Part 9: Wednesday Morning

38. Elizabeth

Although I had awakened at my usual time this morning, I expected little else today to proceed as usual.

This Program is supposed to aid us in accepting and embracing our sexuality. So far, it had only placed me at the edge of Charybdis, daring me to escape drowning in my emotions. Or, worse, it had placed Charybdis within me, with the suction leading to a virtual implosion. Would Hammondston be ready to accept and embrace my sexuality? I know that small sundown towns, even those who make exceptions for one or two families, have been reluctant to embrace differences from the norm. Urban performing arts schools would be more accepting.

Fortunately, I know someone who attends just such a school.

What would the worst case scenario be? Madoka’s the sister I never had. Yes, I have Vicky, but we have little in common except the accidents of heredity and a common mailing address. With Madoka, I can discuss some of my interests, such as literature and current events. If something were to go wrong with this friendship, any collateral damage would be limited to the city of Osaka. While we may know something about each other’s classmates, we don’t actually know them. (Here, I wish Anglophones would have something similar to the savoir/connaître or the shitte iru/shiriai de aru distinction.) As she has no way of sending messages to students at my school, the news would not enter the local gossip chain before I would be ready to disclose it.

More likely, she could regard it as a passing stage. In Japan, regarding a young teenager’s same-sex crush as a harmless preparation for adulthood’s responsibilities of marriage and family is fairly common. This would not be dissimilar from the view of early nineteenth-century Anglo culture. In some ways, my local culture might be less welcoming of my thoughts today than it would have been two centuries ago.

I needed a distraction to stop me from intensifying this Charybdis. Since the Gigue that ends the Third Suite always provides me with energy, I chose to play the entire suite to pass the time. Afterwards, I prepared the computer for my weekly six a.m. chat.

I introduced myself with, “Konbanwa,” meaning “Good evening.”

Madoka replied “Good Morning.”

When we begin our conversations, I speak Japanese, and she speaks English. Sometimes, but not always, at least one of us may change the language we use. I’ll just provide the translated versions of Japanese here.

I asked her, “How was the previous week?”

Madoka answered, “Pleasant, as usual. And yourself?”

“I have been relying on Bach’s Cello Suites more than usual.”

“Do you want to discuss your problems?”

“My school has instituted a new program. Each week, the administrators select eight students, who are required to attend school naked, and participate in all school functions without any clothing. I was one of the eight chosen.”

“I would find that terrifying. That would explain your reliance on Bach.”

“This program is terrifying. As they have removed one of my methods for coping, I have turned to others.”

“Did the school provide any reasons for starting the program?”

“This is a state initiative. My school is merely the first in the area to implement it. The official claim is that nudity would help students accept their bodies and their sexualities. This has not always been the case in practice.”

Madoka grimaced. “That would be an excessive method. There must be simpler ways to achieve the goal.”

“I agree. This Program is comparable to throwing people into deep water in order to teach them to swim. If people swim, they can claim the method is successful. However, there is too much risk of drowning. I would prefer to begin lessons at the shallow end”

“I would hope that lifeguards are provided.”

“The administration prefers the buddy system instead. The Program pairs each naked student with another naked student for support. In my case, I am paired with Sam.”

“Is he helpful?”

“She – kanojo.” This “she” was in Engish. “Sam is a girl in twelfth grade, and I have several classes with her.”

“Is she helpful, then?”

“She has been comforting and protective. She tried to use a technicality to restore my clothing, and later introduced me to some new foods. I have discovered that we have a common interest in Sufism and ballet – she is a dancer. However, there have been certain complications.”

“The thought of being naked during your recital on Saturday must be scary.”

“It is. My sister will be in the audience.”

“Will Vicky gather more ammunition to use against you?”

“I hope that she will be looking at our second violinist instead. As another program student, he will have to perform in the nude, also.”

Madoka nodded. “I would expect her to look at Ron.”

“There are other matters. I am attracted to my ... partner in the Program.”

“Sam?”

I nodded, blushing.

“Our little girl is growing up. Elizabeth, there are times that I need practice listening to English.”

I recognized the code. I accepted her invitation to express my emotions, unfettered by the limitations of a second language. “There’s the sexuality rationale behind the program. I don’t think the principal is pleased at having to introduce the it here, but the school board voted for it, so he implements it.”

Madoka suggested, “He sounds like a typical salaryman.”

“More or less. Also, I’m afraid the school isn’t ready for my sexuality. I’m a lesbian, but my town’s traditional.”

“Hmmmm.” She paused. “If the boys your age are traditional, then the will not date a girl as smart as you are. Being a lesbian might have increased your chances of dating.”

I had to laugh. “So you don’t have a problem with this?”

“No.”

“You do realize there are no other lesbians – or bisexual girls – in my school ... that I know of.”

“I still believe your chances have increased.”

“Madoka, there are times I need to work on understanding spoken Japanese.”

“Of course.” Now each of us were talking in our native languages. “Try to relax,” she suggested. “They aren’t making you have sex, are they?”

“No. It’s a relief. I don’t even have to be touched by other students. At least I have some control over that.”

“That helps, I suppose. You said this nudity was for the week. Is it over next week?”

“I get to wear clothes next week, but eight other unfortunate students will have to strip.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about the nudity right now.”

“What about your coming out?”

“I don’t know. It’s nice that you support me.”

“I’ll be here for you. If you want to contact Kohei, he should be able to help. He’s gay, too.”

I didn’t know that. Kohei, who also has a solo performance next month, will accompany Madoka on the piano at a year-end concert. Their program includes Beethoven’s D Major sonata, Glazunov’s Elegy, and...

“I’ll keep that in mind. Speaking of which, how are your rehearsals of [Kaija Saariaho’s] Im Traume going?”

She growled. “Frustrating. We can’t adjust the tempo as we can for other works. We have to work around the electronic portion of the work, and that part is unchangeable. While Kohei has experience in performing with tape, I don’t. So far, my performance has been too mechanical.”

“Can we experiment with our cellos?”

“Yes, thank you”

This is why Vicky puts earplugs in before falling asleep on Tuesday nights. Madoka and I often discuss music, which often leads to playing our cellos. While Vicky enjoys the latest popular music, she says recent art music as even worse than “the really old stuff.” Recent is relative; she once called Webern “too modern,” even though he died in 1945.

Talking with Madoka about Im Traume and Mozart’s Fifteenth Quartet put me at ease. I also apologized for not asking about her week.

“It’s nothing,” she assured me. “You needed my support this week.”

“Thank you. I just wish we could be physically together now.” I hastily added, “Not in a romantic way, of course.”

“Don’t worry. I still have the Glière duos for when we do meet.” Then we said our goodbyes.

There’s a good reason why we don’t play those duets during our chats: distance. If I were to send a signal to her online, and she would reply as soon as she received it, there would be a delay of at least one-tenth of a second between sending the initial signal and receiving her reply. Even at the speed of light, there’s a delay of one-fifteenth of a second. It is literally impossible for both of us to be in time with the other when performing together online.

We finished our conversation just in time for me to hear someone pounding at a door.

“Vicky! Wake up!”

She can’t hear her alarm clock when she has her earplugs in. This morning, my mother had to unlock Vicky’s door and shake her awake.

“Gah?” groaned Vicky.

Mom told her she needed to get up for school, which, of course Vicky was unable to hear. So I went to her room and turned on her light. That induced her to get out of bed.

“Out of my room!“

I needed earplugs for that.

I went downstairs to prepare some cream of wheat with diced apples. Then the telephone rang.

Dad answered. “Uh-huh ... I see ... now?”

“Emergency,” he told me, as he stuffed toast into his mouth. “Po-ice sta-on toilet ohorplow. Gotta go now.” Of course. He dashed out the door.

With the time it usually takes Vicky to prepare her face, she wouldn’t come down for a while. Today, at least, I would be able to eat breakfast in peace.