A month passed. Summer in Brisbane was approaching. Temperatures rose and humidity began to build.
Yoshi and Amelia crept closer and closer to their final exams at uni. They were both well-prepared, but their motivations were different. At this point in her life, the goth felt that a career in communications was right for her, and she was prepared to work hard to get it. On the other hand, the emo felt disillusioned. But Japanese study habits die hard, and even though he'd formally requested to change his major to literature for next year, he still wanted to perform well, even if just for the sake of his parents.
The mechanic toiled hard at the garage. He loved his job, but as the weather warmed up, the workshop began to feel a little bit stifling, especially in the afternoon. This happened every year when summer began to announce itself, and he was used to it. Some floor fans placed strategically around the workspace helped to moderate the heat.
Mack and Abby were once more on good speaking terms. Divorce papers had been lodged, but their separation was amicable. They agreed to put their home on the market. Nostalgia and sentimentality ran deep, and on the evening after they made their decision to sell up move on, Mack and Abby spent a warm spring evening in their backyard reliving old memories. They knew they'd feel sad to part ways with their patch of earth, but they also knew that financially, it was the most sensible thing to do. Abby contacted a real estate agent the next morning and got the ball rolling.
In Auckland, as expected, the Wallabies got schooled bigtime by the All Blacks, but to everyone's surprise, Australia won the closely fought decider in Sydney. Mack and Yoshi went to a sports bar in the Brisbane CBD to watch the game. They sat side by side at the bar in front of a big screen TV, with Mack riding every moment of the contest. The mechanic proudly wore his Queensland Reds jersey, and just to annoy the shit out of Mack, the emo wore his Brumbies one. The beer flowed freely as the Bledisloe Cup returned to Australia for the first time in a generation. The crowd was jubilant, and the mechanic was in a superlative mood. "Hey, punk," he said, raising his voice over the noise of the crowd, "I've been thinking."
"Careful, you might hurt yourself," joked the emo.
"Smartarse," said Mack. "Just because I work on cars and you go to uni..."
"I'm only kidding," Yoshi interrupted. "I reckon you're one of the most intelligent people I know."
"Then maybe you need to meet more people," volleyed the mechanic, gently placing his hand on the emo's nearest shoulder. He wasn't comfortable yet with showing Yoshi affection in public, but he was slowly getting there. He frowned, trying to remember what it was he wanted to say. "You broke my train of thought, punk."
Yoshi sipped his beer. "You said you'd been thinking, but that could literally mean almost anything."
"That's right." He remembered what he wanted to discuss. "So, anyway, punk," he declared, "like I said, I've been thinking."
"Good," replied the emo. "That means you're alive."
"Don't get all René fuckin' Descartes on me, shithead."
"If you weren't alive, you'd be a corpse, and you need to know I'm not into sex with zombies. So if you happen to be dead right now, you have to tell me."
The mechanic blinked. What the fuck?
"No, but listen, wait a sec," continued Yoshi, "hear me out, because I've been thinking about this. Like, what must everything feel like after you're dead? Can you imagine? While we're alive, we can think about our lives, but once we're dead, we can't do that anymore. We won't be able to go 'oh, dying was an interesting experience', because we won't be able to think about it. Or about anything at all."
Mack fell expressionless. This shit was too deep. "Well, I'm gonna need another fuckin' beer to process all of that." He waved the barman over and ordered two fresh schooners. He passed one to Yoshi. "OK, so like I said before, I've been thinking."
The emo lifted his glass and took a slug of frothy lager, not saying a word, waiting for Mack to continue.
"I've been thinking about what you suggested the other week. About meeting your parents."
Yoshi gasped. A few weekends ago, he travelled out to Ipswich to see his parents. He'd invited the mechanic to come with him, but he ended up going alone. On the way back, he mentally parked the thought of Mack meeting his parents, not wanting to pressure him in any way, half-expecting it mightn't come up in conversation again. "Yeah?" he prompted.
"If you'd still like to introduce me to your folks, I don't mind."
Yoshi impulsively wrapped his arms around the mechanic's waist and squeezed him tight. "Woah there, punk," pressed an uncomfortable Mack, "easy, tiger."
"Sorry, big guy," apologised the emo, releasing his embrace. "It's just... well... I never expected... I didn't expect... umm... well, that means a lot to me."
Mack was stern. "You need to tell them beforehand, though."
"Yeah," replied Yoshi. "I know."
They drank, laughed and rejoiced. Someone found an acoustic guitar and led the crowd in a heartfelt rendition of John Williamson's 'True Blue', a classic Australian song about standing by your mates and never giving up in the face of adversity. It meant the world to the true believers who never lost faith, knowing the Wallabies would come good again, one fine day.
The emo didn't know the words, but the mechanic sang his lungs out.
It was a great night for Australian rugby.
*
Two nights later, Yoshi called his parents, and they put him on speaker so they could both participate in the conversation. Yoshi's father was born in Australia, but of Japanese parents. He completed high school in Brisbane but did his university studies in Kyoto. It was there that he met Yoshi's mother. They married and he brought his new wife back to Queensland. Eastern culture ran deep in the emo's family, and they often spoke Japanese at home.
Politely, he asked how they were, and for the next few minutes, they discussed each other's health. He talked about what was happening at uni lately, and he told them he was changing his major next year. They were very interested in his plans to study literature, wondering if their son might turn out to be the next Murakami. Yoshi told his parents he watched 'Tokyo Story' at the Japanese film festival recently, and they each shared their recollections of the film. He said the friend he watched it with enjoyed it too. His parents asked if she was Japanese; the emo said no.
Yoshi said that he'd like to visit his parents this coming Saturday and asked if it was convenient to come for lunch. They replied that it was. He mentioned he'd like to bring a friend with him for them to meet. They asked if it was the person he watched the movie with, and he said it wasn't. They agreed anyway, wondering if their son had finally found someone special while living in the big city.
They talked about some other topics for a few minutes before Yoshi delicately brought the conversation back to the subject of his weekend visit. "I need to tell you something," he said. His mouth was dry, and the palms of his hands were sweaty. "This is very difficult for me to say, but it's important that I tell you." He paused for a second. "The friend I'm bringing to meet you is perhaps not what you might expect."
The silence on the other end of the line was agonising.
"I've wanted to tell you this for a long time, almost forever, but..."
"We know," his mother interrupted.
"Okāsan, I'm so sorry... watashi o yurushitekudasai... please forgive me..."
"It's OK," interjected his father.
"Otōsan, I... I'm..."
Yoshi, lost for words, snapped on the inside, sobbing down the line.
"You're bringing a boy to meet us, aren't you?" his mother asked quietly.
"Hai," replied their son.
"It's OK," his father repeated. "We don't understand, but we accept. Maybe you can help us understand."
"Kare wa nihonjindesu ka?" asked his mother.
"No, Okāsan, he's not Japanese, he's Australian."
"That's OK too."
"Aishiteimasu, ryōshin," sobbed the emo.
"We love you too," replied his mum.
*
The mechanic invited Yoshi around for dinner on Thursday night. After leaving the garage for the day, he went to the supermarket. He purchased some tofu, some broccolini, some stalks of asparagus, a couple of red chillies, and a pouch of teriyaki sauce. Under normal circumstances, he would've loved the challenge of making the sauce from scratch, but time pressed. He already had plenty of rice in the pantry.
The emo rocked up wearing a pair of black boots, a pair of long black shorts, a pair of stripy socks, and a cap. Everything as expected. Except for one thing.
"What the fuck's that t-shirt?" quizzed Mack.
Yoshi shrugged. "What? It's just a black t-shirt. I've got a million of 'em."
"But this one's got the fuckin' Brumbies logo on it," frowned the mechanic.
The emo smiled curiously. "Fuck, I love winding you up with this Canberra shit. Rugby is done for the year, it's nearly cricket season, and yet you're still fixated." He paused for a second, moving a little closer, lowering his voice. "What did the Brumbies do to you? You can tell me, I'm a trained professional." He wished he had a doll handy so he could say 'show me where the Brumbies touched you'.
The mechanic turned away comically, folding his arms. "I don't wanna talk about it," he pouted.
Yoshi hugged his host from behind, knowing he was joking. "What's for dinner?"
The mechanic spun around and melodramatically placed his hands on his hips. "Oh, right, so you just assumed I was cooking dinner for you, did you?"
The emo narrowed his eyes and scanned the kitchen. "Well, yeah, so there's a packet of firm tofu on the bench, some greens... yeah, so I guess I assumed."
Mack smiled. "Make yourself at home, punk. Put a record on or something, dinner won't be long."
Yoshi browsed through the mechanic's vinyl collection. He found the spine of Moscow Olympics' album 'Cut The World' and held it up in complete surprise. "No fucking way. You've got this record? There are only two hundred copies of this record in existence. This is, like, the coolest, yet most obscure and unknown band in the known universe. They aren't even on Spotify. You're into them?"
"One of the best records I've heard in ages," concluded the mechanic. "Drop the needle. I'm gonna cook us some dinner."
Filipino guitar-pop filled the room as the mechanic browned cubes of tofu with crushed garlic and chopped chilli. He ripped open the pouch of teriyaki sauce and poured the thick liquid into a deep, wide saucepan. (He didn't own a wok; this was the next best thing.) Before adding the broccolini and asparagus, he added a small splash of cold water to dilute the sauce. Steam billowed.
The emo sat on the couch examining the rare album cover. "Smells awesome," he commented. His tummy rumbled.
