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  • 1974: Haitian Japanese Romance

1974: Haitian Japanese Romance

12

Ohayo gozaimasu, my friends. It's a traditional Japanese greeting, one which means "good morning." The name is Hisako Masajuro-Toussaint. My family came to the City of San Diego, California, from the island of Kyushu, Japan, in the turbulent, shimmering summer of 1973. A year later, I enrolled at the local university to begin my higher education journey. It was a tough time for us, and the rest of the country.

While a lot of Americans were still struggling with the aftermath of legally mandated racial desegregation, the State of California largely took the progressive route...at least on paper. While considered more liberal and tolerant than their Southern and Midwestern counterparts, Californians nevertheless had a complex history when it comes to people of color.

In the 1960s, America's Black men and Black women, led by Reverend Martin Luther King, revolutionary leader Malcolm X, social activist Rosa Parks and a few others fought against legal segregation and forever changed the fate of the world's mightiest nation. I'm one of a few Asian immigrants who will acknowledge the hard work done for all people of color by Black Americans. Many of my fellow Asians are Whitewashed and don't realize that without the Civil Rights Movement, we wouldn't have been allowed to immigrate like we did.

A lot of my fellow Asians buy into the model minority myth, and foolishly think themselves exempt from the effects of White supremacy and racism. I'm old enough and smart enough to know better. Today, I'm a wife, a mother, and a successful businesswoman. My husband Antoine "Tony" Toussaint and I run our own restaurant, The Tropical. We recently opened a second location in Oakland, and we're working on opening a third in Los Angeles.

My husband Tony and I have been busy. Our eldest daughter Megumi, born in 1982, works as a patrol officer for the San Diego Police Department. Our son James, born in 1987 is in graduate school at our alma mater, the University of California in San Diego. Our youngest son Gerald is currently in the City of Boston, spending part of the summer with his aunt, my sister-in-law Vanessa Toussaint.

As Gerald is about to start his freshman year at Chapman University in the fall, we need the extra income. Collegiate education is even more expensive now than in our halcyon days at UCSD. These are tough times, with that idiot Donald Trump trying to become President and the United States of America once more caught in the throes of blatant racism, but I'm confident we'll pull through.

A nation divided, identity politics, open racism and virulent xenophobia, none of these things are new to me. Oh, and add to that the fact that my family came here from Japan in the 1970s. We emigrated to America at a time when quite a few White Americans were still salty about the Japanese Empire's deeds in World War II. Never mind the fact that my father Nobuyuki Masajuro never served in the Japanese military and as a young man, he was one of a few Japanese citizens to oppose the war.

My beloved Otosan ( father ) was one of a few "prisoners of conscience" who chose to languish in prison rather than join the Japanese Empire's foolish foray into the second World War. In the eyes of White Americans, we were Japanese newcomers and that was reason enough to view us with suspicion. Old wounds are never forgotten, even when supposedly healed. Welcome to my life.

"Kiki, did the government put your people in internment camps during World War II?" Those words came from my classmate Rebecca White, a plump young redhead who sat next to me in Intro to Business at the University of California's San Diego campus. The year was 1974 and I was in summer school while everyone was enjoying the World Cup. I bristled at her words and unwanted familiarity, since I only allowed close friends and family members to call me Kiki.

"My name is Hisako and no, my family wasn't in America in the 1940s," I replied sharply, and Rebecca narrowed her blue eyes and flashed a frosty smile a polar bear would recognize. It was a look of utter contempt mixed with annoyance. The look that a lot of people who look like Rebecca give to people like me when we surprise them. Whatever.

When you're a five-foot-seven, slender and short-haired young Asian woman with a shy demeanor, people often underestimate you. I returned my gaze to the board, where Professor Lucas Broderick was going on and on about markets and dividends. I didn't really listen. Outside, it was superbly hot and I would rather be at the pool, or playing volleyball. Not stuck in a crowded classroom with no air conditioning.

"Whatever, it was just a question," Rebecca said, and she loudly chewed her gum and rolled her eyes. I tried my best to ignore her for the rest of the class. As soon as class concluded, I went to the Canyonview Aquatic Center, home to the University of California San Diego's swimming and water polo teams. I've always loved swimming and the cool water offered a welcome diversion on such a hot and stressful day. I had exams in two weeks, and I was quite jittery.

"Excuse me, ma'am, you dropped something," came a voice, snatching me out of my thoughts. I turned around to see a tall, well-built young Black man clad in a UC San Diego Football T-shirt and dark shorts. Smiling, he held a gleaming object in his rather large hand. The picture ID that I didn't remember dropping. I must have left it at the counter when I went by the athletics office. Damn it.

"Oh, thank you so much," I said, and the young man nodded graciously, and handed me my school ID. I breathed a sigh of relief, for I didn't like the idea of replacing it. In my day, the University of California at San Diego had a weird policy where if you lost your student ID card, the first replacement is free but the second one will cost you twenty five dollars. Yeah, they're real sharks out here and will get money out of you any way that they can.

"No worries, Hisako, oh, and before you go, please take a flyer," the young man said, and he pulled a flyer out of his pocket and handed it to me. Mostly out of politeness, I took it and looked it over. In navy blue and gold letters, the flyer read Minority Swimmers Club or M.S.C. and there was a telephone number and the name of the club president, Antoine Toussaint.

"Thanks, this looks interesting, are you Antoine Toussaint?" I asked, and the young man nodded, and held out his hand, which I shook after a brief hesitation. Antoine's grip was firm, like the rest of him I supposed. Now, in those days, I didn't know too much about U.S. culture and my English wasn't the best, but I knew enough to think that Antoine looked more like a college football player than a swimmer.

"Yeah, I know, I'm actually on the UC San Diego varsity football team but I grew up in Haiti, deep in the Caribbean and my people love the water, I want to show America that Black folks and other minorities can and do swim," Antoine said confidently, and I smiled, embarrassed that he'd guessed my train of thought so accurately. Seriously, this dude might as well have read my mind.

"You read my mind, sir, I'll definitely keep this," I said, and I nodded at Antoine, who smiled, and then I turned around and headed for the women's locker room. I tucked the paper in my locker, then changed into a swimsuit, and hit the showers. In the shower room there were quite a few young women, mostly White, with a few Latinas and Filipinas here and there. More than a couple of them looked at me, but I ignored their stares and let the cool water wash over me.

"Are you in my math class?" said a tall, skinny White chick with blonde hair, and I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I felt her eyes on me as I walked to the women's entrance which led to the swimming pool. I went to the shallow end, and floated a little bit, relaxing in the water. I've always felt relaxed in the water, like it magically takes all my problems away.

"Great, now the negroes are here," came a female voice, and I turned around to see the same blonde chick from the women's locker room chatting away with her pal, a short, pudgy Filipina with short hair. The Filipina laughed at Blondie's comment and I shook my head. I followed their gaze and notice two young Black men and one young Black woman, all in swimming attire, step onto the deck. I recognized one of the young men as Antoine, the guy who gave me back my ID.

"I'd rather you didn't use that term," I said to Blondie, who shot me a look, and then looked at her Filipina friend, and then they both laughed and rolled their eyes. Sighing, I swam away from the annoying twosome, and headed for the deeper water. The three Afro-Americans were in the deep end, and swam flawlessly. I noticed that quite a few of the pool-goers, almost all of which were White, were staring at them.

"We meet again," came a deep, masculine voice, startling the hell out of me as I leaned against the pool wall, and reached for a pair of goggles. I have a bad habit of forgetting to put my goggles on, and then I have bright red eyes for the rest of the damn day thanks to the chlorine in the water. Yeah, I'm something of a forgetful young woman, but please don't hold it against me.

"Hello Antoine," I said, and Antoine cocked an eyebrow, a mischievous look on his rather handsome face. He was wearing some thin, stylish goggles that reminded me of the high-tech ones James Bond wore in one of Sean Connery's best movies. Nothing like the cheap, bulky ones like what I had on. The pool staff keep them around for people to borrow.

"Hello Hisako, I'd like you to meet my sister Vanessa and my friend Mario," Antoine said, and I smiled at the two young Afro-American swimmers who surfaced next to me. The young woman, Vanessa, who was quite beautiful, her chocolate skin contrasting sharply with the bright red swimsuit she had on, and the water beaded off her afro quite nicely.

"Hi there, Vanessa, your brother Antoine saved my butt from having to replace my ID by returning it to me, I'm Hisako Masajuro," I said as I extended my hand toward Vanessa, who shook it but did not smile. If Vanessa's less than warm demeanor affected me, I did not let it show. I'm Japanese. We're a well-mannered and sharp-minded, self-controlled bunch. We do not lose our cool around friend or foe. I nodded graciously at Vanessa, then fixed my gaze on Mario.

"Pleasure to meet you Mario," I said, and the tall, bald-headed and goateed, caramel-hued young man smiled and shook my hand. I didn't know it at the time, but these three were destined to become major parts of my life. I was new to America and there were so many cultures and subcultures which I had yet to discover. Antoine and his retinue are newcomers to America by way of the Caribbean island of Haiti. If there is one word that can describe the Haitian people, it's fearless. Well, it's a good thing I'm fearless too.

"You're a decent swimmer, Hisako, you should consider joining our little club," Antoine said, and as I appeared to be thinking it over, the brother splashed some water on my face and then swam away. I wiped water out of my eyes with the back of my hand, then looked at Vanessa, who laughed and then swam away. It's on whether you like it or not, I thought as I went after Antoine and company like a torpedo.

Antoine and company are decent swimmers, I will admit, but I'm quite fast in the water when I want to be. They gathered in the middle of the deep end of the pool, talking and laughing. I decided to go under, so they wouldn't see me coming. I swam past throngs of White guys and gals who waded into the pool, and came up from the depths, my prey in sight.

"Gotcha," I said as I surfaced right next to Antoine, then slapped at the water as hard as I could, splashing his face with it. The young Haitian wiped water out of his eyes, then looked at me, stunned. I grinned victoriously and was about to say something when Vanessa came at me like a shark smelling blood. Seriously, the young Haitian woman got in my face and I saw her hands reach for my neck.

"Whoa, Vanessa, relax, Hisako was just kidding," Antoine said, as he swiftly put himself between his sister and me. I looked at Vanessa, then at Antoine, and heard Mario chuckle. Before I could say anything, one of the lifeguards, a beefy White guy who looked like he could give Hollywood actor Steve Reeves a run for his money, whistled loudly and told us to break it up.

"Sorry about that, sir, we were just joking around, our club is having a practice session, isn't that right, Vanessa?" I said, and I smiled at the young Haitian woman, who bristled visibly and looked hard at me before finally replying to the lifeguard, who sat on his perch with his arms folded, looking like he meant business. Seriously, the dude looked like he was itching for an excuse to toss Vanessa and company out, and we all knew it.

"That's right, like she said, we were just playing," Vanessa said through gritted teeth, and the lifeguard looked at us, shrugged and then resumed ignoring us. I looked at Vanessa, and saw surprise on her rather pretty face. I looked at Antoine, then at Mario, who smiled at me. Vanessa rolled her eyes. This could have gone very differently and we all knew it...

"Well, Hisako, all I can say is, welcome to the club," Antoine said, laughing, and I smiled at the handsome, fearless young Haitian man whose smile could light up a room, corny as it sounds. When he held up his fist, I pounded mine against it without hesitation and flashed Vanessa a victorious smile. What can I say? Never let it be said that I, Hisako "Kiki" Masajuro, am the predictable sort. I'm always full of surprises. Play with me and you won't know what hit you.

"You're full of surprises," I said to Antoine as we sat inside Anthony's Fish Grotto, one of the oldest restaurants in the San Diego area. It's been a week since that pool incident, and I've not only joined the Minority Swimmers Club, I've made a new friend of sorts in the tall, handsome and charming Antoine Toussaint. Newcomer from the island of Haiti, star running back on the University of California San Diego varsity football team, avid swimmer, this dude is something else.

"Right back at you," Antoine replied as he attacked his plate of White rice and fish, with a side order of oysters. Clad in a blue silk shirt, red tie and Black silk pants, he looked pretty damn good. I looked pretty fly in a silver vest over a Black tank top and navy blue bellbottom pants. This was the 1970s, after all. No, I didn't have on a tennis headband. I never cared for them, not then and not ever.

"So, what motivated you and your family to leave the island of Haiti and come to America?" I asked, and Antoine's eyes hardened, and he licked his lips, suddenly tense. For a moment I was worried I might have asked the wrong thing. Antoine is usually friendly and easygoing, but there's a lot I didn't know about them. We all have our trigger points, so to speak.

"The Republic of Haiti is ruled by a ruthless dictator named Jean-Claude Duvalier, and he's killed several members of my family, that's why we fled to the United States of America," Antoine replied in a crisp, businesslike tone. I could tell this was a sore subject for him, and although I was curious, I didn't press.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know," I said, and Antoine looked at me, and I swear I felt his intense dark brown eyes scrutinizing me. I held his gaze, and tried to communicate with my eyes the apology that my lips couldn't. Breaking with centuries of Japanese social protocol, I reached across the table and gently laid my hand on Antoine's. For a moment he looked at his hand on mine, then smiled and shrugged.

"Not your fault, Hisako, you couldn't have known, now, let's speak of other things, if you please," Antoine said, and he brushed my hand with his fingers, and then resumed eating. I looked at him, and I think that's when my fascination with Antoine officially began. I like a good mystery, and this tall, dark and handsome Haitian guy definitely seemed like one. Can I get him to open up? Challenge accepted.

"One day I'm going to get to know what you're hiding behind that handsome face," I said to Antoine, and he blinked in surprise, then smiled. I smiled back and took a good look at Antoine, and seized him up. A lot of men who are good-looking and intelligent carry themselves a certain way, a certain arrogance. Not this one. Antoine looks like a professional athlete, carries himself like a prince, speaks like a scholar, and displays great manners and a bit of surprising humility. I like what I see.

"Well, I must say, that appeals to me," Antoine replied, and I felt a pleasant frisson down my spine when he brushed his fingers against mine, whether accidentally or on purpose, while reaching for his glass. Indeed, I made a decision right then and there. Across from me sat a most beautiful man, and a singularly charismatic one at that. I wanted this rare fish for myself.

That's how it all began. Antoine and I became virtually inseparable. We would meet in the campus library, and I would help him with his accounting homework while he helped me with my business courses. The Minority Swimmers Club was really taking off, and we had some new members. Ernesto Lopez, a Dominican guy from the civil engineering programme, seemed to really take a liking to Vanessa, who stopped glowering at me with him keeping her busy. Omar Jackson, a young brother from Oakland also joined the club, with his White girlfriend Marcy. Don't ask.

My Antoine became my everything, and I wouldn't have it any other way. We would walk through campus, hand in hand. People stared at us but we didn't care one bit. My father, who liked Antoine after their first meeting, by the way, called us "opposite halves of the same pea". Can't tell you how happy I was that my Otosan and my Saiai ( beloved ) got along. I thank my lucky stars...

I often went to watch Antoine at football practice, and I must say, my heart would soar when I would see him soar through the field, taking out whoever stood in his way. Yup, I was his most devoted cheerleader. I wasn't about to let any of those fancy and increasingly slutty California blondes get their hooks in him...

"Hello stranger," I said to Antoine one night, after he came home from a grueling football practice. He'd given me a key to his place a week before, a sure sign that things were going quite well between us. We'd yet to make love, though. To be honest, it was mainly my fault, because I didn't feel ready. I was a virgin, you see. Well, that night I was most definitely ready...

"Oh my, Hisako, isn't this a pleasant surprise?" Antoine said, smiling as he dropped his gym bag, and I walked up to him, clad in my bra and panties. Moving in a way I hoped was seductive, I stepped up to Antoine, and stood two inches from him. Standing up on my tiptoes, I planted a kiss on his full, sensuous lips. That's right, the shy Japanese gal kissed the manly Haitian guy first, and not the other way around...

"I'm yours, Antoine," I whispered, and my man pulled me into his arms and kissed me back passionately. I was quite nervous, to tell you the truth, but I was also excited. Nervousness warred with passion within me, and passion ultimately won out. I looked at the beautiful man who held me in his arms, and wanted to give myself to him. Mind, body and soul...

"You belong to me, and I to you, my angel," Antoine said, and he scooped me up in his strong, manly arms and carried me to the bedroom. Once there, my Haitian stud showed me what he was made of, and then some. Antoine undressed, and I feasted my eyes on his tall, muscular and masculine form. A vision of masculine beauty approached me, and I welcomed this man with all of my might...

"Antoine, this will be my first time," I said, grabbing his arm, and Antoine looked at me, an unreadable expression on his handsome face. Antoine smiled at me at last, and nodded, and then he went to work on me. Kissing my lips, Antoine's knowing hands caressed my breasts as I unclasped and removed my bra, and then I kicked off my panties.

12
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