*
The day of the open dance had a clear sky, not a thing to complain about. Kyushu’s summer was blazing hot. The wave of noisy people hooting and hollering raised the temperature at the venue even further.
“Everyone participating in the open dance, please follow staff instructions and line up at the end of the road.”
With that announcement as the signal, we held hands and stepped onto the road.
After meeting Mugi out in front of Kumamoto Castle, Sumi and I discussed what we would wear for the dance. We practiced so hard, so we really wanted to get results. For that, we would need something to catch people’s eyes.
Then I had an idea.
“If we’re dancing in the Otemo-yan Open Dance, then we should do Otemo-yan makeup! Am I a genius or what?”
...It seemed like a really good idea when I thought of it, but as the big day approached, I suddenly started to worry if it would be enough.
In Hanabatake Hiroba that afternoon, the stalls were already out and lots of people were coming and going. No one paid any attention to the pair of us sitting on the curb off in the corner and talking in low voices.
I took major advantage of my dad’s pronouncement from a while back—“I’ll give you as much allowance as I can”—and with the money I got from him, I had bought oshiroi for 1,300 yen and lipstick for 500. With them both in my hands I swallowed hard. Sumi had gone to the eye doctor and gotten contacts especially for today. Without her glasses, she looked a little more grown up than usual.
I wiped the white makeup all over Sumi’s face. After drawing a couple of circles on her cheeks with the lipstick, the Otemo-yan look was complete.
“...How do I look?”
“Pft... Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“...You’re laughing now, but it’s your turn next.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, go for it.”
We took turns painting each other’s faces. The smell of flour-based snacks cooking wafted over from the stalls. With a background of a little kid throwing a fit and the high-pitched squeals of girls goofing around, we finished getting ready.
We shuffled over to the day-of registration table with our heads down, and when the receptionist lady saw our faces, she giggled and said, “You’re all set, huh? Break a leg!” to encourage us. We were so embarrassed, all either of us could manage was a pathetic, “Oh, err, okay,” in reply.
We put on the matching bright red happi jackets that I ordered along with the oshiroi and lined up along with the other day-of participants. Tons of eyes were blatantly staring at us.
Despite practicing so hard and getting all ready, we were so nervous and shy that our hearts were pounding, and we didn’t say a word. We were dressed so flashily in the happi and makeup but totally silent—anyone who saw us probably thought we were a creepy pair.
The sun gradually began to set, and the sky was dyed the color of night. A mild summer breeze. The weird smell of all different foods mixed together drifted throughout the area.
Watching the swaying lights from the lanterns, I finally said, “Hey, Sumi.”
“...Hm?”
“...Wanna hold hands?”
At first her eyes opened wide in surprise, but in the next minute she said, ‘Yeah, let’s,” with a serious expression.
She looked so funny with her face so sober in the makeup that I could finally smile. We squeezed each other’s hands like we used to when we were little. We held on like that until the open dance began.
Eventually the local MC stood up on the dais and welcomed everyone. I got even more nervous. A little while later, no sooner did we hear a loud announcement—“The Otemo-yan Open Dance will now begin!”—than the peppy music came on so loudly my heart leapt into my throat.
A cheer went up and laughter rang out.
A wave of five thousand people all began to move at once.
At some point, the nervousness in my chest calmed down.
Following the group-participants at the head of the line, we moved forward. Women in gorgeous yukata like I had seen so long ago. Obvious veterans, both men and women, wearing happi. Little kids wearing masks of their favorite characters. Embarrassed people dancing with small movements, people copying the people around them, people who danced with crisp, skillful motions. There were all different ages, outfits, and movements.
Not to be outdone by the people around us, Sumi and I danced as we had practiced.
♪ Otemo-yan
Anta kono goro yomeiri shita de wa nai kai na
Yomeiri shita kotsa shita batten
Gotei don ga gujappe daru ken
Maada sakazuki wa sen datta
Murayaku, tobiyaku, kimoiri don
An hito-tachi no orasu kende
Ato wa dō nattokiyā naro tai
Kawabatamachi tsan kyā meguro
Kasuga bōbura dontacha
Shiri hippyāte hanazakari hanazakari
Piichiku pāchiku hibari no ko
Genbaku nasubi no igaiga don
[Otemo-yan / Didn’t you get married recently? / I did, but / his face is badly pockmarked / so we haven’t had a ceremony yet / Anyhow, with all the people around town, I'm sure someone will celebrate us.
But hey, let’s go around to Kawabatamachi. / The kabocha-faced guys / chase me / I’m in peak bloom / I’m not into boys who twitter like lark chicks / or eggplant-faced guys who are rough like chestnut burrs]
We heard some mocking laughter along the roadside, but it didn’t both us one bit. Most of the day-of participants seemed to be tourists, and their movements were all over the place. But that discord was fascinating. Everyone was enjoying the day, dancing, and smiling in their own way.
Soon we were really having fun, and we waved now and then to the people at the side of the road as we followed the parade route. Kids with light-up toys. Couples who seemed content together linking their arms. Elderly folks smiling happily. People we didn’t know were looking at us and smiling. They were waving to us.
Orthodox Otemo-yan and Samba Otemo-yan played in turn, and that summer night in Kumamoto was enveloped in so much energy that it earned the “fire” kanji in the name of the festival. In the heat that seemed liable to suffocate us, Sumi and I melted into the air and became one with the people around us.
Colorful lanterns, the scents from the food stalls, children’s laughter, camera shutter noises, the announcer’s play-by-play over the speakers, and overlooking it all, great, big Kumamoto Castle surrounded by its moat...
As we were dancing for all we were worth, and sweating buckets while we were at it, I caught sight of a grumpy-looking little girl in the crowd. Our eyes locked onto each other. When she saw Sumi and me, she immediately giggled.
“Mama, look, it’s Otemo-yan!” she said.
*
Summer vacation was over so fast. It really felt like an instant.
“Morning, Himawari.”
“Morning, Sumi. Been a while!”
Sumi said hi as I was waiting for the train at Kumamoto Station. The chunky black glasses covering her cute features were only her trademark until before summer vacation.
“How are the contacts? Did you get used to them?”
“Mmm, not quite. What’ll I do if someone claims I did a summer break makeover or something?”
“It’s fine. They look great on you... Ahem, something in my life also got a makeover.”
“Huh? What, what?”
“If you can believe it, I'm allowed to sleep with the a/c on in my room!”
“...Oh, huh.”
“Wow, weak reaction.”
We laughed as we boarded the train. The 8:10 local. The same clear blue sky stretched out beyond the window. The heat seemed like it would go on for a while.
We got off at the stop closest to school and walked up the hill alongside kids in the same uniform as us. Morning! Been forever—hey, are you sunburned? I got you a souvenir! Excited voices chirped all around us. Eventually we reached the school.
The a/c was on in our classroom, so it was cool. I said hi to a few people before taking my seat. Some kids had dark tans after spending their entire vacation busy with their club. Some were proud of having earned a ton of money at their part-time jobs. Some were handing out colorful souvenirs that seemed like they had to be from a foreign country. Everyone seemed to have enjoyed summer one way or another.
We didn’t end up winning a prize in the open dance that day.
Well, it makes sense. When I asked around, I found out that no same-day participant had ever won a prize. When we saw the teams with their synchronized dances, we had exchanged looks and laughed, “There’s no way.”
The gold prize went to some bank’s group. The silver went to a high-school alumni group, as you might expect. And the bronze went to—surprise!—a group of foreigners dressed in flashy samba costumes with a nod to Rio’s Carnival.
The Otemo-yan makeup we used to try to stand out had no effect when dropped into a crowd of five thousand people; we didn’t stand out at all. But we weren’t disappointed.
We lost ourselves dancing with a bunch of strangers, got completely exhausted, and when the dance was over, the two of us couldn’t even stand for a while. The makeup had melted into a sad mess on our faces, so wiped it off right away with a towel.
A wave of open dance participants passed by before us, enveloped in a buzzing atmosphere. For a while I watched in a daze. Sumi didn’t say anything, either. We just both watched the people.
“Let’s dance again next year,” said Sumi, playing with an empty ramune bottle. The sky-blue marble inside rattled.
“For sure,” I replied, my marble rattling as well.
That day I went home, somehow managed to take a bath, blasted the a/c to cool down my overheated body, and slept like a log. But I didn’t get a stomach ache like I did when I was little.
“Mugi! Morning.”
The moment Mugi entered the classroom, it got rowdy. Everyone wanted to know how popular Mugi had spent her summer vacation.
“Hey, I saw your Insta! I’m impressed you managed to get into that shaved ice shop—there’s always a line!”
“That pic of Kumamoto Castle went viral, right?”
“This is the place that opened near the arcade street?!”
Mugi smiled and replied to everyone who called out to her. “Yeah, I waited for an hour! There just happened to be a nice sunset that day. Yeah! I put in extra effort to go on day one!”
“But this one is...a bit weird,” one of the girls said to Mugi holding back her laughter. She held up her phone to show everyone. Soon all the girls were cracking up. I was wondering what it could be when Sumi, messing with her phone in the seat ahead of me, suddenly let out a little scream, “...What?!”
“Huh, really? I thought it was super Kumamoto, so it seemed good to me...” Mugi’s voice filled the classroom.
Sumi had slowly turned around to show me her phone. The account was “mugisuke”—definitely Mugi’s.
Among the fancy shops, beautiful landscapes, and delicious-looking food, there was one odd picture.
It was a photo of a pair of people in loud happi whose faces were painted up white with bright red cheeks holding hands and dancing their butts off. Thanks to the backlit view, you couldn’t get a decent look at their eyes, but both of them had their mouths wide open, so you could tell they were laughing hard.
And the post had the hashtag #OtemoyanPhotoContest attached to it.
As if to deliver the finishing blow to the two of us while we were stunned, “By the way,” her voice rang out. I got contacted yesterday and it turns out this picture won the grand prize. Yay!”
“Huh?” Someone gasped. Of course, we were surprised, too. The girls who had been making fun of the shot up till a moment ago switched their tune immediately, saying things like “Really?! Wow!” and “That’s our Mugi!” Eventually our teacher arrived and we started homeroom.
Still buzzing as I listened to the teacher, I noticed that Sumi ahead of me had bright red ears. I could just see the look on her face—it had to be as red as Otemo-yan’s.
It was so funny to me that, recalling that sweltering summer night, I tapped my indoor shoes on the floor—tmp-tmp-tmp.
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