Wednesday, July 10, 2024: Keiko Amano's "After the Concert"
Keiko Amano was born and reared in Yokohama, Japan. She writes both in English and Japanese. Her first book, Ocha Teacher, was published in 2015. Some of her short stories and essays have appeared in magazines. In order of publication, most recent first, they have appeared in poeticdiversity (US), WilsonFest: Nature and Mystery, Poets on Site (US), the East Jasmine Review (US), the Bicycle Review (US), San Dimas Writer’s Workshop (US), Contemporary Literary Horizon (Romania), and Eye-Ai (Japan). She was an infrastructure systems programmer for Farmers Insurance Group in Los Angeles for thirteen years and worked mainly at the data centers of various corporations in Japan and the U.S. She took many creative writing classes at UCLA Extension and attended Writers workshops.
Mother had nothing good to say about the Beatles before, but now she has
jumped to my side and joined the cheering crowd. Her motto is to strive for continuous
self-improvement. I guess she expects me to improve if she does, too. Even if she
becomes a Beatles fan, I will never be an Ocha teacher.
Saturday morning, I head to school to take my math exam. In the back of a streetcar,
I sit on a bench covered with green velveteen cloth and review math problems. The
streetcar bumps, slows down, and speeds up. The operator calls out the name of a stop. I
raise my head and look around. Adults and a few small children are on board, but I see
no students who are wearing my school uniform. The streetcar keeps going. The
operator calls the name of my destination.
I drop my notebook into my briefcase and stand up. Through the wooden
framed windows, an overpass walkway in the distance comes closer. The walkway
bridges the right and left sidewalks. My school buildings stand top of the hill on the left.
No one is walking nearby. The tree-lined sidewalks, the entry to a shrub-covered lane on
the left, and even the milk shop on the right are all empty. Today isn’t Sunday, is it?
What is going on? I feel as though I am either having a dream about being a
butterfly or a butterfly is having a dream about being me. I rub my forehead.
A bell rings. The streetcar comes to a stop. I hop down and sprint across to the phone
booth close to the milk shop. I shut the door and dial a number.
A female voice answers in a monotone.
“This is Keiko Amano. I am a freshman in class A. I have a math midterm but
maybe I got mixed up on the starting time.”
“The test will finish in ten minutes.”
“Oh, I am sorry. I made a mistake.”
She says nothing.
“Please let my homeroom teacher know that I called. Thank you.” I hang up.
My fear has turned real. I failed to confirm the starting time. I have no idea why,
but the first exam of the day begins at various times throughout the midterm week.
There is nothing I can do, so I go home.
The following Monday morning, I head to the teachers’ office and meet my math
teacher near the stairs. He is a bit taller than I am, and is wearing a pair of brown
slippers and black-rimmed spectacles. When he introduced himself to our class, he said
that our school is his first teaching job. He must have graduated from university in
March. I bow to him.
“Okada sensei, I am sorry I missed the test.”
“Um.” He has a far-away look.
“Did you receive my message? I called the school from the milk shop and left
my message.”
“Ah, yes.” His voice is inaudible.
“I got mixed up about the starting time, maybe because I went to the Beatles
Concert.”
He cups his chin and cheek with his hand and looks into my eyes.
“My schedule was hectic so I got mixed up. I am very sorry.”
I want to make sure I am honest and not hiding anything. Teachers and students
zigzag around us. The math teacher strokes his chin, looking up. The white parts of his
eyes show.
“Shall I give you a makeup test?”
“Well, yes. I would appreciate that very much.”
“Then wait at your classroom after school. Three thirty is good.”
“Thank you so much.” I bow low to him.
I have never heard of anyone who has taken a makeup test. Maybe it is because
nobody in his or her right mind would miss important tests. Having a second chance in
our society is rare. I think the teacher is open-minded.
During recess, I catch Gigio.
“I went to the Beatles concert last Friday.”
“I went on Wednesday.”
“You did? Did you go with your cousin?”
“No, I went by myself.”
“Ah, me, too.”
She probably got the other lotto ticket from Q-ko. I’ve been busy with the
midterm and didn’t want to draw much attention to myself. Gigio must have felt the
same way.
“We had a microphone problem on stage,” Gigio says.
“What happened?”
“Paul kept pushing it while he sang. It must have been a mechanical problem.”
“My concert didn’t have problems, but I missed the math midterm the next
day.” I make a face as though I were chewing a salted sour plum. “But Okada sensei
offered me a makeup test.”
“I didn’t know you could take a makeup test.”
“Me, either. I’m lucky. By the way, did you stand up and scream? The audience
upstairs sat like pebbles.”
“No. Did you?”
“I did,” I say in a small voice.
“At the start of the concert, E. H. Eric warned us not to stand up,” Gigio says.
“It sounded like we could be arrested if we did.”
“Really? I did not hear E. H. Eric announcing any warning.”
Oh, wait, I was not there.
I got there late.
Thank goodness.
© 2024 Keiko Amano
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