I Walk in the Dark Because the British AI Lady Told Me So

The bug-eyed black goldfish, Sukoshi (which means “little-bit” in Japanese) wiggles his pretty lacy tail goodbye as I sneak out the front door of my parents’ home in Japan.

It’s been a long day. As a matter of fact, it’s been a long few months. My father’s health is declining and so is our relationship as his illness takes its toll. Tonight, I am practically running through the dark streets to flee my panic attack. I’d earlier recognised the signs, so I’d watched a guided “Meditation for a Panic Attack” on YouTube, hoping it might calm me down. I’d found myself sitting on a yoga mat, cross-legged, trying hard to focus on the soothing New Age music. The lady with a British accent was telling me how she loves me. I thought of this AI lady, loving me. I thought of Jesus loving me. I thought of Krishna loving me. The nausea lingered in my belly so I drank some herbal tea brought from the states. It did not help the nausea but it was suddenly obvious to me that I needed to get out of this house. I needed to go for a walk.

Bye bye, Sukoshi, my black frilly goldfish. I will be right back. 

My parents won’t hear me leave: on the television, they are watching the Tokyo mayoral election results with the volume turned up. I feel like a naughty teenager sneaking out of the house, saying nothing to them as I leave, knowing they will surely wail that murderers and rapists will get me, a 57-year-old walking like a madwoman through “Turtle Shell Hill.”

It is after 8pm and the dark streets are quiet. No people, no dogs, nothing. Perfect. Where should I go? If I climb up the hill and turn right, there is a lookout and also chickens. I will go see them. 

For snoopers, it’s a treat to go nighttime walking in a residential neighbourhood. Even when there are closed curtains and frosted windows, I can hear everything that is going on inside. Because it is after dinnertime, many households are cleaning up, washing dishes, standing at the sink and talking to their family members. The streets are so quiet that it is easy to hear the clanging of pots and pans, the rush of water running, and the thrum of sewer water rushing down below my feet. From above, to below. It is all connected.

It doesn’t take long to reach the house with the chicken coop. It stands inside a large fenced yard full of weeds, very uncommon in this manicured neighbourhood. A big woody house without curtains, the second floor has a high vaulted ceiling now illuminated from the inside. A big balcony hides the bottom part of the room but I imagine it being like one of those chalets in a state park lodge in the Smokies I encountered during my hike on the Appalachian Trail. The coop abuts the road and ten chickens are inside, roosting on two bars. Squished together, they are making a croaking noise as they sleep. I love them.

Following that brief lingering, I resume the path. The streets are ascending yet I am walking fast. I am trying to keep ahead of my fears but also hoping to reach the viewpoint that looks over a busy street from way above. From behind, two bike riders come up the hill: a couple, zooming up on electric bikes. The male rider doesn’t see me and almost runs me over, swerving and nearly losing his balance in the process. I am perturbed by this and give him a dirty look, but in the dark, it is in vain. I keep walking until the anger fades and I reach the top of the hill.

Abruptly, I turn into a smaller street I have never been to.  According to the signs, this street will take me to an Indian Hindu temple called the Vedanta House. It turns out to be a simple place perched on the hillside, not fancy or ornate like I’d imagined. The glass doors reveal that the interior is also very plain. Standing at the door, I thank Krishna and ask for peace. After the brief pause, I resume my journey, jogging down the steep concrete staircase that leads me to the road below. 

Down the stairs and now ascending a new hill, I come to an old Japanese-style house with their living room window wide open. A lonely old man is staring into a TV that is lighting the room in its low blue light. He is watching a Sunday night historical drama series on national television. The climactic dialogue is segueing into the ending theme song. Ta daaaaaa! Until next week. He doesn’t move from his chair. Doesn’t hear the sounds of bathing from across the street, doesn’t smell the bath soap and shampoo drifting through the night air. From that house arises the laughter of a child, the sounds of pouring water, the clicks of the plastic bucket used to scoop water from the tub to rinse and wash. Their closed cloudy window is cracked and opaque.

My pace is dropping but I am still walking fast. I have to beat the demons hiding in the shadows. Going uphill usually winds me, but adrenaline is still pushing me up these hills with ease. A small car is coming up from behind. I pick up my speed in case the driver wants to kidnap me. Adrenaline. Paranoia. Dark fears fed by the media. But the car turns to the right and I am back in the darkness of the dimly lit streets, laughing ruefully at myself as the fear passes. The night darkness is eerie, but I’m the one who is haunted. I pass by a small empty park with climbing bars and swings and other things that children play with. I am half expecting a weird guy sitting in the shadows on a bench but there is no one there. I walk by vacant new constructions and shudder at their ugly design. Concrete-sealed and crowded together, three new buildings take the place of one. How this is legal, I do not know. I worry that “Turtle Shell Hill” will itself be transformed into a place of concrete with no trees, shrubs, flowers or weeds, just hard houses with plastic olive trees ornamenting their concrete driveways. I worry about all sorts of changes that are coming. I worry about my parents. I am worried. 

But I am no longer in a panic.

I am starting my descent back down towards my parents’ house. I can see the glowing light in their living room as they watch the election results. The TV is so loud I can hear it a block away. My breathing is heavy but my body is tired and I have sweated out my panic attack. With a calm heart, I walk up the seven steps that my ageing father now has difficulty going up and down. I open the heavy front door and quietly slip back inside, returning to the house before my parents realise I had left.

“Hello Sukoshi. I am back.” I wiggle my finger to mimic his wiggly tail, and he welcomes me home as a gentle smile meets my lips.