I've got that right now, but it's not like in a movie. It's nothing that epic, it's better, because it's more subdued. When something big happens in your life it's easy to feel confident. Your blood's pumping and your skin is tingling, and it's impossible to think anything but positively about your existence. It's when you get that same sense on a regular day, a day when nothing unusual is going on, that's when you know things are going well. You can be walking down the street, and it just hits you: This is great. There's nowhere I want to be more than here. Everything is on track.

I see Yukari standing down the street, looking in a shop window, and I break into a smile. It's perfect, she's the exact person I want to see right now. But she turns to look at me, and something about the smile she gives me cuts through the spell. She grins with the side of her mouth, and I start feeling self-conscious about my whole look. Even my Crimson Ghost jacket feels out of place, and it's my favorite jacket of all time. It's more like I'm a kid playing dress up, and considering I'm twenty-five it's not a great feeling. My power shot stride doesn't technically miss a step, but it's not automatic anymore. It's like I'm trying to maintain a cool demeanor, and as soon as that happens the whole thing is pretty much gone. She hasn't really done anything, she's just watching me, but by the time I get to her I'm only half smiling.

"Hey," she says, and she's still grinning while she looks me in the eye. I think she knows what just happened. It's tough to fake things around her, but until just now I didn't think I was faking. She breaks into a full smile at the look on my face, and that wears me down. I gotta smile back, but I notice that I'm not standing straight like I was a minute ago. I'm sorta hunched over with my hands in my pockets, and I say, "Hi." I really don't know how she does that to me. It's not that I'm uncomfortable around her, it's just... hard to explain.

She's got an open coat on over a light grey sweater, and she's wearing a pair of jeans that are kind of loose, but that still make her ass look really good. I hope she didn't notice me noticing that. She's unadorned, and if anything it makes me feel even more off my game. She's not wearing any jewelry, no makeup, and she looks great. Standing next to her I feel like I'm the girl, getting all decked out in my punk gear, like I'm trying to impress somebody. She's not wearing anything out of the ordinary and she looks totally at ease, like she's still got her power shot going, and I think maybe we'd be on more even ground if I was dressed in something more normal. Nobody else makes me feel like that. "You know, you always make me feel over-dressed."

"Well, you are," she says, and she flashes me another one of those sly smiles. "This isn't some kid's birthday party."

See? I goddamn knew she was thinking that.

"So what are you up to?" she asks, and I make myself stand up a little straighter.

"I'm going to see Mitsuhiko, but I ain't in a hurry. You doing anything?"

She raises an eyebrow. "You 'ain't in a hurry'? You know, talking like that makes you come off really awkward, with your accent."

"What accent?"

"That's what I mean. It's not like you're from Kyushu, but you throw in all these hick words. It doesn't fit you." She scrutinizes me a little closer, then says, "In fact, you're really obviously a city boy. If I gave you a haircut and put you in some dress clothes, I bet you'd look just like a proper university student."

"Well that's not gonna happen, so don't even try it. I know karate."

"Just make sure you never fall asleep near me. I'll give you one of those real close cuts, then part your hair to the side..." She starts making cutting motions at my hair with her fingers, and laughs as I pull away.

"I mean it now! Watch the hair! It takes a long time for me to get it to look this fucked up."

"Do you spend hours in the mirror every morning?"

"S'matter of fact I do. Me and Mitsu have lots of bottles of hair gel, in our filthy hovel."

"Do you have running water in your hovel?" she asks, scrunching her nose slightly. "'Cause it smells like it's been a few days..."

"It's called punk, lady. We don't care about that stuff. And it hasn't been that long. I just never wash this jacket."

"But you have heard of baths, right?" She looks at me under a furrowed brow, her expression totally serious. "The punk trend is already fully established. You won't be letting anyone down by observing basic hygiene. If it's difficult for you, I might be able to walk you through it sometime."

I look straight into her eyes, using my serious face to combat hers, and it takes a few moments before we both break down. I catch the face of an old lady as she walks by, and she seems really confused to see me acting happy. Goddammit, I'm supposed to be striking fear into these people, and I'm standing here laughing. There are unspoken rules about this sort of thing. I think. "If you're just gonna stand around mocking me, let's take it inside. Let's go grab a beer."

"Well, I dunno," she says in a sort of country drawl. "It ain't as fun when we're not in public. But I ain't doing nothin' for a bit, so you just lead the way, cowboy."

I spit on the sidewalk, then say, "You're buying."

I pay the bartender for two glasses and take them back to our table. The bar we're at is this little place, dimly lit with a low ceiling and no windows, so it feels like it's underground. This time of day it's mostly deserted, but I pass 3:16 and he says, "Hey Mouthwash."

I give him a nod and sit down, sliding one of the glasses to Yukari. I take a swig as she says, "Did that guy just call you 'Mouthwash'?"

"Mm." I wipe my mouth. "S'my nickname."

"What's it mean?"

"It don't mean anything. Nobody picks their own nickname. So you always end up with something stupid."

"So what's his name?" she asks, tilting her head.

"Everyone calls him 3:16. I think 'cause his dad's a minister."

"Am I gonna need a nickname before I can become punk?"

I look at her sitting across from me, and I try to imagine her with her eyebrows pierced, wearing black lipstick, her hair dyed red and standing straight up in a few giant spikes. "I don't think you want that."

"Why not? It's just dress up. All I have to do is put something through my nose and sneer at people. And maybe stop taking baths."

"You know, I'm starting to think you don't take me seriously."

She looks at me for a moment, then says, "You don't have any piercings. Or tattoos."

"I got one," I say, reaching for my zipper. "You wanna see?"

She raises a hand and says, "No, that's okay. But you gotta tell me something." She takes a drink, then puts the glass down and doesn't say anything else, looking at me.

I watch her for a few moments, then finally say, "Yeah?"

"How did you become a punk?"

I take a deep breath and lean back in my chair. That's actually a pretty weird question. Other punks would never ask that. They just hope they never bump into anyone who knew them when they were normal. "I can tell you, but you've gotta keep it a secret. Alright?"

"Sure."

I lean in closer and say, "Seriously. I'm gonna trust you with something I never told anyone else. You're gonna keep this to yourself."

"Okay," she says, and there's this little glint in her eye, like she still thinks I'm acting like a junior high kid.

I look around and see 3:16 at the other end of the bar, talking to some people I don't know. Nobody else is in immediate earshot, so I nod to her to come closer, and we both lean in over the table. I put my mouth next to her ear and say, "You know what you were saying earlier, about dressing me up like a fancy school boy?" She nods, and I say, "Well, that's how I used to be."

She pulls away, and I crack up at the look on her face. It's total shock, her eyes wide and her mouth slack. I give her a light shove on the shoulder and say, "Hey, give it a rest."

"Don't hit me," she says, socking me in the arm. "So that's your big secret? That you weren't born a punk straight out of your mother's womb?"

"It's not just that. Back in school... Remember, you've gotta keep this to yourself. I'm not kidding."

"Just tell me already. Fuck." She takes another drink while I put my hands around my glass and look down into my beer.

"When I was a kid, all my friends were nerds."

"You don't say." She puts her glass down. "So?"

For a second, I'm at a loss for words. "So... I... was kinda a dork. Just by extension."

"So that means you actually used to be smart, which makes you saying 'ain't' and 'gonna' that much worse."

"Being a geek don't mean you're smart. It just means you're awkward and weird."

"So what's so bad about that? I like nerds. Nerds are cute."

"No they're goddamn not. They're... I don't think you understand, because those people... They're not good people."

"Hey, drama queen, snap out of it. It couldn't have been that bad."

"It was plenty bad. I coulda been trapped in that hole forever. I just knew I wasn't terminal, like the rest of those freak bastards..." I narrow my eyes and shake my fist at their phantom memory.

"Terminal?" she asks, and I'm starting to get the feeling that she's not buying what I'm selling.

"There are two kinds of geek," I say, breaking out a bit of my lecturing voice. It's a little rusty. "Most of them are alright, whatever nerdy stuff they're interested in is just a small addition to their overall personality. More like you and me," I say, and she raises her eyebrows. "I'm sure you've got some dorky shit you're into that nobody else gets."

"Maybe. I know you do. The first time I met you, you and Mitsuhiko were watching wrestling at a bar."

"See, exactly. Nobody else we know gives a shit about wrestling, but it's okay because we don't walk around talking about wrestling all day. But the other kind of geek, the terminals, they're different. Those people are completely hopeless."

"Hence the name."

"Yeah. Those people are their geekery. As far as they're concerned, it's all they have to define themselves. They'd be sitting here right now telling you about how Dynamite Kid was arguably the greatest opponent the original Tiger Mask ever had, even though you don't give a shit."

"I sure don't."

"But people like that won't stop. They barrel right along and only talk about whatever dumbass nerd shit they're interested in, despite the fact that they've got a perfectly serviceable girl sitting right across from them who doesn't care at all. Their shitty personality is just a garnish they sprinkle across the huge expanse of their dorkness."

I can tell the hair on the back of her neck is standing up a little at that 'serviceable girl' remark, but it seems like she's gonna let it go until she asks, "Perfectly serviceable girl?"

I laugh. "I love that. No matter how cute a girl is, she can't stand having anybody say different."

"That's not what I meant."

"Sure. Don't worry Yuki," I say, giving her a pat on the head. "You're a very pretty girl. You'll make somebody a beautiful wife someday."

"I don't think I like you anymore."

I keep smiling, and we sit in silence for a few moments. It's one of those points where the conversation just dies off, but we let it sit. We look around the bar and each take another drink. Then she says, "So you wanted to be cool."

"Hell yeah. And not in some sarcastic way. I always wanted to be cool, ever since I was a little kid. I used to take off my winter hat when I walked past the junior high, just so the older kids would think I was more grown up. Never worked or anything, but I did it."

"Jesus, that is so stupid." She points a finger at me and says, "You've just gotta be yourself. Surely your teachers must have told you that."

"They tell everybody that, and for some people that's really bad advice. I think that kinda stuff is what gave birth to this sub-culture of mega-nerds in the first place."

"Do you?"

"There's nothing wrong with being yourself, I know that. You don't need to put on airs or chase trends to try to impress people. I know that taking off my winter hat and freezing my ears when I was little was stupid."

"So what about this?" she says, gesturing at my Melt Banana shirt. "This isn't putting on airs?"

"Look, I'm trying to explain something to you. We'll get back to me later. And this shirt is at least semi-ironic."

She puts up her hands and says, "Hokay. Teach away, professor."

"There are certain basic traits most people have," I say, my lecturing voice coming off a little better this time. "Most people don't have an impossible time interacting with the outside world, they can talk with other people without it turning into a big ordeal. Everyone always told these nerds just to be themselves, but somebody should have told them, 'Be yourself, but if yourself is a horribly awkward terminal fuck up, then do something about it. Don't just live your life like that. Improve yourself! At least try, for the love of fuck!'"

"Hey, don't yell at me. I'm not the nerd here, nerdy."

I clear my throat. "Sorry."

"Hm. So you hated your friends. Then what? Did you become the messiah of your fellow dorks? Bringing the word down from the mountain or whatever?"

"No. I tried for awhile, but they were never going to get it. It still wasn't easy to break away, being on my own scared the shit out of me. But I was more afraid that someday I'd find a group of people I really liked, people who I could really respect and be proud to call my friends, and those people would see that I was already a part of this other group of losers and leave me behind. So I ditched everybody and moved to Tokyo, and it was the best choice I ever made."

"Really?"

"Definitely. I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you if I hadn't. I'd probably be in somebody's basement, wishing that I had the balls to be a part of the outside world."

She finishes her beer, rolling around the bit left in the bottom of the glass, then says, "You know what?"

"What?"

"I don't believe you."

"Don't believe what?"

"I don't believe that you were a nerd. Prove it. Say something nerdish to me."

"I wasn't a full nerd, I was just... too nice. I never knew how to tell people to fuck off. Here, look at it this way," I say, and she's still listening a lot more closely than I expected she would. "Think of your life as a teen movie. Everybody sees themselves as the romantic lead, but obviously that can't be true. Some of us are wacky sidekicks, some of us are cocky rich guys, some of us are hilarious fat party animals. We can't all be the hero.

"But that turns out not to be a problem, because not everybody does think they're the lead. Even in their own lives, in their own world view, they're just a wacky sidekick. They're a second stringer, they're a bit part. That's all they see themselves as and that's all they aspire to be. I was never like that, but my friends were. I wanted to be the center, I didn't want to spend my life revolving around somebody else."

She grins. "Well, I believe you now. 'Think of your life as a teen movie' is possibly the dorkiest phrase I have ever heard."

"Thanks."

"So what finally snapped you out of it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"What do you think? It was punk rock, baby." I lean in again. "You wanna hear the story?"

"I think you better buy me another beer first."

I slide my glass across to her, which is still half full. She takes it, and I feel my head starting to fill with the memory of my first show. "I was seventeen years old, it was a Rise From The Dead show. They're not around anymore, but the hall was packed. It was the first time I'd seen a pit, and I stayed close enough to watch it, but I never went in. I was still part of the nerd squad, so I just assumed that I couldn't do that sort of stuff. Then about halfway through the night they played Leg Cut or Die, and the crowd went nuts. The pit doubled, and all of a sudden I was right in the middle of it."

She nods, peering at me over the top of her glass.

"I was stuck right in the middle of all these thrashing lunatics, and some guy crowd-surfed over my head, and I didn't know what the hell to do. I kept getting shoved around, so I started jumping with everybody else, just trying to keep my balance. But I stayed in, and by the end of that first song I didn't feel like I wasn't supposed to be there anymore. I got comfortable with it real fast. I was surrounded by these crazy punks, these people who dressed weird and went out and got drunk and did everything I never did, and I felt fine. When the next song started and everybody exploded again, I started laughing. I was right there with this group of people I never thought I'd be a part of, and it was easy.

"After the show was over I had bruises all down my arms, one of my knees was fucked up, and there was a bruise on my hip so bad I couldn't even sleep on my side that night, and it was amazing to me. I never used to get into fights, I never played sports, I just took it for granted that I couldn't do that stuff. But I kept up with those punks, no problem, and it was like waking up. Waking up from a long, boring dream."

She's looking down at the table, and from her expression I expect her to answer with some life advice. Something about how I should accept people the way they are, or maybe just that I should listen to music that sounds less shitty. But she just says, "So the next day you spiked your hair, told your mom to fuck off and moved away, huh?"

"Hey, I never told my mom to fuck off. I love my mom."

"But you missed out on things. You never went to university, right?"

"Nope."

"But you probably would have?"

I clear my throat. "Maybe."

"So you'd be getting out soon. You'd have a job and some kind of future lined up. What have you got now?"

"What I don't have is a crappy desk job and a list of regrets. Besides, I don't need school," I say, leaning back. "I'll figure something out. It's a big world. There are a lot of places a person can fit in."

"And I'm sure you're dying to tell me all about them, but I gotta go." She looks at me for a moment, then says, "You can walk me home if you want."

"Awesome."

She gets up from the table and says, "I just gotta go to the bathroom."

I watch her as she walks away, and my eyes linger longer than I mean them to. From across the room I see 3:16 giving me a lecherous grin, and on my way out I give him the finger.

"Okay," she says, stepping out onto the street and checking her pockets. "You were telling me about not going to school."

"How far do you live?"

"A few blocks."

"Then I'll give you the condensed version."

"Lay it on me," she says, looking at something down the block as we start walking, and I think she's starting to get a little tired of paying attention to me. But hey, she asked.

"The first thing you've gotta know, to understand why school sucks, is that philosophy is the most important academic discipline."

"Your nerd is showing again."

"I know, but I'm going somewhere with this." My lecturing voice is pretty much in full swing now. "Our personal philosophies, whether we're conscious of them or not, are what guide everything we do. Science built the oven, but philosophy made the decision to throw people in. If philosophy gets neglected, then everything else falls apart behind it."

"Philosophy is important. Check."

"The problem is that the philosophy they teach in schools has dropped completely off the map, and that's why school kids drive me nuts. Not the engineers or the chemists, not the useful people. It's the philosophy students, the literature students -- They're totally backwards, they're completely full of shit and they don't even know it. See, all the physical sciences took a big jump around the time of the industrial revolution, a big jump, like... mighty oaks, bursting from the ground."

"Mighty oaks. Gotcha." She's still looking around while we walk, but she's smiling a little.

"But philosophy, philosophy is this tiny bud, just this little sprout, and the school nerds don't even know it. They think what they're learning is important, they think they're on some cutting edge, but they're miles away from learning anything useful about life. They lost the trail a long time ago and they are no longer advancing the cause."

"You don't say."

"Yeah. Because philosophy is how we understand why we're here. It's supposed to inspire us, it's supposed to teach us what we're capable of. It's how we learn that we can do great things, and that we shouldn't throw people in ovens. Philosophy is supposed to be the study of our potential as human beings, it's supposed to show us a positive path for our progression as a species."

"Ha." Still not looking at me, she says, "You coulda fooled me."

"Exactly! That's exactly what I mean. These fucking philosophy people, they don't look for ways to improve things. They look for reasons to damn the human race, and that's what they find. They make up names for philosophy after philosophy, and each one is just a new take on the same old shit: People suck, we're ruining the planet, we're good for nothing and things will be better when we're gone. And that's fucking bullshit. That's the exact opposite of the truth."

"You think that? That people are positive?"

"Yeah, I do."

"You?"

"I really don't think it's that weird. To find anything positive in this world you've gotta look to the fringe, because you're not gonna find it with the straight-and-narrow school kids. They might put on a facade of self-assurance, but if you talk to them for awhile you'll find out they're all tiresome and depressed, because some professor told them that the human race sucks and they swallowed it."

"I'm sure not everyone is like that. That's some chip you've got on your shoulder, though."

"I'm sure you'll meet the occasional professor who claims to be a big lover of life, but that's bullshit too. At best, the very best case scenario is that you'll get some fruity prof with a twinkle in his eye, telling you that life is great and backing it up with some mistranslated Shakespeare. It's lip service, it's not connected to anything. The way they claim to love the world, it's not meaningful. It's not visceral. They say they see the positive side of the human race, but they'll never do anything to back it up. They'll never inspire anybody, they'll never turn the tide of this negative self-perception everyone's got. They're disconnected. They're like the evolved version of the nerds living in their parents basement."

"So how are you helping the world? By going to rock shows and deliberately pursuing ignorance?"

"I'm not pursuing ignorance. It's progression through unlearning. It's totally different."

"Totally."

I crack my knuckles. "Trust me. I know the way things are going. Academia is lost. Society in general is lost, and the only way to find where the thread got dropped is to go backward. You have to forget all the things you were taught about yourself, about where you came from and where you're capable of going, because the people who taught you had no fucking clue what they were talking about. Being depressed and cynical about life, that's not underground. That's not rebellion, that's mainstream. That's what everybody thinks."

She walks up onto the front step of a building, and I guess we're at her place. I feel a bit of a drop in my gut. I'm sure I coulda slipped all this stuff a lot more suavely into a few future conversations. Standing on the step she's almost at my eye level, and she gives me one of those peering looks, like she's scrutinizing me. I still can't shake the feeling that she's got me pegged, and that she's just waiting to see what I'm gonna say, to see if I've got myself figured as well as she does. I'm sure I shouldn't have talked so much.

So I'm standing here feeling like a bit of a social leper when she rescues me, inclining her head and saying, "We should talk about this again sometime."

I smile and say, "Sure." Then she gives me one last study-glance before she opens the door.

"See you", she says, and steps into the house.

A little shiver runs down my back as I turn to go, and I shake my head as I walk. I gotta get this professor mode out of my brain before I see Mitsuhiko.

"Hey, Akito!" I turn to see Yukari hanging out of her front door. "Just so you know, next time we're gonna talk about me a lot more."

I give her a salute and we trade one last smile, then I turn and keep walking.