I almost gasped from shock one day when Seema came into our apartment followed by a strange gentleman. A million questions arose in my throat, including the ever smooth, "You talk to boys?"
And apparently she had talked, and had spent time with this chap...even more than I had that semester with my long-distance boyfriend.
His name was Michio. Apparently they knew each other from college, but he had graduated a few years before us. He was Asian, and knew Seema from the International Club they both belonged to at school. I felt bad I hadn't remembered him, because I had been the secretary of the International Club for two years, and a member for three. But I suppose you can't remember everyone.
But Michio, oh he would've been memorable. The first time I entered his apartment, four stories above ours to be exact, I couldn't even walk. His floor was a collage of comic books, dirty clothes, dvd's, and a what seemed like a million chinese take-out boxes.
He came over to our place the next week to make us girls supper (including Ursula, who of course tried to steal all his attention). He showed us how to cook salmon on the stove top; I even remember the three basic steps. 1)Fill a frying pan full of water, 2) Make a basket of foil and fill with dry white wine, herbs & spices, 3) Add the fish to the foil basket, and about 20 minutes later, voila! A tasty meal that was. And we, with the exception of Seema of course, drank what was left of the wine.
We saw more and more of Michio as the semester progressed. He was a break from our everyday routine. And even though none of us thought of him in a romantic way, he was the one tangible man in our lives that took care of us and taught us about politics and Monty Python, and made us laugh when we needed to the most. One time I came home from work and he had changed into one of my shirts after spilling on his. I gladly accepted the challenge of cross dressing our male asian friend and quickly found linens he could stuff in the chest area of the bright pink feminine top he later regretted borrowing from me. ***
The most memorable night us three girls spent with Michio was out on the town walking through the Lincoln Park neighborhood to a real Spanish restaurant. Looking back, I'm pretty sure his whole purpose in taking us there, other than the amazing food, was to have us all get drunk on Sangria. Seema still wouldn't budge in her beliefs- no alchohol for her, even if her best friend at the moment was paying for it. But I had three glasses and it was delicious. I still crave that purple Sangria, all these years later.
We went to other restaurants of course, and Michio always had to tell the waiter "no cilantro!" on anything he ordered. He wasn't allergic, he just hated it that much. Even now, I find myself picking the green herb out of foods with an odd distaste for it. Perhaps out of empathetic nostalgia.
The last month we were in Chicago I didn't see much of Michio anymore. I think he started working second shift, if I remeber correctly. Our schedules didn't work anymore. I remember Seema being a bit forlorn about the whole matter, and me asking her where Michio was? And did she miss him? And why didn't they date?
But her parents wouldn't approve of a guy like Michio. He drank, he was messy, and he didn't like very spicy food, much of what Seema grew up on. I was disappointed for her.
But mostly, we just missed our friend. Our friend who quickly came and went, and made our lives better, if only for a moment.
(to be continued...)
