Meet a 100 percent girl

One fine April morning, I passed a 100 percent girl in the back streets of Harajuku.

To put it bluntly, the girl was not very pretty, not attractive, not very well dressed, the hair at the back of the head clinging to the traces of sleep. I'm not old either -- I should be nearly thirty. Strictly speaking, I'm afraid it's hard to call it a girl. However, from 50 meters away, I can see at a glance: to me, she is 100 percent a girl. From the moment I saw her, my chest trembled like a sound, and my mouth rustled like dry desert.

Maybe you have your ideal girl, too. For example, the girl who likes small feet and neck, after all, the girl with big eyes, the girl with absolutely beautiful fingers, or the girl who is inexplicably obsessed with taking time to eat. I have my favorites, of course. In a restaurant, I once looked at the nose of a girl at the next table in a daze. But when it comes to defining the 100 percent girl image, no one can do it. I have no idea what kind of nose she has. I can't even remember if she had a nose, and all I can remember now is that she wasn't very pretty. Things are really weird.

"I passed a 100 percent girl on the road yesterday." I said to one man.

"Well," he replied, "are they beautiful?"

"No, not that."

"Is it your type, then?"

"No. I forgot all about my eyes, and how big or small my breasts were."

'What a mystery!

"It's inexplicable."

"So," he said, looking uninterested, "what did you do? Did you talk to him? Or did you follow him?"

"Nothing has been done." I said, "Just passing by."

She went from east to west, I went from west to east, on a crisp April morning.

I want to talk to her, even for 30 minutes. I wanted to know about her, and I wanted to tell you all about myself. But more importantly, to understand the circumstances that led to our passing in the back streets of Harajuku on a sunny April morning in 1981. It must be filled with the sweet secrets of an old machine from the time of peace.

With that said, we can grab lunch somewhere and see Woody. Ellen's movie and stop by the hotel bar for cocktails. Well done. Maybe you can sleep with her. The possibility is striking at my heart. The distance between me and her is close to 15 feet. The question is, how do I actually talk to her?

"Hello! Can you talk to me for a minute? Even 30 minutes." It's so silly, it's like trying to persuade someone to take out insurance. "Excuse me, is there a 24-hour laundry in this area?" It's just as silly. And I didn't even bring a laundry bag! Who can believe my word? Maybe it's better to get straight to the point. "Hello! You are a hundred percent girl to me!"

No, I can't. I'm afraid she won't believe me. Even if he believed me, he would not say anything to me. She might say something like: Even though I'm 100% girl to you, you're not 100% man to me. Sorry! And it's very possible. If I were in such a situation, I would be at a loss. The blow might have knocked me out of it. I'm 32 years old, and that's what getting old is all about.

I passed her in front of the flower shop, the warm little lump of air touching my skin. There was water on the tarmac and the scent of roses all around. I couldn't even say hello to her. She wore a white sweater and in her right hand held a square envelope that had not yet been stamped. She wrote a letter to someone. I was so sleepy that I could have written all night. That square envelope could have contained all her secrets. A few steps back, her figure had disappeared into the crowd.

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Today, of course, I know exactly how to address her. But at any rate, it was too long for me to express well -- that is, what I thought was not always practical enough. In short, the passage begins with "once upon a time" and ends with "Don't you think it's a sad story?"

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Once upon a time, there was a young man and a young girl. The boys were eighteen and the girls sixteen. The boys are not handsome, the girls are not beautiful, but the lonely, ordinary boys and girls everywhere. But they always believed that somewhere out there was a girl and a boy who was 100 percent right for them. Yes, they believed in miracles, and they did.

One day two people ran into each other on the street.

"What a coincidence! I've been looking for you. You may not believe it, but you are a 100% boy to me. It's exactly how I imagined it from head to heel. It's like a dream. 'They sat on a park bench, holding hands, and never tired of talking. They were no longer alone. One hundred percent need each other, one hundred percent have been needed by each other. What a wonderful thing it is to need each other one hundred percent and be needed by each other one hundred percent! This is a cosmic wonder!

But a small, really small doubt crossed their minds: was it a good thing that dreams came true so easily?

When the conversation suddenly broke down, the young man said, "I say, try again! If we two really a hundred percent lovers, certainly will meet somewhere one day. Next time you see each other, if you still feel 100%, get married there right away, okay? "All right." "Answered the girl.

So they parted and went their separate ways.

But to be honest, there is no need to try. Why? Because they were 100% lovers, because it was a miracle meeting. But they were too young to know much. Then cruel fate began to play tricks on both men.

One winter, both came down with the vicious flu that had been raging that year. After weeks of hovering close to death, the memory of the past was gone. It was a strange thing. When they opened their eyes and woke up, their heads felt like D. H Lawrence's boyhood coin box was empty.

But after all, the young man and woman are intelligent and open-minded and very perseverance, through unremitting efforts, finally acquired new knowledge and new feelings, competent and happy to return to social life. Oh, my God! These two are impeccable! They were able to change subways and send express mail at the post office. And experienced 75 percent and 85 percent of their relationships, respectively.

The boy was thirty-two and the girl thirty-one. Time passes with astonishing speed.

One fine April morning, a young man was walking along Harajuku Back Street from west to east to drink a discounted morning coffee, while a young woman was walking along the same street from east to west to buy express mail stamps. The faint light of lost memory illuminates two hearts in a flash.

Their chests throbbed, and they knew: She was 100% girl to me. He is a 100% boy to me. However, the candlelight of their memory is too weak, and their words are not as clear as fourteen years ago. Without saying a word, he passed by and disappeared into the crowd for ever and ever.

Don't you think it's a sentimental story?

Yes, I should have talked to her like that.