There’s a boy I like.

He heralds the summer.

I first met him one summer years and years ago. He stumbles upon me in my room, a little boy of eight, toy truck held by frail arms, eyes wide with delight at the thought of a new playmate. He takes my hands in his and looks up at me since I was taller.

“You’re Chansik!” he says, beaming. “I’m Jinyoung.”

I want to smile, but I’m too shy.

“Let’s be friends, okay?”

I want to nod, to stammer my appreciation, but I was too surprised.

We play with his toy truck for the rest of the afternoon, and he tells me how he plans to spend his summer vacation. He wants to do a lot of things. Fly kites. Swim in the river. Collect crabs and shells from the beach. He turns to me then.

“I wish you can go with me. But I guess you have to stay here.”

His mom calls him down to dinner. I want to ask if he’d come spend time with me again, but I don’t know how.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he says, and I hold on to his words. “Goodbye, Chansik.”

Goodbye.

A smile finds its way to my face for the first time in years.

I am Chansik. He is Jinyoung.

I have a friend.

#

Summer flies so fast.

The other three seasons last an eternity.

#

He brings his mp3 on his next visit.

Jinyoung likes music. His taste runs through a variety of genres. He’s grown, but I’m still taller, much to his chagrin. His face scrunches up and I laugh. He likes to measure his height against mine.

“Someday,” he says, and the words ring with promise, “I’ll be taller than you, you’ll see.”

Yeah, yeah. I laugh. He’s so cute when he’s disgruntled. Or happy. Or embarrassed. Or every moment of every day of his life.

He’s lying spread-eagled on the floor of my room. A few days before he’d taken it up to himself to redecorate. He brought a fairly new carpet, some cushions and an old blanket.

“I like to make myself comfortable,” he tells me by way of explanation.

I try to hide the happiness I felt. It seemed like he was planning to stay in my room more often. I wasn’t about to complain. I like having Jinyoung around. His presence makes everything seem bright and happy. He sings along to the songs being played. There are a couple I liked best, but they all sounded nice. I admit Jinyoung’s voice may have a lot to do with why I like it so much.

“I want to study music,” he tells me, playing with the cushions. “I want to make music.”

He buys a guitar the next day. He winces as the strings dig into his fingertips.

“It hurts a little, but it’ll go away when I get used to playing it. I’ll have calluses so thick I won’t  feel it even if I bit my finger.”

I smile and shake my head. He starts to strum the guitar and I begin to pay attention.

#

I never minded the winter before, but it sure seems a lot colder now.  I wonder how Jinyoung is doing. I hope he is okay. How much longer until summer starts?

#

The last notes fade into silence, and Jinyoung smiles up at me.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” he grins. “I worked hard on composing this song.”

It’s good. It’s good.

He has gotten much better at playing the guitar. He starts to play another tune and I wonder how such beautiful music can come from frail looking fingers. I wonder how it would feel like to hold his hand again.

#

He finds me on the floor.

Jinyoung rushes to my side and I don’t even get the chance to say “hello” properly. He clucks his tongue once while I duck in embarrassment. There is a scratch in my cheek. He pulls out a band-aid and places it over the scratch. I use the opportunity to appreciate how good-looking he is. He is still thin, but I realize he’s not frail. He had dyed his hair red, claiming his old brown was boring. His eyes are sharp and intense, but warm when he smiles.

“You should be more careful,” his fingers brush my cheek, securing the band aid. I pause to make sure I wasn’t melting yet. I swallow.

I am Chansik. He is Jinyoung.

Today, I give him my heart.

#

The night sky is clear and cloudless. I wonder if Jinyoung is looking at the same star.

#

I look over to the gate. Jinyoung is standing, eyes trained on the ground, but I can tell that he’s smiling. A boy with spectacles reaches out and pulls his chin up. I want to look away but I can’t. I see the boy lean in and press his lips against Jinyoung’s. I see Jinyoung lift his hands to the boy’s shoulders. A moment later, he settles it on the boy’s neck. Jinyoung awkwardly waves goodbye and the boy laughs.

Later that night finds Jinyoung in my room, arms wrapped tight around my neck, chest pressed against mine, and I feel his heartbeat, light and fluttery. His voice shakes.

“He kissed me,” he says, and giddiness spills from each word. “Shinwoo kissed me.”

He falls asleep in my room while I keep watch, and the smile never leaves his face.

“I wish you could meet him,” he says just before his eyes close. “You’ll like him, I’m sure. Goodnight Chansik.”

Goodnight, Jinyoung.

I am Chansik. He is Jinyoung.

Tonight, my heart dies.

#

He spends more and more time with Shinwoo, and tells me all about it later. The stories come less and less as time passes by.

“He left,” he says one night, and his eyes are red and puffy. He leans against my chest and his shoulders heave. “He left. I’m sad, Chansik.”

I’m here.

I am Chansik. He is Jinyoung.

I love him, and I swear never to leave his side.

#

Memories of summer keep me warm all winter. In my mind it’s forever sunny, with Jinyoung leaning against my shoulder, or smiling at me from across the room. In my mind it’s just us. Just Chansik, just Jinyoung. The world can spin away somewhere for a while.

Even just for the summer.

#

Seasons change.

People grow.

And no one stays forever.

#

“I’m leaving,” Jinyoung says.

But you’ll be back next summer, right? You always come back.

“I’m going to study overseas. Dad wants me to be a doctor. He says it’ll be good for me. I might be gone for five years. Maybe more.”

He looks at me then, and as always, his gaze has me rooted to the floor. I can’t look away even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I want to keep this in my head. I want him to stay this way in my memories, Jinyoung with the warm smile that can melt me within seconds, Jinyoung with the depthless eyes that convey a million words with a single look, Jinyoung who looks at me, only at me, even just for a moment. There are so many things I want to tell him, starting with I love you and I want you to stay, but I know that I’m not in a position to be making such demands, and I’m thankful enough that he spends time with me like this, even taking time to explain that he’s leaving, he’s leaving me, and I will never get to see him again. I yearn to cross the endless distance that separates him from me, but as always I remain where I am, standing in my usual spot against the wall.

He walks up to me then, and after that the line between memory and dream becomes a little fuzzy, the line between the real and the imagined a little blurred. But there’s this: Jinyoung running his hands through my hair, fingers lightly ghosting over my eyebrows, my nose, my cheeks. His fingers are thin and there are calluses on the tips.His hold is firm and strong. His hands on my arms, pulling me even closer as I drown even deeper in those endless orbs. His breath, vanilla and mint, lightly fanning over my head, enveloping me in a delicious heady dizziness. His lips, soft and warm and perfect, yielding wonderfully against mine. His breath against my cheek, his voice filling my ears.

He whispers a few words before pulling away, and I think, I love you.

And then he’s gone, the lights go out and I’m alone with my memories, with my dreams, with my fantasies.

I am Chansik. He is Jinyoung.

He left me.

#

Years have passed and seasons have changed. My room is dusty, broken dreams and lost hopes around every corner. The windows are cracked, the cushions old, the door creaks every time the wind blows. Yet I remain standing against the wall, facing the window, waiting for that boy from long ago. The old gate opens and a figure walks in. The whole world stops for a moment. Anticipation bubbles in my chest. It disappears quickly; the person who walked in is not the one I am waiting for. I look away, drowning in waves of disappointment and loneliness.

From downstairs come the sound of the place being ransacked. The door to my room opens, and a man steps in. He dismisses my room and goes on poking around. I want to yell at him to get out, but I stand still, unable to say anything.

“What a pretty face, “he says. “Too bad you’re not real.”

He pushes me aside and I fall to the floor. My arms and legs break, and my chest cracks. A line appears in my vision. This time, no Jinyoung comes running to put band-aid over my injuries, no Jinyoung clucking his tongue as he attempts to fix the cracks.

I go back to the years that have passed, seeing my memories replay before my distorted vision.

A little boy of eight, delighted at finding a life-sized doll in the dusty attic of his family’s vacation house. He names the doll Chansik and declares him to be a friend.

A lonely boy who wants to do music, singing songs to a doll, songs that will never be heard, will never be appreciated.

A boy who has discovered the joys and pains of first love, sharing his thoughts and emotions to the doll, telling him things not meant for anyone else.

A boy who finds friendship in an inanimate object, a blind audience, a deaf listener, a voiceless adviser, a soulless vessel.

I see him embrace the doll, the mannequin,one last time, pressing warm lips against lifeless ones, whispering words that go unheard.

“I wish you were real.”

#

There’s a boy I like.

He heralds the summer.

I am Chansik. He is Jinyoung.

And I am not real.