Pink Rainforest
Part 6 in my serialised short story. For those who haven’t read part 3, or want a recap, I’ve attached a link below. Hope you enjoy.
“CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG!” chanted a group of teenagers outside a convenience store. They chain-smoked and passed around a bottle of vodka, but looked underage, betrayed by baby faced cheeks.
They were an unusual group, a couple of them Japanese but dressed like rappers with chains and baggy hoodies. The other two were foreigners, one with hair like the end of a mop, the other neater.
I eavesdropped as their conversation flowed effortlessly between English and Japanese. They kept passing the bottle, and unlike many in Shinjuku who seemed to be getting drunk out of necessity, they did so with youthful enthusiasm.
“Hello,” I said, introducing myself before realising what I’d done. For a moment, my voice got caught in my throat. Part of me considered walking away, but in the face of their stares, my feet were rooted on the spot.
The Japanese guy holding the vodka passed it to me, and one by one they began chanting: “CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG!”
They were teenagers from a private international school, explaining their mixed-race makeup and bilingual speech. With the vodka finished, the one with the mop top dropped the bottle on the kerb. It broke into pieces.
They usually visited Shibuya, they said, but it was the birthday of one of the Japanese guys, who was a virgin. They came to Shinjuku to get him some experience.
I felt conflicted. I knew this was my opportunity to make them like me, but I felt a strong urge to deter them.
“Hey, you know,” I started, warily, “I can show you guys around. I know a few places, depending on what you’re looking for?”
“Question is, what do you want Ken? You’re the birthday boy,” one with his hair tied back like a samurai’s asked his friend with a suggestive grin.
“How am I supposed to know, man? What are the options?” Ken replied, a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity passing his face.
“Well, basically,” I answered, regretting every word, “a pink salon is where you pay for oral sex, and a soap is where they bathe you… in soap.”
“I dunno,” Ken began, scratching his head and looking at his friends. “I dunno man, I definitely don’t wanna be bathed — I can do that shit by myself.”
“Pink salon, pink salon,” they agreed, starting off.
This was my only chance.
“Hey, guys,” I called. They turned back with questioning looks which made me stammer. “I — I — I know it’s none of my business, but you guys are young… I, just, I — I don’t think you should be going to that sort of place. I’ve, uh, met people there I wish I hadn’t, but once you do, you can never really look at them the same again. It’s not worth it, even for a birthday. How about a bar? I know a place that plays music by QT? You know, that group? There’s usually some girls — ” my voice trailed off. I held my arms out, feeling hopeless in the face of their frowns, any friendliness vanishing in their haughty looks.
Clearing my throat, I continued, knowing I’d come too far not to carry on. “I didn’t want to say because you all seem like nice guys, but it’s a sad sight inside… A bunch of men, a lot of them married, paying girls for their time. All of them are just,” I looked around, struggling to find the words, “trying to make up for something they don’t have.”
“What the fuck is he talking about?” the one with hair like a samurai asked, turning to his friends, lip twitching on the verge of laughter. “You’re the one telling us about these places, you making up for something, man?”
“Yeah, screw that, which way we going?” another said, muttering seconds later, “And fuck QT.”
I led the way, feeling like I had no other choice.
We came to a street with several pink salons, located behind a mall with boutiques, restaurants, a movie theatre, and a game centre. While the buzz of drunks remained in the background, the area was quieter and seemed to lead nowhere, the buildings lining the sidewalk appeared empty.
“I don’t see anything,” Ken said, a little impatient. It seemed like now he knew he’d be going to a pink salon, he wanted to get the ordeal over and done with.
“You guys sure about this?” I asked. “There’s other — ”
“Where is it, man?” the samurai-haired one demanded.
Just then, a pair of men exited one of the buildings, walking intently and quickly disappearing down the street. It was a sight I knew all too well. If you stopped and waited long enough, you’d see groups of salarymen, students, rich suits, and all other types heading in and out of these buildings in a steady flow like a pilgrimage.
They no longer needed my directions, bounding across the street, shoulder to shoulder with a nervous energy.
Alone.
Again.
From beyond the mall, I heard laughter, warm and happy, but the more I listened, I felt the laughter was aimed at me. Like I was the brunt of someone’s joke and everyone pointed their fingers, sneering.
A lamppost flickered.
Where to now? I wondered.
Then I froze.
