win-win: I know OMG but what’s LOL?

anyaschka66: Laughing out loud.

win-win: So you don’t need that one much.

anyaschka66: What’s that supposed to mean?

win-win: You’re kind of serious. You’re kind of a funeral of a girl.

anyaschka66: I’m funny.

win-win: Not LOL funny.

anyaschka66: LOL.

win-win: Wait, are you actually laughing out loud?

anyaschka66: I’m not laughing out loud. Probably no one is EVER laughing out loud when they write LOL. Actually, I’m ROTFL.

win-win: What’s that one?

anyaschka66: I’ll tell you the next time I see you.

win-win: When will that be?

anyaschka66: Maybe not for a long while. I’ll be based in Japan for the next several months at least, though I’ll be traveling to the other club locations, too. I will be in Boston briefly for Natty’s freshman orientation at MIT.

win-win: Look me up if you have time. I’ll congratulate you on your marriage, and I can help you and Natty if you need a big, strong man to move boxes or whatever.

anyaschka66: Who’s this big, strong man you’re talking about?

win-win: LOL.

anyaschka66: I should go. I’m getting married in the morning.

win-win: OMG.

anyaschka66: Look at you, using those fancy acronyms.

win-win: DDT YLRPANG IS IMY IHTYMYO IKIDHARBIDWAETHY ITIMSLY IDHMR

anyaschka66: Now you’re making stuff up.

win-win: All of it stood for something, I assure you.

anyaschka66: I don’t think a one of those acronyms has any chance of catching on.

win-win: Congratulations, Annie. Congratulations, my old friend. I’m serious. Be well and be safe and no matter what happens to either of us in life, let’s promise never to go so long without talking again. LOL.

anyaschka66: I think you might be misusing LOL, Win. Unless you meant that last part as a joke.

He must have already turned off his slate, because he did not reply. I turned off my slate and got into bed.

I could see that peacock feather sitting on my suitcase across the room. I felt as if the eye was looking at me, and so I got out of bed and tucked the feather into the sheath of my machete.

That night, I did not sleep. It may have been the jet lag.

It may just have been the jet lag.

WHEN I AWOKE IN THE MORNING, I had not even slept an hour. My skin was puffy, my vision was blurred, my hands were sweaty, and my head throbbed.

Awoman from Yuji’s staff dressed me in a kimono made from cream-colored silk with the lightest pink cherry blossoms embroidered into the hem and sleeves. My hair had grown long enough to accommodate the traditional topknot style. Gold ornaments on surprisingly sharp daggers were stuck into the buns. My face was powdered white, my cheeks were powdered pink, and my lips were painted bloodred. Finally, a heavy silken hood was draped over me. I felt like I was in a costume, but maybe every bride feels this way no matter what the circumstances of her nuptials are.

The thong sandals I was wearing forced me to take very small steps. I shuffled over to the bathroom. I closed the door behind me. I lifted the kimono and strapped my machete under it. Better to be safe than sorry, I thought. I looked in the mirror, and I fluffed out my kimono.

We were married in a Shinto shrine. I didn’t understand most of what was said. I nodded when I was asked, uttered the occasional hai when it seemed appropriate. We drank sake from small ceramic cups, and an atonal guitar provided the accompaniment. We performed a ceremonial act with tree branches, and then the service was over. Less than a half hour, I’d say.

I looked into my husband’s eyes. “What are you thinking?” he whispered.

“I can’t believe I’ve—we’ve—done this.” I was about to faint. They’d wrapped the kimono too tight, and the weight of the fabric was causing my machete to jab me in the thigh.

He chuckled and seemed less ill than he had in some time. “Suddenly you’re looking healthier,” I said.

“Are you worried that I will live?”

“Yuji, of course not.” But it had honestly not occurred to me that he might get better.

I was beginning to feel rather unwell myself. I wanted to be back in New York. I told my “husband” that I needed to lie down. He took me to a room reserved for married couples that was near the shrine.

Kazuo trailed us. He called to Yuji in Japanese.

“Kazuo wants to know if I am sick,” Yuji translated. “For once, it is Anya,” he called merrily to Kazuo.

Yuji and I went into the marital suite. I lay down on the bed. Yuji sat nearby, watching me. What had I been thinking? How had I convinced myself that this made sense?

I had married a man I barely knew. I had married him!

I could not unmarry him either.

This was it. This had happened. This was my first marriage.

Natty and Theo and everyone else who’d tried to warn me off this had been right. I was hyperventilating.

“Calm yourself,” Yuji said gently. “I will die as promised.” I started to cry. “I don’t want you to die.”

I was still hyperventilating.

“May I loosen your obi?” he asked.

I nodded. He untied my kimono, and I began to feel better. He lay beside me. He looked at me, then he touched my face.

“Yuji, do you think I am a bad person?” “Why?”