The fluorescent lights in the library provided scant illumination in the waning hours of the Oklahoma day. In fact, although it was only 6 pm in November, Fumiko could barely see the print on the fluid dynamics textbook in front of her. For all it was worth, the book was like a useless stone slab. She had been using her cell phone to provide some manual lighting, but it had become extremely tiresome, and with her extremely shy demeanor Fumiko was self-conscious of the fact that maybe the people at neighboring tables were being distracted by her.
She raised her head from the book and blinked several times, before rubbing the blurriness from her eyes. She scanned the surrounding table stations to the right, seeing the faces of others trying to read their own texts, type, or work out math equations. One was a heavyset linebacker reading an organic chemistry book. Sitting across from him were two preppie looking law majors who were squabbling over the order of papers in their brief. Fumiko seemed conscious of the fact that although others might be accomplishing something, in this dim light she had absolutely no chance of progressing with her fluid dynamics text. On the other hand, as she glanced to the left she noticed that occupying one of those desks was someone she'd seen on other occasions there.
Typing vigorously on a laptop was a girl in her early twenties, maybe even Fumiko's own age, 21. Fumiko, tall for most Japanese women at 5'9", could see that this girl was maybe an inch taller. But there the physical resemblance became further. Whereas Fumiko had very light skin complexion and hair of varying shades of brown, the girl had a very dark brown skin color, and solid black straight hair. Her body was full curvy and athletic, like a sprinter's. Fumiko's was extremely thin, and if not for her height she would have looked a lot younger. The girl had on a green print sundress and a dark brown corduroy jacket.
With the useless learning conditions, Fumiko had an urge to close all of her notebooks and the text, yet for some reason she plodded on. She was essentially wasting her own time since her concentration was already off. In fact, she was increasingly casting furtive glances in the direction of the girl with the laptop. At some point she looked at her watch and realized that it was now 6:35 and her ride was due. She gathered her things up and walked briskly out of the glass double doors that adjoined the checkout area and into the parking lot. A light drizzle had begun to pour down, and Fumiko retreated to a bench sheltered by an overhang.
For five minutes she loitered around the bench, idly kicking an aluminum can and other debris on the ground in front of the library. She contemplated the path she'd taken that had brought her from the beachcombing life of her native Okinawa to the bare plains of Stillwater, Oklahoma. On her island the sea was visible from so many places, that it was like an old companion that was taken for granted. Here in Stillwater, she would scan a horizon for miles and see endless prairies. However, the life here had less friction than at home to a certain degree. On Okinawa her family were considered Japanese mainlanders, even though her father had moved over to the island to join her uncle's business in the sixties. Although they were to a foreigner virtually the same, the islanders and Japanese were different in many ways. For one thing an islander tended to have darker skin. There was resentment among islanders toward the domination of the island by the Japanese and the American soldiers and sailors allowed by Tokyo to be there. Going to mainland Japan was often a stressful experience; the pace of life was far more frenzied than on the islands.
Fumiko hadn't intended to pursue her college studies outside of her homeland. But circumstances, which will be revealed later, gave her enough reasons to do so. She was sometimes very calm in Stillwater compared to in Okinawa. There had been endless pressure there to succeed and go to a leading university. She had also felt a great deal of pressure to conform to the expectaions of her family and peers in terms of who their daughter would socialize with. She had had friends who were pure islanders, and others who were direct from the mainland, but rarely would they mix, and Fumiko would find herself caught between two circles. Here in Stillwater the society was a lively mix of students gathered from across the US and the world, and she could attest to the fact that many of her dorm mates were from as far away as China or Ghana, but also from as close as Arizona or Tulsa. This diverse mix of peers gave her a great deal of anonymity, although it also isolated her to a degree.
Fumiko's head bobbed up as she saw a silver Dodge Ram pick-up enter the parking lot and draw closer to where she was standing. She also noticed that while she had been in her reverie two things had changed: the drizzle had become a downpour, and someone else had joined her out under the overhang, and it was the girl with the laptop. The girl was sliding back and forth on her toes listening to a song on her Droid. Her eyes briefly passe over Fumiko and she gave a warm smile while not pausing to break her step. Fumiko waved back shyly. But her chance to develop this encounter seemed over as the truck pulled up.
Inside at the driver's seat was Cleon, the son of Fumiko's host mother, Janice Blake, who was also riding shotgun. Janice's husband Troy was probably still slaving away at the bakery that he owned. Vernon Blake, Janice's middle-aged father, was sleeping in the back seat. Fate had contrived to place Fumiko into a family about as different from her's as possible. Janice and Vernon were both very outgoing and affectionate, whereas Troy and Cleon seemed totally absorbed in their boring bakery jobs. The Blakes and Hubbards were all black and had deep roots in Oklahoma, and they seemed barely fazed by anything that had to do with Japan. Their lives revolved around managing their business near the campus. Although Fumiko did not live with the Blakes, and her dorm was only a two minute walk from their own house, they often had her over for dinner or insisted she sleep in their guest bedroom.
"Hop on in, sweetness," chimed Janice cheerily to Fumiko. Janice's head then craned backward to glance at the girl waiting in the rain. "We got an extra seat if you're goin' in our direction."
The object of her question stopped bobbing up to the music. "I live on Cantwell," came the reply, a light and energetic voice.
"Perfect," and Fumiko now had to squeeze into the back with Vernon and her unexpected co-passenger.On the drive home Fumiko found herself swaying to the right in order not to disturb Vernon's sleep. "How's your studyin' goin' Phoebe?" asked Janice. She never called her by her real name.
"Very successful," replied Fumiko stiffly. "I feel very tired." She knew that her English didn't have the same flow as the people around her, but had no desire to fake their manner of speaking.
"What they call you, sweetness?" asked Janice. Fumiko was perplexed by the question and wrinkled her eyebrow, but then realized that her host mother was addressing the other girl. Most younger people were called sweety, sweetness, honey, or something of that sort by Janice.
"Sonya," answered the other passenger with a smile
"Well, Sonya, I dunno if you have something to do, but we got a block party at home if you wanna come. Phoebe, I ain't been home so I didn't get to tell you either, and the boys are practically clueless when it comes to letting people know important stuff. . ." she glanced at Cleon at the wheel who seemed to be oblivious to everything going on.
"I'll check it out, ma'am," answered Sonya.
The Ram was parked three doors down from their own house, because parking had begun to fill up. Fumiko and the others filed out. Fumiko walked in to the scene of barbecue pits burning and dozens of people chattering and eating food. To all appearances this "block party" seemed no different from the other parties she'd seen in Stillwater since first arriving at the Blake residence. Except for one instance when Cleon and his sister Teresa had thrown a "house party" which had the distinction of no parents present and copious amounts of liquor. Of the forty or so people present, most were like the Blakes, townsfolk many of whom were black. Fumiko enjoyed the food and the rain had by now died down, although a canopy had been erected to shelter the partiers just in case. Sonya had also taken food and walked over to the music set and asked the person in charge (not really a DJ) to put on a track by the Roots.
A few moments of boredom ensued, as Fumiko found it, as usual, very difficult to socialize here. Few of the people present were students at Oklahoma State. She was once again surprised when Sonya landed beside her on a lawn chair. "So your crashing with these folks?" Fumiko looked around trying to find what Sonya was talking about.
"I misunderstand your question."
"You stay with these people?" rephrased Sonya, with some effort to standardize her question.
"Yes. The Blakes are very nice people," she said, now with a bright smile.
"I see you pretty often at the library. You came here on a program?"
