Cold Drank

Ether.

When I was a sophomore at Millsaps College, I agreed to tutor a Japanese exchange student named Hideki for extra credit. I can’t remember Hideki’s last name to save my life, but I do remember that he drove a maroon Dodge mini-van, rocked a backwards Waffle House hat and wore these extremely high-waisted Japanese jeans. Hideki’s torso seemed to start at his nipples.

After my first meeting with Hideki, I learned that he didn’t speak a lick of English and that the only English he really wanted to know was slick shit from the skits on the Chronic (“Wait, when I say Deeez Nutz?”) and just enough that he could understand our jokes about BeeDo’s fake weed, skin flutes, O-Dog’s Napoleon complex and Ramen noodles.

My boys asked Hideki every ig’nant question imaginable about the differences between Japanese girls and Chinese girls (“So you saying it’s straight up and down, Hideki, not a line across?”) In turn, Hideki never failed to entertain, and the more he entertained, the more my boys gave me props for bringing the first — as Gunn would say — “nigga from the Deep East” into our clique.

Hideki let me know early that he had no problem with my doing his papers as long he did well enough to pass. “That pass,” he would say half laughing, half frowning, “just that pass.” “That pass” for Hideki was a grade of C or higher on all his papers. “That pass” would ensure that he was on track to graduate when he went back to his university in Japan. After all of our “just pass” sessions, Hideki paid for these heavy to-go platters from IHOP or this Chinese buffet called Ding How. 

Around Thanksgiving, when the college closed, I invited Hideki to my house since he really had no place to go. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I remember expecting Hideki to get me one of those heavy all-you-can-eat platters from Ding How even though I hadn’t helped him “just pass” in the  last week.

When Hideki handed me the weighty platter, I remember the cheeky smile and gazillion crows feet webbing from the corners of his eyes. I figured that Hideki was just extremely happy that I’d given him a place to lay his head over Thanksgiving break and an entrance into my home.

The next day at my Grandma’s house, I introduced Hideki to each individual member of my family like this: “This is my man, Hideki. He from Japan.” “This is my man, Hideki. You know he from Japan, right?” “This is my man, Hideki. He speak Japanese.”

 And whether it was my Grandma, my aunt or my little cousin, the person shaking Hideki’s hand would do a little bow. And shameful as it sounds, so did I.

There’s a difference between making a guest feel at home and making a guest feel special. Like most folks, my family and I conflated the two. We thought we were making Hideki feel at home by giving him the reclining chair in Grandma’s living room, making sure his cup runneth over with the finest in Cold Drank, giving him constant access to the remote control, laughing when he laughed and telling him that he “can have” whatever he picked up.

I smiled the entire time at how generous and unracist or enlightened my Dirty South family and me were that Thanksgiving. During supper, Hideki ate everything that was put in front of him, including 3 pieces of German Chocolate cake. After he ate, he gave my Grandma a Happy Mother’s Day card for “her makings good chicken.”

Even though his card and its broken use of English made me look like a pretty lame English tutor, we all laughed our way into the living room. While Hideki changed channels, we all fell asleep. 

A few weeks after we got back to school, I started to see less of Hideki. At the time, I remember thinking it was because he didn’t need any more tutoring. I remember thinking he just wanted to be with his Japanese crew or maybe he got tired of all horizontal vs. vertical questions.  

But now,  I wonder.

I wonder just how thankful those eyes of Hideki really were when he gave me that platter of Ding How food. I wonder if maybe my black southern family delivered Hideki from evil because he didn’t treat us like we were lessthan. As with most wonders, this wonder is rooted in what I know.

I know Hideki should have despised my family and me for not explaining why we laughed at his Mother’s Day card. I know Hideki could have pitied us for never attempting to ask him a question about who he was, where he was from, what his last name was, what he felt about being in our house, away from his home. I know Hideki might have hated my fat ass for expecting to get compensated with mounds of food every time I did his homework for him.

I also know that when Hideki didn’t come around us anymore, I didn’t really give a shit.

Hideki, high pants wearing exchange student from Japan, had already delivered me from evil and I had already given him his pass. Or maybe he had gotten his deliverance from evil and I had gotten my pass. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. We used each other up and we were done.

We weren’t done because we were mean or because we hated each other; we were done with each other because we were desperate and all we cared about was getting more credit than we deserved and being absolved of guilt. Right now, I wonder if that is the best and/or worst of what enlightened but desperate human beings are capable.

Ether?

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