Wayside - 1920s Japan Dramedy

Alfred hadn’t even been aware of his direction until the glowing lights of the Municipal Pier glimmered into view.

“Not this place again.” He grumbled with a hand to his forehead. After his two-week stint repairing cracked boards on the outdoor deck in the scorching sun, Alfred had hoped his next visit to the Pier would be with a pretty girl on his arm and more in his pocket than a nickel and some cheap cigarettes.

His mind wandered back to Max, probably back at home now with his dog and drinking the rest of the night away for a more bearable tomorrow. Alfred couldn’t complain - with how much Max was rumored to pound back, hopefully there would be no recollection of their roadside spat in the morning.

Alfred knew he was a prick for shrugging off his one true friend, but he figured it wasn’t something a free lunch couldn’t fix. The surprising sight before him on the other hand…this was beyond his expertise.

He was nowhere near sober enough to fathom this - what could have possibly led a doll as stunning as the one hunched over on a bench to be out on her own this late in the evening? The dim lamplight outlined the back of her shoulders, stiff and cloaked in light blue silk. As he stepped closer, her head of pin-straight black hair whipped up from its focus on the ground.

“Oh- uh-” Alfred could only manage a stutter as the woman spun her head behind her. Stunning. He guessed she was from Asia. Pools of dark hair framed a cherubic, tanned face. Her arched lips and apple cheeks were as rosy as could be, the latter most likely an aftereffect of her teary eyes. She was a dream - she had to have been. A drunken figment of his imagination if he ever saw one.

No woman could have been this beautiful.

“Are you okay?” Alfred felt like slapping himself silly. How long was he going to just stand there gawking like an idiot while she cried?

After a few seconds with no reply, he wondered if maybe she wasn’t able to speak English. “Uh…are you lost?” His embarrassing one-man show of gestures and pointing fingers did nothing to help the young lady. Rather, her eyes simply seemed to tear up even more, their steely focus still occupied with the stranger beside her.

“No.” She muttered in a voice lower than he expected.

A one-word reply from her painted lips was enough of an invitation for Alfred to plop down next to her. The invitation must have been short-lived, because the moment Alfred stretched his lanky legs out in front of him, the woman inched to the end of the bench.

“Who are you?” She asked with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“A concerned stranger.” Alfred gave her a smirk, his head bobbing to the side as if he were about to fall asleep. He tried his best to keep his speech simple to understand, just like how he was with Max when they first met, but with the liquor running through him it was a hard feat. “Are you lost?”

She swiped a tear from her cheek and gave him the coolest eye roll she could muster. “Of course not! Why? I look like I don’t belong here?”

“Woah!” Alfred chuckled with his hands in the air. “Don't jump to conclusions, lady! I’m not the crazy one for wondering why a pretty girl like you is all alone at this time of night!”

She fought off a smile itching to spread across her face, her lips instead pursing into a thin line.

When she didn’t give him any signs of carrying their conversation further, Alfred took it upon himself. “Just so you know, I’m not gonna leave you out here on your own. So you might as well get comfortable with my company until your boyfriend or husband or whoever comes here and finds you.” He hoped his fishing wasn't as obvious and desperate as it sounded to his ears.

She lurched her head forward. “What?” The way this strange man spoke was nearly impossible for her to fully understand. Why did he merge words together instead of taking the time to say both? Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?

Why did he care about her?

Suddenly her tears returned with a vengeance. Frustration overtook her as she rested her face in her hands. Perhaps it was the rush of emotions and anger from the day finally boiling over, but she wanted to tell someone, anyone who would listen what she was feeling.

Before she could even begin her tale of woe about her forced meeting with the Albert family’s conceited, prejudiced son, her newest company of the day voiced a question she had not heard in months.

“What are you thinking?”

The only person who would ask her what she was thinking was her father.

“I am thinking too many things.” She cringed as her English came out as stilted and mechanical as it had when she first came to Chicago, but she sensed that to this stranger, with all his gruff and careless charm, it didn’t matter. And so like a waterfall, a deluge of the day’s trials and tribulations poured from her mouth, only a nameless man being the only person caring to listen.

“Missionary or not, that Albert guy’s a real jerk!” Alfred rubbed at his temple once Yuko’s story was finished. “Who’s he to give you a hard time for being from a different country? You said yourself he was born in England!”

The woman couldn’t hide her blush. After over twenty minutes of speaking to this man, not once did he correct her countless grammar mistakes and “unusual” pronunciation like Mrs. Albert’s son had earlier.

“My aunt doesn’t see that he’s a bad person.” She mumbled. “She wants me to apologize to him.”

“What!?” Alfred scoffed. “He should be the one apologizing to you! If a guy is more interested in making jokes about where you’re from than learning about who you are, he’s not worth your time. And I’m sure your dad would agree with me even if he's hard on money!”

Alfred mirrored the woman’s slight grin, and he wanted to slap himself silly for not even knowing her name after such an involved conversation. “Before I help you get home, I feel like I should know your name, Miss…?

“Yuko. My name is Yuko.”

“I’m Alfred.”