LCTM Chapter 13

    It began to rain soon after I left the rain splattered on the windshield, making light thumps, accompanied by the light sound of the radio. I drove for what seemed hours, but most likely a few minutes. I soon found myself in the Rippongi district, most likely seeking out kindred Americans, and a good foreign bar. The rain had steadily became harder as I parked in a local nightclub's parking lot. I set the alarm, and began walking, not caring about the rain, the cold, myself, and most of all, not about Shang. A bit farther down the street, I came upon a somewhat modest, Irish pub. Okay, so I'm Scottish, but it's all the same area, and I didn't care.

    Inside, it was dark. A jukebox played softly in the corner, near a German couple, most likely tourists from the way they were acting. A few old, American businessmen talked in the corner, and some other foreigners were sitting at the bar. I sat down on the stool, next to a large, British man. He eyed me as if I was odd, but all Americans are odd, so I don't know what his problem was. I stared at him for a few moments, until he looked away, obviously sensing my mood.

    "What'll it be darlin'?" The bartender asked in English, lined with an Irish accent.

    "Give me the best foreign beer you have," I replied in my childhood Scottish accent, that so long ago had vanished, except when I got mad, or in moods like this.

    He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and brought up a bottle of Heinekens'. After a while, the one turned into two, the two into four, the four into eight so on and so forth. I lost all track of time, lost in my reverie of self-pity, and Shang- loathing. I was brought out of it, as my beeper buzzed in my purse. I didn't notice at first, until the British man tapped me on the shoulder, and gestured to my purse.

    "Oh, right," I mumbled, and brought it out. The fluorescent, green screen lit up a small space around me. It read:

    Where the hell are you?! -Shang

    I smirked. Nuh uh, I ain't going back. If he wants to talk, he can come and find me. I downed the last of another bottle, and set it on the table. The bartender looked questionably at the beeper when I set it next to the empty bottle. I looked him straight in the eye and said:

    "Annoying boy-friend, that I'm mad at."

    "Aye, I understand lass." He smiled, and went back to drying the glasses.

    At that time, I realized how home sick I really was. How tired I was to not be able to talk in English to anyone, to share family stories of the Fourth of July, or just plain, someone to relate to. It was then, I knew, the transfer back home was well needed. But my internship was for another year and a half. I sighed. My beeper buzzed again. After a minute, it stopped, and I eyed it warily. Three, two, one...

    My cell rang. I sat it next to my beeper, the caller- ID read, in English script: "Hunny-bun."

    Well, he sure as isn't that anymore, I thought disdainfully.

    The wireless phone beeped for about two minutes, until no one in the bar could take it anymore.

    "Pick the bloody phone up!" A Welsh man in the back, secluded in one of the booths yelled.

    "Why don't you!" I snapped.

    And it rang in the eerie silence of the pub for a few more moments, until the British man next to me, picked it up, and talked into he receiver.

    "Piss off." And he set it back down. I gave him a thankful look, and he smiled back. "Japanese buggers."

    "He's Chinese. So technically, he's a commie bastard." He chuckled at my response, and went back to his beer.

    Things went on in a nice thrum for a while. Soon, the German couple left followed by the Latino tourists a few barstools down. Just then, the phone rang again, followed by my beeper buzzing.

    That's it. He just can't take a hint. I had, had enough, and was going to make sure I got the message across.

    I stood up, and grabbed the beeper first. Threw it right in front of my feet, and jumped on it repeatedly, all the while screaming, in a furious Scottish accent:

    "Blimey bastards! Just can't take a HINT! " Next, I grabbed the cell. Pressing the "send," button, I threw it on the floor, and repeated the act. Only this time screaming louder, and more obscenities. The bar patrons smiled at me, and I even got a thumbs- up from the Welsh man that had yelled earlier.

    I smiled back, and turned to face the bartender. "How much?" I asked.

    "Don't worry lass, it's on me. A bit of Irish hospitality to a Scottish lass. Us foreigners need ta stick together." He smiled, but I insisted, on a large tip, and walked out into the downpour.

    My car was fine, and I climbed into the driverís seat. Then, I burst into tears, the last of my fury gone, and despair over-riding my sense of pride. I sobbed quietly for a while, getting out my frustrations as I leaned on the steering wheel. After I my eyes were no longer able to produce tears, I wiped my face, sniffed, and turned on the engine, and backed out of the parking lot. I knew where I was heading; I was going to the Nemui Boarding House.