 6.5 Asucs two-tone oxblood and ivory boots. Those are troublesome.” she said knowingly. She stood up and got the boots down for me to have a closer look. I turned the boot over in my hands, looking at it from each perspective.
“Asucs? You mean Asics?” I said.
“You would think so!” She said, “You see, Asics announced it would be producing these boots and ran advertisements for them in 1983, but the backlash to diversifying their lineup was so great not a single pair was ever produced. Yet in the time between their announcement and their cancellation a million knock-offs had already been produced by Asucs, a Tawainese company specializing in these kinds of jobs.”
“So they’re copies without originals.” I muttered. “How interesting.”
“I wouldn’t buy them myself. They’re a real piece of work.” she said, looking me up and down.
“How so?”
“Well, the soles are so thick it's hard to do much in them but strut around. I just put them in the window for the flashiness. Didn’t expect anybody to really buy them.” she said, scratching behind her ear absent-mindedly.
“How much do they cost?” I asked.
“Oh, um. How about 6000 yen?” she said. I reached into my bag and fished around for my wallet. Finding it, I took out the necessary bills and handed them to the woman.
“I’ll take them.”
“Oh! I see!” she said, sounding somewhat surprised. “But don’t you want to try them on first?” she said.
“Oh. Yes.” I said, having not considered this aspect. She brought out a stool and gestured for me to sit down. I took off my shoes and wrestled my feet into the stiff leather of the boots. Attempting to loosen their fit, I inspected the buttons on the side only to find them completely decorative. After a minute more of struggle I finally achieved my goal and stood up to take an uneasy step. It felt like there were 3 or 4 inches of rubber between the sole of my feet and the floor, which made walking a little strange. I took a few steps and tried not to twist my ankle. There was an unmistakable sort of swagger to walking around in these boots, though there was also an unmistakable area of the achilles tendon where blisters were sure to form.
“How do you like them?” the clerk said. She looked a bit unsettled.
“They’re… sufficient.” I said, unable to come up with the correct word. I felt a bit taller. Would Sana wear these sorts of boots? Surely not, her sensibility was far more austere. She wouldn’t be caught with a decorative button. I put my shoes in my bag and slung it over my shoulder and prepared to give the new boots a test on the concrete, making my way to the door. “Thank you.” I said curtly.
“Oh you’re welcome dear. Just remember, if they give you too much trouble you can return them.” she said, giving me a slightly strained expression. I wasn’t sure why she was urging this point but silently noted it with a nod.
The walk home was somewhat interesting. On one hand, the new boots were becoming extremely uncomfortable, on the other I was beginning to enjoy the near-clatter of every step on the asphalt. I experimented. Heel-toe, or toe-heel. Short steps or long strides. It felt like a very important matter. My motion had gained a new purposiveness and importance. I noticed a few people looking at me oddly, but decided to brush it off. When I was finally near the dorms, before going home I decided I would go show off my purchase to Hachiouji.
My visit started off oddly when the woman at the desk of the boys dormitory, who for all perpetuity had completely ignored my existence decided to call me over and question me as to my whereabouts. I had to sign into the building, jotting down my name and student ID on the signup sheet.
“And you’re here to see who exactly?” she said skeptically.
“Naoto Hachiouji.” I said as clearly as I could.
“Huh.” she said, apparently slightly put off by my bluntness. “Well, run along I suppose.” she eventually conceded.
I clacked and clattered up the stairs to the third floor and was disappointed to find my foot-steps muffled by the carpet of the third floor as I made my way to Hachiouji’s dorm. This time, when I got to his dorm I knocked pointedly and waited for a moment. The door soon opened to reveal a somewhat surprised looking Hachiouji dressed in a white button-up shirt and black pants.
“Oh.” he said. “How’s it going, Hana?”
“Are you busy with anything?” I said.
“Not particularly.” He said after a moment of deliberation. “Just doing some homework.”
“Can I come in?” I said.
“Uh, sure, I suppose.” he said. I strode in, trying to emphasize my new boots and sat down on his bed. He sat down at his desk. “Listen… about last time, Hayase didn’t mean to upset you, she can just be…” he began.
“Do you notice anything different about me?” I interrupted. He looked at me oddly, then glanced up and down. He stared at the boots for a long moment.
“New shoes?” he said weakly.
“Precisely.” I said proudly. I stood up. “Stand back-to-back with me. I bet I’m taller than you now.” I said. He hesitated and then did as I asked. Irritatingly, he was still a few inches taller than me. “Hm.” I grumbled.
“I like the shoes,” he said “but shouldn’t we clear up the thing with Hayase? I just wish you two could make up somehow.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to clear up.” I said, sitting back down on his bed in a huff. “I’ve always made my feelings clear, haven’t I?”
“Well sure…” he said awkwardly. “But I really care about both of you… and I just wish you could get along.” I blushed slightly and cast my eyes downward at the ground, where they met up with my shining boots.
“Look, if you want to… do whatever debauchery with that demoness, I won’t stop you. I’m glad for you in fact. But that doesn’t mean I have to like her.” I said, stiffening my lip.
“Well what’s your issue with her?” he said, in a voice suggesting exhaustion with the amount of times we had had this conversation.
“She…” I began, counting on my fingers as I listed my justifications, “She’s always pushing you around. She’s abrasive. She never considers how anybody else feels. She can never be straightforward about what she wants. She seems incapable of speaking quietly! She has the subtlety and tact of a… of a…” I searched for words.
“A pair of shiny red and white boots?” Hachiouji said, pushing up the glasses he didn't wear anymore. I stopped silent and considered his words for a moment.
“These really don’t suit me do they?” I muttered staring down at my newly obtrusive feet.
“I didn’t mean anything like that, just that-” he said hurriedly.
“No you’re right. I think I'll return them.” I said quickly and with that I stormed out of his room, shutting the door behind me with a bit too much force. On the way down the stairs I wondered if he was gnashing his teeth over the interaction. I resolved not to let anything affect me and stiffened my lip. Sana Sunomiya would never get angry in a situation like this. Why should I then? Then again, she was taller than Hachiouji and I was not. A seemingly insurmountable fact. Sana Sunomiya filled her role effortlessly.
On the way out, the lady at the desk looked up to see what the matter was. She made some noise, perhaps intending to call me over, but I decided to ignore her.
I turned my head to the sky and contemplated anxiously. Really, I thought, Hachiouji had no idea what he was talking about. The implication was preposterous. It couldn't be further from the truth. I didn’t do Judo, for one thing. I had never even considered that possibility. I never raised my voice, unless passion or the importance of the topic at hand demanded it. I was hardly abrasive. I took great effort to use a soft touch when it came to rhetoric and speech, that I was sure of. Wasn’t I ultimately very empathetic? It seemed intuitively true. If I had written an autobiography, I would describe myself that way. Perhaps I was too internally complicated to be accessed accurately by any mere observer. Perhaps -
The frantic pace of my thoughts was interrupted when I tripped and fell bodily and landed hard on my back, my foot having caught on some metal object I had completely failed to notice. Henri Bergson, the French philosopher, describes the type of laughter that occurs when you see someone fall: all the seriousness of a composed, put-together human being is revealed to be farce. The body is ultimately a physical, biological object among other objects. Perhaps that was why I broke out laughing. More likely though, it was related to the absurdity of looking at the object I had caught my foot on and identifying it as the slightly scuffed form of my bike that had been taken earlier that day, dumped onto the sidewalk by whatever hooligan had taken it.
Gratitude at fate’s pity for my situation spurred me to my feet, still chuckling to myself. I picked up the bike and examined it closely. The basket was somewhat crumpled, but the metal frame had only been scratched slightly. I mounted the bike and noticed something strange. Pedaling seemed awkward and I soon realized why - the soles of my boots were too thick. The final irony.
I set my bag down and changed back into my old shoes, lacing them up as nicely as I could. I put the boots in my bag and got back on the bike, kicking off with one foot and beginning down the street, feeling the cold air blow past me. I decided to go as quickly as I could, peddling with all my strength until I had reached a speed where I could simply glide down the street. It was good to have my bike back. As I reached the shoe store, I came to an awkward stop and put down the kick-stand.
I was still breathing somewhat heavily when I pushed open the door to the shoe store for the second time today.
“Back again so soon?” the woman at the counter said.
“I’d like to return these boots.” I said, fumbling around in my bag for them.
“Ah. I see.” she said. She took the boots from me and handed me back 600 yen, the same bills I had handed her. “It's probably for the best, dear. They made you look a bit like a harlot.” she said. I did a double take then composed myself.
“It's nothing to do with that.” I said, “They just don’t work well with my bike.”
As I rode home I decided to make one more stop. Using, the 600 yen I had gotten back, I bought a bike lock.