Inn Morning [Bleed] 1800 characters

"If you say I was born from Mom's crotch, then why is Dad here?"

When I woke up with a start, it was 5:55, so I, a 5-year-old, thought I had to go on an adventure.
As I was putting on my shoes in my pajamas without even washing my face, "I'll go with you," came a voice from the futon behind me—it was Dad, his inn yukata all rumpled and his hair full of bedhead. I like being with Mom for everything, but at that moment, he felt somehow reliable.

We entered the mountain from the path behind the inn. It was the mountain where the adults were talking about graves or something yesterday. The massive "croak" sounds sounded like booing.

"Are you used to the bullfrogs yet?"
Dad asked, looking down at me with a grin and stubble.
Fog is a first for me.

The fear and the excitement were in a perfect gradient,
making my heart flutter.
"I'm not scared of bullfrogs anymore. I've come to like spiders too, and I wore thick socks just in case a snake bites me." "...I see."

I spoke faster and more than usual to try and hide my fear.
Even my quiet dad could see right through it.
I felt a little embarrassed that I'd been found out, so I thought, oh well, and grabbed his thick thumb with both hands. I kept holding it as we walked. The muddy path became even muddier.

The atmosphere changed from early morning to morning.
In the damp space filled with the mountain's thick leaves,
there was a moldy-looking wooden bench and a small pond,
Dad sat down first. I wondered what to do, and instead of sitting next to him, I stood in front of him. I stood there and literally fidgeted.
I slapped my neck, then my arm, and then my elbow. I slapped my calf too.

Every mosquito was big and easy to hit.
Every time I slapped a mosquito, the pond trembled.
The water striders were surprised.
Even though they didn't move at all at the much louder "croak" of the bullfrogs.
"We forgot the mosquito repellent," Dad said, slapping his own knee. The slapping sound continued for a while.

"There's a mosquito on your forehead, come here." As I was urged by Dad, I trotted over to him on the bench. When I reached the space between his knees, he grabbed my shoulders and blew a puff of air onto my forehead. It tickled.

For the first time in a while, I sat on Dad's lap. My back felt damp and hot.
I could see the inn in the distance.
The water in the surrounding rice paddies was glistening a little, and for some reason, I remembered being all alone during vinyl pool time at nursery school.
I was brought back to reality by an especially loud bullfrog croak.
Dad wrapped his arm around my stomach, and the feeling of being held tight became a little stronger.

Wait, what was I supposed to talk to Dad about?

"I like Shi-chan, but she hit me with a toilet paper roll during art class." No, wait, why am I telling Dad this?

"I didn't cry, but I felt sad, so I broke all of Shi-chan's crayons." This is weird, this is weird, this is embarrassing.

"Then Shi-chan cried a lot, and the teacher got really mad at me. I didn't cry then either, I held it in, but when Mom came to pick me up, I cried a lot." Why am I telling Dad such an embarrassing and uncool story in the middle of the mountains??

"I like Shi-chan, but I still haven't said sorry." As soon as I finished saying that, I felt a sting on my cheek, so I instantly slapped my own cheek. As if it were a signal that a robot's reading function had ended, the sound of the slap echoed through the mountains. The water striders must have been surprised and looking at me.

While staring at the inn,
listening to the voices of the unseen bullfrogs,
they sounded like they were far away,
and I also felt like I could hear them right by my ear,
and it started to feel like a memory from yesterday.
With my eardrums filled with bullfrogs,
I was called by a raspy sound right by my ear.
When I turned around, Dad was scratching his stubble with his index finger and said,
"That's fine."

Having memorized his slightly raised corners of his mouth, the density of his stubble, his deep double eyelids, and his faint nasal voice, I walked down the mountain holding Dad's hand with my right hand.

While eating breakfast with lots of dishes lined up, scratching my itchy hands and feet, Mom was still nagging about something.
I made eye contact with Dad, and we both secretly laughed.

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