2020

Krystal.

Krystal Jung.

It is the first name that the wind whispers to me when I step out of the airplane. The night air of Paris still chills me like it has always been, sending this nostalgic feeling right into the remaining of my sanity. As I walk towards the passenger’s seat of my brother’s car, somehow my mind works in contrary to what I expect it to; instead of giving me ideas about what to eat at home, it keeps distracting me with the image of a meadow in summer.

A green meadow under bright blue sky, five years ago. Where we were lying on the green grass, picking wild flowers, reading Sylvia Plath out loud, drinking glasses of wine, and passionately talking about the existence of God like we knew everything.

We were 21. Laughing happily like we owned the world. Krystal and I,

“Here is your beer, Kai.”

And Taemin too.

“Thanks,” I take the can from my older-brother-by-two-minutes’ hand and sip on it, “urgh, I really miss this 1664 taste.”

“They don’t have this in the U.S?” Taemin asks as he starts the car engine.

I take a long sip before I reply his question. “Nope. I’m staying alive on Budweiser.”

“Well, that’s why you should come home more often. Not just in grand occasion like this.”

“Hey, being a consultant is tougher than managing a vineyard. You get a lot of holiday with you since your job demands you to travel while I need to be on standby whenever client needs me,” I retorts, “it’s you who should visit me more often and bring me packs of beers.”

“Like hell I will. Now that I am getting married, your beers are not my concern at all,” Taemin snorts’ mixes with laughter, “so, is there anything new about you? It’s been months since the last time we met in New York.”

I open the window and take out a cigarette pack from inside my coat. “No, everything’s the same. Same job, same apartment, same routine, same—”

“Girlfriend?” Taemin guesses.

I pause for a moment and light my cigarette. From the corner of my left eye, I can see Taemin stealing glances at me while driving steadily beside the La Seine.

“No. Not that,” I reply.

Taemin just lets out a short hum. He continues staring straight at the road, drinking his beer every now and then. I light a cigarette for him and put it in between his lips and he mumbles ‘merci’ in return. Unlike the other nights when we never stop talking in the car after he picks me up at the airport, now we’re just driving in silence. Only the voice of Carla Bruni echoing from the radio and the sound of the tires screeching on the road that fill the emptiness in the air that engulf us.

“Have you heard from her?” I finally ask the only question that has been nagging at the back of my mind since hours ago.

Taemin glances at me, his eyes tell me that he somehow knows that I am going to ask him that.

“No.”

The silence becomes our friend until we arrive at home later at midnight.