Rising Sunsets

CHAPTER 4

The chu gakko in Hongo was a four-story, off-white structure constructed of concrete and glass.

Another building my father would have hated because of its contemporary look.

Streaks of green caused by years of moisture and rain lined the sides of the exterior walls. Beyond the parking lot sat rows of empty bicycle racks. Doi-sensei ushered me into a side structure adjacent to the main building and then down its light-red linoleum hallway.  The smell of bleach and freshly sharpened pencils engulfed me.

Doi-sensei led me to a small, cramped activity room that had been converted into a sizeable storage closet. The air there was heavy with the smell of chalk, and thick layers of dust covered some of the shelving. He quickly retrieved a pile of books sitting on a side table.

“Here you are,” he said, bringing the stack to me. He cocked his head to look out the window. “Would you also excuse me for a minute? The principal just passed by, and I need to see him.”

I was oblivious to his leaving me because something else had caught my eye. In addition to chalkboards, erasers, books, and notepads, the room was filled with audio-visual equipment:  a tripod, a video camera, and a video-recording device that were just like the equipment I had used in college. I put my hands on them, and immediately, the memories of anxious nights spent working on television projects came rushing back to me.

My first broadcast project had to be good. Better than good. I wanted recognition as an A student and the validation that I’d made the right choice to study broadcasting. I was determined to impress the faculty at Loyola University. Melinda, one of my classmates, and I had been chosen as partners to film a mock tourism commercial—a project that allowed us to feature New Orleans’ historic landmarks and traditions. It was early February, and Mardi Gras was about to kick into full swing. The fact that it was cold and sleeting didn’t deter anyone from coming out to celebrate. We had staked out a spot in Jackson Square, near the Andrew Jackson statue in Lafayette Park. Mounted on his reared-back horse, the bronzed general looked ready to do battle to defend the city.

“How about this?” Melinda asked, adjusting the camera and tripod again.

“No, tilt it further back and lower the legs some more. I need to get as low as possible.”

“David, because of where the statue is and how the sidewalk is built, you’re not going to get the shot you want. There’s not enough space. This is as low as we can go.”

I stood there pondering.

“And don’t even think about pulling an Orson Welles and digging up the sidewalk,” she said.

“Well, you’re no fun.” I grinned and winked at her.

“What I am is cold and hungry. You promised me lunch three hours ago. Why don’t we scrap today and try again tomorrow?”

I stared into space.

“Hello! Earth to David!”

“It won’t be good enough.”

“You’ve got to lighten up. It’s only our first day of filming.”

“Stop giving me crap!”

“Hey, what gives?”

“Sorry.  I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay. I get cranky on an empty stomach, too.”

“No, it’s not that. This project has to be perfect.”

“David, we’re all beginners. You can’t know what you haven’t learned yet. Besides, Professor Meyers adores you.”

And then I said it, as I sank right down onto the cold, wet grass and rubbed my temples. “You don’t understand.  My dad hates that I’m studying television broadcasting.”