The Most Delicious Triangle in the World #MaskedNoteProject_10

When I was in elementary school, I longed for convenience store rice balls.
I wanted that mechanical triangle that wore a cloak of urban sophistication.

Among them, the tuna mayo, packed with savory goodness, was a supreme delicacy, and the crisp, freshly wrapped seaweed was a symbol of happiness.

That said, I didn't get to eat them even a few times a year.
Only on the mornings of trips or when I went on long outings with my father.
The fillings in the rice balls my mother made were always just pickled plums or bonito flakes; they were heavy, clunky, and rustic. I always resented the seaweed, which had lost its identity of crispness.

Someday, when I grow up, I'll spend my money freely and buy as much tuna mayo as I want!

That was my own dream, and a modest ambition of mine.
Oh, I want to be an adult soon!

The door to "adulthood" that I had been waiting for opened sooner than I expected.

When I entered junior high school and joined a sports club, I needed a lunch box for weekend practices and games. I was still reluctantly bringing my mother's plain lunches, but one Saturday morning, when I forgot to tell her about my club schedule, a happy incident occurred.

My mother pressed some pocket money into my hand and said, "I can't make your lunch in time, so buy something at the convenience store."

At the convenience store...?
Buying... lunch...?

"…Ah, the convenience store. Okay."

The tuna mayo opportunity had arrived suddenly.
While pretending to be calm, a fanfare was ringing non-stop in my head.

The lightness of my step as I took the longed-for tuna mayo to the register.
The security camera at the convenience store I stopped at might have captured a 13-year-old me dancing as I left the store.

Having gotten a taste for it, I carried out the convenience store strategy again and again using various tricks.
"It's hot in the gym, so store-bought food is safer," or "I have to eat in short bursts, so individually wrapped ones are more convenient." Each time, my mother would look apologetic and give me pocket money, asking, "Is that how it is?"

There are three convenience stores between my house and school. By now, I could tell which convenience store's tuna mayo it was even if I were blindfolded. That is how I became an "adult."

Now that I have become a "true adult," I rarely choose tuna mayo.
I reach for salmon or kelp. Even the pickled plums and bonito flakes I once avoided so much now taste deeply delicious.

Is my mother smiling with a knowing look? Thinking, "That's what a mother's cooking is all about."

Even so.
Every time I see the tuna mayo on the convenience store shelf, the echoes of that day's fanfare still resonate deep in my chest.

The taste of freedom I first held in my hands.
The most delicious triangle in the world. The taste of a ticklish dream.

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