a bittersweet exchange

I have now moved for the sixth time in the past 6 years. And while there are so many reasons why I am much happier in my new house verses my apartment from last year, I must expound here on a deep loss resulting from said move: Saki.

Now, Saki is not his real name. I don't actually know what his real name is. But my little Japanese friend brought me so much joy. And we've never even met. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Upon moving into my new apartment last year, it was a few short months before the first Saki sighting. I had come home late from an RUF event and had stayed in my car to finish a phone conversation (as my roommate was asleep). It was probably around 11pm. As I was sitting in my car, a little Japanese man ran by. ...At 11pm, this is what I would term "unusual." As I continued the conversation, he ran by at least 3 more times. (At which point I realized he was running for exercise, which made it slightly more legitimate, I suppose.)

A few weeks later, it happened again.

As the months progressed and the weather turned colder, I began to sleep with my window open. (I like to sleep REALLY cold. In college, before we had to pay for our own utilities, my roommate and I would leave the room temperature on 65 sometimes.) By leaving my window open, I would also leave the blinds up, so as not to block the cold air from being drawn into my room. (This exposition on my window and sleeping habits has a point, I promise.)

That point is this: As I sleep very poorly, I often wake up around 1, 2, or 3 am. And upon waking up, I would naturally look out the window. (I mean, honestly...don't you?) And at least once a week, I would see the little Japanese man running around the apartment complex.

As this became more of a pattern, I started wondering about who he was. I started making up stories about him. I speculated about why he was up at such ungodly hours, and running of all things! I eventually named him. He became Saki. A few times I even tried to wave at him while he was running, but sadly he never looked up to the second story of my building and noticed. (Yes. I am that much of a creeper.) And so I made a vow, that one night I would go join him in his laps around the apartment complex and meet him. I would find out who he was, whether or not he had a family, what his job was, why he ran at such late hours, why he ran at all. I envisioned this endearing conversation, not unlike the movies, where we became good friends. He introduced me to his beautiful wife and adorable Japanese children; his wife taught me how to cook authentic Japanese food, I taught his children how to play piano, I became part of the family.

...

That obviously never happened. When I left for my summer in South Carolina, I never saw him again. I don't know if he moved. I don't know if he died. I don't know if he still lived there but gave up running. Maybe he's paralyzed. Maybe he got a treadmill. ...I'll never know. And this breaks my heart a little.

So Saki...should you ever read this...

have your wife send me a good recipe for teriyaki chicken? Hey thanks!

___

I titled this post "a bittersweet exchange," because the loss of Saki is somewhat alleviated by the gain of another character that I simply know will play a similar role in my life: Taz.

Taz is

... now sitting on my bed. It's like he KNEW I was writing about him. Seriously. I started typing that sentence, and he meowed, so I opened my door and in he came. (Ahem. I should probably mention that Taz is my roommate's cat.)

Taz definitely lives up to his name. He's crazy. He keeps rolling off my bed by accident. He attacks the cracks in my couch. He avoided me like the plague the day I moved in, but then that night he fell in love with my room and cried outside my door for a good 5 minutes (I kid you not) when I put him out to go to bed. We've already had to have several conversations about what are and are not toys in my room: Things that are not toys include my bedspread, my computer chord, my phone charger chord, and my window shade. (Things that are toys...are his toys that get left on the floor in my room. And my yarn.)

Needless to say, I foresee great stories resulting from Taz and I's companionship. And while he may never teach me authentic Japanese cooking...we could at least try the piano lessons.