Climbing Mt. Fuji

I slipped off my warm long sleeved t-shirt and tattered jeans. Goosebumps showered my arms and legs as I squeezed into a tight-fitting banana yellow dress. It's airy voluminous skirt fell inches above my knees. It didn't give any warmth to my now freezing body. The outfit's matching jacket went AWOL somewhere in the midst of a mountain of unpacked boxes inside my new storage unit. I wished I was there now or back in Omaha, anywhere but here in the "Sunshine State".

"Go to Florida to teach," I could still hear my Nebraskan friends encouraging me after my tough divorce.

Well, I made it to the state known for a place for "the newlywed or nearly dead" since honeymooners or senior citizens flood the community.

It is January and the heat is on in my apartment, the pool outside was about 40 degrees and the beaches are empty except for a few diehard pigeons forging for food. I was hired to teach after the Christmas holidays.

All went well until coworkers at my high school encouraged me to go out on a blind date. Trying to be agreeable in my new surroundings, I agreed!

Maybe I could call my new friend and say I'm too "frigid"! I stepped outside just in time for the sun to drop along with the temperatures going down another 10 degrees.

The Google Map on my iphone brought me to "Mount Fuji" Japanese Restaurant. The Asian red lanterns were lit up and casting a glow across the parking lot. As the sky darkened so did my mood.

Two massive blue ceramic pots with large bonsai plants stood like soldiers protecting the archway and front doors. A teen with a bleach blonde Tweetie Bird haircut motioned for me to drive towards him. Shaking my head "no", I swerved into a self-parking spot instead. His upper lip curled up and he gave me a look as if to say "cheap, cheap, cheap."

"Sorry kid, no valet help or tips allowed on my teacher's salary." I murmured to myself.

For the next ten minutes, I sat in my budget vehicle, freezing and attempting to get the nerve to go inside. Luxury car after luxury car drove up: a Lexus, a Mercedes-Benz, 2 fully-loaded SUVs. One by one, well-dressed couples stepped out. One petite middle-aged woman even wore an expensive pearly white satin geisha outfit with intricate multi-colored dragons embroidered over it.

"Where's the wedding?" I thought. What happened to my quiet evening at a quaint local restaurant? Suddenly, there was a knock on my car window. I cranked it down quickly to lower the glass.

"Maam, are you going inside? The same valet chirped at me and continued, "We need to use all of our spaces for our real customers!"

"I-I'm meeting someone inside."

He did an about face and started to talk to another valet, "Take the Lincoln further down there. And be careful not to scratch it," he tweeted out.

I got up and gazed down at my wrinkled skirt. The chilly night air filled my lungs as I skooted up to the entry way.

"Hey people," I self-talked in my brain, "At least my Toyota Corolla was made in Japan!"

Once inside, two oriental women greeted me with courteous smiles. Both looked under 20. An impressive piece of carved wood was the hostess station. An stack of menus lay periously piled up on the counter. White strings of lights were nailed across the room and other lights were twirled around fake palm trees huddled into the corners. A man-made hole in the left wall made a cove with a cobalt blue waterfall. Soft water sounds could be heard. The adjoining room was filled with a menagerie of guests who sat at red tableclothed tables with an added touch of a lit candle in a clear votive.

"May I seat you madam? Are there others in your party?"

"Yes. One more."

"Will he or she be arriving soon?"

"I guess so. I don't know what he looks like," I choked out.

Who was this guy? My "date setter-upper" said he would know me.

"Madam?" she politely said.

"I thought he would already be here. I have a reservation. Jennie Lind. His name is Ray. Ray (pause) Morita, I think it may be Spanish."

One of the hostesses flushed and whispered something in the other woman's ear. She then walked up to me, bowed, turned around and began to walk with a menu as if to say, "follow me". We went into a much darker corridor that led to a back room.

"Sit here please. You may order something now if you wish."

"Huh?" Very confused, I just sat wishing the place didn't have their a/c on.

A much older Asian man sat alone in the poorly lit room right next to me. I could see his profile of thinning black hair with white temples. He had a nice tan but too darn old to be my date! I giggled to myself as I rudely studied him. He wore a very formal suit and faced forward with his arms stretched out on the table. There was a tiredness about him.

A plump waitress came into the room and pushed her body between two other chairs scraping the legs of one on the hardwood floor. The elderly gentleman never looked up. She gave me a disgruntled stare and appeared rushed as she tapped her pencil against her order pad.

"Do you want sake or something to drink?"

"Sake?"

"Rice wine. Good choice. We have the house brand or more expensive ones," she said with the warmth of a cold empty serving tray. As she waited for my answer, the woman groomed her upswept hair that was tightly spun into a black bun.

My male neighbor again never glanced in my direction but kept shaking his head in a frantic fashion, "No!"

"A glass of Merlot, please." I said quickly so as not to give the nearby gent a heart attack.

The red wine smoothed out the wrinkles of my mood. I began to enjoy the Japanese music that was piped into the dark den. Who cares if my date ever shows up. Well, I did. Someone had to pay for my meal.

I glanced at my watch wondering if my "invisible" escort would ever appear. I started talking to the only other customer in the room for at least a half hour when my stomach began to growl making convincing arguments to order something soon. I had been stood up and needed to accept it.

"I guess I better get something to eat."

A bowl of hot soup and a plate of rice with steaming vegetables just arrived for him.

"Have you ever eaten Japanese cuisine?" the male next to me said with a rich masculine baritone voice.

"Only what barbeque meat my mother cooked on our outdoor hibachi. The closest I saw real Japanese food was watching Mr. Miyagi eat on The Karate Kid years ago."

In a foreign language, probably Japanese, he called out and our waitress returned to stare at me impatiently.

"I'll just have what he's having," I blurted out.

"Eel soup with rice and vegetables. Very good."

"No, no. Do you have any Moo Goo Gai Pan or Sweet and Sour Chicken?"

"That is Chinese food, maam. This is a Japanese Steakhouse."

The man chuckled while still staring away. He began to slurp his soup while mildly shaking his head as if to say, "now she went and did it."

The unfriendly server stood and huffed while her chest went up and down.

"May I help?" he said still not facing me directly but I could see half a grin spread across his withered face.

"Yes, just nothing exotic please."

The man spoke in his native tongue and she exited the room.

"Thank you."

Still staring down at his own plate of food, he said, "She shouldn't take long. It is on me."

"Oh no. You don't need to do that."

"I insist. By the way, may I ask what kind of perfume are you wearing?"

"Oh. I put it on hours ago, early this morning. I am surprised you can even still smell it. It is called "Memoire Cherie." My mom used to wear it when I was a little girl and after she passed, I started wearing it."

"Well, it is very nice. I have always been told I have a keen sense of smell."

"Where are you from?"

"I was born in a place called Manzanar," he spoke in a deep voice but it quavered slightly with a shallowness.

"Is that somewhere in Japan?"

"No, it's in California."

My food arrived and I devoured the chunks of cooked chicken over rice and vegetables on a large green plate as he told of his life in America. As he talked, he never looked in my direction which still was so odd but I just went with it.

Many restaurant workers came in, whispered something to him, he replied and then he continued his tale. He was born in a Japanese internment camp in North California. His crib was a cardboard box. His Japanese-American family along with many others like them were taken at the beginning of World War II to be imprisoned after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Manzanar was nothing but a deserted fruit orchard with lots of sand.

"After the war, it became an empty ghost town in the remote area. Only an historical marker tells of the people who once were held there."

My disappearing waitress reappeared in our room, "More Merlot, maam?"

"Yes," I whispered then turned away towards my storyteller listening even more than before. The wine took away the chill but this aged man was captivating. Who was he?

"How could that happen? How did you live there?"

"I really don't remember as much as my parents and older siblings tell me. The biggest complaint was the sand that penetrated through the slated walls and floors. And the lack of privacy. Family units were destroyed. Men lived in different quarters than the women and the bathrooms were made with five toilets in a row," he sighed and became quiet in his own thoughts.

I began to twirl my phantom nonexistent wedding ring around my finger where a white untanned spot revealed the area where it once was worn. Time had passed and the place was probably closing soon.

"What did you and your family go after the war?"

"No one wanted to hire my mom or dad. We had lost our property and belongings to the government. With the help of distant relatives, we returned to Japan but my parents divorced. Life was like "climbing Mt. Fuji" so I swore to myself that if I ever had the means, I would go to college and name my own restaurant."

"Mt. Fuji!" we said in unison.

"You own this place don't you?"

"Yes. I actually now own five. Two in Japan, one in the caribbean and two in America. By the way, thank you for "our date".

"Our date?"

"Yes," he said as he stood up and moved his hand awkwardly around the wall until he felt a cane leaning against the wall. Finally, he turned full face to me but his eyes were slightly askewed not making complete contact with mine.

"Please forgive the ruse. My nephew, Rei, was never coming. I wanted to get to know you."

"Check me out you mean!"

"Well...yes."

"Did I pass?"

"Yes, even though it was shaky in the beginning when you ordered Moo Goo Gai Pan. That almost nixed the deal," he smiled warmly, "By the way, my nephew...the one who stood you up tonight...you met him already. He was the principal who hired you. Rei Morita anglicized his name to Ray Moore. He is a widower hoping to date you. As his doting uncle, I didn't want this "trust fund baby" to not be careful. The Morita family has gained much wealth over the last few decades from the food industry to the Sony company." He then called out something in Japanese again and a young waiter came to him to wait until he was ready to be guided out.

"It was very nice meeting and talking to you tonight, Jennie. It will be a cherished memory...or should I say "Memoire Cherie"?"

"Ha Ha. And will my real mystery date reveal his true name?"

"Just call me, Mr. Miyagi," laughed out loud and waved goodbye as the guide helped him.

As I left outside to find my car, the even darker sky and colder air hit me. Somehow it didn't bother me anymore. Tweety-bird glanced my way but seemed even nicer as he stood by the entrance.

Blind date indeed.