Shingo Brown

20 December 20XX

Japanese Club

NEXT TIME

“Keen on kinyoubi!” Duane said, the familiar old phrase. Everyone knew it. Yep, we were all feeling keen that Friday. The brutal winds of great, empty, flat nowhere contorted everything outside, knocking furniture off patios, gently turning cars as they came and went nowhere, invariably, just killing time, burning gas. But we aren’t outside. Me and these people, we’re in this room, together, again.

“So, what are you guys doin’?” he asks. He cradles Chickarrin in his arms. She sat in his lap, and looked happy, but somehow odd. There was just this thing about her face: the way her eyes darted back and forth with this submissive nervousness, her pale cheeks, some new bandages. She’s okay. She’s happy. She’s not alone.

“Work,” Jim said, plainly. “night before and day of.”

“Ain’t no rest,” Duane shot at him with two pointed fingers. “taihen, nee.”

“Eh, daijoubu,” Jim said. I always wondered what his life was like outside of this place. What does he do for fun? What does he have going on? Why does he stick around? I don’t get why it pisses me off, but it does.

Maybe it’s the way he and Lisa still pal around. Maybe it’s the crush I had. Maybe it’s the fact that he was better in class. Maybe it’s because he fit in better. Maybe it’s because of me. Maybe I become what I hate, but whatever. Forget him.

“Shingo?” Duane snaps me out of my head. Now’s not the time, and I’m reminded that it doesn’t matter. Nobody sees it that way, not even her. Besides, I have her.

“We’re goin’ to the zoo,” I said.

“Oh yeah?”