A Girl Behind Every Telephone Pole

On my third day after arriving in Japan, and my first day on the job, my Canon orienter, Koshiba-san, guided me to my Canon dormitory in the nether reaches of suburban Yokohama. The ride required us to walk from Nishi-Shinjuku to Shinjuku Station, board the Yamanote Line for Shibuya Station, and then board the Denentoshi Line for Fujigaoka Station, almost at the end of the line. Altogether, it was an hour and fifteen minutes from station to station. Once we arrived at Fujigaoka, whose main attraction was a Mr. Donut in front of the station, we had to walk fifteen minutes to the dormitory, up and down a hill -- meaning that my commute in the stifling July and August heat would literally be uphill both ways. I also later found that, although my sweat-soaked shirt would dry off on the hour-plus train ride, by the time I walked through the stifling tunnel leading from Shinjuku Station to the Canon headquarters, I would be utterly soaked again.

After settling in at the dorm and meeting the dormitory master, Arai-san, I walked Koshiba-san back to Fujigaoka Station. Although it's common to see non-Japanese throughout Japan these days, even in remoter suburbs like Fujigaoka, in 1991, seeing other foreigners even in a crowded place like Shibuya was a notable event. In Fujigaoka, we were unknown, particularly to one little girl. As I walked back from the station, I noticed an elementary-schooler walking a few steps ahead of me, wearing her little sailor-suit school uniform and gigantic leather "randoseru" bookbag. She must have heard my footsteps, for she turned around to see who was behind her and, upon seeing a foreigner, took off running down the street as fast as her legs could carry her. Puzzled, I kept walking. A few minutes later, I found her hiding behind a telephone pole, waiting for me to pass. I couldn't tell whether she just wanted another look, or whether she was simply making sure that it was safe to continue on home.

I never did see another foreigner in Fujigaoka during that entire summer.