I met a woman born a man
in Japan.
Of Korean extraction
son/daughter of a Japanese politician.
She had dyed blond hair with extensions and blue contact lenses
over her brown eyes.
She was built like a rugby player, which tended to erode her plastered femininity.
A self conscious schizophrenic.
I met her through a male American friend who was conned into living in her apartment and teaching her English.
He was seduced by her surroundings.
She had a maid who used to take the cans of beer from the fridge and open them for you.
Some people would consider that the height of sophistication, i was just embarrassed
It was compact Japan- the fridge was an armlenght away.
It all ended badly.
She dropping hints-
“I’m not what you think I am”
“I could tell the police that you have stolen from me”
(this after spending $20.000 on furnishing his room)
He, while trying to escape her, packed his bags
and caught a taxi--she followed,
after a few blocks he took his bags from the trunk and changed taxis,
she followed-unhindered by baggage.
By the third taxi his patience was exhausted
and he slammed the taxi door on her hand
to buy himself time.
He arrived in my apartment in Tokyo with blood on his T shirt and quite a story.
Trouble was, I had left a scooter at her place, not the motorized kind but the kind that you pushed with your foot.
I had to go up to her place and ask for it back.
She looked at me through her contacts with an insecure belligerence that somehow summed up her complex dilemma.
Man/woman, Asian/westerner, financial wealth/emotional poverty,
intelligence but tragically confused.
Life’s not easy I thought as I scooted swiftly away.