3,345 miles from Las Vegas. It has been 27 days since I left Las Vegas, and almost a month since I left Japan. I never imagined I would come all the way to the American Midwest.
Here in Arkansas, unlike the western states, there is an abundance of greenery. And there are hot springs too. Long before this land was trampled by settlers, Native Americans used this region as a healing place. The hot water that springs up here was said to cure illnesses, and its effects became legendary among them.
“Native Americans.” When I was 19, I traveled alone to Monument Valley and the Grand Canyon. Ever since then, their guidance began. I am regularly drawn to them and to the land of North America. This time as well, their guidance brought me all the way to Arkansas.
I’m now in Arkansas, in Room 200 of the Village Inn motel in Hot Springs Village. I checked in yesterday.
This motel is interesting— they charge taxes I’ve never seen before: State tax $3.51 County tax $0.29 Tourism tax $1.17 I’ve never heard of these at other motels. But I booked it immediately— I started looking for a motel a bit late today.
Now I’m sitting on a chair, looking out at the forest, having a drink.
…Stars, huh…
Come to think of it— back when we had just started dating, I took her to Sedona, Arizona.
“There’s a view I have to show you!!”
I convinced her, even though she hesitated, and brought her to Arizona. I wanted to see that sky full of stars with her. And I wanted to show her Sedona, a town I loved.
Sedona in the ’90s— before it became famous— was incredibly quiet. I still remember it clearly.
How many years have passed since then…? We were young back then… No—maybe just immature.
Somewhere in the forest, an owl hoots.
A distant memory… A memory I had long forgotten. A memory buried deep inside. A memory I thought I had burned away.
…A “memory”…
What triggers memories to return? A smell…? A certain atmosphere…?
Whatever it is, it feels like old wounds are being scraped open.
A motel in Arkansas, far, far away from Japan. Even if I physically distance myself from everything, as long as I remain “me,” these cursed memories will follow me. Maybe I’ll never escape them.
The owl hoots again.
The forest is so quiet. The only one unsettled… is me.
I slowly stand up from the chair and head toward the sink. Why the sink? Because inside it, buried in ice, is a chilled drink— waiting to be “rescued.” (“Rescued? You’re the one who put it there,” I can almost hear someone say, haha.)
So this is my second one today.
Come to think of it, Arkansas is known for stones— power stones, crystals, a famous region for them. If I find a shop, maybe I’ll go in. Maybe I’ll visit the town center too. Oh—right. I should look for a Harley shop. I’ve been buying patches and shirts in every state I visit. You can only get them by actually going to that state— they’re precious items.
Thinking about that, I take a sip of the drink I “rescued.”
Delicious… Perfect…
Instead of returning to the chair, I step out onto the balcony and look up at the night sky. The stars are beautiful. A North American night sky, seen alone.
In the forest, the owl continues to call.
To be continued…
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