Author's note: The origin of this story is in an experience which I have had. There is a Japanese lady whom I see in my walks around my neighborhood. I know that she is married, but I don't believe that I have ever seen her husband. She is attractive and pleasant, and I often wonder what it would be like to have sex with her. This story fleshes out that fantasy.
As the winter faded and the weather began to improve, I started jogging around my neighborhood. The physical activity felt good, and I enjoyed seeing the rebirth of nature and seeing my neighbors again. Many people were working on their houses in various ways, older couples went walking together, and individuals and small groups jogged along the quiet streets, as I was doing.
Late one afternoon, as I was making my way along the jogging route that I had set for myself, I saw someone new, an Asian lady whom I had not seen before, cleaning away some of the plant debris beside her house, in preparation for a garden. As I passed by her house, she smiled and waved, and I waved back. That happened several times, and then, one day, as I approached her house, she left what she was doing and came out to the street. She was short of stature, more or less average height for Asian women, slim and petite. She was wearing rumpled jeans and a sweatshirt, and a hat with a big, floppy, brim, and she said, "You are working very hard at your jogging, and it is a warm day. You must be thirsty. Come in and have a glass of water."
In fact, I was thirsty, so I happily accepted her offer. The inside of the house was very neat and clean, but the décor was a mixture of Japanese and American styles, as if the woman (and any other family members -- I didn't know at that time if there were any) didn't exactly know where they belonged. After finishing my glass of water, I thanked her and resumed my jog. This got to be a regular part of my routine.
Over time, I learned that her name was Sakura. She and her husband Kazuo were renting the house while he was in the U.S. on a special work assignment. They didn't have any children. Kazuo was an engineer. Sakura had been a math teacher in Japan, but, because of different certification requirements and the uncertain length of her husband's American assignment, she wasn't working here. Sakura spoke good English, with only a slight accent, and she was clearly well-educated.
I had been right about her original intention, planting flowers by her house, and she asked me about the kinds of flowers that would grow well in our area of Illinois. Gardening was not my strong suit, and Sakura had to ask other neighbors and turn to gardening books for advice. "I don't know if I will be able to see the garden through the summer," she said, "but I want to try something at least."
As time went on, my visits with Sakura became more significant. Instead of just giving me a glass of water, we would have a snack together, and we talked and laughed together as we shared stories about our lives. She and Kazuo were the first members of their families to attend university, and that is where they had met. Sakura's parents had owned a small grocery store, and Kazuo's father had been a shoemaker.
I told her about my background. I was born and raised in the Midwest, and I worked for an organizational consulting firm. I had a hard time explaining to Sakura exactly what I did for work.
Before long, instead of our just meeting by chance if she happened to be outside the house when I jogged by, she came to expect me, and I made a point of visiting as often as I could.
One day, Sakura seemed excited about something during my visit. Her husband's assignment involved visiting the American offices of his company and also various customers. She told me that Kazuo was finishing a long tour of different locations in the U.S. and returning to their rented home, in northern Illinois, the following week. He would then be in the Chicago office for an extended period of time. "I really miss him," she said. I had very mixed feelings. On the one hand, I could understand how she felt, and I was happy for her. On the other hand, I had become fond of her, and I enjoyed my visits very much. They would probably come to an end with her husband around the house.
A few days later, as I passed by Sakura's house, she waved at me, but, instead of her usual warm and friendly smile, her face had a sad and serious expression. "What's wrong?" I asked, when I got into the house and we sat together on the sofa.
