Naoto Omori

     I could hear my heart pound over the screeching brakes that announced the train's destination. The overused mechanical subway doors opened up. I entered Nagoya.          I walked across the yellow line and looked around the busy station. I tried to be as discreet about it as possible, knowing he would be looking for me and most likely spot me out in the static crowd. After a good five minutes of circling around the station, I found a place to rest. I picked a spot facing the escalator, the only place where people enter or exit the station, right beside a manga stand.     He told me 5 o' clock. It was now 5:07. I set my bag down at my feet and leaned forward to stretch out my back, twisting and popping to loosen up from the nervous tension brought by the long train ride.      Another five minutes went by and wicked thoughts were being conjured by my anxiety. Thoughts like: he stood me up; he's dead; he played a trick on me; he forgot about me. I sank into the cold, public seat and laid my head in my hands, placing my eyes into my palms. I could feel the pressure of my elbows jab into my thighs as time went on.     I felt someone's hand on my shoulder and I jolted up out of my slump. It took a few seconds for my eyes to readjust. I saw a blurry, small figure to the left of me and she was a little girl who was smiling and twisting her back from side to side while curling her black hair with her right hand. Her smile surprised me. "Daijoubu ka" she asked inquisitively. "Hai, daijoubu desu. Arigatou ne," I replied. Just then, her mother picked her up from behind and scolded her in the air. I turned away in awkwardness.     I glanced at the escalator and there he was. His red fitted jacket was like a beacon to my eyes. Naoto was squirming in the foot of space he had on the step. It was packed with people and he was swaying back and forth, trying to find me. His mouth was moving but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I gripped my bag strap tightly and ushered up the courage to walk toward the base of the escalator.     Both our eyes met. Before I could react to the tension of the reunion, it was broken by a bombardment of apologies and breathlessness. While he was explaining why he was late, I watched as my white knuckles turned red, still gripping my strap. I was listening to his every word but I wanted to interject; tell him it was okay and that I was happy he was here now.     The sun was going to set soon so we left the station the way he entered. At the top of the contraption, Naoto motioned over toward the bike racks on the west side of a Takoyaki stand. I immediately started panicking inside myself, but I forced a warm smile in response to his advances. His bike: one mangled basket on the front; one small black seat; and two yellow spokes on the back of his rusty green bicycle. Where do I sit? I asked myself. How is this going to work?     He clapped his hands once to break me free from my inner thoughts. "Ok Erin, let's go". He sat on his seat and asked me to stand on the back. I slipped my bag over my right shoulder with shaky hands.  What should I hold on to? I lifted one leg over his bike. I straddled until I got the balance to place both feet on the spokes. I took in a deep breath and situated my finger tips on his shoulders.     "Iin desu ka," I inquired.     "Are?" He laughed and quickly pulled my hands out in front of him and proceeded to cross my arms around his neck and collarbone. The action caused me to lean forward, pressing against his back. I couldn't help but think about how long I could last riding in this position. With my chin resting on top of his smooth, thick, black hair; my chest syncing to his heart beat; my forearms feeling his uneven breathing pattern; the moisture building under my arms; the weight of my big purse on one side causing a slight tilt to my balance; and the lack of friction from my shoes to spokes.     Thankfully it was one up hill and right turn type of ride. About a seven minute journey. We arrived at the edge of what looked to be a small forest. I jumped off quickly and quietly. I looked at the falling sun and then my watch. 5:49.     "Yosh," he exclaimed. He hopped off his two wheeler and locked it up. I noticed the jingling of the chain played a subtle contrast to my active heart.      "Ishoniyoni ikimasho ka?" Naoto pointed through the trees.     "Nani?" My jaw dropped. "Hayaku," he yelled while waving for me to follow. I placed myself one meter behind him. Twenty-seven steps through the freshly cut grass. We entered the forest: As I followed his lead, I noticed how lean he was and how agile he could be while moving through the trees, juking their branches. I tried my best to replicate his actions. He would turn around frequently to make sure I was managing his speed. His face was lit up. I couldn't quite figure out why. I began to feel nervous. 5:59.     He stopped abruptly. His body stiffened and his smile ceased. "Hmm...Chotto mata kudasai." In an instant he dashed over some tree roots and disappeared behind the trees.     "Dame. Doko desu ka," I screamed. I took a few steps forward and massaged my lips with the back of my left hand. Where is he? What's going on? And just as he left in a flash, he came back the same way. His hair in his reddened face; I had never seen such a smile whilst catering to his lungs.     "Gomenasai, ok, come." The sleeve from my purple sweater stretched between his thumb and index finger in our final steps to our journey's end. Like before, he was in front, but this time I was being tugged in our final seconds to the place promised in our younger days. As the last branch was brushed away by his right hand I saw a forget-less scene. I stepped above a panoramic picture of his home town.     I walked eagerly to the picnic set up near the edge of the cliff. There was a treeling with its roots in a large potato sack. "Ah, sugoine," I whispered.     He scratched his head. "Ok, ok, let's go. Ready start-o."     "Ano..." I stood at the edge of the cliff for a few seconds then turned to face him. He walked toward me. In broken english and classic hand gestures he began to tell me the story of how and why used to come to this spot ever since he was a kid. It was his safe zone. No one had ever been invited, no one new ever met. But he was always looking for someone he could trust, and that would relate to his passion and connection to this natural place. In his commencement to a fresh face sharing his love; he wanted to plant a tree. A tree that would look out past the vast, and beautiful city, even after his last breath.     After his touching testament we headed over to the maple treeling. It was so fragile and small. I counted nineteen leaves on it. It was so cute. When he started to shovel into the moist dirt, the outline of his arms in his shirt, and the movements of his body, put me in a trance. I couldn't tell where the disheveled ground ended and his brown suede Nikes started. I wanted to help but nothing substantial came to mind. I gradually crossed one leg over the other and proceeded to sit indian style.      6:37 - The sun was touching the city and coaxing the skyscrapers to wake up. Just as my eyes left my watch, Naoto plopped down next to me. He had taken his red jacket off and had his yellow surf shirt representing his style now. He took a drink from his canteen attached to his fanny pack. My mouth had gotten dry as well, but I wasn't about to ask for a sip. I was too busy trying not to wake up.      I felt my eyes roll back. The smell of my pillow made its home in my nostrils as I tried to keep my eyes on him and the skyline. My body warmed and I grabbed his hand. I knew what was happening. These were the warning signs. Even when I opened my eyes to the Ninja Turtle poster, I felt his presence. Though it was a dream, what a wonderful memory I now have. 

He hasn't stolen my heart. I gave it to him.

A friend of mine was talking to me about how her current boyfriend had stolen her heart. Immediately, I burst into laughter. She quickly socked my left arm and shot me a disappointed glare. I apologized and asked her to continue with her heart-felt feelings for her love interest.
Somehow I was able to auto pilot active listening whilst delving into my own thoughts and feelings for the one in my life. 
I knew without a doubt that he did not steal my heart. From what I understand, stealing is the act of taking the property of another without permission or right, especially secretly, or by force. In fact, it is quite the contrary with him: He showed me that I still had a heart. He showed me that it still had a powerful beat.  He held my heart in front of me while my eyes were wide open. He wouldn't let me look away when he triggered my epiphany. He then taught me to rejoice over the understanding of my disposition. Once I gained control over my restless heart, I gave it to him with knowledge and enthusiasm. 
With the love I have now, I gave my heart on my own terms. I took my time. I thought logically about who it was going to, and so far I have made the best decision for my heart. To be honest, giving someone your heart is a large part of what love is. Trust, faith, joy, experimentation, awareness, and passion are strong parts as well. Having your heart stolen is almost a guarantee that either you will subconsciously take your heart back, or you will fall out of love since you weren't fully aware that you were in love in the first place. That is just my point of view. 
So next time you say (or you hear someone else say), "someone has stolen my heart", make sure you really know what that means. 

Hanging with good people.

Finn and Jake.