Wayside - 1920s Japan Dramedy

Hoo, hoohoo, hoo.

“Will you shut up!?” Yuko’s slinking frame moaned from her messy bed.

For the first time in her life, Yuko missed the legion of frogs that had their koi pond home underneath her bedroom window back in Osaka. After nearly losing her mind from three straight hours of the mourning dove’s serenade from his lamppost, Yuko hadn’t enjoyed a wink of sleep since Alfred dropped her off at her relative’s house. They had arrived at half past ten in the evening, and Yuko would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that Alfred’s rather cool goodbye disappointed her. To add salt to the wound, Yuko was welcomed back with a slap on the cheek from her aunt, drunk with worry.

“No man will ever want a night walker!” The words were replayed in her head like a broken record the rest of the sleepless night, and Yuko was ashamed of herself for wanting nothing more than to return to Alfred’s side - snuggled up together, Alfred’s hand wrapped around her shoulder as he told her everything would be okay.

Now Yuko laid in her bed, hands squishing her rosy cheeks together in embarrassment as sleep finally floated across her eyes.

She dreamed of her father, young and healthy with his eyeglasses always sliding off the tip of his nose. He remembered how old she was, her birthday, all of the little things that were worth more than gold to her now. There was no sickness of the mind, slow in its attack but determined to prevail. It crept its way into his lectures at the university. After one too many mixups on student report cards and an hour-long overdue presentation, the board of directors hadn’t much of a choice - Yuko understood that Mister Moore’s job offer was for the sake of the students, but what about her? She was a young lady with parties to attend, dresses to order and men to impress. How could she fulfill her duties as a daughter without her father’s support?

She dreamed of her past love. As the years passed and Yuko matured in body and spirit, her bitterness for her father’s condition left her in favor of romantic musings. Despite her lack of new shoes and the season’s newest dress, she had caught the attention of Hiro, an accountant’s son soon to follow in his father’s rigid, uniform footsteps.

Despite Hiro’s ragtag team of childhood friends still clinging to his coattails for support, Professor Hasegawa, with as clear a head as the gods would grant him, gave this upright young man permission to court his daughter. Yuko was convinced she had found love, every brush of Hiro’s hand and glint from his glasses enchanting her away into a faroff sanctuary her problems would never find. And in her current dreams, her sanctuary returned to claim her. Hiro adored her, her father was in good health with a wedding to look forward to, and for a few hours until breakfast, Alfred was forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I gotta get a dog or a bird or something.” Alfred rubbed his head, slamming the door to his apartment.

His empty, dark apartment for one.

He was convinced that until the day he died he would be kicking himself for pushing Yuko away. Her tiny mouth sinking to a frown was the final glimpse he had of her face before the door shut behind her.

Was she expecting to keep in touch? Alfred continued his musings well after his shower and nightly smoke, replaying their walk over and over while tossing and turning in a bed too big for one person. Since when had any woman bothered to prod him for anything more than money or sex, or both?

Your niece is alone? What are you going to do?

Out of dozens, Yuko was the first woman Alfred met since he moved to show any concern for him beyond a night of emotional and sexual vanity - and Alfred had no means of pursuing her for something more. Even if he had offered to keep in touch, what chance did he have?

The best he reeled in were types like Mariano’s Angelina back at the bar - Yuko would probably have a stroke simply stepping foot into such a place.

Her questions probably seemed innocent enough to her, and Alfred hoped Yuko would be able to remain blissfully ignorant to the working class for her own sanity.

Alfred wouldn’t wish these troubles on his worst enemy.

Turning over onto his shoulder, he closed his eyes and wished Yuko the best - an easy life with a man with enough to care for her.

His doze before work was inundated with dreams of Lucy, still grinding her way through some pitiful excuse for a life while her uncle in a faroff city quietly suffered with worry. Did she have enough to eat? Had she kept true to her word and held out on Mister Strike? The thought of that slimy snake laying a hand on her was enough to make Alfred vomit.

He dreamed of his brother, always the one of reason, always the golden child. He dreamed of the time his father whipped him with a belt for forgetting to lock away the crops after a deer ate the best bushels. His brother had done the same thing once before, and unlike Alfred, got away with a shake of the head and nothing more.

He dreamed of his life beyond gritty construction sites, of a woman and maybe even a child in a home to call their own. The woman sat on a sofa in a funny looking room with sliding doors and a squishy floor. Her bobbed head of black hair gazed out a window, and Alfred in his dream hoped this woman was Yuko. Another woman entered the room, half of her pale, sunken face hidden under a wavy mess of tawny hair. Before he could reach out to Lucy and touch her to check if she was real, Alfred awoke to face another day.