“Hey, I’m here! Over here!”
“No, me! Look at me!”
A wave of screams washed over me, as if I were standing in the front row at a pop star’s concert, and I recoiled automatically. The plastic bottle I was holding slipped from my grasp, but I couldn’t move to pick it up. A crowd of women pressed forward, dressed to kill, fluttering like butterflies around a beautiful flower. Um, wasn’t this supposed to be a plain old convenience store?
I looked around. As I did, I rewound my mental tape and thought back on how I had come to be here.
It all started when I got my driver’s license and bought a secondhand compact car. It was a boxy black microvan—I called it “Pipienne.” Pipienne was a pet name I had been holding on to, a special something that I knew I’d call my car once I finally had it. I had been dying for a car of my own, and dreaming forever about taking myself for a drive, which you could probably guess from the fact that I had a name for my car ready and waiting.
On the first holiday after I bought the car—a perfect sunny day right in the middle of the Golden Week holidays—I left my house in high spirits, ready to make my dreams come true.
I decided that for my first drive, I’d go solo. I’d play my own tunes, go where I wanted, free as a bird without worrying about anyone. I headed out of Kumamoto and promptly decided to hop on the expressway heading north toward Fukuoka.
I thought I’d go shopping in Hakata and then swing by Dazaifu Tenmangu Shrine on the way home. They have fresh plum-blossom cakes there, and I could get some. I was happy as a clam and getting close to Hakata when I pulled into the Kiyama parking area for a rest stop. Then, before I knew it, everything changed, and I was ready to explode. I had texted a friend before heading out, and the reply had arrived:
“So you’re probably going to Hakata, right? Kyūshū people all head to Hakata at the drop of a hat! It’s such a joke.” All I had written was that I was going to have fun driving today, but he was obviously mocking me. If it hadn’t been my own phone, I would have smashed it on the ground.
“You’re just jealous because you’re still stuck with your learner’s permit…” I began to tap an angry reply, sputtering and cursing, but then I stopped. It was true I had been headed to Hakata, but now it was the last place in the world I could go. He’d make twice as much fun of me. Damn, I shouldn’t have been in such a rush to send that text.
Now I had to pick a new destination. Groaning, I pored over the map on my phone. As I was searching the map and racking my brain about where to go, my fingertip grazed a location.
“Mojikō…”
It was a place I’d heard of. I thought it was a fairly well-known tourist destination, but I’d never been there. It had an area called the Retro District, and the streets were supposed to be lovely. What else…? I couldn’t remember, but after thinking about it a little, I decided it was my new destination. At times like these, you have to follow your heart.
Two hours later I was giving my heart a nice round of applause, having arrived in Mojikō without incident. Adorable retro buildings by the glittering sea, the sound of rickshaws rolling by—I heard a lively voice, and as I turned, a man hawking bananas called out to me. The bananas, a perfect bright yellow, shone as if they had absorbed all the sunlight streaming down on them.
It’s awesome here, I thought. I’d love to take a walk with a boyfriend here someday, if I ever have one. Or maybe even just a lame friend who’s still stuck with his learner’s permit. Everywhere I turned I found something fun, so I just wandered around, totally absorbed.
May had barely begun, but it felt like a perfect summer day. I had another local specialty for dinner—baked curry au gratin—and afterward I felt like having some tea. I noticed a convenience store nearby, so I went in.
Whenever I go somewhere new, I can’t help thinking what strange places convenience stores are. No matter the town, you just have to step inside and the space transforms into something nostalgic, full of familiar comforts. Even if it was just the same products lined up in the same aisles of the same interior, somehow it gave you a sense of security.
My high spirits calming just a little bit, I pulled a plastic bottle of my favorite brand of green tea from the beverage section. I headed toward the register, and there, laid out before me, was a sight that I’ve never seen before at any convenience store.
A group of women were crowded around the checkout counter, decked out in such nice clothes that I wondered if they were on their way to a dance. There was a man at the counter and they all seemed crazy about him. Maybe he was the clerk? He was wearing that kind of uniform, in pastel pink and light brown, so I was pretty sure. But he was so ridiculously attractive it was hard to believe he was a clerk, and he was radiating what could only be called “sex appeal.” Were they shooting a movie or something? I had heard Kitakyūshū was famous for its great film locations. I looked around, but there was nothing resembling a film crew.