Navy Pier
A tiny attic sheltered me as I lay bedridden with grippe — 3 days after a big family Christmas party. I was staying at my late grandmother’s house that is venerated by the family as a sort of “ancestral home” since it was bestowed to her decades ago, when she sought out the American Dream, by a wealthy Jewish client. Legend has it that the property also had some sort of connection with the mob. It was north of Chicago and contained 2 floors and a basement; quite spacious. Though, this garret that I resided in only contained cardboard boxes and dust bunnies. The attic was meant for storage but a makeshift bed was prepared for my visit. It’s been 10+ years since I last visited this home of mine.
Outside it was freezing cold and the heater wasn’t doing much to keep me comfortable. A cold sweat befell upon me. I kept drawing parallels during my recovery to that of St. Ignatius, the patron saint of my old high school, as he recuperated for months in bed after a cannonball struck his leg after the battle of Pamplona. Though instead of reading scripture, I turned to music.
At the time, my friend recommended me My Dead Girlfriend, a Japanese shoegaze band. For no particular reason, I kept “sweet days and her last kiss” on repeat. The somber instruments and the vocals ringing out “Hachioji” etched onto my brain. Even now, whenever I come across this song, my mind always goes back to that melancholic winter; holding out during recovery. It was freezing outside and the album art gave a cold gaze. Though despite all, I could only feel the burning sensation at 38C.
It was visually cold, yet I was burning up
I missed out to bond with my extended family. All my cousins went to Round One for karaoke. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and saw their messages and missed call notifications. One of them offered to take me around in their car that was in Initial D (not too familiar but I believe it’s the AE86) and was featured in a car enthusiast magazine. Thinking about these now, did Chicago become Japan?
Eventually, on the day of my flight back to Japan, my cousin that also lived in that house had a spontaneously collapsed. I forgot the details but I believe it was some kind of organ failed. Despite my hazed state, I remember paramedics coming in to wheel him out. After the EMTs left, I headed straight to the airport.
The plane ride was terrible; holding on for 10 hours with a fever. I somehow slugged back to my old apartment in Saitama, taking an additional 3 hours. After climbing four flights of stairs with a giant suitcase, no thanks to Unilife for keeping it at this level to finesse building code and avoid installing an elevator, I then fell onto my bed. At least Toda would never get as cold as Chicago. My fever persisted for a couple of more days. And as each day passed during the torment, My Dead Girlfriend rung in my ears.