—I’m sorry, I said. I don’t know what happened to him, either.
The girls nodded in silence.
—Well, thank you for today.
—Please come again.
—Take care.
Extricating themselves from the awkward situation, the girls dashed off as if they were in a race. Their cheery voices and carefree movements were pleasant, but they also made me feel nostalgic, envious, and a little sad.
I looked down at the bouquet in my hands and then over at the building to where the girls had run. Then I started walking to the front gate again. As I listened to the lively voices echoing through the schoolyard, I pictured the shy girl with her head down. I regretted that I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk with her. She had alleviated some of the regret I felt about agreeing to give a speech in spite of my poor speaking skills. If only some of my words had reached her, and yes, some of the other students, too.
After waiting ten minutes, I boarded a bus and returned to the main terminal. The restaurant on the second floor was half filled with bus drivers and tourists. I ordered some Okinawa soba noodles and drank some water while waiting for my food. Suddenly, I felt overcome by fatigue. The air conditioning was so chilly that I thought I’d catch a cold, but the noodles warmed me up. I usually only eat about two-thirds, but this time I gobbled up all of them. Giving the speech must’ve made me hungry.
When I left the restaurant, exhaust fumes drifted up the stairwell with a lukewarm breeze. I hurriedly covered my nose and mouth with my handkerchief. About five minutes away by taxi was the condo where I lived with my youngest daughter’s family. But there was nothing for me to do at home. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw a bus that would be heading south, so I boarded without much thought. As soon I sat down, the engine started, and within a couple of minutes, the bus departed.
My sister lived in an institution in the south, on a hill overlooking the ocean. When the roads weren’t too congested, it only took about forty minutes to get there, so recently I’ve been visiting her about once a week. From about six months ago, I started finding her in bed, even during my daytime visits. Before that, she used to watch TV in the recreation room or sit at a table drawing pictures. On sunny days, she used to go outside and stare at the ocean. But then, on about one out of three visits, I started finding her in bed. Before long, that changed to about two out of three. From about two months ago, I’ve been finding her in bed nearly every single time. When I shake her shoulder, she wakes up right away. Then, we usually watch TV or go outside for a walk. However, I’ve been sensing a growing frailty in her. She’s been taking medicine for diabetes and high blood pressure, but her caregiver said those symptoms hadn’t gotten any worse. Still, I knew she was moving into a stage of inexorable decline.
My sister wasn’t the only one. I couldn’t believe I was already in my seventies. Three years had passed since I started living with my daughter. Until sixty-five, I had lived alone in central Okinawa while working at a small delicatessen. But then my knees started hurting, and I could no longer work standing on my feet. Long ago, my husband died at the young age of forty-two in a work-related accident. He had been doing work for the military. After that, I worked day and night to raise my three children. With retirement, I lost my purpose and passion for living. When I’d been working, I didn’t have much interaction with my neighbors, so now that I was retired, I didn’t feel comfortable attending the local senior citizen group’s gatherings. Instead, I spent most of my time confined to my apartment. My youngest daughter noticed this and asked me to live with her family in Naha.
My daughter had two boys: one in fourth grade and the other in second. Moving to such a lively environment cheered me up. But I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that I was in the way. My son-in-law was generous and considerate. As for my grandchildren, the older one had stopped talking so much, but the younger one had grown attached to me. So much so that some of the neighbors called him a “granny’s boy.” Having entered old age in comfort, I knew it’d be selfish to complain. Still, I couldn’t shake the idea that I should be living on my own in the north, in the town that I had made my home.
All three of my children were girls. My oldest married an oldest son and now lived with her husband and his parents. My second moved to Tokyo after graduating from high school. She was now married and living in Ibaraki Prefecture. Apparently, the three of them had decided that I should live with my youngest when I stopped working. That made me happy. So after I quit my job, and started to feel lonely and unsatisfied with life, I made up my mind to move in with my daughter. But had I made the right choice? asked a voice inside me. Of course you did! I muttered to myself as I stared out the window. You’re lucky! Some people don’t have any relatives, and others can’t live with their children, even though they want to. You’ve been fortunate. Expecting too much can only lead to trouble. You have three daughters. Compared to your sister, you’ve been very lucky.
The face of the girl who’d asked about the adopted baby popped into my head. Surely, she didn’t mean any harm. Even so, the insensitivity hidden behind her carefree expression now irritated me. I told myself that she was too young to know any better,
