Tokyo to Kobe -- Out of the Earthquake and into the past -- Part 1

I am in Kobe. Where I did my exchange -- 16 years ago. The past 72 hours have been a blur. Not sure where to begin, but to begin...

After writing my last post on Saturday, I head to class. Talk to my students about trying to avoid too much news, that the images will cause stress and that they should try to separate themselves and meditate. I also start talking about the upcoming power outages. How they could plan to have something else to do. Like reading a book, or making something with their hands, or painting. I encourage them to plan ahead, so that when the electricity is gone, they won't continously reach for a lightswitch or the computer or their phone charger -- and feel the stress of rememembering, again -- that it isn't available.

Sunday is full -- I teach three classes in a row and try to do more of the same: talk to my students about their own experiences, lead them in a relaxation exercise that includes lying on the floor in dead man`s pose, eyes closed, while "Just Like Rain" from `Monsoon Wedding` plays from my computer. I walk them through a series of images: 　washing ashore, walking through a forest at night, standing on the top of a mountain with the wind so strong it almost lifts you up, and sitting in a cave, watching the flames of a fire. We do more improvs, scriptwork and some monologue work.

When I get back to the office, it is just around 7pm and one of my co-workers brings out a cake -- in celebration of the 1 year anniversary of the school. We all sit down to eat, marveling at how delicious Japanese cake is in comparison to the cake in the US -- which tends to be too sweet. There is a pause in the conversation and then the subject switches -- to sushi. I say that the best place for sushi in LA is KATSU YA, and we agree that in general it`s hard to find good miso soup outside of Japan. My two male coworkers give each lady white chocolate truffles for "White Day," the `non-Valentine`s Day` exactly one month after Valentine`s Day on March 14th. No discussion of the upcoming outages, except for the fact that they will start on Monday (tomorrow) around 5PM. This is part of the work ethic. Keep going. Be positive. Don`t dwell on what cannot be helped. I look at the clock which reads 7:30pm and remind my co-worker Wakako that we should probably head out to buy a flashlight and maybe a big round candle.

I say goodbye to everyone and wish them a restful weekend before proceeding to walk through Shinjuku. The night is warmer than any nights have been, and my first thought upon stepping outside into the almost humid air is: "I wonder if the heat is from one of the nuclear reactors." I realize this is a strange thought to be having. The natural thought would be: "Spring is here." I think back to the footage from Daiichi Fukushima, the reactor `blowing its top` on Saturday, yesterday、90 miles from here, but Wakako is talking to me about something funny that happened during one of the improvs, and we both laugh about it. As we leave the stretch of corporate skyskrapers and round the corner towards the shopping district, it is all together different. The streets are almost empty. Usually, at this time of night on a Sunday, the same neighborhood is packed. There are people walking around -- but not many at all. This is the first time I`ve been past the neighborhood of work and my apartment building (which are 5 minutes apart) since the earthquake. There is a different energy in the air. It is eery.

We arrive at Bic Camera, kind of like Best Buy or The Wiz. The rows of flatscreen tv`s and countless displays on the walls, usually flickering baseball games, commercials and sexy dramas -- are all turned off. We ask a sales associate which floor for lighting components, and upon hearing #6 -- opt for the escalators over the elevators. It will take longer, we both agree, but neither one of us really want to get inside an elevator -- especially after the improv from today when two crazy characters were stuck in an elevator -- during an earthquake.

Once we get to the section of the 6th floor where flashlights are sold, it becomes clear that they are gone. As in -- completely cleared off the shelf. Bic Camera was our best bet for bulk, but we press on. MUJI, a chain that has everything from envelopes to khakis, will most likely have flashlights, but the metal facade of LUMINE, a department store usually bustling, is pulled shut, all the lights off. MUJI -- and all the stores within -- closed early,　it seems. Wakako tells me she`ll bring me some small candles, and I thank her. Then I say: "what about the 100 yen shop?" Her eyes light up...they just might have it!

We head there and I feel excited. It`s open and the shelves look full. But once inside, all we find are rainbow stick plastic lights for key chains -- and multi-colored tea lights. Disappointed, I buy the tea lights and feel desperate approaching the register. Was there anything else I should buy, while I was here, while there was electricity? I scan the rows of plastic chachkies and Hello Kitty accessories, opting for two of the keychain lights, and a Snickers bar (Snickers has protein and really satisfies). I also need tampons, so we decide to head to a drugstore as a last stop before home.

By the time we get home, it`s almost 10PM. Wakako comes into my apartment and tries to turn the NHK channel to an English setting, but no luck. She looks exhausted and the feeling is mutual. I assure her that since I'm not used to watching any of the channels in English, I won`t be missing anything. We say goodnight, and I crack a beer and fire up my computer. New email from Mom. The subject, all in lower case, says simply: "leave."

I open it, heart pounding. "news here says the plant is in meltdown stage...using seawater is a last resort...if the power outages start what will be running the trains...get to Kobe." I call my parents over skype. My parents` voices. My parents` voices. Measured. Speaking slowly. Loving me. If the power grid shuts down, it will be harder and harder to get out, my father reasons. If more people are trying to get out when resources are limited you may face very different conditions that will leave you without any options...

My mind is racing. It`s 11pm. Just leave? I could try to leave now -- but I am exhausted. Should I tell Wakako? She is just upstairs -- but if I tell her she will have to include our boss -- that`s part of her job, to convey any information from me -- to everyone else. It will become a discussion. One which I have become familiar with: "Tokyo is safe. Tokyo is fine." "You are safe here." I don`t have time to be reasoned with. I have to pack -- but what should I pack? I came with two suitcases and have received gifts and bought clothes for the cold weather. I think again of what to take.

I skype with Chris. "Sentimental value comes first," he says. "All can be replaced. You cannot be. You can do it." Chris stays on with me while I pack. Talks to me about everything and nothing. Bentley`s adventures with Asher, the dog walker, and his work week. Tells me I look pretty. It`s time for him to take the dog out. I tell him I`ll write in the morning. We tell each other we love each other.

I look at the clock; it`s 1:00AM. Piles are in order but I still haven`t packed. My skype phone rings. It`s JJ, sitting at home on her couch in Santa Monica, her drapes the same fabric as our couch in the office, in Venice. Daytime there. I tell her I`m packing, leaving, fleeing. We laugh about my agony over leaving so much behind, my pack-rat nature...how I always seem to find more and more STUFF. I hear myself ask her how SHE is (all this time we`ve been talking about ME!) but as soon as I do, the record skips -- this is not that kind of conversation. She is keeping things real to keep me calm. Not to catch up. JJ senses as much. "I`ll let you go," she says. "Good luck. We are all thinking about you."

I double check the location of the Shinkansen over Google. Marounochi line to Tokyo station for the Shinkansen to Kobe. I know how to get to the Marounochi line from my apartment. If I can get to Tokyo station first thing in the morning, my chances of getting on a train are good. 16 years ago, I took the same train out of the massive Kobe earthquake to Tokyo. Now -- I am fleeing the Tokyo earthquake and its aftermath, heading to Kobe. South to North. North to South. I am in the same situation, again. But this time I am a big girl. If I can just get to the train. If I can just get to the train.

I put my packing in high gear. Eat a banana. Drink some water. Shovel some spoonfuls of yogurt in my mouth for protein. Pull the green suitcase out of the closet and put the chosen pieces in, filling bags with everything I can not fit and stack them in my closet. Empty my drawers. Choose necessary toiletries. I look down at my favorite draw string pajama pants that were a gift from Shawn and Serena at Christmas years ago. Covered in blood. Shit! I love these pants. I fill the sink with water and the Japanese version of woolite to soak them and remember to empty the trash bins. That will be the last thing I`ll do before leaving: take the trash to the basement, bring my luggage to the hall, lock the door, drop key and note to Wakako, head out. Head out.

By the time I have it all packed...canvas bag with granddad`s memoirs and my green journal from Heather, my computer plus cords and chargers, suitcase with clothes, shoes, jackets, Night 2 backpack with toiletries, sneakers (they won`t fit in my suitcase and I have to take the brown leather boots I found with my cousin Mollie at a thrift store on 2nd avenue and 7th) -- I realize I should take a bath. I don`t know what the next day will bring, or how long it will be until I shower again -- so I fill the tub and begin thinking about my notes to everyone at work. What will I write them on? I remember the images of people I printed for class on computer paper -- photos taken by Diane Arbus and Vivian Maier -- and grab the stack of black and white pages, turning them over to use as stationary. I will write them first thing in the morning, I tell myself, as the electronic female Japanese voice of my OFURO sounds: "O Furo ga hairimasu!" "It`s time for your bath!" This is followed by a ring tone length version version of "It`s a small world after all."

I sit down on the stool in front of the mirror and wash my hair, telling myself to breathe. The water looks perfect and I grab the white round of soap from Maggie`s hotel (it smells like Baby Kate) and lather up, excited for the relaxing soak. I get in the warm water and start to sink down -- but the ground is moving. I stop, eyes wide. Another earthquake? An aftershock? The water sloshes around me. I can`t tell. Was this just my body in water, a new buoyancy and therefore playing tricks on my mind? The room seems to shift again. I can`t tell if I am tired or if the plates are shifting far beneath. I looked at the buttons on the wall, the one for heat a fire signal in red. Think of the gas line breaking, like in Kobe when so many Mothers who rose early to make lunches for their families died in front of gas stoves. I am in a tub of water and the heat is electric...I get out. Towel off. Legs throbbing. Run a comb through my hair. Throw my towels in the washer. Stare at my bed and the envelopes, all addressed. Write them now while you have been thinking about it. You will be too tired in 3 hours. Write them now, I tell myself.

I sit down, opting for the black uniball elite, Shawn`s favorite pen. I used to order them by the box load -- making sure they were always in his car, in his bags, on his desk. No doubt about it; it`s the perfect balance of ink and tip precision. Write each letter out. Apologizing. Explaining. Trying to speak from my heart. A new email from my Aunt Cathy. "I am here if you want to talk." I write her back. "I should go to bed -- am trying to leave early." A quick reply: "Went to noon mass and said a special prayer for your safe travel. Sending you angels for your journey." I crawl into bed. Almost 5AM. Alarm set for 8:00.

I wake up disoriented and sweaty. My room looks bare. What am I doing? The sun is shining outside. It`s my day off. But I have to leave. I need to leave. I check my email and see the one from Alicia Brady who has fled a part of Tokyo for Ichikawa Chiba, where her husband`s mother lives. She tells me that I should get out if I can. That the army is passing out food and water in her part of Tokyo, and that it looks like a war zone.

I remember the email to let everyone know I`m leaving and began to type furiously. Am about to hit send when Chris calls on Skype. "You`ve got your traveling pants on, I see!" I look　at my reflection in the lower left corner, the top of my brown cordoroy jumper showing and my black wool turtleneck sweater. "Yes I do," I say with stage bravado, thumbs tucked beneath like a chorus member from Rogers and Hammerstein`s OKLAHOMA! "Don`t forget to put your Japanese cell # in that email," Chris says. I`m wanting to send it already, wanting to shut down, wanting to pack up, wanting to go. But I go back into another email. Copy the number I don't yet know by heart and paste it into my gmail draft. Hit send.　 Chris says "don`t forget to wear your glasses."

I sign off from Skype. Opt for `Shut down` on my MAC. Unplug ethernet and leave the yellow cord, my umbilical cord to the news and to home and to the world, on the floor below. I wrap Anne`s prayer shawl around my neck and take a look at my apartment, grabbing the trash, and begin to head down to the basement but turn around, ALMOST forgetting the key. I cut to that scenario. Me, locked in the trash room with all my luggage packed in my apartment and missing the train. A near miss. A near miss.

I walk out into my hallway and the light is bright in my face. There is a crunching sound and I look down; the floor is covered with moving paper that stretches to the elevators and starts from the apartment next to mind. I clock the men in uniform, stacking the worldly possessions of my mystery neighbor on a dolly. I`m not the only one leaving. I think of "Empire of the Sun," but a different version. This version.

Back upstairs I pull everything into the hallway, take one last look, lock the door. Leave my bags out of the way of the movers and and head upstairs to Wakako`s, bringing my note, the key to my apartment, and the jar of marmalade from the Suzuki`s -- still unopened but now with a sticky note: "Marmalade from the Suzukis" and a heart. In one of the most amazing coincidences, Wakako my coworker had gone to school with Kenichiro, the Suzuki's son. We had more than marveled over the small world of it at my welcome dinner - it was a kind of destiny that we meet. Give the marmalade to Wakako. From the Suzukis.

I come back down. Grab all. Head down in the elevator. Pass the grandfather clock in the lobby that had stopped with the earthquake -- but is now working again. Step outside, pulling my suitcase behind me. I look towards my way to work, my usual way to work, but instead cross the street and head down, down into the subway. The sound of my suitcase on its wheels, rolling along carpeted halls of this pseudo department store that stretches out from the subway line with tourist type stopping points. Japanese sweets, women`s clothing, a shoe shiner, coffee. I follow the sign for the subway and the Marounochi line. Down another set of escalators. I pull out my subway pass and see the track number for Tokyo. Down one more set of escalators. I`m on the platform. I did it. I`m here. I look around, relieved. Relieved. And then. And then.

The ground is shaking. It sounds like a train is coming -- but it`s an earthquake. An unmistakeable, ground shaking, earthquake -- and it feels substantial. All of us on the platform stand frozen, bracing ourselves, looking at each other, wondering what is going to happen next. I stare at the escalator, thinking about how many levels I`ve just come down. My bags are lethal to me now.　　A Japanese man comes over the loudspeaker, sounding nervous: "We are experiencing an earthquake. This is an earthquake. Stay calm. Stay calm." I feel the tears coming. This is it. I shouldn`t have left. I am going to die down here. Oh my God, please help me. Please help me. I make eye contact with a man who looks like Ben Kingsley with a dash of Peter Falk. He is holding a newspaper and wears a hat. He smiles at me. We both consider the escalator and move towards it, but then, the earthquake stops. We go back to the platform. I look at the subway station clock: it`s 10AM. I imagine the news flash: Earthquake rattles Tokyo at 10AM. "Did you feel that?" the man asks, a twinkle in his eye. I nod. "I did. I did." The announcer comes back. Annonuces that the train is approaching.

The train arrives and it is packed. As in: sardine style, no room for me plus my backpack plus my suitcase and purse slung across my body. This man helps me push my way on. We are slammed against each other. I tell him the last time I was on a train this crowded, I was groped by a pervert while wearing a school uniform. He laughs. I feel literary. Powerful. I see the veins in my hands as I grip the bar above. He asks me where I am from. "Originally," I say, proud of this, "Wilmington, Delaware." Over the past 10 years...New York and Los Angeles. You?" He turns his head but cannot fully face me. I see his profile. "I`m from Montreal," he says, and I recognize the `n` in `Montreal` is like Shawn`s. "Montreal!" I say. "I used to work for a man from Montreal. I hear it`s a great town. I lived in Vancouver for four months," I tell him, feeling worldly. He chuckles. "You`re telling me you`ve been to Vancouver but you`ve never been to Montreal? You are missing the whole point."

We come to a stop. People get off and begin pushing past me. I start to lose my balance, unable to stay put next to my suitcase with the weight of so many moving, anxious bodies. The man holds my suitcase while I gain footing and find a pocket. I ease back to him. The car is crowded again and I can feel the sweat covering my upper lip. All of a sudden I feel panicked. Am I going the right direction to Tokyo? The man pulls out his map and we confirm that I have it right. He says he is getting off at the station just before. Then he says that he was in the corporate world for more than 30 years and now teaches Japanese people how to study for their MBA. This is his 29th trip to Japan. I tell him I teach acting. He smiles and says: "I`ve been acting all my life! All the world`s the stage..." I pick up where he left off: "and all the men and women merely players."

He exits. Wishing me luck. My stop is next. It comes. I get off and push upstairs asking a Subway Official which way to the Shinkansen. He points me to the left and I go through a series of turn styles, watching what looks like a CNN crew interview a foreigner. I see the ticket booth for the Shinkansen, and there are at least 100 people in line, in front of me. The guy just in front of me turns around, taking in my suitcase, my sweaty lip, out of breath. "Wow, you really packed everything, huh?" He is perhaps my age or perhaps 10 years older. I cannot tell. In good shape, with a pressed oxford tucked into wool pants and a kind smile. He explains that he is line to buy a ticket for his wife, who wants to go to Hiroshima. "And you?" I ask. "Don`t you want to get out?" He smiles and starts showing me photos of mountain peaks on his i-phone. "Me? I`m a climber. I like high stakes situations. Places like Kili? Mount Ev? That`s my speed." I laugh. "So Kili is Mt. Kilimanjaro, right?" He shows me a pic of it. Then of one with him on it.

We chat. Turns out he was in New York during 9\11, too. Driving on the New Jersey turnpike, he looked up and saw that half the sky was black. I tell him about listening to Howard Stern on the radio in my apartment on 97th street and 3rd and how I was supposed to have jury duty, but at 9PM the night before, the bailiff called all the jury members and said the Judge was canceling the session for the next day, a Monday. It`s a familiar conversation...the `where were you, what did you think, who did you know who was there,` -- but I haven`t had it in a while. I must appear nervous because he says: "you`ll get on today. But it`s good you came when you did. See all those sheets of paper? They are changing all the schedules. It`s going to get harder and harder to get a ticket." I see he can read all the kanji easily. "How long have you been in Japan?" I ask. "I was brought here from India out of college, to work as an engineer. Then from there, New York for 15 years. That`s where I met my wife. She is the one who wanted to come back." His phone rings. "Excuse me," as he answers it. Talks to his wife in Japanese. We chat a bit more about what I am doing here and he asks for my email. "I have a friend in the film business in Tokyo who you may want to connect with. He sends me an email from his i-phone with the Kili screensaver. We`ve come to the front of the line and the train official waves me over.

I pull the ticket out of my pocket, the one Yoshii San bought and sent to me for 3/28 -- when I had planned to travel to Kobe with her granddaugther Tamami. The official lets me use it as a credit towards the whole fare, and asks which train do I want -- 11:20 or 11:30. "Ima nan ji desu ka?" I ask him. "What time is it?" 11 he tells me. I opt for 30 minutes, say goodbye to Ash, and push my way towards the upper platforms. The escalators are not working and 3 long flights of stairs separate me from my platform. A Japanese woman makes her way back down and picks up my suitcase. I thank her over and over in Japanese. She smiles, shaking her head, and tells me that we are all helping each other.

On the platform the sun is shining. I search for my car number to board and place yen in a vending machine, downing a gatorade-like drink called "pocari sweat." The Shinkansen appears, a sleek white train that looks beautiful to me. As beautiful as a new Mac Powerbook -- as chivalrous as a white stallion. I try to get on but the conductor tells me they are cleaning it first. An old Japanese woman and I stand side by side and she smiles. Tells me her child lives in Osaka and that when the earthquake hit, so many items in her apartment fell over. I tell her my story and also that I was in the Daishinsai, in Kobe. She pats my cheek and tells me, in Japanese, that I am a lucky girl. I am a lucky girl.

The doors open. I get on. Look at my ticket. Seat 3A. Window seat. I heave my suitcase above and sit down, shaking. I am on the train. I am on the train. I pull out my Japanese cell phone and write a broken email to Chris and my Mom. My Mom writes back. "When will you arrive in Kobe?" I attempt a reply on the buttons meant for writing in Japanese. "2:06." I call Tadahiko, Yoshii`s husband. He tells me to get off at Shin Osaka. Asks me what car I`m in. I think he`s asking for the train number and I am stumped. He tells me not to worry, and he`ll be there on the platform.

The train starts to move as a woman sits down next to me and her son. Someone comes around with a cart. I order a coffee. The woman passes me my coffee, and asks me where I am headed. "Shin Osaka," I tell her. So is she and her son. She is Japanese, but her English is perfect. We start to talk about the earthquake, the news. She tells me that she has been watching and reading everything. The Japanese news, CNN, BBC, Twitter feeds, and more. She is upset with how conservative and secretive the Japanese Power company and government has been about the nuclear situation. "It is such a sensitive issue for Japan, because so much of their exports depend on this nuclear power." I think back to skyping with Saemi, and us having the same conversation on Saturday night, just two nights ago.

We introduce ourselves. "I`m Naoko," she tells me, and this is my son Ken." She tells me her husband is still in Tokyo, but that he will join them on Friday. And that she, like me, decided to leave just the night before. She also says that her husband, who is American and whom she met in New York, is upset because all the other embassies (French, British, Swiss and German) have been telling their citizens in Tokyo to flee -- but that the American Embassy had not issued any warnings to citizens abroad. Further, she tells me, the members of the American Embassy had themselves already fled to Kyoto, and that soon, the Royal Family would be leaving Tokyo for Kyoto as well. I look at the window, watching the scenery fly past, and think of my empty apartment. The incense stick holder and my magnetic calendar with birthdays and appointments written in black sharpie.

We talk about New York, and how she was working in the Twin Towers when the first attack rocked the trade center in the 90`s. She tells me she and her husband lost someone in their family who worked at Canter Fitzgerald. Then she looks up at the red ticker tape of upcoming stops and, apparently, news reports. There is a special report about a new explosion at the third nuclear reactor that was under close watch. My whole body embraces the speed with which we are moving south. I continue to talk to Naoko, and soon Ken, about everything, it seems. Jazz, movies, the firing of John Galliano from Christian Dior, her work as a line producer at Mad House Picutures, my experiences working on Night at the Museum 1 and 2 -- at which point both of them get excited.

They LOVE these movies. Especially Ken. They have questions for me and I am so happy to share information. About the exteriors shot in New York and DC, the stages that were built, the story of a Museum coming to life. She tells me that when she took Ken to the Museum of Natural History, the first thing he wanted to see was the diorama of all the Railroad workers from the first movie, when Owen Wilson first appears. I tell them how the sound of the banjo in that scene was actually provided by Steve Martin -- a colleague and friend of the director -- who stopped by to offer his expert percussive pluckings on a sound stage at 20th Century Fox -- and how the voices of Shawn`s company, mine included, were the very voices that populated that Chinese/Oklahoma/Turn of the Century scene (aside from Owen Wilson`s and Ben Stiller`s, or course).

Before I know it -- we have arrived at Shin Osaka. I step off the train and see Tadahiko, waiting for me. I say goodbye to Naoko and Ken, snapping a picture with them and exchanging info.

Tadahiko leads me through the station and we take a few trains to home. Where I am now. Typing this. Needing to sleep. It is 5AM -- but I had to get it all out. What happened when we arrived at Ashiya Gawa -- including my visit to Konan (my old school) and reuniting with three of my teachers on the stone steps next to the carp pond...I must save for tomorrow. After sleep. After sleep.

Today I came to Kobe from Tokyo. I did not come by myself. There were angels all along the way. Thank you, my family and my friends, for sending them to me. Thank you for sending me your prayers and thoughts and energy. I received them in the form of people who reached out to me over and over again. I am crying with tears of joy to be here.