Real World Read online

  I’d heard that the Bettina was the most radical, the one that turned away anyone who’s straight.

  I’d found it on the Internet and went to check out the place during summer vacation. I had a pretty good idea before I went what the bar would be like, but I just wanted to find out what sort of people went there. I guess I wanted to make sure I wasn’t the only one who was like me.

  The place was what I expected, a tiny, cheap bar that could seat barely ten people. The owner was a middle-aged woman who looked like a sushi chef—white shirt with the collar turned up, short neatly combed coarse hair with a sprinkling of gray. Most of the customers were disagreeable career hags on the lookout for young girls to snag. There were a couple of people like me who were curiously, nervously looking around. We all sported short haircuts, T-shirts, shorts, day packs, and sneakers—girls dressed just like your typical high school boy. They were junior and senior high school girls who had also found the bar on the Internet and had come to check it out during their summer break. The bar was well aware that summer vacation meant more junior and senior high school girls coming by, and they were nice enough to allow them to hang out till morning, like it was a onetime summer experience for them, for the price of a can of beer.

  I got to know two girls there. One, named Boku-chan, had come to Tokyo from Kochi and was planning to stay as long as she could. The other, named Dahmer, was from Saitama, where she was a top student in an elite high school. All of us went by our pseudonyms, so it took a while before I learned their real names and where they came from.

  Boku-chan was trying her best to become a guy. She was a dummy who thought that as long as she acted rough and squared her shoulders she’d look like a guy. Her dream was to make a living as a transvestite in the infamous Kabuki-cho district. She made it was obvious she was looking for a rich older woman. But really, age didn’t matter—she’d have taken an elderly woman, someone middle-aged, or even a young hooker. Boku-chan had the simple fixed idea that, since she liked women, she wanted to become a nice man; and that in order to become one, she needed to act manly. Which to her meant frowning as you held your cigarette between thumb and forefinger, putting your arm around a girl’s shoulder and lifting her chin with your finger, speaking in a deep, threatening voice, adopting all the poses and actions of hunky actors in movies. She was tall, had studied karate, and was muscular, so she had the mannerisms down, but somehow when she did it, it all came off as a joke. On top of that, she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. Dahmer and I talked once about how if she actually did become a transvestite she’d run out of topics to talk about and customers would find her boring.

  Boku-chan didn’t have any money, so she slept on the street or hung out at Dahmer’s, spending most nights during summer vacation in the 2-chome district before she went home to Tosa Yamada in Kochi. My dad wouldn’t allow her to stay in our house but that never seemed to bother her. Even now I get e-mails from her sometimes. Her e-mails are full of happy-go-lucky stuff like, I just bought a purple suit in the shopping district. They had only a double-breasted one so I bought that, but I think single-breasted looks better on me.

  Dahmer, on the other hand, was a more complicated character, like me. She took her nickname from the serial killer in America. She was interested in cruel murders and dead bodies—kind of a death obsession. Since my mother died in the fall of my last year in junior high, I hate that kind of thing. I told Dahmer how I felt once, that people who are afraid of death and are the farthest from it are the most obsessed by it. She just shrugged. I think Dahmer felt the same kind of alienation from me that Toshi did when I told her about helping Worm. That was the only time we talked about death, and I never mentioned my mom again. I’ve packed away the pain so deep inside me that I can’t even draw it out myself, and my body just continues to function like nothing had ever happened.

  Dahmer’s parents had gotten divorced and, like me, she was an only child. It was just her mom and her now, and her mom, she said, did all kinds of jobs and wasn’t home very much. That person—that’s how she referred to her mother. That person’s fairly good-looking, she’d say. That person’s a slacker. That person’s got her own life to live. There was something similar about my mother’s death and the way Dahmer referred to her mother. With both there’s a sense of distance from the reality we live in. Like they’re people who live in some far-off other country. No matter whether they’re dead or alive.

  Dahmer was in love with her female math teacher in high school. The woman was twenty-six, a graduate of a scientific university, a smart aleck who made fun of anyone who was less than a mathematical genius. Dahmer liked the woman’s arrogance. She was always saying she wanted to be better than that woman, so she wouldn’t be made fun of, otherwise she’d die. Once, when her grades fell below the class average, she got drunk and felt so humiliated she slashed her wrist with a knife. I saw it once, that thin scar on her arm. She was always lugging around a math textbook, but with Boku-chan hanging out at her place, she moaned and groaned about not being able to get much studying done. She loaned Boku-chan money, even let her borrow her T-shirts and shorts. If Boku-chan was too much for her, I figured she should just kick her out, but Dahmer was the type who couldn’t say no. An idiot like Boku-chan was too much for her, but Dahmer had a weak point: she was also impressed by someone this dumb, knowing she couldn’t act like that. Maybe this was the same sort of weakness that made her say that if people made fun of her, she’d die. I don’t know.

  I have my own weaknesses, and Dahmer and I share the same sense of despair, since we’d like to live a cool life but can’t as long as we’re burdened down with all these problems. I can’t let on to my dad that I’m a lesbian, I can’t seem to manage relations with people in high school, and I’m sure I’ll never be able to do so. These are burdens I’ll carry around the rest of my life. I get so scared thinking about the future it drives me crazy. Still, I just want my friends at school to think I’m a slightly mannish type of girl, nothing more, and I never, ever want the girls I’m friends with, Toshi, Kirarin, or Terauchi, to know that I’m a lesbian. Because of my issues, my life’s pretty complicated and I feel constrained, like I have to keep a tight lid on who I really am.

  I was happy to meet Dahmer, because I think she understood all that. I think she was the same way. On days when she didn’t e-mail, I felt really down. Like lovers, we tried to tell each other what was going on every day. At the end of last year, though, I suddenly couldn’t get in touch with her anymore. When I called her mother, she said, “That person’s gone off to study in Canada. I’m sure once she settles in she’ll e-mail you.” Her voice was strangely high-pitched and cheerful. I thought it was funny that they both referred to each other the same way, but there was something odd about her mother’s cheerfulness. I was wondering whether Dahmer had actually failed her math teacher by not getting her grades up and if she had died. I didn’t ask anything more. And that was the last I heard of her.

  The incident I keep mentioning took place at night, three days before the end of summer vacation. The same sort of muggy night as tonight.

  Boku-chan had announced she was going home to Kochi, so the three of us had a going-away party at Bettina. We had a few drinks but the party just didn’t get going. We hardly said a word and avoided looking at one another. “This looks more like a funeral than a going-away party,” the owner of the bar joked.

  Boku-chan wound up spending a total of twenty-five days basically wandering around Tokyo. She hated getting all smelly sleeping on the streets, so the last half of her stay she slept over at Dahmer’s, which made their relationship go from bad to worse. The reason being that Boku-chan was a slovenly “guy”—and she was also an impolite country hick. She’d sleep past noon, eat whatever she could find in Dahmer’s fridge, leave the room a mess, and borrow Dahmer’s clothes without asking. When she took a shower, she’d just leave it running forever and forget to put away the shampoo and soap. Dahmer typically did the cleaning and wash