“I wonder why he isn’t married…,” mused Shoko in her tiny, high-pitched voice.
I was sitting with four Japanese teachers around the long work table in our school’s small main office/workroom. The Yamagata Westin conversation school was located in Yamagata-eki mall, the sprawling glass and concrete building that housed the city’s main train station. The school was tiny by my American standards, tucked away in a corner of the mall. It consisted of one main office and lobby area, six smallish classrooms of differing sizes, a separate set of children’s classrooms across the hall, and two small classrooms next to the children’s rooms. Despite its size, we were actually much larger and had more students than most Westin schools. Yet our school maintained an almost family-like relationship with the students, from toddlers and their mothers to college kids and retirees.
The school’s office/workroom was located behind the lobby and reception desk. It served as the main hub for staff and that day, it was cramped as usual, lined floor to ceiling with shelves of books, papers, and teaching props. Somehow, we managed to fit 11 staff into a back room smaller than a standard one-person executive suite in the U.S. Still, we made it work and managed to give each other room to work while rubbing elbows, quite literally. It was actually one reason why all of us got so close — personally, that is — in such a short period of time. You didn’t have much of a choice other than to get along or else everyone’s lives would be hell. We all recognized this and did our perpetual best to promote the office wa or harmony. From this, genuine friendships blossomed in the high-pressure, grinding environment typical of a conversation school.
Shoko’s thoughts were mirrored by the other women in the office. “Yeah, he has all that money and he is older…,” commented Mami, a smart, traditionally beautiful teacher with a biting sense of humor. “Why doesn’t he get married?” she continued.
I loved Mami and Shoko for their bluntness, something of an unusual trait in Japanese women, or practically anyone I’d met in Japan so far for that matter. I could trust them to be truthful when other people were masters of avoidance. And today, their truth-telling was focused on Yoshi.
I later found out that Yoshi was a student of some infamy. Apparently, he was quite wealthy, the brilliant only son of a land-owning, old city family. Rumors about him were wild and numerous: he was a raging playboy, he drove a Ferrari,he was gay, his family was one of the richest in the city — some true, most not. It turned out the actual truth was far more interesting than the rumors. He was, in fact, from one of Yamagata’s oldest families. He was known for being extremely smart, graduating at the top of his class — far from an easy feat in the brutally competitive Japanese school system — and securing a spot at one of Japan’s best universities. He owned his own dental practice, as well as a number of buildings throughout the city, and served in several civic and business organizations.
All of Westin’s female teachers found him to be an amusing enigma — a wealthy, smart, handsome man in his 30s, unmarried and apparently not looking. Truly, an unacceptable enigma in the eyes of my Japanese colleagues.
Life in the office continued as usual. Now three months into the year, I was flourishing as an English teacher. I was hitting my full stride, teaching confidently and with a genuine passion for my students’ progress. Students had begun requesting to be placed in classes with me specifically and as such, my workload was reaching its max. I worked hard, teaching and planning and talking with students at least 10-12 hours a day. Some days I would be so exhausted by the end of the night that I literally had to hold onto the whiteboard to stay upright. Yet I loved the intensity of the work, the energy that radiated off of my students as they grasped a new concept, the laughter of my youngest students and the kind words from my eldest. I loved my coworkers and the dedication to our students’ success we all shared.
As the weeks went by, I didn’t see Yoshi much since he had classes when I was particularly busy. A few weeks after we met outside the izakaya that snowy night, Keith threw our weekly pizza party. Keith was the veteran foreign teacher at Westin, having put in six months more than Matt and I. He was a tall, handsome yet somehow goofy looking guy from Florida. On the surface, he seemed like the model dude-bro; in truth, he was sweet, funny and incredibly considerate, with a genuine appreciation and respect for Japanese culture. Always one who loved a good time, it was Keith who started the tradition of weekly pizza parties with our students, who had become more like friends by then. Keith, Matt and I rotated pizza party duties weekly and this was Keith’s week.
I started the hike through the knee-high snow to buy snacks from the conbini and then sloshed over to Keith’s apartment, meeting a shivering Matt outside. Matt was my partner in crime during that year and we were growing as tight as friends could be by that time. A ridiculously cute Canadian boy with a German-Canadian dad and a Japanese mother, he was goofy and sweet-natured, well aware of his handsome, green-eyed looks, but in a way that was less self-important pride and more of a running personal joke. Matt and I had become almost inseparable in our three months at Westin. We had trained together and arrived in Yamagata together to replace the married couple who taught before us, as Westin’s foreign teachers tended to cycle out every year. We gelled during our intense training week for new teachers and since then, we’d formed a tight bond, despite our seemingly huge surface differences.
Between work and partying, Matt and I usually spent no less than 12 hours a day together, seven days a week, and yet we rarely, if ever, tired of each other’s company. Our relationship was the easiest, most natural relationship of that level of intensity I’ve ever had with a guy. As much as we loved each other as close friends, neither of us ever felt any romantic inkling toward the other, truly a miracle and a gift as it allowed us to truly get to know and appreciate each other as people.
We both leaned heavily on our relationship to get us through the most difficult times during that year, acting as sounding boards when we needed to vent and giving a shoulder to cry on when it all became overwhelming. Despite our close relationship, or perhaps because of it, we were most known for the sharp barbs we constantly traded without mercy, each growing in ridiculousness until they became the crassest of schoolyard insults. And we loved every minute of it.
After I appropriately demeaned Matt for being so obviously cold, we trooped into Keith’s apartment together to a chorus of cheers, arms full of beer and chips. As I stripped out of my many wet layers, I noticed among the usual faces the slightly shy, amused smile of Yoshi as he traded words with Keith in a far corner of the room. I was far happier to see him than I expected and suddenly the night seemed to head in a definite upswing. I managed to catch his eye and we traded quick smiles. As the night went on, he made his way around the jovial group of about 10 students and foreign teachers crammed into Keith’s tiny apartment, engaging with everyone yet still somehow seeming ever so slightly detached from the group.
After we all feasted on delicious corn mayo and spicy sausage pizza, washing it down with copious amounts of cold beer, Yoshi managed to make his way over to me. I jokingly asked him his name and jokingly introduced himself again. We talked about how much we were enjoying ourselves; I told him I had walked across the main overpass through two feet of snow to get to Keith’s apartment and he was impressed. From there, Yoshi and I had yet another engaging talk, one that spanned a surprisingly wide range of topics considering the language barrier. Again, he managed to effortlessly capture my full attention as we spoke and I already felt a strange, completely unexpected attachment to him growing. Yoshi was just so very different from the other students; in truth, he was different from anyone I had ever met.
Again, another rowdy night drew to a close and again I found myself smiling inwardly at perceived attentions from Yoshi. I later observed that this was somewhat of a trademark of his, it was how he learned so much from people and why people tended to be so drawn to him, well beyond his social status. He was a genuinely friendly, engaging person whose kindness and humor drew people to him.
unrequited 