You are my brightest star.

"Look, that red star. It's beautiful."

On winter nights, the stars look so clear.
I wanted to share that feeling like a shooting star, so I spoke up.

"That's the color of a star that's about to disappear."
My son's gentle words took me by surprise.

I have a nine-year-old son.
He is a spoiled child, kind to others, and thoughtful.
He is an honest, easily moved child, like a first-magnitude star.
I love his sensitivity very much.

This year, he was invited by a school friend to a ski trip.
He often says he wants to play with friends outside of school.
So my son was overjoyed. With a face like a starry sky, he said, "I want to go!"

But I couldn't manage my work schedule, so it didn't look like he could go.
My son was very disappointed, but he gave up.
Then, the parent of the friend who invited him and the organizer, an acquaintance, said, "I can look after one more person, so if you'd like, why don't you let your child come along?"
Apparently, some children participate on their own.
Come to think of it, I also participated alone when I was in the sixth grade. So, I let myself rely on them, thinking it would be okay.

My son was overjoyed and talked about it every day.
Seeing him like that, I felt the vastness of a world where countless stars twinkle in the night sky.
Just like counting the twinkling stars together, I was excited too.

But,
His first trip alone.
His first time skiing.
The adults accompanying him are people I trust, so it will be fine. Even though I thought that, as the day approached, anxiety gradually seeped out.

What if he gets stranded on a snowy mountain?
What if he gets injured?
What if he gets left behind at a service area without anyone noticing?

I couldn't hold it back.
"Don't go anywhere on your own."
"When you go to the bathroom, always tell an adult."
"Even if you're having fun with your friends, don't get carried away."
My anxiety spilled out of my mouth, forming thin clouds.
If I said any more, it would cloud his excitement. But,
"Don't get stranded."
I let out that black cloud in a small voice.
I felt like my son's starry sky had been slightly covered by clouds.

On the morning of the day, I prepared to leave the house while it was still night.
Did I forget anything? I checked the luggage again.
Things to take on the bus, things to put in the trunk.
"Aren't you leaving yet? Let's go early."
Hat, scarf, gloves.
"Can I go wait in the car first?"
I also packed his pajamas. It's okay.
Alright, let's go.
When I left the house, the stars in the sky I looked up at were watching over us.

"It's still pitch black. Everyone seems to be asleep."
My son is excited about the middle-of-the-night town he's seeing for the first time.
"Did I forget anything..."
"Ah! My toothbrush!"
I realized on the way that I had forgotten the toothbrush, so I hurriedly bought one at a convenience store.
"We could have left a little later and still made it."
"Everyone said they'd come early. Maybe they're already there."

When we arrived at the meeting place, there were only two or three people there.
"It's cold, so shall we wait in the car a little longer?"
"They'll be here soon, I want to wait over there."
With people gathering little by little, both my son and I were nervous that he was really going.

His friend came running from the parking lot.
Since they would be skiing as soon as they arrived at the destination, everyone was already in their ski wear. That's good. As I was smiling and looking at everyone's colorful snow gear, I noticed that among his friends, only my son was wearing his usual shoes.
Oh! Ah!
"I'm sorry. What should I do? I forgot to change into snow boots."
"Ah..."

A week ago, I had taken them out in the box to the entrance and left them there.
Why didn't I take them out of the box the day before?
If I had taken them out, I might have noticed.
Even if I went back to get them now, I wouldn't make it in time for the departure.
Should I wake up my husband and have him bring them?
Since we arrived so early, if I had noticed sooner, I could have gone back to get them.
Instead of time that cannot be rewound, various thoughts are spinning around.

"I'm sorry... I don't know if I'll make it in time, but should I go back and get them now?"
I apologized quietly to my son, who had a slightly troubled face.
"It's okay, the people over there are the same."
In the direction my son pointed, there were several older children wearing regular shoes just like him.
"But..."
"Oh, I have to go now. See you!"
Taking the luggage from my hands, my son ran into the bus with his friends like a comet.

My son, having forgotten about the shoes, moved from seat to seat, peeking at the snacks he brought with his friends.
How dazzling.
While shrinking from the cold, I stared blankly at the stars in the sky and the lights of the bus alternately until departure.
And the bus left, leaving behind the snow boots and me.

What's done is done. Let's go to work.
I tried to pull my hair back and switch my mood to work, but I realized something.
The hair clip I was supposed to have brought is gone.
It was the one I treasured most since my daughter complimented me, saying it suited me very well.
Because I was in a hurry, I had clipped it to my jacket pocket. I might have dropped it somewhere along the way.
Maybe at the convenience store? Or at the meeting place?

The forgotten snow boots, the lost hair clip.
The tiny failures are quickly turning into black clouds.
Was it really okay to let my son go alone?

Everything was covered in clouds, and I felt like a sky without stars.

When I finished work in the evening and trudged home, my daughter, who didn't care much that my son wasn't there or that I had lost my hair clip, was relaxing as usual.
The photos sent by the acquaintance showing how my son was doing delivered the light of a small star.

Comforted by the usual light and the small light.
I decided to go to sleep a little earlier than usual that day.

Is this how he will gradually drift away?
Seeing him having fun in the photos makes me feel like I'm looking at a distant star.
How is he doing?
Is he in trouble?
In the not-too-distant future, I imagine myself just watching the stars.

Even though we watched the stars together last year.
I guess we can't watch them together forever.

The next day, I spent my time waiting for a shooting star on my smartphone.
And finally, the time for his return arrived.
This time, I became a comet myself.

A large green bus arrives.
People getting off one after another.
Luggage being unloaded one by one.

There he was. I found my first star.

In the hands of my long-awaited son was a large bag of souvenirs.
"I bought you some wasabi potato chips, Mom. You like them, right?"
My little star shining proudly.
"Thank you. I'm so happy."
Both the souvenir he chose for me while away and my son himself looked exceptionally bright.

I head home, suppressing the urge to hug everyone who took care of him. He must be tired.
"Did you have fun?"
"Yeah."
In the car, he talks about choosing souvenirs and how he improved at skiing.
He talks about being tired and waking up early. He tells me all sorts of things.
"So, will you go again next year?"
I am filled with dazzling emotions at my son's great growth.

"...I don't think I'll go next year."
"Was it not fun?"
"...It's not that."
I couldn't see my son's expression when he said that.
"Were you lonely being all by yourself?"
"...Yeah."

I heard from someone who went with him later.
That he couldn't put on his ski gloves well.
That he woke up early in the morning but couldn't go to the bathroom alone, so he held it in.
That he put his wallet in his trunk and couldn't bring himself to say he had no money.

Because he decided to go alone, he endured so much, gathered his courage, and did his best.

"Next year, I'll try to take some time off, so let's go together."
Next time, I'll bring your snow boots too.

When we arrived home and got out of the car.
"Oh, Mom. You dropped this."
My son handed me the hair clip I thought I had lost.
It seems it had fallen into the shrubbery in the parking lot.
It must have been in the dark the whole time, invisible to me.

Ah, just as I thought.
You are my first-magnitude star.

I am also participating in the Otsukare Katsu-Curry-san's 1st Anniversary Project, "Call for Works That Captivate from the Opening."
Today is the final day.
Just made it in time!

Everything above the dividing line at the beginning is the opening section. (100 characters)
I delivered my starry sky over two days.
I hope I win a book review☆

#OtsukareKatsuCurry
#MyStarrySky