She felt a little foolish not being able to understand. Yet it wasn't her fault that she didn't speak Japanese. Searching her memory for what she hoped were the right words, Amanda said the only Japanese phrase she had been able to memorize."Gomen nasai nihon goa hanase masen" She said, hoping that she'd just said she didn't speak Japanese and not some other ridicules remark.The woman just smiled again and pointed to herself."Mariko." She said simply.Amanda breathed a sign of relief. At least she hadn't insulted her."Amanda." She replied. "Then I guess you already knew that."Mariko moved over to a small wet bar and asked with her hands if Amanda wanted a drink."Why not," Amanda said as she indicated acceptance with a motion of her hand.Silence reigned for a few minutes as both women tasted their drinks. Amanda kept asking herself, what did she do now. There was only so much she and Mariko could do with hand gestures."This is good." She noted out loud as she sipped more of her. Conversing with myself between stoplights, I rewrote my personal history to justify meeting a man, not my husband.Approaching Michael’s restaurant in Sunnyvale, our meeting place, however, my rationalized confidence dissipated, replaced with timid reality.I’m risking my marriage, family, my world. I should go home. I knew I wouldn't. I was adrift, on remote, led by a yearning set loose, something long-repressed, now free. I didn't know where or how it would end. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I just went heart forward.Familiar with the restaurant from driving past, I’d never eaten there. Its outside decor proclaimed it too upscale for our family budget. Going in was entering unfamiliar terrain, economic, social and moral.I was scared but fear was part of the enticement. Scanning the parking lot from across the street, I wondered if he even came, with a false hope he didn’t. There it was, his black Porsche, parked near the front entrance. Knowing I shouldn’t but no longer in control,.
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