Moschino

She was not young. She wasn't especially good-looking either. The only reason Dan noticed her was that everyday, at exactly the same time, she would walk up the steps to the platform and climb on the same commuter train he used. Dressed in dark skirts and light blouses, she always carried the same oversize Moschino handbag, either holding it tight against her body or thrusting it forward like a riot shield as she shoved her way onto the train. Same train, same door, same black Moschino bag, every single day of the week. If it hadn't been for hanami, that's how it would have stayed.

All winter long, through rain, snow and sunshine, he watched her from two doors down. Every so often he would catch himself wondering if she were single or married. On some days, she bounded up the steps with the spunk of a teenager. On other days, she'd use the handrail to drag herself up the last few steps, and then have to pause for a few seconds to catch her breath. The first time their eyes met, his heart skipped a beat and he found himself hoping she didn't have a "significant other", an expression he couldn't help but hate.

One day in late March she almost missed the train. When her head appeared, all Dan could see was a tangled mop of unruly black hair. She came up the steps staring down at her feet and looking for all the world like a woman who'd just lost a lover. Not like her usual self at all. The buzzer for the train sounded, the conductor announced the doors were closing, and Dan caught a glimpse of bleary, bloodshot eyes. She gathered up her last reserve of strength and shot toward the doors, winding up with one corner of the Moschino bag caught between them. The conductor scowled, muttered an imprecation Dan couldn't hear, and shoved her through. That day in particular he often found himself pausing to wonder if she had a real life, or if like him, she too was trapped in the mundane world of fourteen-hour workdays, yakitori-bar nights, and long, empty weekends.

Two weeks later spring brought in the cherry blossoms.

Like most companies in Tokyo, every year his office had a "hanami" party out under the trees. He didn't mind, really. After all, any break in routine was a happy reminder that there were other ways to live your life, ways he could choose someday; provided he could find the courage to give up the security of nine to five at his own desk. It was supposed to be nine to five anyway. After answering a flood of phone calls, punching reams of data into the computer, and drinking countless cups of bitter green tea brought to his desk by anonymous girls in grey who littered the office like so much excess statuary, he would often pause to look up at the clock and find midnight closing in.

Hanami was different though. For hanami the girls in grey went out to the park early to spread the sky-blue tarps beneath the flowering cherry trees, set up the karaoke machine, and make sure the beer was chilled. What surprised him most as he followed his feet into the office that morning was not that the woman with the Moschino bag had suddenly changed her hairstyle. No, what surprised him most was how quiet the office was when he arrived, and how much he really missed that first cup of hot green tea. He missed it so much he wandered back into the kitchen to make his own.

Kenji, one of his co-workers, had beaten him there and was standing over the tiny two-burner stove waiting for the water to boil.

"Missed your tea, eh?" Kenji said, smiling through crooked teeth as Dan entered the unfamiliar cubicle of the tiny kitchen.

"Been here so long I'm almost Japanese, I guess." His words hung in the air strangely, like someone else had spoken them.

"Hanami's today, and it's not even raining. Beer and sunshine beats work any day, eh Dan-san?"

"Sounds like a lot more fun than answering the phone, that's for sure."

Keeping his voice pleasant was turning out to be more difficult than he'd expected. He wasn't especially depressed, but he kept wondering why the woman at the train station had changed her hairstyle all of sudden. Had she already found a new lover? Was she trying out some new spring style? Making small talk just seemed like too much of a bother.

Kenji picked up on Dan's mood and silence fell between them like a blanket. They stood around with hands in their pockets quietly waiting for the water to boil. The instant the pot began to whistle, Kenji shut off the gas with a too quick flick of his wrist. No one wanted a lifeless teapot reminding them how empty their lives had become. Kenji poured the tea without a word. They both retreated to their desks in search of something to fill the hour and half they had to wait before heading out to join the girls in grey.

* * *

Dan saw her chatting with one of the girls in grey when he arrived at the park. Her new hairstyle, her pale yellow blouse, her dark brown skirt, the only thing missing was the Moschino bag. She was talking quietly with Sachiko, one of the few girls in grey whose name he actually knew. Lucky coincidence, or gift of the gods? He couldn't be sure and was afraid to ask.

His mood lifted a notch as he walked up the concrete path. Watching the sun bring out blue-black highlights in her hair made him want to smile. He didn't want to appear too forward though, so he buried the impulse deep inside himself, hoping all the while that today would be the day that changed everything.

"Ohayo gozaimasu," he greeted Sachiko, struggling to hide the delight in his voice.

"Ohayo, Dan-san."

Sachiko wore an odd expression somewhere between curiosity and pleasure. Dan assumed she was wondering what could have elevated her from the secure confines of professional anonymity. Dan looked around for his supervisor and discovered Shimizu-bucho on the far side of the sky-blue tarp chatting amiably with another girl in grey. He looked far too involved to be disturbed by something as mundane as a daily greeting. From the color in the bucho's face, Dan supposed Shimizu-bucho had already sampled so much beer he wouldn't notice anyway.

He made his way over to Sachiko. The girl from the station smiled benignly as she watched him approach. He wondered if he would have to ask to be introduced, or if Sachiko would do the polite thing and save him the trouble.

"Genki deska?" Sachiko offered up, plainly wondering how to create a conversation with someone who had never offered her more than a nod of his head.

"Genki desuyoo. Kireina hana desne." He hoped she would switch to English soon and not make him stretch his meager Japanese ability.

A moment of panic filled him then. The woman from the train station might not know any English at all. Ever since high school one of his greatest fears had been making a bad first impression. If he were restricted to Japanese there was no way he would come off as anything more than a babbling idiot.

Well, he thought, forcing optimism into the turmoil of his imagination, if nothing else maybe she'll start greeting me every morning instead of just climbing on board two doors down.

"Do I know you?" she asked in a perfect British accent. "Your face seems awfully familiar."

"Unless I'm mistaken, we board the train at the same station every morning."

Dan felt cherry blossoms, sky-blue tarps and anonymous girls in grey begin sliding into the background. He was more than happy to let them go.

"Is that so? Small world, isn't it?"

"This is my friend, Erika," Sachiko suddenly burst out, jumping back into Dan's world and making him bite back a snarl.

A tiny frown slid across Erika's lips and was gone. Inside his chest Dan's heart skipped a beat in response. They'd both felt the world closing down to include only the two of them and she wasn't happy to have Sachiko back in either. Then Erika offered up a brilliant smile intended just for him and Dan felt the sun grow dim.

"And this is Dan," Sachiko kept right on, desperate not to loose her hold on their attention.

"Pleased to meet you, Dan." A mature hand with knuckles that had just barely begun to wrinkle reached out to him.

"The pleasure is all mine."

Resisting the urge to bow, he took her hand in his and shook it mildly, pleased to feel her grip his fingers tightly and hang on just a moment longer than necessary. Reluctantly, he let it fall away, hoping that first awkward moment wouldn't last too long, hoping against hope that Sachiko would find some reason to disappear.

"Erika's company is having hanami just over there," Sachiko said, delicately motioning off to the left. "They don't have a park nearby so they come here for hanami every year. She called me last night to tell me."

No need to be rude, he reminded himself, breaking his eyes away from the soft lines of Erika's face. Seeing her up close for the first time he figured she was probably right around thirty, just five years younger than he was. She had perfect eyes.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, it is." Erika's voice drew his eyes back to her, which was fine by him. "I've been with JKS Electronics ten years now and every year we have our hanami under the same tree. Would you like to join us for a little while?"

She stepped off the sky-blue tarp Sachiko and the other girls in grey had spread that morning and back into her shoes. Like the Moschino bag and the dark skirts, Dan noticed she preferred simple black pumps. He had not even taken his own shoes off yet. Without realizing it he'd spent the whole two minutes of their conversation standing awkwardly off the edge of the tarp, not part of his own company's party, not part of anyone's party, and just desperate enough to make her acquaintance not to care.

Sachiko started to complain, but Dan and Erika were already back in their own little world, wandering away from both company hanami and down the concrete path that wound among the trees. Caught by a warm flutter of air, a light pink snowfall of petals surrounded them just as they disappeared around the corner.