The street was empty with the kind of stillness that only snow could bring. Even in this bustling city, the only thing that could be heard was the faint whisper of flakes brushing against each other as they fell. The streetlights above had cast a warm, golden glow, which made the snow sparkle like tiny stars scattered across the ground.
Footsteps were imprinted onto the ground; each stride spaced apart far too big for a child. A figure stands ahead, waiting.
In this changing area, there is no sense of privacy. Piece by piece, the weight of clothing is lifted off me. My skin starts to miss the warmth and comfort as the cool air hits. All my blemishes now unmasked for the world to see. A process that might be unfamiliar and awkward for others, but something that was meditative to me. There was nothing to be ashamed of as I was surrounded by others who were just like me. Under all the accessories and powders of makeup, we were all equally vulnerable lumps of flesh and skin.
“Sorry for making you wait.”
My mom was also bare. Her shoulders curved slightly forward, faint lines mapped her body. We headed to the shower area, and the warm air was filled with the gentle sound of running water. I lathered the soap, its scent clean and subtle, and began to scrub. Slowly and deliberately, I rubbed it over every inch of my body, massaging it against my skin, under my nails, and into the places often overlooked. We made sure to take the time to cleanse ourselves of all the dirt and grime to purify ourselves in this exposed world.
I opened the door to the 露天風呂 area, and the freezing air blasts us. There’s a stone path leading through a dozen different baths. One was surrounded by several smooth stones and another was boxed by cedar wood with its edges damp with condensation. The pine trees above it framed the baths perfectly, and the saturated green contrasted with the cloudy winter skies. Though the weather was what some might have called bleak, it blended perfectly with the swirling steam of the onsen; it was beautiful.
“Hurry, Mom. It’s freezing.”
I tried my best to cover up my bareness with my arms, but my efforts were futile. A shiver overtook my body. A numbing cold started at my fingertips. The pitter-patter of my feet disturbed the calming silence of the water streams.
In a rush to get in the warmth, we headed towards the back, passing several areas filled with people, trying not to disturb anyone else. There was one empty spring open. The water was milky, murky, and full of natural healing minerals. We both took a moment to absorb the warmth to thaw out the numbing cold. A little diamond sparkle in the sky began to form. I looked up at the sky, admiring the slow descent of snow as it piled next to the steaming hot onsen. Perhaps the relaxing properties of the onsen water were starting to take effect as I rested my head against a perfectly pillow-shaped stone and welcomed the darkness.
The child tried to follow the steps, one big jump after another, her small shoes pressing into the larger footprints left behind. Her breath puffed out in little clouds, and her cheeks burned red. When she looked up, she saw the figure jumping, kicking, and twirling around in the snow. They move with an almost childlike joy, arms outstretched to catch the falling flakes, and their laughter rings throughout the crisp winter air.
“Why are you doing that?” She furrows her brows. Grown-ups weren’t allowed to do
My mom had stricken up a conversation, waking me from my short nap. Before I knew it, I started waving my hands in the air as I begun to recite the great adventure of my school day. The water rippled and splashed, and our laughter echoed. It had been a while since we had talked for this long.
“What do you want to do?” my mom suddenly asked.
“ん? What do you mean?”
“In college, do you know what you want to do?” My mom noticed how I sunk into the water to avoid these kind of topics. “Oh, you’ll be fine. You’re welcome to do whatever you want.”
“I don’t really know,” I answered dismissively. “I guess we’ll see in the future.”
I always see her at the desk. The rhythmic sounds of her clicking, tapping, typing away filled the room like a metronome, steady, and unrelenting. So absorbed in her own domain that she stayed unresponsive to my calls. Gradually hunching closer and closer to the computer screen, the bright glow of the created an overpowering shadow behind her.
I found myself mesmerized, though, at the grace and efficiency of her keystrokes. Her expression of calm, passion, and determination. The way she could confidently command others and hold their attention in those long-winded work meetings. I wondered if she knew the everlasting presence of her back, always looking ahead.
“こんなママでもいいの? I’m always busy.”
“What are you saying? Of course, you’re fine,” I rolled my eyes at this ridiculous notion.
“You don’t want someone who can always be prepared for you. Someone who can cook you delicious meals. Someone who can wake you up on time for school. Someone who can give you a warm welcome at school.”
“え？別にいいよ。今のママで。”
“I’m glad that you are the way you are.”
Before we could go back to the changing room, it was proper manners to wash yourself with clean water. To wash away all the worked-up sweat and murky minerals. We splashed away all the thoughts, doubts, and conversations. One last cleanse before we went back.
We had to force ourselves to enter the changing room, cold and musty. Even as we tried our best to wipe away the water droplets, the fabric dragged against our skin as we pulled, our hair stuck to our face, and water weighed down our clothes. By the time I was dressed and prepared to head out, my mom was still getting dressed, making sure all her layers were perfect and brushed her makeup on to hide the little marks. She had told me to go outside by myself.
There weren’t any footsteps in the freshly laid snow. Snow would make my shoes wet and my feet cold. I didn’t want to take the risk. Yet, I knew I had to. Eventually, I took one step. And then another. Creating a line of footprints into the uncertain world. One might notice that it was bigger than the one of that child struggling to follow her mother’s prints.