Reminiscence

I almost didn’t answer the phone when Eomma called that Friday afternoon at the start of my first three-day weekend in college. Part of it was guilt. I’d told her I would call once I moved into my dorm more than a month ago.

(Until then, you used to call like every week or every couple of weeks at least.)

Oh yeah, I did, didn’t I?

(I remember waiting and waiting for you to call.)

Really? I had no idea. Sorry, kid.

(Not a kid.)

You used to say that back then, too. Meanwhile, I totally felt like a kid--a scared kid. Did I ever tell you this? I hadn’t felt ready to start college.

That’s another reason I didn’t want to answer the phone. I didn’t want to lie to Eomma, but I was too ashamed to tell her that the truth--that I was pretty freaking miserable. It felt like everyone else was ready for this new chapter of their lives. I kept thinking there was something wrong with me.

(That’s crazy. You’ve always been one of us. We would’ve understood.)

That just made it harder to admit, you know?

Something made me answer the phone and pretend to be happy and like everything was going great, the way it was supposed to be. I hung up the call and got in bed. I didn’t have the energy to do anything, and talking to her made me miss you guys to the point of homesickness.

(You okay?)

Yeah. Wow, sorry. I didn’t expect to get so choked up when it’s been, like, ten years.

A couple of hours later I heard sounds outside my room and went to see what was going on. My friends--or the people I was trying to make friends with--were gathering in the suite to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Desperate not to be an outsider and to make the most of my college experience, I joined them. Thinking back now, I probably wasn’t the only one who felt this way but there was that lonely feeling of being with a group but not belonging. You know when I never feel that way?

(When you’re with us.)

When I’m with you.

So we were watching Buffy. On a DVD, if you can believe it.

(Ah yes, I remember those days.)

There was a knock on the suite door. One of the guys on my floor answered and stared down. “Can I help you?”

(I love this part.)

A voice answered, the words too soft to be heard over Buffy. I instantly recognized the voice, though it was hard to reconcile it with this setting. I still remember how slow it seemed to register. I was leaning forward, my mouth moving before I had totally made sense of it.

“Josh?” I said.

Your little middle school head popped through the door frame. “Noona!”

(Little head??)

You’re right. You were a pretty big-headed kid, actually.

But when I saw your little-big head, I scrambled up off the floor, my heart soaring. “What are you doing here? How did you even get here?”

“Mom’s in the car,” you said. “She doesn’t want to pay for parking so you need to pack real quick.”

“Pack?” I repeated, still trying to understand what was happening.

“Yeah, you’re coming home with us for the weekend,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

(To be fair, I think it was the most obvious thing in the world.)

Everyone in the suite was watching us instead of Buffy, but I barely registered it at the time. My body was walking to my room before my mind knew what was happening.

(That happens a lot, doesn’t it?)

Oh, shush.

“Wait, you and Eomma drove all the way down here to get me?” I asked, stuffing my white plastic-y MacBook into my backpack.

“Two hours,” you said. “Which reminds me--gotta pee!”

(Why...why do you remember this in so much detail?)

Do you want even more? I remember how many people were in the suite and who was there. I remember what I was wearing. I remember what you were wearing.

(You mean that gray Pac Sun hoodie I wore every day in middle school?)

That’s the one.

(I wonder what happened to it.)

You serious? Eomma threw it out.

(What!)

Yeah, she hated the ratty thing.

Anyway, as you went to use the suite bathroom, I grabbed my carry-on and filled it with a few changes of clothes and such. Now that I wasn’t talking, my brain could actually catch up and make sense of the situation. Even thinking about it now, my heart swells. Seeing you for the first time in months. I guess I was still young enough then that a few months felt like forever.

(You’re talking like you’re so old now.)

Old enough that time seems to vanish.

That day, though. The thought of spending the weekend with you and Eomma instead of in my dorm...

(I know. Don’t cry.)

I am not crying.

(Liar. I see you getting teary.)

Teary is’t the same as crying.

“What’s going on?” my roommate asked from the doorway.

“Excuse me.” You squeezed past her and sat on my desk as I put my skincare products and toothbrush away. “You ready? Mom’s waiting.”

“Yeah, I’m done,” I said, zipping up the carry-on and setting it on the floor.

(Seriously. So much detail.)

It was one of those moments that sticks in your mind so clearly.

(Because it’s so precious?)

Actually, yeah.

(Yikes. Cringe.)

You said it, not me.

“This is my little brother, Josh,” I told my roommate.

She--you okay there, bud?

(Yeah. I was just thinking about how much I loved it when you called me that. Maybe it’s an only child thing, but it almost felt like a privilege.)

Hah. Now who’s being cringe, kid?

(Not a kid. But maybe a little cringe.)

I said bye to her and to the rest of them, and we were out of there.

(You make it sound like I was breaking you out of prison.)

I mean, it got better. I got used to being there. I stopped feeling so out of place. You were a part of that, you know. You and Eomma. Knowing you were only a couple of hours away felt safe.

(Ah. More cringe. Ow!)

“I can’t believe you guys drove down here for me,” I said, as we went down the suffocating, echoey stairway.

“It’s a three-day weekend,” you said.

I knew there was more to it, but I left it at that and just ruffled your hair with my free hand.

(We were worried about you. Hate to break it to you but you didn’t do such a great job of acting like everything was great when Mom called. Even I knew something was up, and I was like twelve.)

I can’t believe you just insulted my world-class acting skills. But I am glad it worked out the way it did.

(Can I ask you something?)

Shoot, kid.

(Not a kid. Why are you telling me this story when I was literally there?)

Oh, look. Your train is here.

(Ah...thanks, noona.)

You got it. Good luck, bud.