Early Summer Sunshower [Kazemakase Literature Club / Early Summer]

Clouds brought in by the humid breeze are letting down a gentle rain. I waited for a while under the eaves of the convenience store in front of the station.

It wasn't raining hard enough to warrant buying an umbrella. I wasn't in enough of a hurry to go home soaking wet, either. It was an awkward situation, much like the current season, which feels a bit too early for short sleeves.

Every year around this time, I think of the three-quarter sleeve shirt in my parents' dresser and tell myself, 'Maybe now is the time to wear it.'

Suddenly, a shadow falls beside me. I glance over, then immediately look away. A moment later, it overlaps with an indelible memory in my mind.

The sound of the rain seems to grow distant. It was she who spoke first.

“...It's been a while.”

Her voice hasn't changed as much as the storefronts in front of the station or the scenery along the river.

The person whose contact information I hesitated over and eventually deleted that day. Even after ten years, my fingers still remember that action.

＊　＊　＊

The izakaya was a ten-minute walk from the station. She was the one who taught me the basics of the job when I was a complete beginner at the part-time gig.

Cooking in front of a hot iron plate. Handling the register with its many payment methods. Dealing with customers in the noisy shop. She handled it all flawlessly and even gave her opinions to the manager as an equal. I even saw her patting the assistant manager on the back after closing, telling him, 'You need to get it together.'

We were both university students, but she was younger and in a lower grade than me. Still, I consistently spoke to her using polite language. That was because she was my 'senior' at the job, having worked there longer than I had. She knew far more about the real world than my classmates who were busy fussing over course registration and drinking parties.

I even heard that she was paying for half of her own tuition.

That was before I left my hometown. I had already secured a job, and it was the day of my final shift.

There was no need for me to keep working until the very last minute before starting my new job. It wasn't that the manager had begged me to stay, nor was I in need of money. I just couldn't grasp the reality that I would no longer be working side-by-side with her.

I made a light suggestion to my senior, saying something like, 'Let's talk for a bit in front of the station.' I intended it to be casual. On the contrary, my heart was pounding loudly.

Complaining about the new manager, getting excited over things that happened during our shifts. Occasionally, we had gone out to eat or hang out with other coworkers before.

But we had never been alone together at night.

“I’ll go when I’m finished,” she had said with a smile.

That was the last time. She never came to that station.

“Are you done? I’m at the station.”

There is no reply to my message. I just wait in front of the station at night. The last train is approaching, and that's it. I have decided to leave my hometown.

* * *

Only the sound of rain echoes.

In the midst of it, we kept a comfortable distance and exchanged conversation centered on our recent lives. I think we both could have cut it short at any point. But we didn't choose to.

She asks.

For work?
It's for family business. A little bit of both, actually.

We both keep looking forward. I ask too.

Is that shop still there?
It is. Though the manager has changed.
Have you been in town the whole time?
I just happened to come back.

The rain eases. My senior says casually.

You know, once you leave your hometown, you don't really end up coming back.

Before I knew it, I was facing her. Looking at her profile, I felt like I had touched upon just a small part of her last ten years.

...Did you work part-time there until you graduated from university?
I quit right after that.

I felt like her expression shifted just a little.

After that. That. My mouth moves on its own.

That day...

My senior looks at me.

No, it's nothing.

I try to ask the core of it, but end up stopping. When I look at the sky, it has almost stopped raining.

We say "well then" and step out under the open sky. Neither of us says "see you again." The smell of asphalt grows stronger. A faint sunset had fallen into a puddle.

It will be summer soon.

*I have participated in the following project.