Tokyo

The key turned slowly. My hand was moist. The key slipped a little. I took a deep breath. I was careful not to drop the tightly packed brown paper bags of organic food I’d just carried three blocks and seventeen flights of stairs. We paid top dollar for a penthouse in central Tokyo, yet today of all days the elevator decides to stop. I could feel my shirt sticking to me, my hair was soaked. The humidity was higher than the midday sun.

The door finally clicked open. Ice cool air immediately calmed my equilibrium. Still juggling, I leaned my weight backwards to close the door. It closed softly, its weight oblivious to mine. Pausing to be showered by more cool air, I closed my eyes.

“Hey, I'm home. Come and help me with these bags."

I pushed the right heel of my loafer with my left toe and shook it off. My right foot returned the gesture. I paused to appreciate the polished yet cool bamboo flooring. It felt alive under my naked feet.

“Hey Suki, I got those amazing brownies. I checked with Haruki, they’re definitely soya-free. He said to try this organic coconut sorbet. I swear he could sell me the whole shop.”

I placed the bags down on our giant glass table. Juicy jumped up to inspect, his short blue-grey fur reflecting three shades lighter in the polished table. The bag with fruit and vegetables tipped slightly, Juicy took the bait and chased a kiwi fruit. Capturing his prey, his harmonious sound amplified by the silence of the apartment.

“I got Juicy some organic cat food too. Haruki says he actually feeds his cat fresh salmon. Can you believe it? It’s like he’s always competing with me. I know he has such a massive crush on you.”

I glanced at the kitchen. The pale grey island work-surface that ran full width across the room was empty except for the white lilies I had bought Suki yesterday. It’s jade-coloured vase complemented the ceramic knife handles that sat next to the kettle.

Grabbing two bags, I headed for the fridge. The gentle aroma of coffee caught me by surprise. It was 12.54pm. Suki never drinks coffee after 07.30am.

“Hey, are you going for a run? It’s kinda too muggy out there, you’ll boil. I spoke with Femi and she’s dropping by with her new boyfriend later. 6pm is cool right?”

Two mustard coloured espresso cups laid in the sink. One on its side had the faintest imprint of pink lipstick. We had a rule. We always washed our dishes up immediately after we used them.

“Hey, you got company?"

Juicy weaved slowly through my legs, his paw stopped on the top of my foot. Stopping time, my mind numbed for what felt like an eternity. The fridge alarm pinged to tell me to shut the door. For no reason I could fathom, my heart started to race.

“Hey Suki, everything ok with you?”

Everything was silent. The gentle hum of the timed air conditioning came floating in, playing a duet with Juicy, like candy floss tinnitus consuming me from ear to ear. Walking to our bedroom, I thumbed my phone and scrolled through the earlier text conversation with Suki. She read my last message at 11.12am. The salad and sweating face emojis had never been replied to.

“Suki, you in there?"

I paused outside the ensuite bathroom. Even after a year of living together, she never liked me in there with her. I knocked, my heart now pounding. Was she ok?

“Suki?"

I pushed the brushed chrome handle down. The door opened. The dark grey granite floor bone dry, the circular shower cubicle equally without moisture.

“What on earth is going on?”

Slithers of panic bounced through my stomach. I stared at the bedroom, immaculate as ever. The electric blinds all uniform, 5 meters high, the bed untouched since I made it at 6.45am. Even at weekends we woke at the same time.

Our love for minimalism and design had brought Suki and I together. We met at the Mori Building Digital Art Museum in Odaibo by Tokyo Bay. We talked for hours about what we had seen. We hated waste and clutter and loved simple fine lines of great architecture, modern art and ageless designer clothes.

The only other place Suki could be was the terrace. My pace picked up, Juicy jumped out of my way. Sliding the giant doors open, the heat and humidity poured over me immediately, the panorama as breathtaking as ever, the Skytree broadcast tower dominating my immediate view, the heat on my bare feet making me move without asking. The long cream sofa had the delicate imprint of two people. Two small heat rings on the low glass table added to my confusion.

“Suki, Suki,” my voice louder.

Turning back inside, I surveyed our open plan apartment. It was big for Tokyo. Suki’s Dad actually paid for it. In fact, he paid for everything. Suki was a privileged child who grew up with art, music, serenity and creativity. Her dad doubted my credibility. It was a not so invisible wedge that slid between us.

Everything was as it should be. My heart was still beating like it was doing hill sprints. Then I saw it, the only new addition to the simple and orderly canvas of our space. The small white envelope tucked neatly under the elastic of Suki’s little black book. She often described her passion for the ancient Japanese calligraphy, sosho, as a deep meditation where she connected to her soul. The sleeping ancient symbols brought to life by Suki’s steady hand, her attention to detail was breathless as it was poetic.

I was forbidden to touch the sacred equipment. She made me learn their names, fude, sumi, washi and suzuri, her translucent hand repeatedly pointing at the brush, inkstick, paper and inkstone until I pronounced it back at her. Her face annoyed when I got it wrong, a wide eye smile and that look when I got it right.

Juicy silently leapt onto Suki’s desk. I followed after him, my senses catching the faintest glimmer of a heavy musty fragrance, oaky, burnt and male. My brain started to collapse.

I sat in the tanned leather office chair, the view of Tokyo no longer a feature, all eyes on the envelope and the black book. I slid the beautiful Shugi Bukuro envelope off the top of the black book. Using my thumb, I eased the elastic off the front cover. Her name and mobile number and promise of a reward graced the first inside page. From there, each page a beautiful memory.

I’d often watch Suki over the top of my newspaper as she crafted and worked each letter fresh to each page, her thick black ponytail softly draped over her favourite pink silk pyjamas, her posture and grace otherworldly.

I flicked through slowly, the memories easing the churning in my stomach. I placed her book down. It lay open without help, the ancient words of 'belief and desire' sat opposite each other on the heavy ivory paper.

A tiny red and gold fan sat on the unopened white envelope, bright and warm, inviting me to open it. But I was desperate to decline. 'To David'. The cold formality of my name like boiling water on frozen ice. My heart started to ache. My mind retraced the steps of our cold and distant last few weeks. Had I tried too hard? Had I been too needy? Gently, I pulled the golden thread of the fan. The message was short and to the point. ‘You have an hour to leave. Turn on the desktop’.

The candy floss in my head became barbed wire. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate. Dropping the letter, it bounced off my knee and on to the floor. I cupped my hands over my face and mouth, closed my eyes and slowed my breathing down.

Slowly, I came back into the room, Juicy’s paw in his mouth being cleaned throughly, he was oblivious to my discomfort.

I flicked the mouse with my right hand. The Grand Canyon screen saver instantly transported me back home. There was one file in the centre of the giant screen. I clicked it. Juicy jumped on my lap. Instinctively, I stroked his head. Two short lines, each one another nail for my porcelain heart.

In the centre of the document in Helvetica, 16 point, it read: ‘Your flight leaves at 5.30pm your tickets are on your case which is packed in the wardrobe.'

Uncontrollable slow hot tears fell down my face, bouncing onto the black book. The flamboyant curves of ‘desire’ blotted and merged, the irony immediate. I read on, ‘I have transferred $20,000 to your account. The joint account is now frozen. Goodbye David’.

Fleetingly, I tried to imagine what $20,000 would do for me. I tried to call Suki, it rang out. My thumbs hurriedly tried to connect with her, 'What did I do Suki? What did I do that was so bad?' The message left dormant.

Dazed, I sat in silence. The Grand Canyon automatically reappeared. There were too many questions cutting through the barbed wire. I felt dead inside. Juicy fell to the floor like a silver-blue ninja wrapping through my legs one final time before disappearing.

A slow walk to the bedroom and still the scent of burnt oak lingered. I stared for an age at our bed, then opened the wardrobe. Everything was packed, no sign of my life to be seen. Another Shugi Bukuro envelope ‘Chrysanthemum Funeral’ with three Japanese letters beautifully etched.

I tucked the plane ticket in the back of my jeans, wheeled my suitcase to the front door and slipped my shoes on. I paused and took one last look. It was as if I had never existed.

Out on the landing, the ambience was less oppressive, I pressed the elevator button. As it pinged open, I experienced a moment of pleasure as I realised it was now back working. The pleasure was fleeting.

Foolishly, I hit Suki’s number again. The eternity of rings echoed through my ear. I’d been deleted and cut off. I hit redial repeatedly.

The busy street hit my senses. I raised my arm at the lanes of traffic. A green and yellow taxi with the red numbers 5196 etched on the door sat in front of me. It would take well over an hour to get to Narita Airport.

I closed my eyes. A year adventure was over. I began to work out what $20,000 would get me. I arrived in Japan with nothing. Another fleeting slither of pleasure passed through me. Back home in Santa Monica $20,000 would get me started. A down payment on an apartment and a new laptop was all I could think of.

I smiled at the thought of a new Juicy, a Russian blue wouldn’t come cheap. I closed my eyes again. The last year drifted through me in slow motion. I reflected that in life there is no point planning anything, as each moment can take you kicking and screaming down another path, whether you like it or not.