Chapter 5-Pink Lemonade
Our church holds an annual retreat, and Halmuni forcefully convinces my family to attend this year. Unfortunately, Elijah can’t make it, what with college applications and perennial procrastination, so in my free time, I mostly stay indoors drawing and marking up that day’s Scripture with colored pens. There’s something beautiful in the discipline, in the narrowing space between you and the pages. Then the next day, during our painfully early morning devotion, Mark touches a thicket of poison ivy and mosquitoes seep into our room. Much weeping and Veggie Tale-binging later, I trudge to the nearest convenience store.
Above the tips of evergreens barely visible against swaths of dark clouds, rose and gold bleed into the sky. As I reach the 24/7 Wawa, I spot Qi Eun. Hugging an extra large pink lemonade, she has earbuds in and sways to the music, one shoe scuffing a rhythm in the pavement. Dusk light washes over her hoodie and shorts, tracing her untamed hair into a bramble crown. Her chronic grimace has shifted into a wistful look.
Our small group has met a couple more times, and I enjoy our conversations, but I don’t really know Qi Eun yet– not like this, at least.
I wave. “Morning. What brings you here so early?” Vaguely, I wonder if I should’ve flattened my hair or straightened my Pikachu pajama shirt before crawling outside.
She frowns, pausing her music. “Don’t laugh, but I’m actually one of those weirdos who wakes up to watch the sun rise.”
I shrug. “That’s not too weird. My grandma basically does the same thing.”
“Thanks, that makes me feel much better,” Qi Eun says. She catches my eye, and we break out grinning. “Anyway, what’re you doing here?”
“Well, Mark touched some poison ivy, and my family has a billion mosquito bites between us, so I came to get some medicine and bug spray. We accidentally packed glitter glue instead. The bottles look really similar,” I say.
Her eyes reflecting the scarlet-sapphire sky, Qi Eun smirks and removes her earbuds. She offers me a mega Twix from her bottomless sweatshirt pocket.
Gentlemen don’t refuse candy. “Thanks. Uh, what’re you listening to?”
“Twenty One Pilots.”
“Don’t think I’ve heard of them.”
“Yeah, they sing a lot about death.” Qi Eun focuses her gaze along the tree line, both of her shoes now hammering the floor.
“I don’t listen to tons of music, but my friend Sam does.” I peel the wrapper back delicately. “He lives for vinyl, and he’s been in Spotify’s top 0.0001% of listeners for a few years now.”
“Sam…” She scrunches her face. “As in Sam Johnson?”
“Yup.”
“Aren’t you guys besties? Why haven’t you invited him to small group?”
I hesitate. Sam wouldn’t mind if I just told one person, right? “He’s kind of deconstructing.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” She shifts uncomfortably on the bench, then slurps from her lemonade.
“I mean.” I stare at my interlaced fingers. “I don’t really know what’s going on with him, y’know? I’ve been scared to really talk with him. I feel like it’ll just cement what’s been unspoken.” I groan into my hands. “I even spent all of yesterday drawing instead of being social and normal just because I was scared of running into him.”
Qi Eun half-smiles, picking at a scab on her finger. “That’s basically what I was doing too. So, y’know, if you ever want to be sad together.” Her invitation lingers in the air like a promise.
“Thanks. I’ll probably take you up on that offer soon.” I bite into my Twix bar, let its nauseating sweetness coat my tongue.
We bask in silence as sun rays drip onto our skin. “Want to listen?” she asks, gesturing to her phone.
“Uhh, sure. Twenty One Pilots?”
“Of course.”
As the first drum beats crash into my ears, I lean back, breathe in the dew-draped air, and listen to the soft hum of crickets. Rhymes vibrate from my ears to my heart, pulsing through the space around me, while the candlelight peach sky burns into my memory. Gold floods my vision and colors my pain. My breathing steadies, and I realize how much I miss his laugh coloring the breeze, his arm slung across my shoulder. Funny how our small group talked about God and death, sin and salvation, but never anything as personal as music.
I’m still song-struck as I waltz through Wawa. Once I return to our hotel room, my fingers itch to text Sam an apology. Instead, I scrape together the courage to approach him at a vending machine right after lunch. Snacks are my saving grace during difficult conversations.
Hearing my footsteps, Sam glances up. His face pinches when he sees me. “Hey. What’s up?”
I shrug. “Nothing much. You?”
“Same.”
“What’re you getting? A Fig Newton?” Pie-like Fig Newtons mean pensive, while Flamin’ Hot Cheetos taste best with revenge.
Briefly, Sam’s laugh lines wrinkle to life. “Yeah, you know me. How ‘bout you? Pretzels?”
“Um, yeah, I think so.”
We let the vending machine rob us blind; then, I follow Sam to a meeting room lined with stacks of plastic chairs. Light filters through windows clouded with cataracts, illuminating chips and stains on the white plaster walls; dust rises from our footfalls.
The dust-flecked silence pulverizes my heart like a millstone. Now or never.
I begin, “So—”
Sam interrupts me. “How do you like your first retreat?”
“It’s actually kinda nice,” I confess. “I enjoyed learning more about God, and, um…”
My eyes trail towards the window…
Stop it.
“Actually,” I draw out the word like a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for how I acted when you told me about deconstructing. I’m so sorry for being all weird and distant.” Real eloquent, Pete. “It’s just… I was surprised, you know? But, Sam, you’re my friend no matter what, and, uh… that was wrong of me.” I want to tell him that whenever the bell rings at home, I imagine his smirk, his hands wrapped around a plastic bag bearing chips and a video game controller. Instead, my voice trails off. “Pretzel?”
“Sure, thanks.” He takes a piece, smiling a little. “And, uh, it’s alright. I guess.”
Sunshine uncoils inside me, loosening the knot in my stomach.
“So.” I can hear the smile in my voice. “How’s your summer been?”
“Um, good. I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time thinking and spending time with friends.” Sam’s head bobs. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to hang out with some of my friends from public school? They could tell you more about what that’s like, and they might be your classmates next year, so it might be nice to get to know them.”
“Oh! I’d love to.” I perk up. “When do they have time?”
“I’ll check in with them, but like, this Wednesday should work,” Sam says.
So… three days. “Sounds great! My family basically has no summer plans, so I’m free whenever.”
Three days.
Image credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/sunrise-fog-field-bench-park-2826750/