Black Passenger Yellow Cabs: Of Exile and Excess in Japan by Stefhen F.D. Bryan & Suzette Burton & Shuji Goshomura & Sean Colquhoun

Author:Stefhen F.D. Bryan & Suzette Burton & Shuji Goshomura & Sean Colquhoun [Bryan, Stefhen F.D.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Kimama Press
Published: 2008-08-28T16:00:00+00:00

AKIYO

Stepping off the Hankyu train one day in the late spring of 2003, I observed a pair of inviting cakes clad in tight black pants. Quickening my pace I moved in to evaluate her face, which in retrospect was a waste of time as I had already decided that, even with the face of a bull terrier, with such a round and protruding posterior, I wanted her on my futon. Akiyo’s acne scarred, 33-year-old face showed signs of extensive trauma and her missing upper right bicuspid told me she wasn’t exactly wealthy. With a body like hers; thick, curvaceous with big legs extending beneath a round rump, had she not been a lover of chocolate, she without question would have been a prime candidate. Her English was near native, having returned from four years in Canada, where she had endured years of torturous matrimony to a physically abusive coked out Jamaican. Nonetheless, her face was a little above average and in fact in the West, she would have been well sought after.

“So where are you from?”

“Jamaica”

“Oh GOD!” Rolling her eyes in disgulief ( disgust and disbelief).

“But you don’t sound Jamaican. I used to be married to a Jamaican.”

“I left when I was a kid, lived in America and England,” I amended, sensing a traumatic experience with one of my countrymen, given our penchant for causing pain.

“He was pretty bad, huh?

“Jesus! I can’t even begin to tell you. He was drama 24/7.”

“Yep, that’s us. Not me though, I left that kinda drama a long time ago. But yo, Jamaicans aren’t the only ones who are crazy. I got a crazy Japanese girlfriend.”

Akiyo was one of those seeking to escape the oppression of her family and the choking restriction of Japanese society, by marrying a Jamaican who was on a professional basketball team in Japan. But escaping the frying pan, she landed head first into an inferno of daily whoop ass, baby mama drama and drug addiction, after which she escaped, found the Lord and returned to the frying pan. Now at 33 and back in the pot on the stove, she was saddled with a curfew, working for her father’s container repair company and in her words, “worshipping the lord.”

“Yes, trauma always takes people to the Lord, but I can give you what the Lord can’t,” thinking to myself. During the short walk from the station, we exchanged numbers and in two weeks she was at my apartment where we engaged in stimulating, sometimes heated conversation about everything, from the similarities of Japanese and Jamaican society to her inviting me to church. But all the while, I was just imagining her against the wall naked. Once during our conversation, I began to stare at her with laser eyes burning off her clothes.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

“I’m imagining what you look like out of those jeans,” gently pulling her next to me and touching her lips to mine.

“You got a gir…” And before she could get the rest of the word out, our tongues were locked and I was hastily undoing her pants.

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