Tastes Like Summer

I miss him.

Yun-Hee squints against the pouring August sunlight from the bus window. She relishes in the reliving rush of the wind. It feels like a dream, the way the soft tendrils of the summer breeze glide over her face and into her red locks. 

The bus lurches to a halt, before it picks itself up again. At one point in time, she would’ve just focused on the mechanical rumbling of the wheels, but now she feels the faint heartbeat of music pulsing everywhere. The steady hum of the bus. Passengers tapping their feet to a metronome pulse. Trees giving way to overlapping power lines. They look like ledger lines, and she wonders about the music that could be played, and the music that was played.

She forgot the song long ago, but she’ll never forget him. He sat there, calm and unassuming, but the wild flurry of notes and emotions his hands pulled from the piano were anything but. She marveled at the easy competence flowing through his fingers, like sea waves crashing onto rocks, powerful and entracing. It was auditory ecstasy, especially when the raw majesty of deeply resonating chords trickled into a beautiful waterfall of sound, which eroded the rough edges of her internal landscape. It was like transforming a semi arid desert into a lush forest of interweaving melodies. It was like slicing through a tiramisu cake, just layers and layers of delight. She’s pulled forward by his musical gravity to get a better taste until she’s standing just a few feet away. 

At last, the final note rings in the air and fades away. 

The boy turns around with a smile. It’s Shinji. 

“How was it?” he asks, with a curious tilt of his head, black bangs hovering above playful eyes. 

Shinji is a genius, but that’s something she’ll never say to his face. 

“I’ve heard better,” she drawls, trying hard to keep her face straight. 

Perversely, he laughs, completely carefree. The sound bounces off the gray walls of the room, the cheerfulness so out of place. “Not in this school you haven’t.”

Even now, Yun-Hee huffs a laugh. He’s such an icon. 

She rests her head against her hand, staring at green trees zooming past. The bright rays of the sun send equally bright snapshots of summer memories. 

What started as late nights at convenience stores eating pineapple pizzas escalated to midnight walks around the park, sprinkling water parks at daybreak, and running across endlessly vast soccer fields. Wherever they went, whatever they did, the same faint whiff of romance followed them and only intensified. At least for her, and she huffs a laugh again. Forever unrequited, her brain tells her and she tells it to shut up.

But yes, so many good memories. Especially when they mixed mocktails from a vending machine that day. 

“Nothing beats Sprite and Fanta orange,” Shinji had preached. As soon as she turned around, Shinji had pressed a cold can to her neck, and she screeched with untamed ferocity. They howled with laughter, and the sound still rings in her ears.

He was 16 and cute. 

Then recently, they had a beach picnic. Instead of their backs pressed against the vending machine, their t-shirts flowed back against a warm summer breeze.

Yun-Hee sipped some Fanta orange, once, twice. No matter what she does to prepare herself, she knows she’ll never be ready. Because when she turns around, she inhales sharply. 

Now he’s 18 and gorgeous. 

Sunlight smashes down through cherry red and tangerine leaves, spilling down onto his silky black locks. A breeze draws aside the wafting curtains of his hair to reveal beautiful obsidian eyes, and she’s lost in the whirlwind of her thoughts. She can’t deny it indefinitely, but while she still can, she hopes she can lie to herself that she doesn’t like him that much. It’s a futile but necessary action at this point. As long as she talks to him - which is easy enough - she could drown away the attraction that threatens to spill over. As long as he doesn’t know, it’ll all be good.

Shinji grins at her and raises his Sprite can, which glints in the afternoon sun. “Bottoms up,” and they clink their cans.

They’re joking around, like they always do. She loves the way she is when she’s around him, because he makes her completely honest and open about herself. That’s the best and worst thing about him. It’s always so pleasant talking to him, and before she knows it she’s riding a delicious wave of happiness to the crest. Before she can stop herself, she blurts out, “what if I like you?” And their world comes crashing to a stuttering halt. 

Her mind starts running too fast for her, like a race car spiraling out of control. His eyes are wide, staring incredulously with an emotion she can’t place. 

“I- forget it. Ugh- please just ignore it.” 

Oh god. He knows. He knows. 

Her thoughts sprint through the race track of her mind, leaving behind a trail of anxiety and stress. She wants to fold in on herself, have their picnic blanket wrap around her and make her disappear forever. 

“Yun-Hee–” 

“I was just kidding.” Maybe if she weren’t so absorbed in herself, she’d notice the slight twitch on his fingers. But she buries her head in her can, and the cold hand of fear squeezes her heart and sends anxiety pumping through her veins. Dread pulls her heart straight through the gateways of hell. 

The one thing she vowed to never tell him, the one job she had, and she still somehow messed it up. He’s gonna look at her awkwardly, painfully, from now on, it’s going to be so awkward from now on, and oh god everything is just–

“Are you sure?” Shinji asks with a teasing lilt. Yun-Hee’s face burns up despite it. She unsuccessfully tries to tamp down the little spark in her heart. But she can’t tell him, she can’t.

So she drops her head even more and closes her eyes. 

“Yes,” she says, soft, stubborn, and completely untrue.  

Their friendship is shattering, but she refuses to hear the sound. But before she can think more she hears a steadiness in his voice that she’s never heard before. His voice is just as soft and steady as hers. 

“Then look at me when you say it.” 

Yun-Hee whips around, ignited by a familiar stubbornness that floods back into her senses. 

“I was just-” but the words die in her throat as soon as their eyes lock. There’s a knowing look in his eyes, and it’s suddenly crystal clear. They both know the truth. 

He only has time for a slight nod before she reaches out and pulls him close. 

It’s like the pleasing hiss of opening a soda, ice cubes and lime and sparkling water crashing together. It’s full of that refreshing satisfaction, concentrated with sugar and bliss. She’s fascinated by this summer’s kiss, and she hopes this sweetness will never get diluted. Their hands are tangled in red and black hair, their mouths tangled in each other, and it’s her favorite mocktail of Sprite and Fanta orange. 

The memory slowly dissolves until she’s back on the bus, but she can still feel it. She smiles into the wind as it kisses her the way he did. Grazing over her lips, the unspoken and uninhibited freedom. The way the wind brushes the side of her face just like he did, tender and unhurried. 

The bus stops, and the wind presses into a faint whisper against her ear, like a sealed promise of summer. It gives her one last peck, before it evaporates into the sunlight. 

Yun-Hee presses her face against the window and smiles, faint tears coating her eyes. 

I miss you.