His Smile

Marlene Nishime

February 24, 2011

RD2

It took me thirty minutes to erase all of my mementos of him. Only thirty minutes. The email messages, long online chats, e-cards, and phone messages all vanished into nothingness with the click of a button.  Pictures of us were pasted into digital folders that were organized chronologically. There were only three folders in the two and a half years we spent in each other’s company. He never liked taking pictures, and in the end, I was glad that he didn’t. [THESIS] As I went through these old images, I found myself pulling out memories, both good and bad, that I didn’t know I still had, and wasn’t sure if I still wanted. [THESIS]

 I went through each photo, remembering how we used to smile. It was almost surreal to think that his small beady eyes will never look into mine the same way again. His half-smile half-smirk when awkwardly posing for these pictures made me giggle after the shutter button released. He went through several stages in the time we knew each other, but I will always remember him the way I want to. Black bowl-cut hair parted in the center to hide his expressions from the side, a round nose that could easily distinguish the difference between a good Japanese meal from the other, and a tall lengthy stature that walked with subtle confidence. He was kind to the eyes, yet deceiving to the voice.  He could gaze into me with such admiration, yet stare at me with such disappointment, all while rehearsing the same lines over and over again, “Everything is okay.” I couldn’t help but believe him every single time he said it. Coming back to my reality, I took a breath, rubbed my forehead, and continued deleting these moments. 

There were times in our relationship when I wished I could have seen through him. The phone calls he would make to other girls, telling me they were his good friends from high school, the fights he would get into at school with other guys because there would be some random quarrel about them being jealous of him. He would tell me one day that he had to leave for some time, and that he wouldn’t be back for a month or so. I would ask him if he would call me or write me, but he would always give hesitation before replying, “ I’m sorry, but I can’t. They won’t let me”. Somehow, through all the times we spent together, I was okay with that. I looked back now and thought, how could I have been so relaxed about these situations? I let him get away with too much. Maybe it was his smile that persuaded me everything would be okay, and that he really is leaving for an important trip. He did have a strange and clever way with words that would always somehow put me at ease with every situation he gave me. Though thinking about how oblivious I was to everything he had said, I now know what he was actually doing.  Still, I put it on myself to let him hurt me, and so I can’t give him all the credit for this heartache. 

There was one instance in particular that I am to this day embarrassed about. We were flirting with each other at a local diner. He grabbed my arm and we began arm wrestling across the table. Both of our waters, filled to the brim, sat symmetrically between the outside of my arm and the salt and peppershakers against the wall. His was the same on his side. I leaned forward to try to fight his fist against mine, all while gritting my teeth and laughing at his cringed face. I must’ve gotten out of control because before I knew it, I had knocked over his water, spilling it across the table and soaking both of our laps. He immediately let go of my hand and stared at the mess we had created. Cold water dripped off the table and ice slid across the table counter. “I’m so sorry!” I kept repeating to him, but he just looked at me and muttered, “This is so embarrassing…” I tried cleaning it up myself but the napkins were already ten times heavier from soaking in the water. The waitress came over and helped clean it up for us. We both apologized to the waitress, who was completely fine with it, and was just glad that it wasn’t coffee or anything else that would otherwise cause harm to us. When she left, he didn’t look at me. Instead, he gazed away from our table and rested his head on the palm of his hand. “We are never doing this again,” he mumbled. I was relieved he didn’t make a scene about it, but I was also ashamed that I had embarrassed him. The fact that he kept saying to me with his soft voice how this was his favorite diner and how he couldn’t ever come back here again from embarrassment didn’t help my conscience. Lunch was a quiet one, and afterwards, he walked ahead of me instead of next to me. I knew I was a clumsy person, but I didn’t know it would affect us this much. I began to think that maybe he’ll never accept such a flaw from me. I ran to him with my short, stubby legs, and apologized that it would never happen again. With a long sigh, he forcefully pushed out a breath of, “Don’t worry about it.” There was no eye contact given, just a brush of his hand against my arm that had ruined our date. 

After cleansing my computer from this era of my life, I proceeded to my backpack where I kept all my gifts from him-- meaning the one, tiny little keychain he gave to me while we were strolling through the city. It was nothing romantic, but definitely meaningful, for it was the first time he gave me something of his. This tiny trinket, no bigger than a thimble, was from what he called “Evangelion”, a Japanese anime show I’d never seen before. Mine was yellow, and his was white. He told me that he wanted me to think of the good times we had when I looked at the trinket.  I thought that was a little cheesy of him, and a bit sad considering we were reaching the end of our relationship (and we both knew it), but I went with it anyway. He took my hand and smiled the most genuine smile I had seen from him yet. I really felt at the time that he was happy to be with me, yet we weren’t doing anything extraordinary. It was the first time in years where he apologized to me for the way he was. He didn’t try to get out of anything by making excuses like he usually did. He didn’t try to explain that it was his lack of a better childhood or that it was “in his nature” that was the cause for his coldness and rash decisions.  In fact, he didn’t say anything after that. He just walked me, hand in hand, back to my dorm, with the most genuine smile I had ever seen.  

I still cannot understand why his smile meant so much to me, and why I decided that night to keep the trinket safely hidden in my backpack instead of tossing it into the garbage. Perhaps I felt bad that no matter how much he feared being alone, he would always remain alone for as long as he continued his vicious cycle of swinging between different women at a time. Perhaps I wanted to remember that no matter how hard I tried to forget these moments of him, he would always be permanently embedded in my life, and so I may as well keep the one good memory we had. Still, I think to this day how pathetic it was for me to give into his coldness that day I spilled the water, and how I should’ve left after that. I should’ve realized at that moment that I shouldn’t be with someone who couldn’t have a sense of humor about situations like that. And it wasn’t until I found my own real love that I discovered all of this. It wasn’t until I began making new memories with someone else that I realized how much of a low self-esteem pushover I was. And now, as I look through my emptied folders and my empty backpack, I see that I can’t use them anymore. As much as I want to, and as much as I’ve been meaning to, I can’t replace this backpack with new memories. I can’t erase this hardheaded, stiff man from my life. No matter how much harm he did to me, I could never forget that awkward smile of his, the one that wasn’t sure whether or not to face up or face straight. Every time I think about this, I can’t help but smile back at him. And then I look at myself and I say, “Everything is okay.”