The 8-Minute Summer Train #CheersToThatSummer

The same summer as always was about to pass by.

The maxi dress I bought at a discount store clung to my legs in the heat.

Ten years married, six years since my daughter was born. For the past few years, it has become a tradition to stay at my parents' house at the end of August. My daughter and I return home three days early, and my husband joins us later. Of course, under a peace treaty, we swap roles when visiting his parents' home.

Honestly, there is nothing around my parents' house, which is located in the middle of Kanagawa Prefecture. With time to kill, I brought my daughter to a shopping mall three stations away.

Movies, parks, swimming pools, and shaved ice. Summer spent with a child is a mix of boredom and freshness. While I soften at my daughter's sudden growth, I think about how I haven't changed at all. When was it that summer used to shine? The hit love songs playing in the mall sound like foreign music to me.

"Can I see Daddy today?"

Wearing the new pink sandals she just bought, my daughter hopped up and down.

"Yes, we have to hurry."

It was 20 minutes ago that I got a message from my husband, who is joining us today, saying he was leaving Yokohama. We are planning to meet at the station nearest my parents' house.

According to the photo he sent on LINE, he spent yesterday leisurely making "hamburg steak with slowly sautéed onions" and enjoying foreign TV dramas. I'm glad he enjoyed his peaceful time alone.

Taking my daughter's sweat-dampened hand, I pass through the familiar, yet long-unseen ticket gate. Ebina, the starting station of the Sotetsu Line. The line that runs to Yokohama is crowded during rush hour, but it's a weekday evening now. There are few people around.

There are only two passengers in the train car. The ride is only eight minutes long. At this rate, I don't need to be on edge about my daughter's behavior.

The departure bell rang and the doors closed. Beyond the windows of the train as it slid away from the platform with a clatter, I could see the fading summer sky. A twilight dyed in the colors of a day coming to an end. It was a cityscape I had seen enough of when I was a high school student. That day, too, the sky was this color.

With the rhythmic clatter of the train, I find myself layering memories of a summer from 20 years ago.

***

That day, I was 15 years old. Summer vacation in high school. At the end of August, I had promised to go shopping with everyone from my club. And among "everyone," there was the person I liked.

I could meet the upperclassman I was interested in somewhere other than school. Just that alone made my heart race. A white T-shirt and a floral camisole dress. Wearing my favorite outfit, I took a slightly earlier train and headed to the meeting place, Ebina Station.

It was 1:20 PM, with the sound of cicadas ringing out. Beyond the ticket gate, I could see only him.

Less than half of my friends had mobile phones, and the word "SNS" didn't even exist. It was an era where you couldn't know in real-time who was going to be late. I assumed he was there early because he was the club president. I think I was being calculatingly obvious because I wanted to be by the side of the person I liked.

A moment of just the two of us. I blamed the redness of my cheeks on the midsummer heat.

The other members arrived one after another. We finished shopping at the sports store, talked endlessly at McDonald's, and before we knew it, it was time to head home.

That day, the best stroke of luck was that only the senior and I were taking the train from Ebina toward Yokohama. I get off at the third station. The senior gets off two stations after that.

Even though the air conditioning in the train car was blasting, my skin felt hot sitting next to the senior.

We were alone. Well, to be precise, there were a few scattered people in the twilight train car. But they didn't register in my eyes as I struggled with my racing heart. The world consisted only of the senior and me.

"Um, do you have someone you like?"

The scent of summer I inhaled made me a little bold. I didn't have a shred of courage to confess on the moving train. I just wanted to know if the senior had someone they liked.

"Yeah, well... I do..."

The senior gave me a vague smile at the sudden shift from small talk.

"What about you? How about you?"

I couldn't possibly reply with "They're right in front of me!" to such an unexpected pitch, so I mumbled, "Yes, well, I have someone too."

"Are they in the same club?"

Maybe you like that person, don't you?

In my mind, I pictured the girl who was almost always next to the senior during practice. On top of that, she was in the same class as the senior. They even walked home together after club activities every day.

"Yeah, the same club."

If that's the case.

"Are they the same age as you?"

As soon as the words I couldn't hold back flew out of my mouth, I felt intense regret.

If the answer is "the same age," my heartbreak is sealed. The senior must like that person. I was so excited by the fact that the senior liked someone in the club that I blurted out something terrible.

Before I knew it, the train had arrived at the second station. I get off at the next one. I just want to disappear right now without asking anything else.

It might have been three seconds. It might have been thirty. There was a silence that felt like an eternity, and I felt the person next to me, my senior, take a breath as if he had made up his mind.

"...I'm younger."

I thought flowers were flying in the background and a fanfare was sounding from the heavens. When I looked over, feeling as if my emotions were about to overflow, he was also blushing and covering his mouth as if embarrassed.

"What about you? ...How about you...?"

My heartbeat, filled with anticipation, urged me on, telling me to say it quickly.

"...I'm older."

There are five girls in our club who are younger than my senior, including me. To be loved back by the person you like is an astronomical miracle. To confirm that miracle, I only needed one word.

But I couldn't say it. My heart wasn't ready. What if I was wrong? What if it wasn't me? If that happened, it would all be over. This sweet, heart-wrenching time.

While my thoughts raced at high speed, the train reached the third station. The doors, opened to the lingering humidity outside, were waiting for me. I didn't want to get off. I wanted to sit next to him forever. If only the doors would close right now and we could stay together until the final stop.

The moment that wish, too much for a fifteen-year-old, crossed my mind, I remembered my mother's strict curfew and stood up abruptly.

"Oh, well then, see you in the new semester!"

I slipped off the train and heard the doors close behind me. I turned around, holding onto a tiny sliver of hope, but the train carrying my senior was already speeding off toward the twilight.

The summer sky was clear, and a thin veil of orange and navy blue began to cover everything. In the span of just three stations, the world had completely changed. I didn't even mind the humidity clinging to my body or my incredibly hot cheeks. The first star appearing above the overpass looked exceptionally beautiful.

***

"Mom, look."

As I came to my senses at my daughter's voice, the train had just slid into the platform of the station where we were getting off. I took my daughter's hand and checked for any forgotten items as we stepped off the train. A girl in a yukata walked past, the sound of her red-strapped geta sandals clicking against the ground.

"Is there a festival?"

My daughter looked up at me with sparkling eyes.

"Yes, there is. But it's far away."

I caught sight of a fireworks festival poster on the bulletin board. The summer I watched fireworks with my senior was the summer of my second year of high school.

That day, when I slid off the train, I didn't know yet. I didn't know that my senior was hesitating whether to get off the train with me. I didn't know that in the autumn, right after the new semester started, he would confess his feelings to me on the way home. I didn't know that we would come to this station together countless times.

I just didn't know.

Eventually, I would learn the loneliness of hearing his voice over the receiver during our long-distance relationship. And that our love would end in the summer of my third year of high school.

"Daddy, I wonder if he's arrived yet."

I climb the station stairs with my daughter, who is bursting with excitement for our reunion after three days. A cat stamp message saying "I'm here" pops up on my phone.

My heart no longer leaps at the notification of an email. I'm fine being apart for a few days. Even though he is my husband, whom I met after becoming a working adult and whom I am truly joined with in love. There is family love. But the heart-throbbing excitement that once scorched my chest when I looked up at the night sky has become fireworks from a distant, distant day.

On the other side of the ticket gate, my husband, with his familiar look, is waving. Having been freed from childcare for a few days, he looks somewhat refreshed.

"You arrived safely."

I take the various bags from my husband's hands as he tries to pick up our daughter, who is rushing toward him shouting, "Daddy!" Inside the paper bag, I hear the sound of bottles clinking together.

"What's this?"

"Oh, I bought these at a craft beer exhibition. It was being held in Yokohama."

The letters IPA—India Pale Ale—catch my eye. It's a beer that was so bitter I couldn't drink it at first. One day, when I paired it with the special curry my husband made, the bitterness and the spiciness matched perfectly. Since then, it has become a staple in our home during the summer.

"I also bought some that your father likes."
"I brought some sautéed onions too, so let's make curry."

I see, so that's why there's a cooler bag in the paper bag. "I love Daddy's curry!" my daughter says, dancing as her feet touch the ground.

Childcare, housework, work. We are living our daily lives a bit too much. There is no room for romance to slip in between us as a couple. But you taught me the taste of bitter beer. And I know many pleasures that we discovered together, like a secret game.

"You like that, don't you?"

The heartbeat I felt on that summer train has truly become distant.

My daughter is clinging to my husband's left hand as he starts walking. I gently take his free right hand. Because my husband looks at me with an expression that says, "Oh, how unusual," I smile and say "I love you" in my heart.

"It's summer, isn't it?"

The reason that summer feels sweet and dazzling is because we have become adults. In our teens, when we were desperately staring at the sparkle of love, summer was sometimes painful and sometimes bitter.

Surely, the summer that makes my heart ache will never come again. Even so, the days I have accumulated whimsically press the switch of nostalgia. In the soft warmth transmitted from the palm of my hand, I remember the precious things that are here.

A single gust of wind lightly sways the hem of my worn-out maxi dress, which has nothing to do with love.

Let's toast tonight by lining up exceptional summer dishes to enjoy with bitter beer.

The unchanging summer is coming to an end. From the overpass, I can see the train disappearing into the distance. As the sunset falls into the night, the first star watching the backs of the three of them was shining as beautifully as it did on that day.