Gloomy

        “We’re in fuckin’ Japan dude!” John yelled as the plane dropped precipitously towards the ground. I didn’t really pay him any attention, instead focusing on keeping my stomach stuffed down my throat. My hands were vices attached to the armrests, despite how little good I knew they’d do. “Dude, you’re totally leaving me hangin’,” John continued. Looking over I saw that this was indeed the case.
         “You know I hate flying,” I replied, forcing myself to release my right hand and pound John’s outstretched fist. After fourteen hours trapped in a metal tube though, the gesture was too much. I felt my stomach turn and scrambled for the airsick bag.
         “Whoa! Not over here. That shit’s gross!” John scrambled up onto the far side of his seat, willing to sacrifice his dignity to avoid whatever it was I was doing. The plane jostled as wheels hit pavement. The world steadied. Immediately I felt better, crisis averted. John gave me an appraising look. “You had me scared there for a second,” he said, sliding back into his seat. “You were totally going to hurl.”
Glaring at my insensitive friend, I noticed a passenger on the other side of John staring at me. People had been doing that a lot ever since I started hanging out with the crazy bastard a few years ago. I never had been able to figure it out really. John was always the one who did the stupid shit. I always played it safe. I guess they must wonder why anyone would hang out with such an idiot. I couldn’t blame them. Sometimes I wondered the same thing myself. It was annoying though, part of the reason John and I had decided on visiting Japan was to avoid all of that judging.
         John’s desire for a crash course in Japanese distracted me as we were taxied to the gate. By request John knew how to say: “Hi, I’m John and you look fine,” by the time we exited the plane. Although the sleaziness was lost in translation, I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that I was releasing him on the unsuspecting women of Japan, even for the short amount of time we would be there. That guilt, however, was soon forgotten.
         Exiting the plane was an experience akin to what Niel Armstrong must have felt as he took his first step onto the lunar surface. I had studied Japanese and seen pictures, but it proved to be little preparation for what I saw. The terminal was a sea of black hair and black suits. The largest electronic display board I had ever seen dominated the open space, reaching to the vaulting heights of the terminal. Along the walls there were small, scattered, brightly colored stands crowded with strange edibles, and other essentials, which I did not recognize.  A passing sign read Narita kuukou he youkosou irashaimashita, below it a translation: Welcome to Narita Airport.
         Getting to Tokyo took about an hour by train. Uniformed police officers herded us into the car like cattle, using white gloved hands as prods to pack and push us into the cramped space like upright sardines. The train itself was inundated in advertisements. They plastered the walls and ceiling and draped down the aisles, completely blocking the front half of the car from view. Somehow John and I managed a window spot, and we stared outward, amazed. Tokyo is colossal, it sprawls upwards and outwards, like a giant human maze. I could only hope that when our time came we would be able to find our way back out.
         We arrived at the hotel sometime in the early afternoon. John and I were getting hungry, so we decided to drop off our bags and grab something to eat. We managed to find a small ramen restaurant near the hotel. The shop was small, sporting a single bar that surrounded an open kitchen where the chef worked. I approached the man tentatively, still shy about using my Japanese in public.
         “May I have two bowls please?” I asked in Japanese.
         The man smiled. “You must be hungry.”
         “No, one is for my friend,” I replied pointing over in John’s direction.
         The man looked over in the direction of my gesture and chuckled, serving up two dishes. “Here, for you and sense of humor.”
         Not sure how to respond, I thanked the man, handing a bowl to John. I was a skeptical at first, as ramen in the U.S. is characterized as a cheap staple for drunken college kids, but ended up being pleasantly surprised by the rich flavor of the dish. After eating John and I decided to wander.
         It didn’t take long before we came across a large shopping mall. Noticing the crowd that streamed through the building, we decided to see what the fuss was all about. As we entered we were assailed by a huge wave of sound. People were screaming, shouting and laughing, all with little regard for the noise they produced. The mall itself was similar to those you might find in the United States; stores lined each walkway in a winding path that snaked through the enormous building. In front of most stores a man or woman stood on a small platform. Each held a microphone that they used to facilitate their screaming: Irashaimase! Irashaimase! Irashaimase!
         “Don’t they ever shut up?” John asked, grimacing as he used his hands to try and block out the racket.
         “Unlikely,” I replied. “They’re essentially saying ‘welcome to our store’ over and over again. I get it though, lets get out of here.” Together we made our way out the back of the mall, where we found ourselves on a surprisingly sparsely-crowded street. Wanting to escape the hustle and bustle of the city for a while we ducked into what seemed like a quiet merchandise store on the side of the road.
The store was dimly lit, made dimmer by the walls and ceiling, which were some sort of dark unfinished wood. Before us were bins of what looked like toys and stuffed animals. John approached the nearest and started ruffling through it. All I could do was watch as I soaked in the earthy atmosphere of the place, enjoying our escape. A few seconds later John froze, picking up a pink teddy bear.
         “Hey, check this out. This is kinda creepy,” John said, a strange look on his face.
I laughed. “Yeah it is, a pink teddy is a little much for me too.”
         “No seriously, check this out,” John continued, tossing the stuffed animal over. A closer inspection revealed what he was talking about.
         “What the fuck? This thing’s got claws and teeth.”
         “Yeah, its got blood dripping out of its mouth too, look,” John pointed at another bear he was holding. “This is crazy!”
         I approached the bin, peering over its edge. The space was filled with different versions of the same bear I held. Some wore graphic tee’s, each depicting a scene of the pink bear itself mauling a young child. Some even had the children pleading in vain for their lives. All in all it was quite grotesque. A sign before it read: Gloomy the Bear.
         “Gloomy?” ventured John, chuckling. “Talk about an understatement.”
         “Ok this is a little much for me, lets look around a bit more,” I said, in part because I found the images in the bin more than a bit disturbing, but also because the store went on a ways and I wanted to explore.
         “Aite,” John said reluctantly, dropping a bear whose T-shirt depicted a boy screaming “don’t shoot me,” in English before a large armed Gloomy.
         As we made our way through the store I couldn’t help but get the feeling that we were moving back through time. The modern consumer products and trinkets whose bright colors had drawn us into the store in the first place gave way to more traditional Japanese merchandise. We moved through sections of black lacquer ware furniture, pottery, and kimono, stopping for a time in the weapons section where John ogled at the plethora of samurai katana and wakizashi on display there. Eventually, though, we reached the back of the store, where a wizened old man sat behind a layered counter hidden by baskets of small thistle shaped leaves. 
         “Hey, check out that old guy. He looks like he’s selling pot or something,” John said, laughing at his own joke.
         “I think he’s selling tea.”
         “Whatever, he totally looks like Mr. Miyami from The Karate Kid, but drug dealer style,” John replied, mimicking a flying kick after pretending to take a hit out of some imaginary bong.
“It’s Mr. Miyagi, you idiot,” I replied brusquely. Despite seeing the resemblance, for some reason I found myself in no mood for John’s humor. Perhaps sensing this, John decided to cut his losses. 
         “Man, I’m thirsty, and I bet that’s some damn fine tea too,” he said, beckoning as he approached the counter. “Get your ass over here and translate for me.”
         We approached the counter and I asked the man for some suggestions. The man eyed me closely, sparing but a glance for John.
         “What are you looking for?” He asked in Japanese. I translated. The words were simple, but he spoke them with a depth of meaning that I couldn’t quite put a finger on.
         “Just a good time,” John replied.
         “Good time?” the man repeated, apparently understanding John before I had translated. John nodded emphatically. The man turned to me, staring into my soul. “Is that all,” he said, this time in Japanese. I didn’t know how to respond.
         “No, I mean I guess so, but…” I stuttered.
The man paused for a second, and then smiled. Setting two bowls on the counter, he took a pinch of leaves from a nearby basket and dropped some in each. He then took a tea kettle from what must have been a burner behind the counter and poured steaming water into the two bowls. The man then rotated each bowl 90 degrees and handed them to us with gnarled hands.  I bowed gratefully as I received the bowl.
         “Its kinda bitter,” John said, his first sip turning into a long draw. “It’s really good though.”
         “Yeah, It’s not really like anything I’ve had before, that’s for sure,” I replied.
        We both sipped our tea in silence, enjoying the warmth and comfort of the leafy liquid. Too soon, however, both cups were empty. Paying the man, we decided to leave the store and see what other fortunes the day might bring us. As we left I stole a glance backward towards the elderly man, only to find that he still stared at me, a half-smile frozen on his face.  I shuddered, not knowing what to make of the encounter. I didn’t dwell on it for long though. We wandered aimlessly for a while before I noticed something strange happening.
        “Dude, you seeing this fog start to roll in?” I asked. No sooner had I done so, than the pace started to quicken.  Rivers of damp opaqueness now began spilling out of the alleys into the street on which we walked. I glanced over in John’s direction, only to notice I had lost sight of him.
        “It ain’t a problem up here,” John replied matter-of-factly. Following the voice I found John suspended in mid-air. I stared, shocked.
        “Whoa! You’re flying!”
        “Congratulations Mr. Obvious, now get your ass up here.”
        Almost without thinking I set my feet firmly against the ground, crouched, and sprung upwards. I launched forward, feeling the tether of gravity snap, as the rush of cool moist air embraced me. I found myself free and hovering but a small distance from John. Together we raced upwards, the fog bellowing forth beneath us like a cloudy elevator lifting us up towards the heavens. After a time we slowed to a stop. Below us lay a sprawling metropolis that stretched to Tokyo Bay and the Pacific Ocean beyond. I lay backward, letting the clouds form a hammock on which for me to rest.
        “This is the life bro, this is why we came to Japan,” said John, breaking the silence. I pretended to listen as I gazed out over the dark blue water. “I mean, before we got here you were sitting scared on a goddamn plane, and now look at you. You’re flying around like superman or something.”
        “You got it,” I said aimlessly, as I noticed a disturbance forming in the water. As I watched, a pink bubble appeared on the surface of the bay, growing rapidly in size as it rose upwards.
        “Uh, you seeing this John?” I said. John followed my gaze and we both stood transfixed. It wasn’t much longer before I realized that the bubble rising from the water was no bubble at all. It was a head, complete with red eyes and a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. The head had a body too, and it began to crawl out of the bay onto dry land. It was huge, as tall as a skyscraper and as wide as a city block. And it was pure evil.
        “Dude, is that a fuckin’ giant Gloomy bear?” John asked. I stood speechless, not knowing what to say. Finally I managed a nod. As we watched, the giant pink stuffed bear stood to its full height and let loose an ear splitting roar, shaking the earth with its power. The monster proceeded to wade into the heart of downtown Tokyo, destroy everything in its path. Smoke and soot rose from the destruction, clouding the scene from view. Distant screams filled the air.
        “John, we can’t just let this happen. We have to do something,” I pleaded, no longer able to bear the sight of the nightmare unfolding below us. John frowned for a second in thought.
        “I think I might have an idea. Follow my lead.”
        We shot through the sky as a pair of bullets, the air bending and twisting before us as if it were a jungle and we a machete. The Gloomy bear grew rapidly before us as we approached. It was unbelievably huge. It swiped the ground with large paws, breaking buildings as if they were toothpicks and scooping handfuls of innocents into its bloody black hole of a mouth like popcorn at a movie.
        We approached the behemoth from the rear, hoping to catch the monster by surprise. It must have had eyes in the back of its head, though, as it slowly turned to face us, glaring pure hate. At that moment John sped forward, charging the beast at a speed I never thought possible. Before I could react I heard the impact, a sound as sharp and clean as the crack of a bullwhip. John hit Gloomy full in the chest at top speed, knocking the giant backwards onto the cityscape. He then climbed upwards onto the bear’s face and began pummeling it with fists, each strike sounding thunder. Gloomy, however, was not to be defeated so easily. With unbelievable quickness the bear’s paws seized John, squeezing the life out of him. John was dying, I needed to help.
        I rushed towards the fight. Feeling a surge of power sweep through me, I pushed my hands forward, as if by instinct. Streams of fire swept from my finger tips, lancing towards the evil titan like burning lasers. Gloomy screamed in agony, bursting into flame as blazing lines engulfed the pink giant. The bear turned, as if trying to escape to the bay, but to no avail. I poured a new tide of force into the fire, causing a surge that popped the raging teddy as if it were no more than a giant water balloon. The fight was over, we had won.
        Exhaustion pulled at my body as I flew in to expect the carnage. Pink fluff rained down from the sky, blanketing the destruction below like a down blanket. I searched the rubble of the city for John, hoping that I hadn’t been too late in lending my aid in the battle. It was all in vain, though. I was tired and could no longer keep sleep at bay. I collapsed into a deep dreamlessness, my last sense registering my body crash towards the earth below.
        When I awoke I found myself lying on the floor of the shop with the old man and the tea. The man turned to face me, noticing that I had awakened. I shot upwards, remembering all of what had taken place. Had it all been a dream? I looked around. John was no where to be found.
      “Excuse me,” I said frantically in Japanese. “Have you seen my friend anywhere? The one that I was just in here with?”
      “Omedetou Gozaimasu,” the man said, smiling: congratulations. For some reason I can’t explain, the man’s simple words comforted me. I no longer worried about my missing friend. Instead I just felt whole in a way I hadn’t for a long time.