Gomenasai

Tadashi took a sip of his drink. This time it was a gin martini with a twist.
“I’ll get a smoke, please.”
“I was looking at that one too!” Tadashi's energy was pleasant, calming. He wasn’t looking for a one night stand, he was looking for some company, a conversation. Every month he would drive into the city from Westchester for a business meeting and go for a cocktail or two at this Japanese bar on East 75th street.   
The bartender handed me my smoke, a bourbon based cocktail with milky fog filling seventy percent of my snifter. My tasting buds were in for quite a fiesta or whatever the Japanese equivalent of it is called. The drink was fantastic.   
“Cheers!” Tadashi and I clinked our glasses and each took a sip.
“Na zdorovie!” The infamous phrase that every non Russian person says when drinking with a Russian. It was sweet.
“I only know a couple of Japanese words: arigato and gomenasai.”
Tadashi smiled.
“How do you know gomenasai?”
“From a song I think.”
“Gomenasai. It’s a good word. Somehow people don’t use it very much these days.”

08/22/2021