Kondo-san

I stare at the calendar under the big sign that says Ibaraki Driving School. Three more days until Saturday.

I have to sit in the cramped room under fluorescent lights with 20 other students every day during summer vacation. Our shirts stick to our backs from the Osaka heat. The teachers prop the three big windows open every morning but the room gets hotter because of the traffic that zooms by outside.

The classes run from ten in the morning to 12 in the afternoon. I’m sitting by myself again. I never talk. Most of us are eighteen, fresh high school grads, all eager to finish the classes so that we can finally get around without having to take the public transit all the time.

“Sumimasen, keikou pen karitemo iidesuka?”

I pull a highlighter out of my pencil case and twist around in my seat to pass it to Kondo–san.

“Dozo.”

Kondo–san’s face breaks into a wide smile, and he holds out a wrinkled fist, thumb pointed to the ceiling, “Sankyuu!”

Kondo–san hands my highlighter back to me and pulls his pen out of the breast pocket where he keeps about five of them. His shirt is always check patterned, and tucked into khaki pants.

We sit in the same lecture, and he always asks to borrow my highlighter. The way he asks for it is always the same: a polite tap on my left shoulder, I turn around, and Kondo–san gives me a toothy grin and asks how I’m doing before he asks for my highlighter.

Besides never having a highlighter, Kondo–san raises his hand every lecture to ask for clarification or for the instructor to repeat something. Whenever he puts his hand up, the people around him sigh and grunt but he doesn’t care.

After I lent him my highlighter a few times, Kondo–san finally introduced himself. One day, I sat alone in the common room on the second floor of the lecture building to eat lunch. Kondo–san eased himself into the chair next to me.

“Are you a student?” He asked.

I nibbled at my sandwich, “Not exactly…I just graduated from high school this part March, and I’m going to the University of Toronto this fall.”

“Toronto? Isn’t that in Canada? You must be a smart girl then! I’ve always wanted to go to Canada…In fact, my wife and I are going to the Canadian Rockies next week.”

His face lit up and he gave me a toothy grin as he leaned forward in his seat.

I nodded and smiled, “The Rockies? I went there last summer. It’s a great place — definitely go to the Columbia Icefield. It’s amazing.”

Kondo–san leaned back in his seat and adjusted the worn out blue baseball cap that he always wore to class. “That’s great! Now I have a personal consultant at no charge!”

Kondo–san and I saw each other more in lectures and driving lessons. He waved when our cars passed each other, and gave me tips on how to please certain instructors. When we both failed our driving tests, Kondo–san encouraged me to keep trying.

“Life is long, Shishikura–san. Don’t sweat about such a small test,” he pointed his thumb to his chest, “you can get by life even without your driver’s license! I’ve done it for 78 years now!”

We took our retakes at the same time and we both passed. He waited until I finished my test and held his hand up for a high five when I got out of the car.

We walked back to the test centre to submit our results.

Kondo–san smiled, “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

I flashed him a thumbs up, “We sure are, Kondo–san.”

“Well, I’m off to the Rockies tomorrow so I’m not going to see you for a while. But have fun at school, and I hope I see you before you graduate!”

He walked through the door and bowed at one of the instructors as he passed them in the hallway.

It’s graduation day from driving school, July 28th. I see Kondo–san in the doorway to my classroom. He walks with a big grin on his face.

“Hello Shishikura–san! How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine, Kondo–san. Look, I’m graduating today!” I hold my certificate up for him to see. He pushes his eyeglasses up to his nose bridge.

“That’s wonderful, congratulations! Before I forget, I got you something,” he says.

He digs through his pocket, and hands me a silver keychain with Columbia Icefield engraved on it.

“You remembered? Kondo–san,thank you so much,” I say and bow.

“You’re most welcome. I told you, we’re a team.”

He smiles again, “Now you go graduate, and I’m going to go finish this damn thing.”

He points at the entrance of Ibaraki.

Kondo–san shakes my hand, bows and ambles through the hallway. He adjusts the new blue hat that covers his grey hair. Under an outline of mountains at the front of his hat I can make out, The Rockies.

Excerpt from So, Do You Eat Sushi Every Day? published by Life Rattle Press.

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