今読んでいる本に花火大会の話が出てきて、昔のことが頭によぎった。わたしは大きな花火大会がある地域で生まれ育ったのだけれど、ある年、その当日に大きな虹が出たときがあった。もう花火にはほとんど飽きたような友人たちが、示し合わせたようにその虹の写真をインターネットに一斉に載せた。その年のことを時々思い出す、好きになれなかった地元の記憶。
As I read my current book, I come across a passage about a fireworks festival, and it stirs up memories of the past. I was born and raised in a town known for its grand fireworks displays. One year, on the very day of the festival, a great rainbow spread over the sky. My friends, who had long grown indifferent to the fireworks, all seemed to act in unison, flooding the internet with photos of that fleeting arc of color. From time to time, I think back to that year. It remains in my heart as a memory of my hometown—a place I could never quite bring myself to love.