Concept Story

　助手席からの眺めは、緑が濃く深くなっていき、気づけば見慣れた景色に変わっていった。泣きはらした末にようやく眠りに就いた娘の頬は上気し、まるい頬には涙の跡が残っていた。⻑時間車に揺られ全身をすっぽりと覆っていた疲労はゆるやかに安堵へと変わり「母」でもなく「妻」でもない、娘だった頃の「自分」へとかえってゆく。
　勾配を登りきって景色がひらけたその先。空がより一層近く碧い場所。生まれ育った家と母が私たちを出迎える。
　みずみずしいほどの緑、走ってきた⻑い砂利道を見下ろし、清澄な空気をたっぷり吸い込んでからゆっくりと家に入っていく。
　午後の日差しが柔らかく振り注ぐ出窓、使い込んだホーローの鍋、相変わらず軋んだ音を立てる重いドアを開けると、 馴染み深いいつもの日常が広がっていた。知らず知らずのうちにピンと張りつめたものが次第に緩んでいき、帰ってきたこと、帰る場所がある事実に胸を撫で下ろす。
　母の柔らかい笑顔と馴染み深い料理の香りに温かな気持ちになったのも束の間、以前よりも骨張った手、キッチンに立つ丸くなった背中を見つめ、少しの寂しさに囚われなんとなく声をかけられなくなってしまった。母は何かを見据えたようパッと振り向き「そう、忘れないうちにね」と小⻨粉をはたきながら階段を登っていった。エンジンを切った途端に目を覚まし、すっかり機嫌と気力を取り戻した娘は家中を駆け回り、母を追いかけ階段を登り、その後ろから私も母と娘を追いかける。
　思い切って帰省を決めた際、自分が幼い頃に着ていた服はあるのか母に聞いてみた。淡い期待を寄せながらも「でももう20年以上も前だし」「娘のサイズには合わないかもしれないし」「まあなくてもしょうがないよね」と断られる前に自分を慰めていると、母から「用意しておくね」とだけすぐに返事が返ってきた。
　湿度を帯びた屋根裏に上がると、母は小さなワンピースを両手で差し出した。使用感はあるけれど手入れが行き届き、母が大切にしてきたことが目に見えて伝わる。幾度となく季節が巡り、子供の成⻑と嗜好の変化と共に何度も入れ替わったタンスの洋服。それでもずっと変わらず大切にされ続けた小さなワンピース。母は幼少期の洋服だけを保存していたわけではない。その切なる思いに触れて、気が緩むと涙がこぼれそうだった。
　気まぐれな好奇心を向けた娘に合わせると袖はまだ⻑いものの、着丈はぴったりで娘にもよく似合っていた。空腹に気付きあっという間に不機嫌になった娘を先頭に、すっかり祖母になった母、小さなワンピースを胸に抱えた私の順番でゆっくりと階段を降りる。
　鼻歌混じりの母は再びキッチンに立ち、穏やかな日差しと料理の香りに包まれた一階に再び少しの喧騒が戻る。

午後が、賑やかに動き出す。

Text by Yume Inagaki
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From the passenger seat, the view grew deeper and deeper green, and I found myself looking at familiar scenery. My daughter had finally fallen asleep after a long night of sobbing, her cheeks flushed and still bearing the marks of her many tears. The exhaustion, which had enveloped my entire body after the long car ride, was slowly replaced by relief as I became neither "mother" nor "wife," but returning to the "me" that I used to be when I was a daughter.

From the top of the slope, the view opened up to a place where the sky feels even closer and bluer. There, the house where I was born and raised and my mother welcome us.

Looking out over the lush greenery, the long gravel road we had traveled on, and taking in plenty of fresh, crisp air, we slowly entered the house.

Opening the heavy door, which still makes a creaking sound, the familiar and usual daily routine unfolds. Little by little, the tension that I had been unknowingly holding tight gradually loosened, and I felt a warm glow in my chest that I was back, that I had a place to return to.

My mother's soft smile and the familiar aroma of her cooking warmed my heart, yet I was unable to speak as I stared at her bony hands and rounded back standing in the kitchen. She turned her head and started, "Before I forget," and walked up the stairs, dusting the flour off herself. My daughter, who woke up and regained all her energy and good mood as soon as I turned off the engine, ran around the house, chased after my mother up the stairs, and I followed.

When I decided to take the bold step of returning home, I inquired of my mother if she had any of the clothes I wore when I was a child. With faint hopes, I commented, "But it's been more than 20 years ago," "They might not fit my daughter's size," and "Well, if there aren't any, it can't be helped, can it?" Reassuring myself somewhat before she refused, my mother quickly replied simply: "I'll get them ready for you."

As we climbed into the humid attic, my mother held out a small dress to me with both hands. It was used, but I could see that my mother had taken good care of it. As the seasons passed and her children grew up and their tastes changed, so did the clothes in the wardrobe. And yet, one small dress has remained unchanged and cherished. It was not only the clothing she had preserved. I felt on the verge of tears, touched by how wistful she seemed.

The sleeves were still too long to fit my daughter, who had turned her capricious curiosity to me, but the fit was perfect and suited her well. We slowly made our way down the stairs, lead by my daughter, who had quickly become cranky after realizing she was hungry, followed by my mother, who had become a grandmother, and me, who was clutching a small dress to my chest.

My mother, humming, stood in the kitchen again, and a slight hustle and bustle returned to the first floor, which was once again filled with gentle sunlight and the aroma of cooking.

The afternoon comes alive with activity.

Translation by Catherine Lealand