Porn on the Train

I first heard about the Mayan calendar, the "December 21st is the last day for humankind" story on a camping trip to New Mexico years ago.  Let's just say nature called out.  I needed to reconnect.  True I was burnt out; tired of airports, hotels, and living out of a suitcase.  I camped with a group of women in the hills of New Mexico.  This is most unlike me.  I don't camp.  It was one of those things in hindsight I can't explain.  Nature has not called me to reconnect since, and I don't expect I'll commune with it even if it does.  I'm simply not a nature girl.  But, I digress.

It's December 21st in Tokyo, and while there are several hours left yet in the day, the world has not come crashing down around me.  In fact, I had a most wonderful lunch and dinner.  Coming away from it feeling tall and useful, happy and loved, I was convinced life is truly good and no way would the world come to an end today.  On that note, who's December 21st are we to be looking at anyway?  Whose clock officially kicks off this day?  Are we to calculate this day using GMT, or on Mayan time?  If the latter, December 21st starts around Pacific Standard Time in the US? That actually means December 21st is about 36 hours long for us here in Tokyo.  This is too much math for me to contemplate.

I'm heading home on the subway after dinner, yawning because I haven't had enough tea today.  I'm looking off into space, not really paying attention to my surroundings.  Still happy from my meetings, I let myself dwell in this special moment.

I yawn again, and cover my mouth but a bit too late.  Looking to see if anyone noticed I see the man sitting across from me staring.  What?  You've never seen a woman cover her mouth only half-way through a yawn?  Sorry.  Bad manners on my part.  Our eyes have met.  Here, he looks down to the magazine he has open in his lap.  He looks up at me again.  I look down at the magazine.  It's porn.  It's actually child pornography, but in anime, Japanese cartoons.  The front cover facing me has a barely dressed preteen in an erotic pose.  Well now.  I look back up at him.  He nods.  Am I being challenged?  I sit still.  He nods again, this time to the empty seat next to him.  Is he serious?  He wants me to sit down next to him?  I ponder this.  Briefly.  He nods again, gesturing down at the seat with his head. 

I decide there is this vortex of confusion over the earth today, December 21st and all, and that our planet is trying to decide whether or not to stay alive.  In this confusion, I'm thrown in front of a man reading child pornography on the train who evidently wants me to read it with him.  I get up and sit down next to him.  Be prepared, dear man.  Bring it.  You have no idea what you're getting into.

Sitting side by side, he looks at me and I look back at him.  This is a fight.  I can feel it.  I'm determined not to lose, although I can't quite pinpoint what exactly "losing" would mean.  He starts reading the magazine again.  I join in.  It's not reading as much as it is looking at the pictures.

Of girls being raped.  Of girls giving blow jobs.  Of girls.  There's nothing about these drawings that would make anyone think these characters are anything but six-year olds.  This is child pornography.  This is smut.  Possession of this child pornography in Japan is legal.  He's not breaking any laws. Attempts by foreign governments to shame Japan into proposing legislation that would categorize even anime as child pornography have a). not succeeded, and b). been met with furious opposition from the "artists" who draw these scenes of torture and debauchery.  "It's art," they say.  Bite me.

We're both quiet.  He flips pages and I follow along.  The "stories" are short.  He starts another and I see this one contains a dog.  That's it.  That's my limit.

I look at him.  "You like this?"
He looks back.  "Yeah."
I turn my ahead away from him and look straight ahead.  People are watching us.  I'm silent for a minute and then say, "Huh."
"You don't like it?"
I turn, then pause, and cock my head to the side.  I'm giving him my best "you're-kidding-me" look, hoping he gets it.  Straightening back up, I say, "No, I don't."
I'm not done.  "I don't get why looking at this is fun.  I think it's gross.  This," and I point to the dog, "Really?"
"Yeah, the dog is a bit much."
"The dog is a bit much?  The rest is okay?"
"Yeah.  The rest is okay.  It's not real."
Aaah.  There it is.  It's a cartoon so no one's getting hurt.
"You're foreign so you don't get it.  This is okay in Japan," he says and I feel my eyes widening and I'm so close to punching him and I have to force myself to exhale.
"Well," and I take a deep breath because I'm now shaking, "in my country this is illegal."  I pause for effect.  "This is considered counter-culture, stupid, dirty, and the worst kind of perversion out there.  You'd be arrested for reading this in my country."
"Good thing I'm in Japan then," he says.
"Yeah, only in Japan.  The rest of the world thinks this is wrong.  You guys are way behind the times in what's considered decent," I say and this is my cue.  I get up.  I've had enough.

I did not punch him.  For this I'm proud of myself but only sort of.  I got off the train three stations before mine.  I needed air.  I could feel my heart in my chest, beating furiously.   I wasn't expecting to change his mind, lead him to an epiphany where he would see how morally and socially corrupt this whole "it's not real so it's okay" argument is.  I equally did not see myself coming away feeling this deflated.  I feel gross.  My hands feel oily.  I want to scrub myself clean.

It was a matter of time before this happened.  Today it did, and it some how makes sense that it would on this particular day, but I know this argument will hold no water when I face a similar experience again in future and it's not a day the world is to come to an end.  Deal with that then?  I guess.  It's frightening how wrong that answer is, and yet.  And, yet.