Red String of Fate

An adult stories – Red String of Fate by dmallord,dmallord Red String of FateThe Invisible Connection Between Two People’s HeartsbyDonald MallordCopyright November 2023. All rights reserved.19,400 MS Words.Author’s NotesKenjisato, a Lit. Editor, helped make grammatical corrections. My thanks to him for his continued support.____________________IntroductionWe are connected by a red string of fate, or as it is said in Japanese, “Akai ito de musubareteru.”

According to a timeless Japanese tale whispered throughout the ages, an invisible red string of fate binds all lovers. That tenuous thread connects you to your soulmate, although you may not yet know one another. Although this string may stretch or tangle itself with others in your walk through life, it will never break the bonds of true lovers, even if we traverse the world from Tokyo to the Heartland of America. Inevitably, you are destined to follow the red silk thread to your mate attached and waiting for you at its other end.

Ethan Reynolds made that long arduous journey in life as did Minami Sasaki. This is their tale.

____________________Awaiting One’s Fate in a California Courtroom”I don’t believe this, Allen.” Ethan Reynolds bristled, waving a copy of a newly surfaced four-year-old one paragraph addendum in his attorney’s face, as he confronted Allen in the echoey courthouse hallway.

As they were about to enter the courtroom, he turned on Allen, a university friend from Caltech, like an angry dog tugging against its leash. The contract addendum, which seemed harmless at first glance, gave the senior partner exclusive rights to dissolve the restructured company and keep all the intellectual property rights for himself. The second partner, Ethan, was to be compensated and “cashed out.” However, if Ethan chose to challenge the dissolution, he would receive no compensation at all, as the contested amount was set at zero dollars and two cents.

“Ethan, calm down!” Alan growled. “Lower your damn voice. People are staring at us. For Christ’s sake, it happened. That’s all there is to it. You knew going in four years ago; you signed the damn addendum to your contract without reading it. Hell! You just gave me the damned original without it after you contested the settlement. You trusted the red-headed bitch. I can’t fix what you screwed up,” Allen Arman countered, nearly as loudly as Ethan. Nervously, he looked around, trying to regain his composure to see who had witnessed Ethan’s outburst.

After a four-year battle, it all came down to this document’s validity in the courtroom today. The outcome, Allen surmised, would be as muddled as the words chiseled beneath the granite frieze of Lady Justice’s blindfold and scale on the courtroom wall: “Equal Justice Under Law.”

“So, she’s going to screw me over?” Reynolds seethed, tucking the addendum into his hand-tailored Italian suit pocket. He felt like a puppet, maneuvered into a helpless stance, his dejected demeanor didn’t mirror the elegance seen in the pages of ‘The Rake,’ a men’s magazine he frequently perused.

His exasperated attorney let out a sharp breath. “You did this to yourself, Ethan, by agreeing without reading it. That smug bitch just handed you the anal lube. But maybe there’s a chance to salvage something, if the judge has an ounce of mercy. Considering your time invested in it, there might be a silver lining. That’s entirely up to the judge… so, for the love of Christ, maintain your composure and don’t piss him off again.”

Something smoldering in the back of Ethan’s mind had him doubting that. As he flung open the heavy courtroom door, he muttered to Allen, “Who coined the phrase, ‘Litigation is a machine which you go into as a pig and come out of as a sausage?'”

“That’s Ambrose Bierce before he mysteriously vanished,” Allen responded through gritted teeth, regretting his involvement in this case.

Ethan fell silent, his jaw clenching as his gaze fell upon Amanda, his soon-to-be ex-business partner, seated alongside her trio of lawyers. She was adorned with yet another provocatively low-cut red dress that barely covered her ass. It was a calculated choice meant to tempt the judge with an unapologetic display of her thighs and ample cleavage. Ethan recognized her deliberate intent to provoke erotic thoughts; she was a damned master at playing mind games.

‘Well,’ he stewed, ‘screw her and the three stallions she rode in on!’ He glared as he watched her casually pull off a loose crimson silk thread and discard it onto the floor.

_______________Back in the DayEthan couldn’t help but find his thoughts on riding stallions dripping with wasted irony on Amanda. His mind raced back to the day he and Amanda first crossed paths. It was during their sole shared class at Caltech, the Artificial Intelligence & Machine Learning Boot Camp. Ethan, a wide-eyed eighteen-year-old brimming with potential, had arrived at prestigious Caltech, driven by the unassailable perfection of his SAT scores. Amanda, a graduate student, had enrolled in the boot camp as a mere requirement for her business major.

On that auspicious day, she sauntered into the class fashionably late, her voice dripping with insouciance as she announced, “Hello, Professor Lieu. Sorry, I’m late. The dean stopped me to ask me why I was taking your low-level class … I assured him it was because I needed to fill a small knowledge gap.”

Ethan had arrived early, along with four eager, bespectacled nerds ready to embark on their remarkable educational journey. His eyes widened as the flame-haired temptress took a sweeping glance around the room. Her nose in the air, she took a seat strategically placed away from the nerds and conveniently next to him. He couldn’t help but steal a few discreet glances at her, as the professor resumed speaking.

‘This is going to be a hell of a class,’ Amanda thought, a wry smile playing on her lips, ‘Me, four wimpy nerds and one nerdy jock.’ She sensually eased herself into the chair beside Ethan, her every move calculated to disrupt the harmony of the room. All eyes focused on the goddess dressed in fire-engine red. She didn’t even bother to attempt to pull down her short skirt as it rode up her thighs.

“As I was explaining,” Professor Lieu continued, “throughout this course, you will collaborate in pairs, working on a singular project meticulously designed to integrate with the fundamental applications of AI seamlessly. These areas encompass Neural Networks, which are inspired by the structure of the human brain and are pivotal for tasks like image and speech recognition. We’ll also explore Computer Vision, a field dedicated to enabling machines to comprehend and interpret visual information, similar to how humans perceive the world through their eyes. Additionally, we will delve into Natural Language Processing (NLP), which focuses on bridging the gap between computers and human language, allowing machines to understand, generate, and interact with text and speech. These concepts form the backbone of modern AI and will be the cornerstone of our journey through this course.”

Those words no sooner left his lips when Amanda brazenly pipped up, “I’ll work with the jock, Doc, if you don’t mind.” She smiled sweetly, expecting an ”okay’ from the Prof and Ethan.

“Sorry, Miss. Amanda. We will draw for partners. If Fate puts you with Mr. Reynolds, you might consider yourself lucky here.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he retrieved a small red bag and untied the intricately woven red thread around it. He passed the bag around for each person to draw. The first nerd drew a blue marble and announced, “Blue ball,” with a smirky smile. The second draw was yellow, the third yellow … the fourth blue.

“That settles it, Doc; Fate got the choice, right?” Amanda quipped, snatched the bag, turned it upside down, and poured two red balls into her hand.

She turned to Reynolds like an anaconda eyeing a hapless meal and said, “I’m counting on you, Mr. Reynolds. Don’t let me down.” Amanda’s serious stare conveyed her expectation that Ethan would provide the solutions and she would tick off a needless class requirement on her rise to riches.

“Ethan,” is all he managed to reply, by way of introduction, in response to one domineering sizzling-hot redhead.

_______________This Is a One-Time EventAmanda invited Ethan to her studio apartment to review their team project three days into their assignments. Her objective was clear: to reinforce and ensure Reynolds carried her load. Ethan, away from home for the first time and out from under his mother’s watchful eye, was about to wade waist-deep into California’s young adult lifestyles. It was a world teaming with open-minded hormonal youth as he got his feet wet in academia.

“Reynolds,” Amanda complained an hour into their study session, “this is due in three weeks. Get your head out of your ass. You’re staring at my tits. What’s wrong with you — your girlfriend isn’t taking care of you?”

“I … don’t have a girlfriend,” he sputtered sheepishly.

Amanda grew quiet, pursed her lips, and studied Ethan as he glanced away, trying not to stare again. They had been in class less than a week, but she could see he could handle the subject with aplomb from class conversations. On the other hand, she didn’t know a damned thing about Artificial Intelligence. But she was damned good at intelligently reading men and was masterful at getting her way with them. Ethan wasn’t focused on the project at hand.

‘I need this damn grade! I’ll fix your lack of concentration, Ethan.’ She fumed to herself. Studying his sweet, shy face, she did just that.

She startled Ethan as she pushed her chair back, put one foot behind the other, and slipped out of her tennis shoes. He stared, wondering, ‘What the hell?’

Just as quickly, Amanda crossed her hands, reached for the hem of her Caltech sweatshirt, drew it over her head, and tossed it onto the desk. Her flushed face bore a determined look as her rose-colored nipples grabbed Ethan’s singular focus.

“I’m going to get your mind back on track, Ethan Reynolds. Come on, let’s get on with this,” she smirked, as she stood and began unbuckling her jeans.

“Damn,” Ethan sputtered as he realized what she was offering.

And what she offered looked beautiful to his eyes. She peeled down those tight jeans over the curve of her hips, revealing an unabashed California-suntanned woman accustomed to sunbathing on nude-access-only beaches. Ethan sat stunned with his lips partly open.

“You do know how this works?” she prodded, standing naked in front of him as he sat with his mouth agape and still hadn’t moved. Her fingers dipped into her slit and stroked the hairless peach and nubbin to ease his penetration as her other hand held up her red-lace silk panties. When he didn’t answer, she tossed them in Ethan’s face, breaking his spellbound stare.

“Yes, I do,” he managed to answer as his breathing deepened. Ethan wasn’t a virgin, though not a boy with a lot of experience either. His sexual conquests had been two girls at prom, both quick and fleeting. Alone with Amanda and absent a hint of getting interrupted, his mind went wild over a woman so seemingly uninhibited.

It was in the aftermath of twelve minutes of fast and heart-pounding sex, Ethan rolled over beside her, and his flushed face broke into a wry grin. He floated on a euphoric cloud of satisfaction. It didn’t last long.

She rocked up onto her elbow, her breasts pressed against his chest, and glared. Then shook that long, mangled rusty-red hair out of her eyes and declared, “Ethan, you can wipe that shit-faced grin off because this is a one-time event. I prefer girls making my wet clam happy. So, let’s get this project back on track.”

Amanda spotted Ethan’s name and photo in the Tech journals six years later. They called him an upcoming genius in the world of artificial intelligence development. The next day, she showed up on his doorstep unannounced with a get-rich joint business venture offer. The lesbian Caltech project partner had parlayed her wiles and business savviness into a multi-million-dollar adventure capital business and needed talent — Ethan’s kind of tech talent — not the wet-clam variety. For enticement, Amanda brought along a raven-haired vixen, named Michelle. Ethan grew fond of Michelle close over the next two years as Ethan’s career vaulted into the Stratosphere.

Tempus FugitThe judge’s arrival from his chambers awoke Ethan from his reverie. Perturbed, he glanced at Ethan and lingeringly took in the ravishingly hot redhead while nodding to her trio of stallions. Despite his anger toward his former college project partner, the irony of these thoughts about the lesbian riding in on the three stallions put a grim smirk on his face.

Ethan Reynolds sat next to his attorney to await his fate at the hands of a judge sitting above him — staring at Amanda’s two half-exposed breasts and generously exposed thighs before him. Ethan shook his head — thinking it would be nice to have a set of tits like his damn lesbian business partner; it might help him out, he mused, maybe.

‘Wonder if the judge knows she only likes girls doing her wet clam?’ he smirked as the judge gaveled in the session.

_______________The Collapse of an EmpireMichelle curled up in her favorite spot on the couch with a glass of wine and watched the panoramic view of the bay from Ethan’s plush place as the afternoon sun warmed the room.

She called out, hearing the door of Ethan’s condo open, “Hey, Babe, I found us my summer dream home in Martha’s Vineyard. I think you’re going to really …”

“Not going to happen,” Ethan growled, cutting off her words.

He wasn’t in the mood to indulge her attempts to spend his money … the funds he no longer had after a bitter day in court.

“Sa’matter, Honey?” his off-and-on girlfriend purred, attempting to temper his ruffled feathers.

She’d found Ethan to be in a funk lately, and when he was, he didn’t lavish her with presents the way she expected. To reset his attitude, Michelle had let herself into his place with his spare key and slipped into her favorite loungewear: a diaphanous shimmering robe and scanty, red-silk panties.

“Come here, sugar. Don’t brood so! Let me ease those wrinkles out of your brow. Micki is going to blow some wind into your spinnaker,” she crooned as she held out her arms. “I’ll have you soaring over ‘Frisco Bay in under two minutes,” she teased smiling as he walked into her reach.

A role-playing vixen, Michelle liked using the nautical terms he had taught her on his sailboat; her words had that undisguised veiled innuendo. She had worked hard to gain his trust in the last two years, and as her reward, she had set her sights on a summer home in Martha’s Vineyard. Well, it would be Ethan’s, but she’d have the lifestyle she wanted — that was good enough for Michelle.

Ethan caved. How could he not?

She had begun loosening his belt. He stood at the end of the couch and felt her warm fingers ease his boxers down. She was right as rain; she always had a way of blowing wind into his sails. She admired the Veet hair cream-treated cock pulsing inches away from her wet lips. Micki knelt on the leather cushions like a filly, opening her mouth and moaning while sucking in his slick, hairless prick. After a stressful, anxious, and sweat-laden day in court, it was like slurping a salty dill pickle, but she persevered. Something had him bent out of shape, and she was determined to erase that from his mind.

In under two minutes, she had his spinnaker at full sail. He huffed as he stood, his knees pressed against the arm of the leather couch for balance, and leaned into her face. She took all of him. He began lunging for more. His fingers threaded through her long, dark tresses as his body tensed in response. Closing his eyes, Ethan moaned as his breathing deepened. He pictured himself gripping the wheel of his sailboat, flying over San Francisco Bay with increasing speed as the waves broke over the pounding bow.

“Take it, choke on it, baby,” he groaned.

The heat of her mouth and the sounds emanating from it being filled with cock felt good, as his body enjoyed using her to take out his Amanda frustrations. The courtroom storm clouds that had roiled up and churned in anger dimmed. Within five minutes, a loud groan burst out, as his body shook when he gave up what he held back — she swallowed his salty cum. Gasping, Ethan released his grip on her head; his tempest came down briefly. His bulbous purple-tipped spinnaker flagged and drooped, though covered with a blending of saliva and semen slowly dripping down his scrotum.

Michelle gasped and coughed, slowly recovering from Ethan plowing her throat.

“Now, tell me, Ethan, what has you so worked up today?” she struggled, wiping the drool from her chin with the back of her hand.

Ethan’s answer was to strip naked, snatch her up in his arms, and carry her to the master suite, treating her like the slut role she liked to get off on. He didn’t hold back; the court case loss burned his mind. He boned her hard, driving that loss fervently home. Each thrust between her thighs drove her body’s ardor higher as they climbed to that smoldering, volcanic, second eruption.

“Damn, Ethan, what’s gotten into you, honey — you fuck like … hey, it’s okay. You know I like it that way?”

They lay exhausted, Ethan with his head on the pillow and Michelle with her head nestled upon his nipples, breathing heavily. In the calm after the storm, Ethan opened his soul and recounted the judge’s decision.

Upon learning of Ethan’s fortune vaporizing over his lost court case and legal fees, Michelle sat bolt upright and fumed angrily, “You fucking lost everything? What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Upon learning how his court case had gone as they lay in bed that afternoon, she railed bitterly as though she had lost her fortune, not Ethan’s.

“I haven’t lost everything, Michelle; I still have you. Life is full of do-overs, and I have enough ideas to get back on my feet. Besides, my recognition is well known, and it will just be a short time before I’m back in the driver’s seat. This time, I’ll get a good lawyer to work on contracts,” he answered, somewhat sardonically, as he lay naked and sweaty at having jumped her bones until her face had contorted, choked out a scream, and stiffened in rapture as she ferociously came.

Exhausted from releasing his fury, Ethan was at a loss for further words and drifted to sleep in the stillness. Michelle lay beside him, staring at the ceiling until he lay as limp as a noodle. She watched his face contorting, restless in his sleep, thinking about Amanda.

“You poor innocent bastard, the bitch, got both of us,” she whispered, before sliding out of bed and standing naked on display, gazing over the panoramic San Francisco Bay, absorbing its beauty from Ethan’s condo — one last time.

Contemplating the conniving redhead, Michelle lashed out, “Amanda, bitch, the very least you could have done was give me a heads up you were going to castrate him. Bitch, look where you left me!”

The trio had lived in Amanda’s carefully crafted, prosperous, symbiotic relationship. Ethan’s brains spun out the ideas; Amanda’s mind piled up the patents and parlayed them into piles of cash; and Michelle — her role was twofold: entertainment and to keep Ethan’s guileless nature blind to what went on between Amanda and Michelle as they used him. Now, as it turns out, Michelle had also become a pawn. She should have seen the signs; Amanda had been turning to younger women.

Ethan awoke late in the evening. Rolling over to cuddle with Michelle, he felt a cold touch on his bare back. Scooting backward, he saw his spare key lying beside him, along with a long red silk thread that seemed to have come from the red silk panties he had torn off her body. The key’s placement had but one meaning: Michelle had left his life — somehow, he knew she wouldn’t return. He amusedly studied the red silk thread, rolled it up between his fingers into a ball, and stuffed it into his fancy Italian suit pocket lying on the floor.

Why? He had no idea — perhaps as a stubborn reminder.

_______________Wind-swept Indianapolis, IndianaIn America’s heartland, the city streets of wind-swept Indianapolis stretched out before Ethan Reynolds like a maze of unknown possibilities. After six months of fruitless West Coast job searching, the journey east had been a long, lonely drive. Michelle had cold-heartedly dropped him like he had the plague when she discovered what the split from his conniving, devious partner had cost him. She took it personally as if it were Ethan’s fault. Her parting words echoed in his mind during the long drive east: ‘You’re a loser — just — a frickn’ loser, Ethan.’

Getting to know Indianapolis and finding a new residence three days before starting his new employment proved daunting. Relocated to the Heartland of the Midwest, he found himself adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces, a solitary figure in a city he had never imagined calling home. The towering skyscrapers and bustling sidewalks starkly contrasted the life he once knew in San Francisco with its harbors, hills, and Californian vibes.

Amanda had ripped his brainchild from his grasp along with all its intellectual property rights. Once a noted, independent thinker in the thriving AI-tech business, Reynolds had his name prominently splashed across the Bay Area in tech publications. Until widespread media coverage over software rights shattered his world. Now considered an outlier in the tech trade, he felt like a stranger in his own skin in this new chapter of his life.

Finally, reaching his new residence, Ethan sighed as he exited his remaining material possession, his new Volvo. He had sold all the rest of the things, paid off his debts, left California, shook the dust off his shoes, and moved on with his life. He surveyed the bland-looking three-story brick apartment building on East 21st Street in Indianapolis. He knew from experience not to trust online advertisements for places to live. They all painted rosy pictures of the community and amenities. But for Ethan, it all came down to three things: location, location, and location. That’s what they say in the real estate business. For Ethan, affordability was a crucial fourth factor. His new job was in downtown Indianapolis, and apartment pricing there ran a thousand more per month than he could afford for a downtown apartment until he reestablished himself.

Previously, money flowed like fine wine; he drank deeply, in a manner of speaking, and saved very little of it. Michelle made sure they had a grand time. However, what little he had stashed in his cask was nearly empty. The months of court battles over software rights and lost time in that process drained his reserves. The senior partner ultimately won and Ethan had to pay his and her court costs. The judge’s decision felt like salt rubbed in his wounds – Amanda had better lawyers.

The analogy of going into litigation was like the question he asked his attorney going into the last session. Allen’s answer haunted him, ‘Ambrose Bierce wrote that.’ Ethan felt precisely like the pig turned into sausages; he ruminated on that for six months before landing in Indianapolis.”

_______________A New Beginning”Mr. Reynolds?” asked a smartly dressed lady standing on the sidewalk holding out her hand. Her grip was a firm, practiced handshake, signaling, he felt, she was a take-charge all-business Realtor.

“Yes, Ethan Reynolds. You are Mrs. Washington – obviously,” he smiled, noting her Realtor name tag, the firm he had contacted about finding a suitable habitat. She grinned. It was the first smile he found upon arriving in Indiana after that long drive.

“I recognized the California plates, Ethan; welcome to Indianapolis. Shall we go in?”

The tour was quick. Ethan walked down the worn second-floor carpeted hallway, noting several apartment doors distinctively painted in bright primary colors. Each one stood out.

Apartment two-twenty-six had a bland, stained, oak-colored door, unlike the apartment directly across, with the bright canary-yellow doorway. Mrs. Washington inserted the key and swung it open, motioning for Ethan to enter. It looked like the advertisement pictures, though with worn paint, faded carpet, and recently patched holes in the walls. Serviceable. He ticked off the conditions in his mind as he checked the shower and kitchen sink, the refrigerator, stove, and garbage disposal.

“799 dollars a month, one covered parking space — second row back in the lot, laundry in the basement,” she said. “Trash is picked up in your hallway on Fridays — not to be set out before six o’clock that day.”

“The Internet?” he asked.

“Standard Internet cable rate is included, but high speed is available. You can check with the management and arrange for that. It will be an extra cost,” Mrs. Washington answered with a small, discreet smile.

“Of course, nothing comes without strings attached, Mrs. Washington,” Ethan shot back, matching her grin.

On the way out, Ethan asked, “What’s with the bright-colored doors?”

“Long-term tenants get to choose those colors,” she replied. You could ask any of those tenants questions about the complex or other rules you might have once your furniture is moved in. You looking at the possibility of long-term tenancy, Mr. Reynolds?” Mrs. Washington asked, hopefully.

He shook his head. This was just a pause in time and a temporary parachute drop into the middle of nowhere as far as Ethan was concerned–a way-station stopover to a much higher destination.

‘Won’t have any questions, either,’ Ethan mused, as he descended the stairs beside Mrs. Washington.

“Furniture, however …” registered as he was on the first landing, “… is something I don’t have.”

Mrs. Washington smiled, “I can help with that, Mr. Reynolds. I stage homes for sale. Fancy or …”

Grinning, Ethan answered, “Batchelor on a budget and a bit Bohemian when it comes to staging.”

“Got you covered, Hun,” she nodded, handing him the rental contract. “I’ll set that up for you this afternoon, okay?”

Ethan nodded, glanced over the pages, and signed the papers. Smiling, she handed him the key. Reynolds hoped Mrs. Washington’s idea of a ‘bachelor’s budget’ matched his.

_______________Work in a Bomb ShelterEthan’s next stop was his workplace. He drove downtown, scouting his new firm’s headquarters location and traffic routes. Dressed in a suit matching the cover of ‘The Rake,’ he met with the human resources processing team and checked for resignation terms, then signed the legal documents about confidentiality and sexual harassment notifications — the usual. It wasn’t an impressive place. It reeked of economy concrete and uniform glass — drab and colorless — almost like a bomb shelter.

He wouldn’t be developing software here — his job was to process data from eight to five. It had come down to that. His workspace was at the end of a blind hallway: four walls and the ever-present drop ceiling tiles with a drinking fountain nearby. It was the closest thing to a waterfront he would see — nothing like the previous picturesque glass window view of the San Francisco Bay.

“See you at eight o’clock, Monday, Mr. Reynolds,” the HR representative chirped, as she handed him his entry badge and picture ID” — To be always worn on your lanyard,” she remarked.

“I’ll introduce you to your boss then, James Mitchell, and — welcome to Indianapolis. It gets cold here, not like sunny San Francisco,” she said, as she breezed off on other matters.

‘An F’ng lanyard,’ Ethan smoldered, looking at it as it dangled from his hand.

Ethan Reynolds had given her a fake smile, holding back his flash of anger, ‘You’ve no idea what San Francisco is like.’

He fumed for a moment, then let it go. Her remark was a gesture, an attempt at humor, he finally realized — calming down. ‘No sense in boiling over,’ he stewed over how far he had fallen in his climb up to the stratosphere in his field. Given his lawsuit, few companies would even consider his applications as a killer software developer. Here, no one even recognized his name, much less his talents.

_______________Meeting a NeighborHaving made the drive downtown, Ethan rewound his way to the apartments. With a bag of groceries in hand, he climbed the stairs, noting the room numbers until he remembered he only had to locate the canary-yellow doorway, then he would be — home. Inserting the key, he found that Mrs. Washington had been efficient and resourceful. Indeed, she ‘staged’ the apartment for a bachelor on a budget, including matching towels, sheets, and blankets.

The bill was on the counter — two months’ rent. Ethan surveyed the bedrooms and was surprised; Washington had put in a double bed, sized for the smallish bedroom, with two lamps, and had set up the smaller, cramped second bedroom as a compact office space — at least it had a window view of the park across from the apartments. It actually fit his ‘wish list’ — bachelor with a hint Bohemian.

“Mrs. Washington,” he mused, looking over the furniture and layout, “you certainly are good at staging — even with a Bohemian vibe.”

Carting in a few boxes he’d crammed into his Volvo, he set out to prepare a hobo’s dinner. “Where’s the can opener?” he grumbled, after an exasperating search of the box marked kitchen.

Mrs. Washington’s voice echoed in his ear, “You ask those bright-colored door residents if you have questions.”

He smiled. ‘Perhaps it couldn’t hurt,’ he thought. ‘Maybe I’ll find another smiling face.’

Ethan, a can of beef stew in hand, knocked on the yellow door across the hallway and waited. When it opened to the safety chain link, his brow raised. He had landed in the Heart Land of America and never expected to see a lithe Asian beauty peering out.

“Can I help you?” Those vocals rang out as silky as any purr of a feline he could have imagined. Enough of a surprise that he stammered.

“I was wondering if I … could borrow a can opener?” he asked, holding up the can and his apartment keys for good measure as if that meant something. “I seem to have lost mine. Just moved in across the hall,” he added, hopefully.

She smiled. Her answer was playful. “Men … never can find anything even when it’s right in front of them. Be right back, neighbor.” She disappeared momentarily, returned with an opener, and studied him between the chained opening as he had turned to survey the rest of the hallway.

‘Handsome man in a custom-tailored suit,’ she observed. ‘Not many around here with that kind of deep tan — out of state for sure.’

“It’s Friday,” she politely announced when he turned back, “the community room has potluck dinner night. It starts in twenty minutes. Why don’t you come and introduce yourself? No need for a can opener.”

Ethan smiled and replied, ” Potluck usually means I bring a dish to the dinner. I have a can of stew, think that would work?” As she spoke in English, something in her charm and vocal intonations had him lingering at her door for a moment longer than he usually would have.

“Sorry, no stew on tonight’s menu,” her melodic voice chimed. “But, why don’t you come as my guest? I’m taking rice, miso soup, and vegetables. Plenty for one more. So …”

Ethan was tempted to say yes based upon the limited, intriguing view through the narrow opening, but replied, “Thank you for asking, but I’ll have to take a rain check. I have a lot of preparation for a new job on Monday, and on top of that, I just made a thirty-four-hour road trip from California. I’m beat. But does that can opener offer still stand?”

“Minami,” she said, handing him the can opener through the space in the door and the chain-link.

“Pardon?”

“My name is Minami,” she repeated.

“Ethan,” he responded as she smiled, nodded, and closed the door.

Ethan’s lips curled in a smile as well amidst an empty hallway. “Perhaps Indianapolis wasn’t all bad. I’ve met two smiling people today,” he figured, as he reentered his apartment and opened the Dinty-Moore Stew.

Minami pushed her food-laden cart into the hallway, heading for the community room. Turning to lock the canary-yellow door, she spotted a small red dot. Conscientiously, she stooped to pick it up. “Men, can’t find anything,” she whispered, “Handsome neighbor, you seem to lose everything; it’s no wonder you lost your can …” She left the sentence unfinished as she stared at what had become a long red string unwinding in her hand.

“What is it about you, tiny red silk thread? You seem so familiar that I should know something about you — perhaps my past or future?” Her mind had so many thoughts about her present troubles and those of the past that she wasn’t sure what her future held — only that it would be troubled.

Preoccupied, she didn’t tarry, but stuffed it into her apron and rolled the cart down the long hallway.

_______________First Day at WorkMonday morning, Ethan examined his briefcase and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. A serious-looking man in a pin-striped business suit, freshly shaven with a new haircut, stared back. The reflection was of a thirty-three-year-old with a fit physique and a typical mesomorph American appearance. Adorned with gold cufflinks, he believed they added to his professional image. Despite his new position being less senior than his previous one, Reynolds refused to let go of his executive style.

He bounded down the stairs and swung the exterior door open. In time, to see a girl with her hair done up sliding into her Malibu. He hurried, catching her before she pulled out. The sharp rap on her window startled her; she had been looking over her shoulder as she started to reverse her car. It was a momentary look of panic.

“Your coffee!” he called out.

Ethan snatched Minami’s coffee mug off the top of the car and held it for her to see. She smiled, quickly realizing she had deposited it on the rooftop to open her door and toss in her usual satchel of graded papers, leaving it up there.

“Thanks,” she said with a grin, “can’t lose my coffee. Everyone would pay for that in class!” With that, she drove away.

Ethan had caught a better glimpse of her perfect complexion and her hair done up in some Japanese style that must take hours to maintain. Today’s view through the window was undoubtedly more pleasing than yesterday’s through the narrow opening in her chained doorway.

‘Hot,’ he thought, watching until she drove out of sight.

_______________Meeting the New BossAt work, it took Ethan less than five minutes to assess his new boss, James Mitchell — a brash, condescending asshole. It took another five minutes to determine that he had better start looking for new employment, perhaps trying Cognizant Technology Solutions instead.

“If you want to fit in Reynolds, you gotta lose the suit and tie. Your work level is different from that cut of cloth you’re wearing. Make sure you wear your lanyard on display. If not, you get a warning and then a write-up. My secretary says you know data management. What we do here is manage data, routine stuff for actuarial companies. You understand actuarial tables, Reynolds?”

“Yes … sir. Cut my programming teeth on those before I left Caltech — ten years ago,” Ethan managed to get that out evenly.

The reply went over his boss’ head. Mitchell had no management skills, never asked about his past roles, or noted his ten years of experience. Mitchell’s claim to management was probably an ‘ass-kissing’ skill to have gotten his job, Ethan thought.

“Well, I hope you remember most of it then. Kelly, my assistant, can get you started. She knows the ropes and the reports you need to run. I’ve got a meeting, so I’ll be back in a few hours to see how you’re doing.”

With that, he stood up. Ethan, in like manner, just as Mitchell strolled out of his office without so much as a — ‘welcome to the company’ greeting. Watching his backside swagger down the hallway, Ethan noted his instant dislike for his new boss, Mitchell. It might have been tainted by his name being close to gold-digger Michelle’s. Damn, how ironic that was.

Kelly was a scatterbrained twenty-one-year-old. Ethan listened as he studied the charts she handed him and perused the software. It was ancient — he recognized it and smiled. He’d redesigned that version for its database developer over ten years ago when he got through undergrad studies. His new employer had yet to bother to purchase the upgrade. Ethan shook his head and set to work.

_______________An Alien EncounterWork was an auto-pilot process, leaving plenty of time for his mind to wander into thoughts about hiring a headhunter and some stray transient thoughts of the girl living behind the bright-yellow door. She was cute with an Asiatic lilting voice — mesmerizing.

Arriving at the apartment, he automatically looked for the mailroom, then realized most of his forwarding was on hold since he needed a new location. Much of it didn’t matter; he conducted most business electronically. The few items that came via mail were hobby-related — photography journals — those he kept coming in paper form. There was something about photos in an hands-on presence that transcended electronics. Some would argue that point, but it was not negotiable for Ethan. He put a reminder on his phone to have his magazine addresses updated.

Paper was best — far easier on the eyes. Besides, those photos helped ground him, and he needed that in the middle-earth environment of Indianapolis. At that recollection point, he phoned his storage unit in San Francisco, asking them to ship his photograph collection to his new location. The rest could wait, but not the photos. ‘Can’t wait to hang those up and put some life into that bland apartment,’ he thought.

Abruptly, Minami came out of the mailroom, armed with her mug and a satchel in one arm, a box under the other, and on a collision course.

“Heads up!” he called out.

She abruptly braked in response, and the precariously held box under her arm dropped.

“Hope that wasn’t glass,” he chuckled, as he watched her try to retrieve it.

“My new chandelier,” she smirked, as she struggled to grasp the fallen box with papers to grade.

“Here, let me, I’ve got an extra arm,” he replied, as a gesture of goodwill, enjoying her sense of humor.

“I’ll bet, a third arm, an alien, yes?” she joked, looking down as he picked up the box. “I appreciate that, Nathan, right?”

“Ethan,” he corrected, standing up. He noted her steady gaze, caught up in his steel-blue eyes.

“Ethan, I’ll try and remember,” she stammered, “So many names in my classes. It’s hard to keep track.”

“You are a student at the University?” he asked politely, to hear that wonderful voice speak again.

“No. I teach at Kokomo High — eleventh and twelfth-grade writing and literature courses.”

Ethan carried the box up the stairs, listening to her prattle about winding down the end of her first year of teaching as they went. He deposited the box of student papers by her door as she searched for her key.

“Wait for me; I’ll get your can opener,” he called out, as she slid the package in with her foot.

“Okay, I’ll wait.”

“Thanks for the loan of your opener, Minami,” he said, hurrying back as he paused again to admire her appearance.

She smiled genuinely and said, “You remembered my name, Ethan.”

“One that lovely sounding is easy to remember,” he answered with a smile. It helped that he Googled her Japanese given name last night and found it meant ‘beautiful sea.’ He smiled at that description — it fit her personality so well. Minami also had friendly undulating waves to match.

“Do you have a few minutes? I have some questions about the rules,” Ethan asked. However, he wasn’t interested in house rules, just stalling to listen to her melodious voice.

“End of the year finals to grade, I’m afraid,” she smiled and shrugged.

Those words came out in a soft sigh as she hesitantly closed the door. To Ethan, it looked like she wanted to chat, but time was of the essence, she indicated. Still, it was nice to hear her voice and to hear someone was concerned more about others than the five-minute conversations he had at work today. His new boss didn’t even return to check on him — though that wasn’t necessary.

“Blue eyes,” Minami breathed out the words behind the closed door as she exhaled, then smiled. A brief moment later, her mind flashed to the red string she had found. She figured it had to have been dropped by Ethan when he pulled his keys out of his pocket. Strange, she felt, his suit wouldn’t have required red silk thread.

She set to work preparing dinner and then turned to grading and commenting on what she thought were generally terrible papers. “American kids lack such imagination,” she announced to the empty apartment, “except for this one.” Melody was the exception. Minami looked forward to reading her work, saving it for last to savor. Melody held promise as a budding writer.

That evening, Ethan studied the blank walls of his apartment, thinking of them as new canvases for displaying his photos and deciding where each would hang. Then, bemusedly, he wondered how much his lease would charge for patching each hole when he moved out — based upon the number he envisioned hanging. There was time left over between watching the Indianapolis news for thoughts of the energetic, cute teacher across the hallway living behind that bright-yellow door.

_______________’Mitchell, The Asshole’Ethan’s first week of work was mundane. He could have worked from home, knowing his new work assignment could just as quickly be handled remotely. It would be easier if the firm had purchased the upgrade and certainly better for its clients, with all the added reporting features it included. By Thursday, he weighed thoughts of approaching his boss and concluded it might be best to suggest the upgrade package rather than remotely working from home, at least for now.

“Mr. Mitchell, when you have a few moments, I’d like to speak with you about the company’s software,” he said, as he passed by his office and saw him with his feet up on the desk and bouncing a tennis ball off the wall, to pass the time it seemed. It made him smile, thinking about the person in the next office who must be going nuts over that thumping sound.

“Sure, Nathan,” he answered, “Right after I meet this afternoon. We’ll get together.”

“Ethan… Mr. Mitchell. My name is Ethan Reynolds.”

“Right — I think the last guy in your spot was Nathan. Maybe we should get bigger name tags, right?” he chuckled, as he returned to his ball game.

‘Mitchell, you’re an asshole; his name was — Walter,’ Ethan steamed as he returned to his workstation. It was the nameplate and the five-year service certificate he saw in the trash can as he cleaned the remnants from the desk for his items.

‘I have to hire a headhunter,’ Ethan concluded, as he left the building on Friday. James Mitchell never showed up to discuss the software after his afternoon ‘meeting.’

_______________”What? A Girl in Jeans!””Potluck dinner, Ethan,” Minami sang out as she saw Ethan approaching the apartment building. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, she added, “Casual day for office, no suit?”

“No suit — according to my new boss, in my new job, suits are not my new attire,” Ethan answered, emphasizing the word ‘new’ with a pronounced jab. His playful tone and the wave of his hands as he dramatized his response brought a smile to Minami’s charming face.

“Sounds like… an ass for a boss, yes?” she whispered conspiratorially, as he picked up a box off the hood of her car and carried it for her. Helping her lug in boxes of papers to grade seemed to be a new task in his afternoon routine. He didn’t mind — it got him some chat time.

“You are one astute teacher, Ms. Minami Sasaki,” he grinned, having learned a few things about her as they met, coming and going out to work nearly daily.

“And you, Mr. Ethan Reynolds… look… nice, dressed in a suit. But also nice without a suit,” she added, quickly realizing the predicament her words had just put her in.

Ethan had forgotten the standing potluck dinner in the community center. It seemed it was a must-attend event for Minami. “I’m sorry. I was so caught up in getting settled this week that I completely forgot about the potluck. And I’ve eaten the stew,” he chuckled, “but I have cheese and crackers.”

“Come anyway,” she answered enthusiastically, “They will like you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“The retired ladies like… handsome faces that look like Clark Kent,” she laughed, as they reached her door. He set the box down as she searched for her keys.

“Thanks,” she smiled, unlocking the door.

“You’re welcome. So, twenty minutes?” he asked.

Minami turned, somewhat surprised. She had expected to get a rejection like last Friday.

“Yes, twenty minutes. I could use your extra hand, Mr. Alien, to take things down. No suit,” she grinned, as she slid the box inside.

Turning to his door, he found a note taped to it saying, “Your packages are in the office. Pick up before five.” Ethan frowned. It was nearly six o’clock. “Damn, missed the delivery guy,” he spoke aloud, amidst the empty hallway and let himself in.

Twenty minutes later, he knocked on the canary-yellow door, and when it opened, he came face to face with a different-looking woman. One whose done-up hair was now down and cascading over her shoulders like silk to the small of her back. The demure teacher’s dress-code attire had vanished; she wore jeans and a tee shirt. She looked like… well, not like a… teacher.

Minami realized his shock and smiled, “What? Never seen a girl in jeans?”

Ethan chuckled, “You look good in a dress and nice in jeans, too.” He realized he had been staring too long as she opened her door.

Rolling the cart laden with dishes down the hallway, Ethan shouldn’t have been surprised when he rounded the corner and found two dozen senior citizens in the community center, but he was. He missed Minami’s clue about the retired ladies.

Quickly, he found himself immersed in assisting the twenty-six-year-old teacher, helping several elderly members with their meals and drinks.

As they met back at the cart for resupplies, he whispered, “I think I’m in over my head.”

“Not to worry, you’re doing fine; just stay an arm’s length away from the lady in pink. She’s apt to pinch your adorable butt,” Minami whispered back, as she picked up some pie and returned to work.

Ethan served drinks and spoke with several ladies, giving them details about himself and learning a little about them. In the lulls, he watched the interactions of Minami and the ladies and gentlemen she served. Kindness radiated from every pore. It seemed as if she looked after them and chatted with them about their day–the kind of actions a caring person would display.

Eventually, things settled, and Minami motioned for him to join her at a small table near the center for dinner.

“I think you set me up, teacher,” Ethan smirked.

“Well, you said you had an extra hand,” she grinned.

“They seem to be staring,” he said in a stage whisper, as they ate.

“Of course. They are in their rooms all week and really look forward to Fridays. And now they see a handsome man eating out of my hand, and so they stare — that will be enough gossip for several weeks. Probably, we have children already in their minds.”

Ethan swallowed at the implication — she was beautiful enough, but he hadn’t any visions of children yet.

Minami watched his eyes, recognized the squirming signs of a confirmed bachelor caught without a way out, and chuckled.

“Don’t worry, Ethan. Teachers can’t have children unless …” She smiled and took in the last bite of her dessert. Her sentence went unfinished as she stood up and announced, “Karaoke!”

For nearly an hour, the group joined Minami in a familiar routine of songs together. Her voice was strong and vibrant, as she led them through several, and at the end, she sang a solo and danced to the music in slow motion. Her voice filled with emotion; it differed from her speaking voice. Ethan was entranced, mesmerized, though he didn’t understand a single word — whatever it was about, she poured her soul into it as the Japanese vocals sang out. In the end, everyone applauded enthusiastically. Ethan, too. Somehow, the words didn’t matter that no one understood them. As she sang, her movements and facial expressions moved the elderly crowd and one confirmed bachelor.

_______________A View Behind the Bright Yellow Door”Minami,” Ethan asked, as they pushed the cart back to her apartment, “I got a note taped on my door that I have packages in the office to pick up before five. Is the office open on Saturday by chance?”

“Nope,” she answered. Ethan noted her cute tendency to use student-like responses — and colloquialisms without elaboration, though not always accurately. He could tell her formal English was excellent, but catching the nuances of the American vocabulary was a work in progress.

His shoulders slumped at the answer. “Monday, then,” he sighed, thinking of staring at barren walls for another weekend.

“Important stuff?” she inquired, seeing his look.

“My photography. I’m an amateur, but wanted to get something on the walls before I go white-paint blind.”

Her eyebrows raised as she repeated his expression, “White-paint blind?”

Ethan smiled and elaborated, “It means I’m tired of staring at walls without anything on them — no art — no life — just white paint — like going snow-blind.”

“I have to add that one to my vocabulary list,” she said, opening her door. “Ethan, I have an office key. We solve your blindness after dishes. You can wash dishes fast with three arms, right?” she chuckled.

Pushing the cart into Minami’s apartment was akin to being magically transported across the ocean to Nippon. Ethan’s eyes popped, and he couldn’t help but admire the artistry of her space. As he stepped inside, he lightly touched one of the wooden Japanese lamps, tracing his fingers over its smooth surface. Mrs. Washington might have sighed in delight, exclaiming, “I love it! It’s so — Japanese lifestyle.”

Nothing in the compact apartment spoke of his concept of a Bohemian lifestyle. In contrast, the Zen design embraced the Japandi color palette, with layers of neutral grays, black accents, and natural greenery. A wooden lattice with white cloth panels concealed the metal patio opening. Minami called it a tobusuma: a fully wooden sliding shoji door or screen. Modern cylindrical wooden Japanese lamps mimicked the traditional square style, with several anchoring the ends of the seating arrangements. Ethan immediately felt the apartment’s calming, serene atmosphere and couldn’t help but offer a genuine smile of appreciation. Minami observed his eyes roving around the room in wonder.

“Not to your liking, Ethan?”

“On the contrary, I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in San Francisco,” he replied, captivated by the minimalist beauty of her thoughtfully balanced blend of wood and fabric. As he spoke, his gaze settled on the sliding shoji door, and he lightly ran his fingers over the smooth, wooden surface, feeling the delicate texture beneath his touch.

“Certainly not something from an American shopping catalog. But that low table and seating would take some getting used to,” Ethan added with admiration for the craftmanship.

“It’s my home, a long way from my actual home, but it keeps me centered,” Minami explained. “America seems so chaotic and not very grounded in customs and manners. Sorry, did that come out wrong?”

“No, everything you say in that melodic voice comes out just right,” Ethan smiled, his eyes meeting hers, and for a moment, they shared a silent understanding. “I’d be willing to swap my apartment for yours in a heartbeat.”

Minami was pleased by his praise and the twinkle in his eyes. She had worked diligently to transform her oasis into a semblance of her native home. “Good. Then dishes first, new neighbor, and we can retrieve your packages afterward.”

_______________Keeping Secrets”You must be on good terms with the management to have an office key,” Ethan remarked, as Minami punched a series of numbers into the keycode alarm system and then unlocked the door.

She smiled, one that seemed to hold back a secret as she responded, “The manager knows which tenants butter his bread best.”

Ethan chuckled, wondering if, as cute and as seemingly pleasant as she appeared, she knew the secondary sexual meaning of that remark. Or was it just a reference to her deeds for older people, like the Friday get-togethers she sponsored? He parked that idea as she smiled innocently and pushed the door open.

It took several trips to move Ethan’s packages to the second floor. As Minami entered his apartment on the first trip, it was her turn to take in his Bohemian vibe-arranged apartment.

“Not to your liking, Minami?” he asked, knowing it was not, given her exquisite tastes.

“So, … manly Bohemian,” she answered, managing to find a combination of words that balanced some definite thoughts on his taste. It wasn’t arranged with a consideration for kanso, similar in concept to Chinese feng shui. Just a couch focused on a flat-screen television.

‘Probably a football fanatic,’ she thought, ‘glued to a screen every weekend.”

It wouldn’t take long for that perspective to change, as she watched Ethan unwrap a large package and lean it against a spot on the longest wall. It was a framed photograph of a young, forlorn woman leaning against a rusted railing, staring out over a partially fog-shrouded bay at the iconic San Francisco bridge.

“Girlfriend?” she asked, admiring the photo’s composition.

“Perhaps someone’s girlfriend,” he answered, “I happened upon the scene out taking some scenery shots. She seemed adrift in her thoughts, so I didn’t interrupt her.”

“You have good composition skills, Ethan.”

“An amateur’s lucky shot.”

“You shouldn’t be so modest. The rest of these show the same attention to detail.”

Minami studied the others as he unwrapped them. They held her interest, so she tarried for a bit. She quickly found landscape photography and animals in the wild drew Ethan to photography. His composition skills were quite good, despite his claim to amateur status.

“I studied photography at Tokyo Zokei University for a while, then switched fields. Parental push to have a fallback job if journalism photography flopped. So, here I am — in America — teaching.”

“I’m sorry that didn’t work out for you.”

“Oh, it did. Just parental push won out,” she replied, holding up and studying a large photo of Cannary Row in Monterey.

“Where …”

“That’s taken in Monterey on Cannery Row.”

“Oh, like Steinbeck’s ‘Cannery Row’ book, 1945. Too bad it is so controversial now. I tried to get it approved for my classes, but got rejected; can’t talk about prostitutes like that’s a good thing, you know? I liked how it started, ‘Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.'”

Ethan was surprised at her depth of knowledge, mesmerized by her lilting voice, especially that image of her given name’s translation as ‘beautiful sea’ — undulating and curvy waves that matched her physique snuggled into those jeans and form-fitting tee top.

Their conversation evolved into after-dinner coffee as Minami foraged for a hammer and nails from the office and hurried back to help mount the photos.

“We’re not going to get in trouble over this, are we?” Ethan asked mischievously, poised to drive the first nail.

“It’s not the quiet-time hour yet; after eight, no hammers,” she smiled. “You didn’t read the rules?”

“Ethan shrugged, “I should have; not reading rules is what got me looking for this job in Indianapolis.”

Amidst sips of dark-roast coffee, hammering nails, and hanging frames for thirty minutes, Ethan gave Minami the short version of his long fight for intellectual property rights and the fact that he was a software developer. He didn’t go into details about the loss of seven-digit money figures or the notoriety in the press — he kept that part out.

And just as notably, he kept quiet about the placement of those frames as Minami took the lead and arranged placements. Ethan was more pleased by her arrangements than what had wandered through his mind last night. She masterfully placed them in a composition beginning with frames of water scenes flowing into pictures of animals at the water’s edge and concluding with an uncannily set of people facing the direction of all that came before them. It felt like a gently undulating sea — just like the composer.

Standing side-by-side, they gazed at the white-painted blind wall transformed into an artistic masterpiece. The sight brought a smile to Ethan’s face, mentally transporting him 2,300 miles away to the San Francisco Bay area. Minami observed his expression, noticing that it was the first genuine smile she had seen from him. She realized that kind of smile was rare; he usually wore a fake smile to shield himself from the public. She understood that he had been through some tough times at his previous job and had learned to put up a shield to protect himself from further harm.

“Eight o’clock, Ethan,” she announced, “no more hammering.”

“Quiet time, right, but it’s still early. Time for another cup of coffee, Minami? I’ve enjoyed tonight.”

“Not early, Ethan. Eight here on Friday night is ten o’clock on Saturday morning in Japan. I have to ‘report’ to my family, or they send a jet and rescue team,” she grinned, looking more like that might have been worth tarrying over. Still, she gathered up the hammer and nails and left canary-yellow door. But not before glancing back with a demure smile.

‘Ethan,’ Minami had smiled as she closed and locked her door, ‘You make my heart sing. I wonder if you are real — not an alien with an extra arm like you said two weeks ago.’

Her head pressed against the back of the door, pondering her next move; she knew it was a call home. As she had told Ethan, but she wasn’t anxious to do so. Inhaling and letting out a deep breath, her voice command targeted her iPhone, “Hey Siri,-ka ni denwa shite.”

Siri responded, “Calling home, Shoto, Tokyo.” An image of Shoto’s tree-lined and quiet part of the larger Shibuya district popped into her mind. It was home in an upscale residential area, residences for many notables.

Meanwhile, Ethan sat admiring her arrangements of his photos — satisfied with the arrangement — and thought more about how nice she looked in a tight-fitting tee top and stone-washed jeans frayed at the knees–a style still all the rage with teens and, apparently, twenty-six-year-old women. As Ethan rinsed her cup, he reflected upon her words and smiled at her comment that failing to check in with her parents might have them sending a jet to rescue her.

‘Would a Japanese parent do that, or was she speaking in jest?’ he mused. After all, she was twenty-six.

After the late news hour, turning down his sheets and stretching out, he thought about removing Minami’s tight-fitting jeans and exploring those undulating waves. ‘Wonder how she would feel about that?’ he yawned, and turned out the lights.

The week moved quickly, though the work was still making Ethan edgy. It needed more creativity. There was no need to think; just to roll and churn through the data, generating uniform report after report. It was killing Ethan.

His only saving moments were timing his arrival at the apartment each evening so that he could meet Minami for a brief encounter and occasional coffee.

_______________An Encounter in the ParkSaturday morning, Ethan was inspired by the art display on his apartment walls. He took out his camera equipment and went to the park he could see from his single window to find some interesting subjects to photograph. Indianapolis was not known for walruses, pelicans, or off-shore whale expeditions like the boat tours he had previously taken to catch glimpses of these magnificent creatures, nor for rustic wharf buildings in decay. At most, he expected to encounter some smart-assed squirrels chattering about humans invading their space or some intriguing human subject matter.

Ethan was on his knees, ready to capture a solitary bird amid a battle with a grasshopper. He had stealthily managed to get close enough as the bird scoped out the bug. He had to be quick using full automatic, or the shots would disappear as the bird overpowered the insect and took flight. He knew that manual settings would have been better, but those mental calculations would have ruined the opportunity presented. Ethan focused solely on the bird and the grasshopper and didn’t notice the approaching jogger.

In a flash, the bird took flight. The grasshopper lived another day as the solitary jogger sped by Ethan and then stopped.

“Ethan?”

He glanced up, the sun in his eyes, and tried to focus on the spandex-attired jogger–a hottie in tight white shorts, bare midriff, and a pair of snug-sculptured breasts tucked into a jogging bra. He recognized the long flowing hair and, of course, that lilting voice that captured his attention.

“Hey, Minami.”

“Sorry, did I spoil your shot?”

“Not from the grasshopper’s point of view, I guess,” he replied with a grin, and stood up. “I was looking for some nature shots — couldn’t find any walruses nearby.”

Minami laughed at his joke, “Well if you’re looking for water scenes, you should try the South Overlook Waterfowl Sanctuary Trail. It’s not far — about forty-five minutes out of the city and not too large, just over two miles or so. You could do that in half a day and make it back quickly.

“Nice camera, Nikon Z 8 with Zoom and video,” she remarked as he stood up. “Good for landscape and motion,” she added. “Do you video, too?”

“The salesman told me that, too. Not much into video, but it might come in handy one day. But I think the guy just wanted to pick my pocket,” Ethan replied with a grin.

“You seem to know your cameras. So, is that an offer for a guided tour?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head, with a mock look of rejection, and turned to look at the empty park — devoid of photo opportunities. She had time. The school year had just ended, though time was pressing upon her from other directions. “I suppose I could make time in my busy schedule and hire myself out as a bird guide. But you have to provide lunch in the deal, neighbor. And be my ball boy.”

“Ball boy?” Ethan’s eyebrows raised, accompanied by a wry grin.

“Did I get that wrong? When you golf, someone carries your … balls for you — ball boy?”

Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle at the curious look on her face. He had found it vexed her when she got American terminology mixed up. “That person who carries your clubs is a ‘caddy,'” Ethan gently corrected her terms. “A ball boy retrieves tennis balls during matches.”

“I have to …”

“… put that on my vocabulary list,” Ethan finished her sentence, having gotten to know her better over the past three weeks.

“I’ll take that as a yes … to the guided tour,” he answered, swinging his camera around on his back and joining her in the short jog back to the apartment.

“Give me a few minutes to change into something more appropriate.”

“From my viewpoint — that’s appropriate — already,” Ethan shot back as they climbed to the second floor of the apartments. He lumbered upward a couple of steps behind her, having his eyes fixed on the flow of the firm orbs wrapped in spandex ahead of him.

“Not if you are fighting your way through the rushes to get a better shot,” Minami called out. “Those rushes are like razor blades and are really sharp. Been there …”

“Got ya,” he answered, “So jeans and long sleeves then?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Though it would be a pity to miss a few shots of those great legs.”

‘Pity,’ Ethan’s lips pursed as he thought, ‘I’d rather watch your gams than shoot birds. But time together would be nice for the weekend.’

Ethan had spent three weeks getting into his routine and hadn’t found time to meet anyone he was interested in sharing time with — except the ever-busy, paper-grading high school literature teacher. She was turning out to be witty and not nearly as shy as the first couple of days they spoke. He looked forward to time together this afternoon.

Ethan changed and paced the hallway, waiting for Minami to reappear.

“My bag, caddy boy,” she smirked as she handed Ethan a backpack.

As he latched onto it, he groaned, “I thought we were going to shoot waterfowl — not elephants.”

Minami smiled, watching his antics at pretending to carry a heavy load. Well, it was not exactly light, either. It was her medium format Fujifilm GFX 100, the latest model 9. It’s heavy compared to Ethan’s camera. Still, it’s an excellent camera and lens combination for a top-notch video journalist on the go, a little on the heavy side for birding, but ‘it is what it is,’ as Minami’s students often remarked.

“Come on, Ethan, it’ll help pump you up — build your stamina,” she giggled, as she headed for the stairs again. “Besides, we might need to shoot an elephant or two; you never know what you will encounter in the wilds of Indiana.”

The fifty-minute drive gave them time to explore backgrounds. Ethan expanded on his, and Minami lightly touched upon hers. Still reticent to divulge much of herself to Ethan, though she had begun to relax with his light-hearted commentary over the previous weeks.

“Lion tamer?” she asked, once they settled into the journey in his new Volvo to help fill in some of his background.

“Walrus tamer, actually,” he grinned and spun a yarn about that. “I worked on the wharf riding walruses at age six to amuse the tourists. I got quite good at it, too. At one point, I could straddle two walruses, one leg on each one, dangle a fish on a pole ahead of them, and gallop to the end of the pier. The only problem was they wouldn’t stop and leaped into the water. Spoiled my act — by the time I climbed out of the water, my audience had gone — never paid much.”

Minami held her breath, trying to not burst into laughter, but couldn’t and finally burst out laughing, “Fibber.”

“You look much better with that smile, Minami Sasaki. I’m glad I made you laugh.”

“Me too, Ethan. Your smile is also much better, too,” she replied, as she watched his eyes light up and his words soften, as the seriousness he carried around him most of the time dissolved.

“So really, tell me something true, now,” she pleaded good-naturedly.

“I grew up in the Bay area. My dad was at sea most of the time, Navy. Mom and I lived pretty much together on our own — only-child kind of life, you know? Graduate degrees in engineering and technology. Caltech. Yes, I’m a certified nerd. And you?”

“Caltech? That’s impressive, Ethan. I am five of five. Not like the Borg — Seven of Nine,” she began hesitantly. “Four brothers and I’m the youngest. Traditional Tokyo family. My father is — a business entrepreneur — investments mostly. Oldest brother is ‘shadow’ of our father, an understudy, yes?”

“I think I get that,” Ethan answered. “Eldest son waiting to take over the father’s role, kind of thing?”

“Yes. Second son is lawyer, third banker, …”

“So, the fourth son must be …” Ethan picked up her hesitancy, ” … the … undisciplined one?”

“Yes, undisciplined one, but I would go with black sheep. Your title is kinder,” she replied.

“Is the youngest, Five of Five, also a black sheep?” he grinned.

Minami’s head bowed briefly before she spoke again, “I am in America, Ethan, so draw your own conclusion.”

Ethan realized he had touched a nerve. He didn’t know how to respond. In his silence, Minami added a little more about life in Nihon.

“Ethan, a Japanese woman’s role is still very much family-centered. We have a term for women’s role in life: ryōsai kenbo.”

“Should I put that in my vocabulary list?” Ethan’s remark was meant to lighten the conversation. It brought a demure half-smile to her face.

“Maybe. Only if you want to learn something about our culture. That interests you, Ethan?”

“Maybe,” he replied, “If I had more time with a good teacher.” His answer had a hint of interest in learning more about this long-haired, beautiful foreigner in a foreign land. His greater interest was learning more about the woman he increasingly found intruding into his thoughts at work, as he plodded through the mundane tasks of creating actuarial notations.

“Ethan, Ryōsai kenbo means a good wife and a wise mother,” Minami continued. “One who raises children, manages the family finances, and supports her children’s education. The other term for your vocabulary list is kyaria ūman, that’s a career woman’s role. It is slowly reshaping the workplace, but not fast enough — not fast enough for me.

“Because of these changes, my mother lost her ikigai, her sense of purpose in life. Her spark and joy were gone–a sign of her depression. I couldn’t follow that path, and — yes — I became another black sheep, trying to find a new purpose.”

“So, you came to America to escape and teach?”

“Sort of. First, I was a journalist at home and traveled abroad, covering different events. Not something a Japanese girl should do, according to my father. He ordered me home.

“But you are here, now?”

“Yes, a compromise arranged by my mother. She interceded. I came here instead and fell back on my teaching degree credentials that my mother, fortunately, insisted I get. Teaching at least appeased my father somewhat — an honorable job — until he marries me off.”

Her words trailed off as she concentrated on the roadway. “Turn left here, follow the signs to the visitor parking lot, and park by the trailway map if you can find a spot. I’ll show you the nesting areas marked on it.”

Ethan observed that Minami exhaled, as though a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. The idea of not having a choice in marriage jarred Ethan. It was a concept he never considered.

‘Minami, I thought I got screwed over, but woman — I think you got me beat,’ he thought as he parked the Volvo. She was a world away from home and seemingly alone in a strange new world.

As Ethan turned the engine off, without the traffic noise, it was as though they had transcended space and someone’s time continuum and traveled back into the past when people were at one with nature.

“Hear that?” Ethan asked. He could hear the sounds of their breathing in the silence confined within the Volvo. Ethan’s imagination raced.

“Yes,” she answered, “it’s nature at peace with itself.”

However, it wasn’t what Ethan heard as he watched her looking through the window at the park map in front of them. He swore he could hear the sound of her heartbeat. Crazy that.

“Come on, caddy-boy,” Minami teased, breaking the silence, “the birds are chirping and preening for a handsome West Coast man to take their pictures. Let’s go.”

“Right behind you ‘my little Chickadee,'” Ethan teasingly replied, as he grabbed his camera, slung it around his neck, and then picked up the bag carrying whatever elephant gun she had packed when she dubbed him her caddy. The view ahead was breathtaking, as was the scenery along the crushed granite path in front of him, though not as lovely as the spandex form he had enjoyed watching climbing the stairs at the apartments. Still, the view directly in front of him was equally enjoyable with that long hair, the bounce of energy in those tight-fitting blue jeans, and that long-sleeved shirt. Minami was off and setting a brisk pace.

“No chickadees here,” she answered as a matter of fact, “just some nesting birds if we are lucky to catch them. Maybe some wood ducks, double-crested cormorants, and a few Cooper’s hawks.”

Their conversation dropped off as Minami’s voice turned to a whisper, and her pace turned stealthy. “Slow, now, we are close.”

She had been right about the rushes and the need for long sleeves. Ethan was glad for that advice. He followed her lead and inched forward directly behind her as she found a blind among the rushes that overlooked the location on the park map for the nesting areas. They sat close, shoulder to shoulder, and waited amidst them, looking toward the water line for signs of waterfowl. It was clear to Ethan that Minami had experience with this site as he saw it bordering a dense stand of trees, an opportunity for a view of waterfowl and forest birds, perhaps.

Neither spoke at the water’s edge as they waited; bird calls seemed to form a serenade over the water as each kind called out to the other. “There,” Minami softly whispered, pointing to the water’s edge.

“Wood duck?” Ethan whispered, as he raised his camera to focus on the bird with its wings spread out. “Why is it spreading its wings like that?” he asked, as he took several shots.

Minami’s head turned sharply to study Ethan momentarily before whispering back. “It’s a double-crested cormorant. They dive underwater to catch food, so their feathers become waterlogged; Ethan, that’s why cormorants stand with their wings spread — to dry their wings after diving.”

Pursing her lips, she unzipped her backpack and retrieved her Fujifilm GFX 100 as Ethan concentrated on getting shots of the preening bird, joined by another, basking in the sunlight. She snapped off a series of photos and switched to video mode, catching the actions of both cormorant mates. ‘I’ll make a present for you, handsome neighbor,’ she mused, ‘since you don’t seem to know anything about birding. Why did you drag me out here then?’

Ethan glanced over as he watched Minami raise the ‘elephant camera’ into action, thinking, ‘That puts my camera to shame. How does a teacher afford a ten thousand-dollar camera?’ For the moment, he had forgotten her conversation about a role as a journalist. And the fact she neglected to mention her work as an independent journalist reporter for networks, like CNN.

Minami slipped back, letting Ethan have full range across the water as he snapped shots of the cormorants as some new birds glided in to join them. She used the time to capture his features with her camera, focusing on the smile on his face as he diligently framed his shots. It was a far more relaxed pose than the one he usually noted. Then she reset to video mode and added a few minutes of filming Ethan as he snapped shots.

Suddenly, something on the far side of the lake set every bird into motion; they took flight in a cacophony of frantic cries as they circled the water. Minami swung her camera to find the cause: two surveyors along the opposite shoreline.

“What the hell?” Ethan muttered, as he watched the nesting area explode with a half dozen hidden fowl going airborne.

“The hell would be those two surveyors,” Minami answered aloud, pointing across the lake. “Sorry, Ethan, our birding is done for the afternoon.” They stood watching the flock circle and take wing over the woodlands. From experience, Minami knew it would be hours before they returned.

“So, how is it that you don’t know your wood ducks from your cormorants, Mr. Birdwatcher?”

“Well, I didn’t say I was a birdwatcher. Only that I liked taking nature pictures. Back at the park, you assumed that my bird and grasshopper shot was because I like birding. And I also don’t know what kind of bird was after that grasshopper,” he answered, smiling.

“Lark,” she replied. “A meadowlark was after your friend, the grasshopper.” Her face broke into a smile.

_______________Discovery of a Red Silk String”Lunch, remember, I agreed to that as part of the contract for hire,” he said, picking up her bag and handing it to her.

Minami slipped the Fujifilm into her backpack just as Ethan turned. “Hey, Caddy boy! Here,” she giggled, handing him the pack. “This is still part of the deal, too.”

His hand grasped hers as she held up the backpack. It was soft and delicate, and the contact drew her eyes to his. He held on, smiled, and reluctantly accepted the backpack strap, releasing her hand a moment later. Gently, he had pulled her up to her feet. In the moment, Minami felt the spark that had run through Ethan–a feeling of something more, a growing attraction.

“Lunch,” he repeated, staring into those soft entreating eyes.

Minami summoned her courage to ask that burning question that had struck her earlier.

“If you aren’t into birding, Ethan, why did you agree to come out here?” she asked, hoping for a response that matched her interest in Ethan, a quiet, polite, and thoughtful mystery man. A man who enjoyed her love of the outdoors — even if he was not a birder. More importantly, he seemed like a man who wouldn’t attempt to control her.

Ethan’s answer surprised her. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re bright; you’re caring; you are … you. And did I forget to mention terrific company — the kind of girl that makes a man feel good in his own skin.” He felt the word ‘beautiful’ wanting to be added but felt that would take his comments too far, at least for now.

“You certainly know how to butter a girl,” she blushed.

“Did I use too much?” he joked, as he slung the elephant-weighted camera bag over his shoulder and gestured towards the trail. Minami walked briskly, abandoning her previous stealth mode from when they snuck into the bird sanctuary to find her favorite blind.

“A girl, Ethan, can never get too much flattery, especially from someone who looks like Clark Kent,” she tossed her reply over her shoulder as she walked.

Ethan smiled at her remark, Kent — so that she could spread some of her own butter as well. He considered her response as just the right amount of praise, envisioning moving their conversational relationship to a higher plane.

He pictured her in a different light than the business-world women he had encountered on his uphill climb in that world he felt was his destiny. Everyone he met, seemed to be out for themselves in that world, and tended to view others as stepping stones to use in their narcissistic self-aggrandizement: Amanda, Rachel, Michelle, and others in those previous ten years. Ethan found himself a victim of those individuals — his gentle nature bucked the currents of his world, and perhaps that’s why he faltered and spiraled away from it as a means of self-protection.

In Indianapolis, Ethan’s business funk had found a haven in an out-of-the-way three-story apartment building and more particularly focused on an ‘omoiyari no aru josei,’ a caring woman, living behind a bright-yellow door, reminiscent of the ‘Land of the Rising Sun.’

On the drive back, she pointed him toward a pleasant off-road mom-and-pop restaurant she frequented. Over lunch, she delivered an animated story of how she had gotten interested in birding on a trip to Africa for an assignment. At that recounting, he recalled her life beyond being a foreign-exchange teacher. Ethan had time to assess that she definitely was on an entirely different plane than women in his previous life — not like the last woman in his life, ol’ ‘what-was-her-name?’

His mind played on as he watched her from across the table, trying not to stare. Minami had an engaging way about her — beyond beauty. It radiated from within, perhaps within that mysterious place called the heart. Ethan had come to enjoy her shyness, yet she balanced that with the forthrightness of a teacher’s mind. She was a virtuous caretaker, respectful of the apartment’s elderly, watching over them like her own. He had found a true ‘omoiyari no aru josei,’ a caring woman. Yet, his unstable life couldn’t quite allow him to say so — his destiny, he felt, lay elsewhere.

Wasn’t it better to ignore his growing feelings? Better to acknowledge that Indianapolis wasn’t his destination, nor was cultivating a new relationship the right thing for both of them.

“Mr. Ethan Reynolds,” Minami broke into the spell that seemed to be cast over him. “You seem far away in thought. Back in a San Francisco Bay fog, perhaps?”

His stare off into space had betrayed him. “Sorry,” he apologized, realizing he had been caught.

“Sorry, is what ‘makeh-gumi’ utter, Ethan,” she grinned. “That means ‘losers’ they say, sorry.”

“Well, what do you call winners, Ms. Minami Sasaki?”

“Winners are few, Ethan; we call them ‘kachi-gumi,'” she answered his question, watching for his reaction. She hoped it would prod him to stop hesitating and ask.

‘Ask me, Ethan. I’m running out of time.’ Her mind was as anxious as his, perhaps more so, as the end of the school year had arrived. Her foreign exchange-teacher commitment had ended. She also had an ultimatum hanging over her head–one imposed by her father.

Whether it was her words or how he had thought about her kindness, Ethan forgot the idea of his destiny lying elsewhere. He went with what floated up in his mind.

“I’ve been in the apartment for three weeks now. It seems like the only one I know there is the girl behind the Rising Sun Door across the hall,” Ethan’s mind stirred the idea of how to approach a subject that had been on his mind.

“I like the analogy, Ethan. Japan has always been known as the ‘Land of the Rising Sun.’ Perhaps I chose that color subconsciously. I hadn’t given it much thought, to be truthful.”

“We call America the ‘Land of Opportunity’ with quite different customs, like dating, I imagine. Minami, often in America, it’s customary to follow the three-three-three dating rule,” Ethan smiled as he picked at a slice of apple pie.

“Tell me about this three-three-three dating custom, Ethan. It’s not another fib, right?” she grinned, beginning to feel he had, perhaps, turned a corner.

“Not a fib, I assure you. You can Google it and see that it is for real. It’s about building relationships. The threes go like this: three hours exclusively focusing on someone you like. Perhaps a date or some time together like birding, for instance.”

“So, am I someone you like, Ethan?”

“Ms. Sasaki, is that a topic to discuss being on a first date in Japan?” he parried.

“Ethan, in my father’s world, we would be introduced through ‘omiai (お見合い).’ I think that is like dinosaur days in America. Your ancestors called it ‘matchmaking — arranged marriage.’ That could take up to six months of getting to know one another in my country.”

“Well, that doesn’t happen in modern America, I’m pretty sure,” Ethan answered.

“Tell me more.”

“The second three represents three days in a row. Couples often spend three days in a row, hanging out with each other — maybe a long weekend,” Ethan added, hoping he wasn’t pressing the issue too much. He could see spending time exploring — with Minami.

“Not in Japan. Not with Father’s knowledge. Ethan, you — we would be in … big trouble.” Her answer came quickly as her eyes widened at his suggestion.

“The weekend doesn’t have to be in the same room, but just close,” Ethan fudged his reply.

“I guess the last three in the three-three-three rules — the three weeks of daily contacts to discuss goals in life, planning how to achieve them, and expectations of one another would be out of the question for your father then?” Ethan questioned Minami with a grin. “Good thing we are not in Japan, or we wouldn’t have had this conversation.”

Ethan’s wry grin lingered as he watched her looking down, deep in thought. She pursed her lips while seeming lost in time for a few minutes, until the waitress brought the check. Ethan placed his credit card with the bill and finished his iced tea while they waited. Small talk filled the time — about what to do with summer as her teaching job had ended. Ethan was surprised at that comment. He had lost the fact she was here on an exchange-teacher plan for one school year. After that, where would she go?

What happens when you reach the end of your string? Where do you turn? What does one do when you are a ‘stranger in a strange land,’ and your thread seems so tenuous?

When the waitress returned, Ethan opened the cardholder and shook a tiny red thread that clung to the inside of it onto the table without a thought. Minami saw it. Her eyes widened; she had seen the red thread, or one just like it, twice now: the day Ethan arrived outside her door and, at in moment, very impossibly upon the table in front of her.

On impulse, or as a part of destiny, Ethan and Minami reached out to pick up the thread simultaneously. Ethan chuckled, saying, “If this were a wishbone, we would pull to break it and see who gets the short end and declare the winner — the kachi-gumi.

Minami smiled, letting go, and replied, “I think there is something about a Japanese saying about red string that I’ve forgotten. I’ll have to look that up, but I don’t think we should break it.”

Ethan smiled and rolled the red silk string up, “Then I’ll hold onto it until you get an answer. I’ll remind you later.”

On the ride back to the apartments, Minami was reflective, Ethan quiet. He wasn’t sure if his impulsiveness had lost him an opportunity to get to know the vibrant and attractive foreign exchange teacher from the ‘Land of the Rising Sun.’

He lugged her camera bag upstairs to her bright canary-yellow door, wondering if he would be invited inside, or if it would be better to hand her the bag. It was questionable until she turned and looked up into those steel-blue Clark Kent eyes and said, “I enjoyed our first date, Ethan.”

She smiled as she opened the door. “In Japan, kissing on first dates is not the norm, but for you, since we are not in my country, I’ll make an exception.” She rose on tiptoe and closed her eyes.

Ethan stooped down and gently kissed her lips. “Until the next date, then?” he asked, as the kiss broke.

“Tomorrow, Ethan, date number two. I’ll introduce you to the Japanese Tea Ceremony.”

With that, she slipped inside and smiled at Ethan, whom she left standing in the hallway, as she gently closed the bright-yellow door.

She leaned her head against the door and stood thinking, ‘Ethan, today was better than I could have ever hoped for.’

Once inside, and her heartbeat had calmed down, she opened her backpack to retrieve her camera, intent on reviewing the shots and video she had taken in the bird sanctuary. Curled around the lens cover, she found a familiar crimson red thread.

“How did this get in there? I thought I had put this in the trash last week. It can’t be the one from the restaurant …” She spoke to no one in particular, but set it on the kitchen counter again.

Minami began downloading the content from her camera to her workstation. After logging into her Adobe Photoshop cloud account, she spent an hour editing a short video of Ethan’s birding efforts. She focused on his genuine smiles as he enjoyed himself and even captured the look of wonder as the birds took flight. She sent an eleven-by-fourteen photo request to a nearby photo center and an expedited order for a larger sixteen-by-twenty frame to be ready within two hours. She used her father’s unlimited card to pay for everything. As set in his ways, despite being domineering, he never limited her accounts as he did his sons’, an acknowledgment that women were remarkable, despite his narrow perception of their roles.

She did a last-minute video edit, a gift she had mentally promised to make for her neighbor. One final pass-through and then copied it to a flash drive for Ethan Reynolds, a customary Japanese small gift for their second date.

Before logging off, her mind ticked with thoughts of — the red silk string. It stirred something — something she had forgotten. “‘Google it,'” Ethan had said about the dating three-three-three rules, but she smiled at his prodding; she believed him; he lacked guile in her eyes. It was her thoughts of the red thread that she Googled.

The search led her to the Japanese storyThe Legend of the Red Silk Thread. It made her heart race as she read:

According to a timeless Japanese tale whispered throughout the ages, an invisible red string of fate binds all lovers. That tenuous thread connects them to their soulmates, although they may not yet know one another. While the string may stretch or tangle, it never breaks. Two people connected by this crimson string are destined to meet and fall in love even if they are oceans apart. Your string may cross the lines of others and sometimes become tangled for a while, but inevitably, you are destined to follow the red silk thread to that one person attached and waiting for you at its end.

“Can this be true?” Minami asked aloud, while watching the video replay of Ethan’s Clark Kent smile. She watched it play on as he busily took pictures of the waterfowl at the sanctuary. “This needs more editing … ” she declared, gazing at the crimson-red silk thread.

Minami dashed out of her apartment to the PhotoMart to retrieve her framed image of Ethan at the water sanctuary, his smiling face so at peace with the still waters behind him and the solitary adult Cooper’s hawk with its salmon-colored chest and a long, striped tail that had swooped over his head in the background. Ethan had missed that; he would be in for a surprise when it showed up in the video.

_______________Meeting Destiny — Tied by a Red Silk ThreadEthan awoke Sunday morning to the unique ringtone he had set for Minami’s messages. Groggily, he pulled his iPhone off the lamp table and read the attachment.

The attachment’s image was an old-fashioned tea ceremony invitation that caught Ethan’s attention. It had red-tone imagery and featured an elegant tea leaf branch with blossoms. In the background was an opacity image of a woman dressed in a patterned kimono, with her hair done in the kanzashi hairstyle and spiked with elaborate hairpins. She looked striking and familiar. The invitation had Minami’s name arranged vertically, inviting him for lunch and a tea ceremony at twelve. ‘Date Two’ was centered at the top.

A second look at the transparent image and Minami popped out: drop-dead gorgeous in a kimono. Ethan smiled. Three hours, he noted. He eagerly anticipated lunch, sensing that she might be interested in him, too. ‘Maybe, just maybe,’ he thought, ‘she felt the same way about me as I do about her.’

‘See you at noon,’ he texted in reply to the invitation.

‘Hell, this looks like serious stuff, not just a casual lunch.’ By nine-thirty, Ethan was at his kitchenette table with a coffee cup in one hand and a warm Danish before him. His other fingers were on his laptop’s keyboard, searching for ‘Japanese Tea Ceremony.’

He quickly realized that making tea in Japan was more than just boiling water and adding tea leaves. It was a beautiful art form involving predefined and coordinated movements and actions from the host’s heart. The article noted that every movement and gesture is made with the guest’s comfort in mind. In nearly a ballet of motion and art form, considerations are given to factors like the placement of utensils and the guest’s point of view, or ‘shoyaku (正客).’

Time rushed as Ethan absorbed the nuances in the video he watched of a woman performing the tea ceremony.

“This calls for a suit,” he announced, as he cleaned the table. By twelve, he was ready and nervous, knowing the expectations of the video presentation of the host and the guest’s responses. “There is a first time for everything,” he announced, and opened his door, stopping in wonder.

His attention was drawn to a long, intricate red silk thread running from a sign by his door across the hallway to a table with a ceramic bowl. The sign read, ‘Follow the Invisible Red Silk String.” Ethan smiled, “How can you follow something invisible or even know it is red?”

Instantly, he remembered that he was supposed to remind Minami to look up something she couldn’t recall about that red thread he found with the bill at the restaurant. “Guess you beat me to the punch,” he said with a grin, and followed the string to the bowl. It held another note: ‘Guests in my country prepare for the tea ceremony by washing their hands before entering.’

Ethan did and used the hand towel provided to dry his hands. Then, hesitantly attempted to refold it, knowing some things in the video took great care about such procedures. However, the video didn’t have anything about washing hands.

Ethan knocked. His smile gave way to awed admiration as Minami opened the door. The invitation’s shadowy figure had come to life. Minami bowed. Ethan returned her bow.

“Yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” Ethan attempted to repeat the Internet video greeting for ‘good morning’ he had rehearsed. But, the sight of Minami in her simple orange iromuji kimono had blanked his mind momentarily. The pronunciation came out like a man under the influence.

“Konnichiwa,” Minami replied with a wince, a smile, and a second bow, “Please come in, Ethan.”

“You are very … beautiful in that kimono, Minami. Guess we aren’t going birding today?” he joked.

“Not in that suit, handsome. The ladybirds would all be flocking to land on you and fight one another out of jealousy.”

Ethan was relieved that she was just … her usual enchanting self and not in some rigid ceremonial mode. Bright and smiling, she motioned for him to enter.

“Lunch first, Ethan, and then we will have the tea ceremony, the ‘chanoyu,’ I have to admit it has been a very long time since I have participated in that, so I might not have everything exactly right … but the thought counts in developing relationships, right?”

“Yes, it does; thoughts count … I’ve also learned that honesty and truthfulness are important in improving relationships, Minami,” Ethan spoke cautiously. While keeping a secret about something as trivial as how to serve tea properly may not be a big deal, he wondered about his California-centered world and the lies and deceit that had ruined his career in the close-knit tech environment. He didn’t want that to happen again with someone new in his life. Someone kind and caring had entered it for the first time, which meant a lot to Ethan. And he was concerned about how Minami might perceive him knowing that.

“On that truthfulness note, Ethan,” Minami spoke quietly as she ate, “I have something to add about that.”

“Me, too,” he answered, “but ladies first.”

“Okay,” she breathed deeply and started to unload a burden she had held back.

“The story of how I came to America is not exactly what I told you earlier. True, I was a freelance photojournalist in Africa for a Japanese wildlife documentary. But when war broke out, amidst the chaos, I saw an opportunity to capture the conflict between the warring armies and record the destruction caused by their battles. The video footage went viral on CNN’s Japanese television feeds, and my father saw it. My whole family saw it. All of Japan saw it, too.

Two days later, I was surrounded by six bodyguards, who whisked me away on my father’s jet, out of harm’s way. This incident splashed my face and my father’s name all over the news. That does not sit well in my father’s line of work. He gave me an ultimatum.”

“How did that situation land you in America?” Ethan asked, a bit stunned by her revelation and the fact that her father had bodyguards and a jet. ‘Who the hell is he?’ he thought.

Minami shrugged. “It was an embarrassment for my father. He gave me a choice to get off the world stage, somewhere quiet — un-newsworthy — or marry someone who would ensure I behaved as a good Japanese woman should.”

“Christ, so you landed in America’s heartland — so un-newsworthy?” Ethan asked, surprised by the revelation. “How could he do that in today’s world? You said he was an entrepreneur in business.” As an afterthought, Ethan added, “He’s not a gangster, right?”

Minami hesitated and carefully chose her words, watching Ethan’s face for clues as to how he would take her response. “My father is a business entrepreneur — at home. He also owns this building … and others in America. Ethan, … my father is worse than a gangster — my father is a diplomat.” She looked down, avoiding his eyes as she saw them widen.

Ethan’s look was of a man stunned into silence by her words, yet those seemed to hold a sense of humor — worse that a gangster — he was a diplomat. It now clicked with him when he had asked Minami about having a key to the office, and her answer came back as the manager knew on which side his bread was buttered. Ethan wasn’t sure whether that was Japanese humor or Minami’s natural propensity to attempt to lighten the mood.

“That’s not a fib, right?” he asked, thinking perhaps this was one more attempt at humor.

“It’s real, Ethan, the truth without hidden meaning. My teaching job was his way of letting things cool down so my recognition at home might dissipate. I have my freedom until the end of the month. Then, some lucky man makes me his wife back home. Such is my fate.”

“You have something you want to unburden yourself of?” she asked, in the lull of their conversation.

“After what you just said, maybe I should just … let it go,” Ethan murmured.

“Something about California?” she coaxed. “You told me you’ve learned that honesty and truthfulness are important in improving relationships. Is that not important now?”

Minami’s words hesitantly spilled out as she watched his face react to her question. Would he be open and honest, or … was this the breaking of the red silk string that seemed to flow through their lives?

Ethan looked up, struck by her look of dismay, and resolved to follow through on his original intent to be open and truthful, even if it cost him in the end.

“I’m not exactly the ‘walrus riding’ kid I told you about,” he began.

“I know,” Minami acknowledged, “I … was a journalist, Ethan. You can’t hide everything from the Internet; you should know from your work on that from your Artificial Intelligence creations. I’ve read the journals, the court battles, the struggles over ownership … the loss of your fortune. So, tell me about something I don’t already know, Ethan Reynolds.”

Her words cut like a sharp knife, but he struggled through them.

“It’s true; I lived a high-roller lifestyle. The women in my life were — shallow; interested in partying or spending money. The one you probably read the most about ripped my heart out — not for love but for my mind and what I had developed.”

“Have you learned something from that?” Minami asked, as she watched his shoulders slump in acknowledgment.

“Not until I met someone so very different from them. Someone kinder, gentler, someone whose laughter wasn’t laced with ridicule or vindictiveness. Who knew she would turn out to be the daughter of a diplomat destined to get married to some guy overseas? What country is your father a diplomat in anyways?” Ethan asked in a mental fog.

Minami smiled, chuckled, then spoke, “Men can’t seem to see the answers in front of them.”

Ethan looked up, reading her face, and smiled, shaking his head, “I see; so damn obvious. Why else would you be in the United States?”

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Ethan. I’m sorry if it came across that way. My father says … keep your family close, your enemies closer. I’m not sure, at this point, which one I am.”

“You didn’t, and it didn’t come across that way. I’m a guy who sometimes gets lost in algorithms and doesn’t always see the low-hanging branches. As a result, I get smacked on the head before I get to taste the sweetest, higher-hanging fruits. Perhaps the same with the women in my past. I deserved that comment.”

Watching Ethan staring at the empty glass of wine, Minami realized her host role had taken a very bad turn. The day was intended to lighten the mood and make a deeper connection with Ethan. Instead, it had turned into a downward spiral.

“Ethan, you mentioned the three-three-three rules of dating yesterday. The last one spoke of setting expectations.”

Ethan nodded, and Minami continued.

“I would like to set an expectation for the two of us in our time together. An expectation that we are open and honest about how we feel about each other. We have three weeks before my father comes. Can you accept that and — be open?”

Ethan heard the words, but it took some time to process. He finally realized she wasn’t closing the door on developing a relationship. She seemed to be encouraging it.

“Don’t answer yet,” she quickly added, as she realized he was about to answer.

“I have something for you. When receiving guests at a tea ceremony, it is customary to provide a small gift.” Minami rose and left Ethan momentarily, then returned carrying a picture frame. She bowed to Ethan, sat down, and bowed slightly again, extending her hands with the frame.

Ethan turned the frame over. His eyes lit up, and a half smile replaced the somberness that had previously settled upon his dower face. It was Ethan grinning while snapping a shot of a cormorant with its wings spread to dry in the sun — above Ethan’s head, a Cooper’s hawk swooped into view with its salmon-colored chest and a long, striped tail. It was a stunning photo.

Ethan looked up into those deep, dark eyes and expressed his gratitude at receiving her gift, “Arigatou gozaimashita.”

“You are welcome, Ethan.”

“Let’s see if a poor host can make up for her poor manners by trying to remember how to conduct a proper tea ceremony. Meanwhile, I have something else for you to see.”

Gracefully, she rose, cleared the place settings into the kitchen, and then brought a laptop for Ethan to view the video presentation she had prepared for him while she went to the kitchen for the tea ceremony preparations.

The video opened with a vibrant view of Tokyo. As the camera panned over the bustling city, it transitioned to a tranquil ocean setting, where undulating waves serenely washed onto the shores of San Francisco Bay. The calming Japanese flute music in the background worked to soothe Ethan’s mind as the panoramic view of the Bay faded. The screen swept eastward, disappeared, and reopened on a picture of the bright-yellow door across from Ethan’s apartment.

The scene repeated itself, but this time, a floating crimson-red silk thread was superimposed on the video, gracefully matching the undulations of the ocean’s waves. It circled over Tokyo, weaving its way over the sea, and then, for a moment, it hovered over San Francisco as if contemplating the vast distances. Soon, it sped across the Heartland of America before gently landing at the threshold of Minami’s bright-yellow door.

Ethan watched, mesmerized by the effort put into the production. Minami had mastered more than just photojournalism. The ocean waves returned as the music played, with the solitary red thread flowing on the waters. The following superimposed words scrolled upward to disappear off the screen:

“Akai ito de musubareteru — the red string of fate entwines us. According to an enduring Japanese legend whispered through the ages, an invisible crimson thread of destiny unites all lovers. This delicate thread connects you to your soulmate, even when your paths have yet to cross. Those connected by this scarlet thread are destined to meet and fall in love, no matter the vast oceans that may separate them. Your string may intersect with the lives of others, at times becoming entangled in the web of fate, but invariably, you are destined to follow the trail of this unseen ruby-red thread to the one who waits at its other end.

If we remain open and patient, even if we must traverse the world from Tokyo to the Heartland of America, this Japanese legend assures us that we will ultimately find the one eternally bound to us at the far end of this invisible ruby-red thread.”

Ethan smiled. The poignant meaning seemed clear to him, just as clear as the red string that stretched from his doorway to Minami’s, connecting their destinies.”

________________A Japanese Tea CeremonyMinami returned from the kitchen, carefully balancing a tray laden with items for the tea ceremony. “I am sorry, Ethan, I am such a poor host. The tea ceremony is supposed to bring harmony and inner peace to guests by allowing them to break from the outside world and focus on the simple, transitory moment of drinking tea. I brought troubled waters to our ceremony instead. Let me make up for that now.”

Ethan started to answer as she set the tea service and preparation tools beside her. She pursed her lips and placed a shushing finger on them. Ethan stopped before uttering a word, realizing she was attempting to rebalance the harmony and tranquility of the time-honored tea ceremony. Her shoulders rose and fell as she breathed slowly, in and out, with a slight huff to calm her mind and find her center.

She bowed and, with deft precision, proceeded to clean and offer for inspection the tea preparation instruments as prescribed by the ritual, showing respect for her guest. Minami’s preparations moved through a series of choreographed steps, effortlessly gliding through the whole ceremony like a flawless ballerina, so that each action came straight from her soul. Jaku, an air of tranquility, permeated the room. Ethan watched, entranced. Her moments were just as precise as the video he watched earlier, even better, he felt.

Everything had been prepared: one steaming teapot, two warmed tea cups sans handles, a bamboo whisk, and tongs for the loose-leaf tea; two tea strainers and two fine-linen napkins folded just so. Everything was precisely in its place.

Minami placed Ethan’s cup onto the little woven mat, and the strainer went in before she tipped the ceramic teapot and poured the water. Minami counted silently, indicating the minutes to Ethan by holding up a finger, first one, then two, before removing the strainer and placing it on a linen napkin. Then, she stirred it with the bamboo whisk precisely twelve times.

One hand underneath the cup, she turned it twice, then bowed, offering him his tea. Ethan remembered the video, received it with two hands, bowed, and sipped the tea, bowing again in acknowledgment.

Minami smiled at his etiquette and then prepared a second cup in the same manner. She held it up to Ethan, bowed, and sipped it silently. Both were bound by the spell of the music from the video still playing and the tranquility of the tea ceremony’s symbolic intent of providing a respite from the outside world to a host’s guest. The ritual was profoundly philosophical and tied to the legend of the Red String of Fate story portrayed in the video. Ethan’s thoughts of the past and the uncertainties in their discussion vanished, as he felt the effects of the tea ceremony.

“Now, I believe you were going to say something, Mr. Ethan Reynolds, some minutes ago?”

“I was about to say I didn’t know about the Red String of Fate and hadn’t thought about Destiny as something that would ever cross my path in the business world. I recently encountered a red thread without recognizing its significance, including twice in California, once at the restaurant, and most recently, it guided me to the ‘Doorway of the Rising Sun.’ Ms. Minami Sasaki, I don’t think this is a coincidence.”

“I, too, have had a similar experience. When you came to borrow a can opener, I found a small red dot that unwound into a red silk thread outside my door. I didn’t think it was important then and threw it away. However, when we returned from the water preserve, I found a red silk thread around the lens cover in my backpack. I never had anything red in there, and it certainly wasn’t around the lens cap when I put it back on at the lake. When we held the thread in the restaurant, I felt a gentle current flow through it. I thought it was my imagination. Ethan, this can’t be a coincidence.”

“No, I suppose not, Minami. What do you propose we do about it? Your father …”

“My father’s journey is three weeks away, Ethan. In the meantime, I suggest we follow the Red Silk Thread of Fate to its Destiny.”

“And that would be?”

“Do you see that red silk thread that runs under your cushion and down the hallway? Let’s follow it and see where it leads?” Minami smiled at Ethan, who looked down and noticed the thread encircling his cushion.

He rose, and she reached up to hold his hand; gently, he lifted his host to her feet. “This is a bit like the yellow brick road in The Wizard of Oz,” he whispered, holding her against his chest and kissing her.

“That story ended with Dorothy waking up back at her home, Ethan … I don’t want to walk that road.”

“Then, perhaps we should write another story …” he whispered, as he retook her hand and followed the red silk string. The string led under a door, and Ethan pushed it open.

“One question,” Ethan sighed as he held her, “how does this kimono thing come undone?”

“Men tend to overlook the obvious,” she whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It starts by untying the silk thread belt around my waist. Here, let me show you.” Minami stepped back as Ethan watched several layers of clothing and fasteners drop, one by one, until she stood before him — left with but a timid smile and long flowing hair.

“I feel like an eighteen-year-old again — not knowing what to do,” Ethan whispered, as he gazed at her naked body, soaking in her femininity, and leaned down to kiss her gently.

“Perhaps, after we get you out of your tailored suit, handsome Clark Kent, it will all come back to you,” Minami whispered, as she pressed against him, feeling the firm shape at his groin. Minami smiled as he continued to stare in wonder, and then her hands helped with Ethan’s belt as he shed his suit coat and tie and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

“It’s coming back to me now,” he moaned, as he embraced her, skin on skin, and felt the warmth of their bodies pressing together.

Ethan swept her up into his arms and carried her to her bed, laying her down in the middle. He slid next to her, and she turned and faced him. “Slow and gentle. I want to feel every movement as it grows until we can’t hold back.”

“Slow and gentle — careful not to break the invisible silk thread that binds us,” Ethan whispered, as he entered her.

“Yes, just like that,” Minami coaxed, feeling Ethan’s hardness slowly penetrating her, easing himself inside her, gently stopping to let her adjust. She let go of her thoughts of her father’s pending arrival and allowed the connection of the Invisible Red String of Fate to carry out her destiny.

Deeply joined and centered, Minami and Ethan lay in blissful stillness. The soft, harmonious rhythm of their breathing filled the room as the red silk string crossed the pillows at their heads. Ethan could feel her heart beating in delicate synchrony with his, and she, in turn, sensed the rhythmic cadence of his own. Slowly, the undulating waves of romance enveloped them, gently rising in intensity until their hearts pounded, entwined by the Red Silk Thread.

And in that moment, they knew that no force on Earth, or in the cosmos, could ever sever the bond they now shared. The Japanese Red String of Fate proved it went beyond legend, crossed oceans of time and space, and landed squarely in the Heartland of America, bonding two lovers — though still with an uncertain future.

________________End of the Red String of Fate — Sorry, No SequelWriter’s NotesThanks goes out to kenjisato for his assistance editing this missive. My work seems much better, with the glitches ironed out under his watchful eye.

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