With my stride slowed to match your pace, I am taking in my surroundings. The trees that line the Sunset Road have completely changed to their autumn hues, and the shapes of buildings show up black as the town is backlit by the afterglow. It’s the same view at dusk as always.
Bells ring out from the clock tower.
“Oh, it’s dinnertime.”
For some reason it makes me happy to hear you say that. “What do you want for dinner?”
“Hm, well. Anything would be fine.”
“Dad．．．”
“What is it?”
“My wife, Nao, is pregnant. She couldn’t make it today, so you’ll get to meet her next time.”
“Ah, congratulations are in order,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the road ahead. I had faintly hoped that the news would make you beam with joy.
We leave the Sunset Road and walk on for a while, until down an alley, I spot the house I was born and raised in. The house, which I don’t have many fond memories of, doesn’t seem to have changed at all since I graduated from high school.
On the day the hospital got in touch, I sent a text message to my mother’s old number. Of course, there was no reply. That was only natural, as eighteen years had passed.
“Ah, after all this time, there’s my home again!”
So you clearly remember the house you lived in for so many years. But in your patchy memory, I am only vaguely present.
I take the key out of my pocket and carefully slide it into the keyhole. It has been so many years, but it still fits perfectly—I’m happily surprised.
The door feels a little heavier than it used to; when I slide it open, there are a pair of ladies flats lined up neatly on the concrete in the entrance, and there is definitely someone inside. A familiar savoury aroma is wafting from the kitchen.
“Oh, we must be having your favourite today, curry and rice,” you say.
I fling my shoes off and sprint straight to the kitchen.
She’s in the kitchen: she slowly turns around and murmurs, not “Welcome home,” which would be the usual thing to say, but instead “I’m back,” in an apologetic tone.
“Mum．．．”
“Takaaki, I’m so sorry.”
Mum must have done the same as I had. She held on to her house key all along and hadn’t changed her phone number either. Perhaps Dad had left the front door, which was now heavy, just as it was for all this time, waiting for this day.
I know it will take time for me to be able to forgive and let go of the past. But someday, whenever that may be, I hope we can walk the Sunset Road, together as a family again.
4/4
