Chapter 20
Twenty
The remainder of the morning passes in a blur. When we finish at the cat café, then have a wander around the city, and end up in the area known as Asakusa.
“When I was browsing some of the travel blogs, this area stood out to me. I thought you’d enjoy the architecture,” Art says.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach. He has planned this day around experiences that I might enjoy. Considering this is a last-minute kind of date, he’s certainly put a lot of thought into it.
We start by exploring the famed Sensō-ji temple and the shrines attached to it. It happens to be the oldest in Tokyo. I snap a hundred different photos from various angles and tug poor Art a million different directions.
“Oh, look at the gate . . .and those carvings . . .
“ . . . and the steps . . .
“ . . . I wonder what the pitch of the roof is and what materials they’ve used on it . . .
“. . . the paint on those statues appears brand-new. I wish I could ask the type of protective coating they’ve used . . .
“. . . look at the painting on the shutters of the shops! I have to capture that too!”
I turn, and yet again, I’ve let my feet carry me a little too far from Art.
The crowds are dense, and it’s like being squeezed into a sardine can in some areas of the temple.
There isn’t enough space for all the people here.
We’re literally standing elbow to elbow.
Although there isn’t any pushing or shoving.
Everyone here is extremely polite about it.
“Alice, there you are.” Art breathes a sigh of relief. His forehead is creased. “I know you’re excited, but please don’t wander off without me.” He lowers his voice. “The chances of you being recognized and stopped for a photo are high. Your safety is my number-one priority.”
My cheeks burn. “I’m sorry.” As much as I want this to be a real date, Art is really here to do his job.
“I know you are.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s brilliant to see you in your element. We just need to make sure we stay together.” His eyes skim the crowds.
“Um, I think I’m ready to move on and find a less popular area. Maybe we can go find some ice cream?” I fan myself. “The humidity has definitely picked up.”
My words have the intended effect. He relaxes. “The street food around here is supposed to be excellent. I’m sure there’s at least one shop that sells ice cream.”
We continue our stroll away from the temple, and the dense crowds.
“My mobile says Nakamise-dori is the name of the street we’re after.” Art studies the walking map of Tokyo he’s downloaded.
When we find it, however, all thoughts of ice cream and food lose their appeal.
Although it smells delightful, like a summer barbecue, the narrow street is so jammed with people, it appears that nobody is moving.
They’re shuffling like zombies. We look at one another and silently agree that no matter how good the food is, it’s not worth joining the school of human fish.
We make a U-turn and walk past some businesses that are closed. “At least the shops have attractive shutters,” I offer. They contain intricate designs that resemble some of the woodblock prints from the Edo period that one might find in a museum.
“Always looking on the bright side.”
I choose not to respond, and instead hum the tune with the same name from the classic British film Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
“Are you a John Cleese fan?” Art asks, naming the main actor from the series.
“My father’s the fan in the family. One of his favorite shows is Fawlty Towers. If I watch telly or a film, it’s more likely to be something on home renovations or a rom-com. What about you? Do you spend most of your time watching baking shows?”
“Not especially. I tend to stream shows like Peaky Blinders, The Office, the original Top Gear, and Emily in Paris.”
“Those are all over the place.” I snort. A period drama about gangsters. A comedy about working in an office. And a show about expensive cars. “I have to ask, why Emily in Paris?”
“For the food that’s featured on the show. French pastries are my favorite. Although the dough can be a nightmare to make,” he admits. “Aside from that, I like having options. Don’t you have days where sometimes you’re just in the mood for something different?”
“I do. Usually that means I’m texting Amanda for recommendations. She and my brother have opened my eyes to classic American sitcoms from the 1950s. They’re quite good.”
“There you go.” Art stops and points to a large display of a vanilla ice cream cone. There’s a short queue about five people deep. “What do you think? Should we try here?”
“Yes.”
While we’re waiting our turn, I try my best to study the menu and guess what certain flavors might be based on the photo. They’re completely in Japanese.
“What are you having?” Art asks right before we’re up to the window.
“I’ll try whatever the pink flavor is.”
“Konichiha.” The cashier smiles and bows.
“Er, this one and that one.” Art points to the menu. “Onegai. Please.”
The woman cocks her head to the side. “English?”
“Hai. Yes.”
“Do you have a ticket?”
Art and I exchange confused glances.
“No?” he says.
“Sou desu.” The cashier sticks her head out the window and points to a machine next to the ice cream cone. “You need to buy a ticket. Then come exchange it for your food.”
Art’s neck and ears color a light shade of pink. “Understood. We’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” The cashier grins and bows again.
“This is a new experience,” I muse. “Who knew you needed to buy a ticket to get your food?”
We wander over to the machine and spend a few minutes attempting to use our translating app to decipher the writing, then a woman in a Tokyo Disney T-shirt comes, takes pity on us, and offers to help.
That’s when we learn it’s common for most quick-service locations to use ticket machines.
The shops themselves don’t typically have any cash on hand. There’s always something new to learn.
“How’s the matcha tiramisu crepe cone?” I ask Art after we get our treats.
“Brilliant. I’m trying to figure out what they put in this so I can re-create it when we get home. I taste the matcha powder. Marzipan. Lemon. And something else I can’t quite put my finger on. What about your Sakura ice cream?”
“Refreshing. It tastes like flowers and cherries. Do you want a taste?”
“No thanks. Do you want some of this?”
“Nope. It’s a little too much even for me.”
We’ve found a bench under the shade of a cherry blossom tree. It’s late summer and the blossoms have long since faded. But in spring, I can imagine this as being one of the most magical places to view the cherry blossoms. Especially with the Sumida River directly across from us.
“It’s so peaceful here. I kind of wish I had my sketchbook. I’d love to have a go at capturing some of the landscapes.”
“I didn’t know you like to draw,” Art says.
“I’m not too good at it, but it’s something that relaxes me.
I picked it up in sixth form. I spent a lot of time alone.
There are only a few people who know this about me, but I was bullied in school.
” He’s shared a lot about himself with me, and now I feel like it’s my turn to reciprocate and let him get to know the real me.
“I was always the shy tomboy, and for the most part, the girls in my year just left me alone—which I didn’t mind.
I had my horses and books to keep me company.
But everything got turned upside down the summer I turned fifteen, when the newspapers started calling me the Ice Princess.
That whole summer, the media plagued me.
And when school started up again in the fall, it got worse.
The girls used it as a way to make my life miserable.
They’d call me names, act like I didn’t exist, or gossip about me nonstop.
It felt like I was a ghost—the few friends I had kept away in case they were targeted. ”
Art listens attentively.
“I was so lonely. My self-esteem and self-confidence were shattered. When we graduated, I hoped the bullying would end, but unfortunately, that was only the beginning. First, some of my former classmates ended up selling embarrassing stories about me to the tabloids. Then, as if that weren’t bad enough, I had my riding accident and disappeared from public view while I healed.
It was like a ticking time bomb.” I share about how difficult it was when the tabloids ran wild with stories about me until the press office finally broke the news about my injury.
Art reaches for my hand and draws a few circles over the top of it.
“By this point, I was mentally and emotionally on the verge of hitting a breaking point. I’m lucky my family and real friends were there to help me through it all.
Without them, I don’t know what I would’ve done.
” I look out at some of the ships passing by slowly in the distance.
“It’s been more than a year. Talking to a therapist, taking a gap year, and traveling have helped me recenter myself.
I’m only now beginning to feel like the old me. ”
“I’m so sorry that you ever had to go through being bullied and dealing with the media.
Nobody deserves any of that crap. I wish I’d been here sooner to help and support you through all of it.
” His voice comes out raspy and raw. “I have so much respect for you. I don’t know any other person, myself included, who would’ve been able to put on a brave face and continue making public appearances again after an experience like that.
I can only imagine how much effort it’s taken for you to come on this trip.
” Art collects our rubbish and places it off to the side. “Come here.” He pats the bench.
I scoot in closer to him. He opens his arms and wraps me in them as I rest my head on his shoulder. I listen to his beating heart. It’s steady and strong, like a metronome.
“Coming here was difficult for me, but I’m glad I had the strength to do it.”