[Creative Writing] A Tennessee Waltz on a Certain Day #ShirokumaLiteratureClub

Lately, there aren't many days in Tokyo that feel like the fragrant month of May. As soon as spring ends, it turns into a humid, muggy May. However, tonight, a refreshing breeze is blowing, and I even feel like the scent of wisteria blooming somewhere is drifting in the air.
Enticed by such comfort, after having dinner at Ark Hills, I decided to walk to Nagatacho. On the way, around the time I passed Sanno-zaka, I passed an elderly man. Perhaps slightly tipsy, the man was humming an English song in a low voice.

“Do you know that song from just now?”

After a while, my daughter, Akari, asked. I understand why she would want to know the title. Both the man and the song he was humming had such a stylish atmosphere that it could have been a scene from a movie. It wasn't the typical sight of a drunkard bellowing out some dull song.
For a moment, I remembered my ex-husband. My ex-husband was also a man who looked like he had stepped out of a movie. Shun's image floated before my eyes, and irritation welled up inside me.

“What was it?” I pulled my feelings back to the present. “It sounds familiar, but I can't recall the title.”

“Shall we ask Google? Not the iPhone, but Google!”

The reason my daughter's voice became a little excited was probably because she remembered the story about my old friend, Mizuki Nanase. The story about how, even though she sang it three times, the iPhone music search told her, “Song not found.” She said she felt depressed, wondering if she was tone-deaf since it wasn't recognized even though she was singing so clearly, but when I looked into it later, the iPhone only searches digitized sound sources. No matter how well you sing, it doesn't recognize a live voice. What recognizes live singing is Google search.

—For example, if Paul McCartney himself sang “Yesterday,” would it not recognize it? Even if he sang it exactly like the digital source?

Mizuki was saying something stupid. The situation of searching for a song you wrote yourself by asking “What is this song?” is too ridiculous. Speaking of ridiculous, the song Mizuki sang three times was Noriko Awaya's “Farewell Blues.” Hearing that Rinko Kikuchi played Noriko Awaya, she thought, “I know the song that goes ‘When I open the window...’, but what is the title of that song?” If she knew the lyrics, she could have just searched for them normally.

My daughter hummed the song from earlier with a power of reproduction that makes me admire her, even though she is my own child. It's a bit precarious that she only knows the chorus, but if it's Google, it should surely be able to find it.

　　　　*

Google told me that the man was singing “Tennessee Waltz.” Once I knew the title, I remembered it. Someone had sung it on Kohaku long ago, and I remembered hearing it at karaoke. Apple Music had several versions, so I asked it to play Chiemi Eri's “Tennessee Waltz.”

“Mizuki said that there was a time in Japan when, if you said ‘Tennessee Waltz,’ it meant Chiemi Eri.”

I told my daughter. Mizuki's mother, hearing the beginning of “Tennessee Waltz” suddenly play in the middle of a radio program, muttered, “Oh, did Chiemi Eri pass away?” The mother who muttered that was so shaken that it was etched into the memory of Mizuki's older brother, who was a kindergartner at the time, and later shared with his younger sister, Mizuki. Since this song was released in the early 50s, Mizuki used to insist that Chiemi Eri and “Tennessee Waltz” had enough power to shake a woman who was a baby when the record was released.
Remembering that story, among the names of overseas artists, I dared to choose the Chiemi Eri version.

　　　　*

My daughter and I shared earphones and listened to Chiemi Eri's “Tennessee Waltz” on the subway. A powerful singing style, sometimes using vocal ornaments. It seems strange to hear it now with the English original lyrics mixed with Japanese lyrics, but it must have been quite stylish right after the war.

“Chiemi Eri died at 45. Poor thing.”

My daughter tells me the information from the wiki. At 45, she is the same generation as me. Thinking of Mizuki's mother's reaction, it must have been a sudden death.

“It says she was deceived by her older sister and ended up with a huge debt. She paid back all that money herself...”

The end becomes a whisper. If I had known Chiemi Eri's life, I wouldn't have listened to her version. My daughter is definitely thinking about her father right now. The man who left behind debt and ran away. He ran away after stiffing not only financial institutions but also his own friends, close business partners, and the money he borrowed from my father. If Mizuki hadn't declared in strong words, “Sakawaki-kun and I will lend money to Hikaru, but we can't lend it to Mr. Hosoki. I can't think that it's okay if it doesn't come back,” I would have lost not only my money, my home, and my husband, but also my precious friend. I, who had trusted my husband completely, had even tried to borrow money from my best friend Mizuki and my ex-boyfriend Sakawaki-kun.

Days of paying back the massive debt created by the person I believed in and loved. Days of cursing myself for being deceived and cursing the person who deceived me. Even if the amount is different, Chiemi Eri and I are comrades who have seen the same hell.

My daughter touched my arm gently, which is rare.

“It's a good song, Chiemi Eri's ‘Tennessee Waltz.’”

I looked at my daughter's profile, who must have remembered her father, but didn't touch upon it.

“Even though it's a sad song.”

Such a sad song became popular and has been sung ever since. Was the man from earlier also washing away his sadness while singing?
I touch my daughter's hair.
Sometimes, it's not bad to listen to sad songs together like this.

A story about the narrator Hikaru and Mizuki's student days

A story where the daughter Akari appears

I participated in the Shirokuma Literature Club.

#ShirokumaLiteratureClub