Someone who lets me stay a child, even after I've grown up.
Yesterday, for the first time in several years, I went to a super sento (public bathhouse). Or rather, I was taken there. By my mother's best friend. She is the mother of a childhood friend I used to be close with. I've called her 'Obasan' (auntie) since I was little, and that hasn't changed now that I'm in my forties and she is in her seventies. When I was a child, the four of us—my mother, Obasan, my childhood friend, and I—would often go out to play. Pools, athletic parks, aquariums, hot spring trips. I can't recall the details, but I still have the feeling of how my childhood friend and I, wrapped in the sense of security that came from having two adults with us, were able to freely enjoy everything we saw and touched.
I don't have a habit of keeping a diary, but since it was a day I wanted to remember, I decided to leave it here on note.
This was the first time I had gone out just with Obasan. It started with two books of super sento tickets my mother had left behind. It seems my mother used to go there for |touji| (hot spring therapy). The sento was in a place you couldn't reach without driving for about thirty minutes. Access by other means of transportation like trains or buses wasn't very good either. I thought it was a place that had nothing to do with me, a 'paper driver' (someone with a license but no driving experience). So, I gave those unused ticket books to Obasan, who loves both sentos and driving. She accepted one book. But for the other, she replied, 'Why don't you go for driving practice? Or have your father drive and go as a family?'
Well, more than five years have passed since then. I realized once again that I have no intention of driving a car or using those tickets with my family. In the meantime, when I asked Obasan, with whom I had been exchanging gifts of fruits and vegetables, if she would take the tickets again, she said, 'Then I'll drive, let's go together.'
And yesterday morning, I got into the passenger seat of Obasan's car, which had come to pick me up in front of my house, and we set off.
First, she stopped by my mother's grave. There was a can of beer in front of the grave for my mother, who loved to drink. And instead of flowers, which would wither quickly in this season, there were cute artificial flowers |sonae| (offered). Obasan visits this place much more frequently than I, her daughter, do. When I lit the incense and put my hands together, I reported to my mother that I was going to the sento with Obasan and expressed my gratitude.
On the way, Obasan explained how convenient and fun it is to be able to drive. She insisted to me, 'Since you have a license, it's a waste not to use it.' I made a sour face and didn't agree, saying, 'Stop it, don't brainwash me!' After all, cats, tanuki, and people might jump out. I'm scared of driving. I'm even thinking of returning my license while it's still gold.
However, when she listed the benefits—'Eighty or ninety-year-old people have a much wider range of activity and are more lively because they can drive themselves,' 'It will be useful for taking your parents to the hospital eventually,' 'You don't have to worry about the volume when shopping'—my heart wavered just a little.
And she said, 'It's thanks to your mother teaching me,' and 'I'm very grateful.' It seems that when my mother was alive, she would ride in Obasan's car when she was a beginner driver, giving her advice and teaching her the roads.
Still, being the stubborn person I am, the most I could concede was, 'Maybe I'll wait a little longer to return my license.' Ah, I really want to cure this cowardice of mine.
Obasan's driving was the definition of safe, and even I, with my weak sense of balance, didn't get carsick at all. Before I knew it, we had arrived while chatting.
A super sento after a long time. It was near the large natural park my mother used to take me to, and I had seen the exterior many times. But this was my first time entering. I passed through a large wooden gate that looked like a hot spring inn and opened the sliding door. I took off my sandals, put them in a shoe locker, and stepped into a wide, open-ceiling lobby. Even though it was a weekday, there were quite a few people. Mostly elderly people. Not just women, but men too. There was a large-screen TV in the front, and a dining area and a spacious relaxation area spread out. A relaxed atmosphere drifted through, with everyone feeling at home. After finishing the reception, we headed to the baths.
Glancing at the black, rugged massage chairs and the gravel-paved courtyard visible through the glass door, I passed through the dark red noren curtain. When I entered the locker room, I felt my spirits lift, thinking, 'Ah, this nostalgic atmosphere...' Even in a place I'm visiting for the first time, a sento is a sento. It's an atmosphere I love.
The bathroom was clouded with steam. The sound of hot water pouring. The sound of people placing their |oke| (basins) down. The windows were left open, and I could see the people in the outdoor bath. People soaking quietly alone. Groups of people chatting away. People coming out of the sauna and heading to the cold water bath. It's obvious, but everyone was naked, enjoying the bath at their own pace.
I rinsed my body at the washing area and went to the outdoor bath with Obasan. It was surprisingly lukewarm. It was a carbonated bath; there was no fizzy sensation, but when I happened to look down at my stomach and legs, they were covered in tiny bubbles. Once I stopped minding the lukewarm temperature, my insides began to feel warm, and I fell into a sensation where I could soak forever.
Indirect lighting was placed here and there on the rock formations of the outdoor bath. At the time of day when these lights turn on, the roofless sky is filled with stars, and it must be a very magical atmosphere. We imagined it together and agreed it would be lovely.
Obasan kept saying, 'Ah, this is the best,' and 'I'm so happy,' and expressed her gratitude to my mother, who couldn't be seen, saying, 'Thank you, [Name].'
The jet bath, the pot bath, and the mugwort sauna were all great. The mugwort sauna, in particular, had plenty of steam being sprayed, so it wasn't as suffocating as a regular sauna, and it smelled nice. I don't have much tolerance for heat, so I couldn't stay in for a long time, but I enjoyed it enough.
There was also a section where you could lie on a stone pillow and soak your body face-up in water only about a centimeter deep, which was comfortable. The sky spread out before my eyes. With a towel over my body, listening to the sound of water trickling near my ears, I felt like I could close my eyes and take a nap. The voices of young girls lying next to me, talking about dramas and workplace relationships, drifted into my ears like background music. It was a good time.
It seems Obasan ran into some of her sento friends. I grasped the situation from her clear, ringing voice that carried even through the locker room. A bright voice that showed she loves people.
We left the bath together and went up to the second floor to look around. The feel of the tatami and wood against my bare feet after the bath was pleasant. The second floor was surrounded by large windows, giving it a sense of openness. There were vending machines for drinks and ice cream, and a relaxation area. In the raised tatami space, a few people were lying down using cushions as pillows. From the windows, you could look out over the mountains and fields, and get a panoramic view of the flow of cars crossing the bridge. Refreshed from the bath and looking at the nature-filled scenery, it felt like I had come on a little trip.
On the first floor, my aunt treated me to pomegranate juice and lunch. We ate plum and grated daikon radish soba together. It was cold and refreshing, exactly what I wanted to eat right then. It was delicious. Thank you for the meal.
When I went outside, a lukewarm breeze brushed against my body. My aunt called the gloomy, overcast sky "perfect weather." It was certainly better than the sauna-like humidity we'd had lately.
On the way back, we took a different route, along lush green rice fields. "Oh! A white egret!" my aunt said, sharp-eyed while driving. She pointed out her friends' houses, a public bathhouse that had gone out of business, and popular shops along the way. It drizzled a bit, but by the time we reached my neighborhood, the sky had brightened up a little. "Phew, that's good. We made it back safely," my aunt said cheerfully, showing no signs of fatigue from the long drive. After dropping me off in front of my house, she waved from the driver's seat and drove away with a refreshing smile, saying, "Thank you. Let's go again."
In the quiet, empty house, I turned on the air conditioner and lay down on the hardwood floor of my room. I took a slow, deep breath. Ah, I'm happy. I ended up taking a nap for about an hour just like that. When I woke up, I felt the same lingering sensation I used to have as a child after falling asleep exhausted from playing in the pool.
Not only did she drive me around, but she even treated me to lunch. To have no worries and just be able to tag along with an adult. At my age, I wonder when I will ever become an adult. Even as I think that, I realize how reassuring it is to have someone older in my life who still lets me be a child like this.
The best. Delicious. Happy. Thank you.
I truly wished I could become someone who can express those words as honestly as my aunt does.