The Yamanote line makes a great continuous loop around metropolitan Tokyo. For years I had made a habit of riding this line, losing myself in the ebb and flow of commuters, and measuring out my afternoons with each rotation. And it was on that line that I met her. It’s funny, but when she first sat down I barely even noticed. It was only after the train had come full circle and she was still there beside me that her presence began to register. With a few subtle glances, I saw that she was reading a book that I had read a few years back in the States. I gathered some courage and spoke to her. "I’ve read that one," I said.   

"Excuse me?" she replied, a bit too quickly, betraying that she had been waiting for me to talk to her.

"Your book, I read it. Only I read it in English."

"Your English must be good."

"It’s very good," I replied, "I’m an American."

"I thought so," she said with a laugh. "I guess I should say your Japanese is good."

"It’s not so good; only good enough. So, what do you think of it?"

"Your Japanese?"

"No, the book."

"Not much, to be honest. But I could be reading a poor translation."

"I don’t know if that would make much of a difference. It wasn’t all that good in English either."

The train pulled into Shibuya station and a fresh rush of passengers herded in. I took this chance to check her out in more detail. She didn’t seem to be overly concerned about her appearance, which in Tokyo is a refreshing thing. She had no makeup on at all and wore her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, revealing small un-pierced ears. Her plain faded jeans fell over a pair of blue Converse sneakers; a simple black turtleneck sweater completed her outfit. I also noticed that she wore a band on the ring-finger of her left hand.

After a few stops the car cleared. Then with a smile, she turned to me and asked, "Well, how do you like Japan?"

"I like it fine," I said.

"And how about Tokyo? Do you ever find it overwhelming?"

"It can be at times."

"Have you seen all the sights? Tokyo Tower or the Meiji Shrine?"

"Yes, I have. They are wonderful," I answered automatically. I have had this conversation so many times before that I knew it by heart. At least she didn’t ask me if I knew how to use chopsticks.

"You should make sure to climb Mt. Fuji."

"I’ve done that as well. And you know what they say; A wise man climbs it once, a fool does it twice."

"And is it a wise man or a fool that rides around on the Yamanote line all day?"

"Touché," I said, pleasantly surprised.

"Excuse me?"

"Good point," I revised.

"So, where do you live?" she asked, keeping the conversation going.

"In Kichijoji, right off the park."

"I have an aunt who lives there," she said with mild surprise. "But what I meant was, where do you live back home, in America."

"I’m from a city called Saginaw, in the state of Michigan. Have you ever heard of it?"

"Is it near New York?"

"Not even close."

"How about Los Angeles?"

"Even further away."

"Then I’ve never heard of it," she concluded. "Is there a beach there? Whenever I think of Americans I picture them at the beach. That or shooting at each other in high schools."

"No, there’s no beach. And thankfully no gunplay in the schools. Not when I was there anyway. Things may have changed."

The announcer called out that we were arriving at Ikebukuro and we both had to pull in our knees to accommodate a group of office workers heading for the door. "Your Japanese is really very good," she said as she put her legs back.

"You’re kind, but you’re a liar."

"I mean it. It’s like you’re Japanese."

"You really think so? I don’t feel Japanese."

"So, what do you feel like?"

Now, normally I would have shot out a one-liner in response to this. Something witty to make her laugh, maybe an innuendo to help me gauge what my chances with her were. But looking back, I realize it had been a while since I had really talked with anyone besides my students. I must have been pretty hungry for conversation, for I surprised myself at how forthcoming I became. "What do I feel like? Well, to tell the truth…I feel stuck."

"On this train, right?" she said, anticipating a joke.

"In a way, yes," I admitted. "I really have been on this train for a while."

"And how long have you been riding this train?"

"About eight years."

She let out a laugh, then took my arm and gave it a light squeeze. A nice hand, I noted; a small hand. One shouldn’t let things like that go unnoticed. We talked for a time as the train made its circular rounds around the city. It felt good to be there, on the train, with her. I had become so familiar with the line that the train car felt like my living room and she was now my guest. She told me all about a recent trip she had taken to her hometown and how nice it was to see old friends that she had not seen since she moved down to Tokyo. As we talked I made mention that I hadn’t been home in over five years. She was incredulous. "Five years! You must be joking. Don’t you miss your hometown?"

"No, not really. But then I never liked Saginaw. It’s hard to explain…it’s a sad place."

She paused at this, and then said, "Hometowns can’t be sad. Only people are sad."

"Fair enough," I conceded. "I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that my hometown made me sad."

I then looked around the car and found that it was nearly empty. An old man was slouched in the seat across from us fast asleep. You could hear his faint snoring mingled with the muffled roll of the train. A schoolgirl in a blue sailor suit quietly read her comic book a few seats down.  We sat for a time and felt the train’s steady rhythm. When she spoke again, it was in a hushed voice, a gentle voice. "So, is that why you came to Japan?"

"Well, it wasn’t to study Zen or anything like that," I said, matching her tone. "Maybe I didn’t really come to Japan so much as ran away from America."   

"And what is it that you’re running from?"

"The strip-malls, McDonald’s, and Starbucks," I lied, hearing the falseness of my words as soon as they had come out of my mouth.

"We have those things over here as well, you know that as well as I do," she said as she nodded to the window. I looked out as we passed a huge neon McDonald’s sign flashing on the side of a skyscraper. "Whatever you’re running from seems to be doing a good job of keeping up with you."

"Touché."

"Excuse me?"

"What I mean is, I know you’re right," I confessed. "I guess I don’t really know why I came here."

"You honestly have no idea?"

"Well, that’s not entirely true. Maybe…maybe one reason is that I had hoped that things would finally be different, you know? That if I were in a new place, I would somehow be new as well. It’s a foolish idea, and I know now that it doesn’t really work that way."

"And how does it work?"

"Wherever you go, there you are."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that wherever I find myself--on top of Mt. Fuji, in the slums of Kolkata, or in bed with a stranger--I’m always right there. I can never leave myself behind."

"And is that so bad?"

"No. No it’s not. But do you get my point?"

"I get you," she said with a smile.

All the while the train rolled along. The buildings steadily moved passed the windows and the people boarded and exited. She then asked, "So then, if that’s the case, where are you going?"

"Where am I going?"

"If what you say is true, wherever you go, there you are, then, where are you going? I can’t help but notice that you’ve been riding this line for well over an hour."

"And I noticed that I could ask you the same question."

"Well, I asked first."

I paused at this and felt the corners of my mouth become weighted. I looked over at an advertisement for a sports drink posted on the wall of the train. POWER UP and FIGHT! it urged the commuters. The accompanying picture of a muscleman bursting out of his business suit stood in contrast to my mood. "Around in circles evidently," I finally answered.

"So, why don’t you stop?"

"I’m not so sure that I can," I told her. "You see, I’ve been thinking the same thing, that it may be time for me to finally go home."

"Why don’t you?"

"I would, but there’s something that’s just tearing me up…"

"Go on."

"Well, today I’ve spent the whole afternoon on this line, just looking out over this city. And you know, I really love it. The crowds, the traffic, and the explosion of neon everywhere…I love it all. And that’s exactly what’s killing me. I haven’t even left yet and I’m already feeling so homesick. Homesick for everything that is still right here all around me. Do you have any idea what I mean?"

As soon as I said this she sat up straight and turned to face me fully. "Oh yes, I know exactly what you mean!" she said excitedly.  "It’s like when we had our Sports Day in elementary school. I just loved all the weeks of preparation, the hours we spent practicing our formations and songs. We would spend all day laughing and rehearsing in the school’s courtyard. But then… the thought would come over me that it would all be over soon, and it…well it just ruined it for me. I envied the other kids who could just brush a thought like that aside. I know it sounds crazy, but by the time the opening ceremonies started I would already feel like crying… I couldn’t bear Sports Day, not because I hated it, but because I loved it so much."

After she said that I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I just focused on her hands. Porcelain hands, a doll’s hands. Then I looked out the window and saw a housewife holding a bag of groceries at the crosswalk, waiting for the train to go by. We met eyes and I followed her until she was out of sight. "Well, that’s the way it is with me too," I finally said. "As if all the sad things life offers weren’t enough, for me… the wonderful things can end up hurting just as much. It never ceases to amaze me how some things, I don’t know, are just so beautiful that it breaks your heart. Like…well, like hearing children sing."

"Or the moment when rain just begins to fall," she added.

 "And every time the seasons change."

The train was starting to fill again with commuters on their way home. The sun was just beginning to set. I could see the sky turning pink between the buildings. "And now I’m really not looking forward to going back home," I said. "There’s no one there that can even begin to understand these things. Not like you do."

"But you know, the seasons change everywhere, even overseas." She then smiled and said with a laugh, "I hear that even in America they now have Starbucks."

I smiled at that and turned to her, but just then a group of high school boys carrying large bags of baseball equipment boarded the train. They stood in front of us and laughed loudly as they playfully punched at each other. I knew then that it was over. She glanced at her watch and then looked over to me. "I’m sorry, but I really have to get going. It’s getting late and I have to meet my fiancé for dinner." She laughed and said, "I just know he’s going to give me a hard time for riding on the trains all day long again. He can’t understand it, how it’s just something that I like to do." Then, just before she stood up to leave she leaned in close, held my arm gently, and whispered, "I really think it’s time we both went home."

And so I did. I moved back home, where there are no train lines. I even ended up going back to school. I now spend my afternoons in my university’s library, away from the others, poring over books on Japan. I’m starting to forget my Japanese; the kanji characters are becoming mysterious again. But I can still feel her hand on my arm. I still see her eyes, as she looked back at me for the last time, just before the doors closed and the train pulled away.