Person
CompromiseThe Sunday Mass has finished. Joy and Chen stand at the sanctuary, away from the crowd.
“Did you ask me to come just so you could show off your organ skills?”
Chen grins as he loosens his tie. “I was great, wasn’t I?”
“Not really.”
“Harsh.”
(Chen had played the organ during the mass, Joy sat in the front row and kept her eyes on him. That was the only time Joy paid attention, the rest of the mass was a blur as she planned her grocery list and wondered when her bills are due.)
Joy admires the stained glass windows depicting saints and angels. Science may be her true love but she knows when to appreciate art. “Did you visit churches during your placement in England?”
“I did. Oxford was my favourite, they had a book on the church’s early design. I’ll show you my photos at home.”
Joy smiles at the thought of Chen asking for directions with a dictionary in hand and a camera hanging around his neck. She wouldn’t be surprised if Chen bought a camera just before he flew to England.
“You can be my tour guide.” Joy trails her fingers across the keys on the pipe organ. “Play me a song.”
“Okay.”
“Wait, I was kidding, they’ll get mad if you —”
Chen plays a familiar tune. Wait, she knows this song. It’s Tetris. Joy tells him to stop but Chen keeps playing. In the end, she gives up trying and stands by his side, enjoying his performance.
“I never knew Tetris could sound so dramatic.” Joy claps while Chen bows at her.
“I was great, wasn’t I?”
Joy laughs, taking his hand as they leave before they get caught.
“You’re perfect.”
They remain oblivious — or choose to ignore — the disapproving stares on them. Chen opens his car door for Joy, she thanks him and switches the radio to his favourite station. He offers to cook lunch but Joy turns him down, arguing he already made breakfast.
“Let’s play rock, paper, scissors. Winner cooks,” Joy says.
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“One, two..”
Chen always picks rock on the first round.
Joy knows this so she picks paper.
But it doesn’t matter who wins because they cook together.
—
A record player. Beep. A dragon sculpture. Beep. A beach hat. Beep. It’s amazing the things you can find in a charity shop. Seulgi has enough experience in retail, and her customers range from ‘someone she wants to hang out with’ to ‘probably a serial killer.’ This guy’s in the first group.
“Thanks and please come again.” Seulgi hands over a receipt.
An old lady stands on tiptoe, reaching for the upper self. Seulgi leaves the cash machine and takes the item on display. It’s one of those creepy baby dolls that stare into your soul. What were the manufacturers thinking?
“I’m picking a gift for my grandchild, could you give me a hand?”
“Sure, we have lots of toys around.” Seulgi puts the baby (voodoo) doll back and recommends a train set. She pats herself on the back for saving someone’s childhood.
Seulgi’s been a volunteer at this charity shop since her final year of university. Instead of putting her architecture degree to good use, she continues persuading people to buy cheap furniture (and sometimes, questionable goods) because she’s a master of making life decisions. Also, her coordinator bakes cookies on weekends.
Chansung, her fellow volunteer, comes in. “I thought your shift ended an hour ago.”
“I feel extra hardworking today.” Seulgi grabs a cooking magazine. She doesn’t read it, she just looks at the pretty pictures. Spaghetti, cheesecake, soup. Ooh, lasagna. “Haven’t had lasagna for a while, know a good place?”
“Why not cook it yourself? It’s pretty easy.”
“Too much effort.”
“You can cook with your boyfriend.” Chansung pauses. “Or girlfriend. I can never keep up with your dating life.”
Seulgi snorts. “No way she can cook lasagna. She’s probably an expert in making meth though.” She can see it: lab coat, test tubes and all those fancy equipments. Nerd.
“Congrats, you found your perfect match.”
“No, she has taste. What’s the best cereal? Froot Loop. Not Cap’n Crunch. But Joy went on and on about sugar content, who cares about..” Seulgi sets down her magazine as realization hits her.
She just called Joy her girlfriend.
“Hey, you okay?”
No, she’s not. She just called Joy her goddamn girlfriend.
“Joy’s not my girlfriend.”
“What?”
“She’s my buddy.”
“Language, Seulgi. There’s children here.”
“She’s my fun buddy.”
Chansung takes the magazine from Seulgi. “I think you need a break. Go home, I’ll handle the till.”
“She’s not my girlfriend, that’s stupid, she’s my —”
“Friend with benefits. Horizontal tango partner. Magic bus to wonderland. I get it.”
A man taps Chansung’s shoulder. “Tone it down, you two, we have kids here.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry, sir.” Chansung takes Seulgi outside. “You need a break.”
“Chansung.”
He sighs. “Yeah?”
“Joy’s not my girlfriend.”
“Wow, I totally didn’t see that coming. I mean, holy , how could you keep this from me, I thought we were friends.” Chansung flicks Seulgi’s forehead. “Go home, Seulgi.”
—
Unless Joy knows how to pick locks, she shouldn’t be in Seulgi’s bed, all wrapped up in a blanket and hugging Seulgi’s teddy bear.
“Your landlord came to check the boiler.”
“And he let you in just like that?”
“I told him I’m your brother’s fiancée from Netherlands and I’m here to give you a wedding invitation.” Joy sits up, resting her chin on Seulgi’s teddy bear. “He asked me if we’re having an affair.”
“And?”
“I said yes.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I wanted to see his reaction.”
“Thanks for ruining my reputation.” Seulgi goes to the kitchen and Joy follows her like a puppy. “Go back to Netherlands.”
“I can’t, I cancelled my wedding with your brother.”
It’s hard to be mad when Joy grabs the back of Seulgi’s shirt, and Seulgi hates herself a little for giving in to Joy so easily.
“Do you know how to make lasagna?”
“No, but that’s what Google’s for.” Joy opens Seulgi’s fridge but only finds a half-eaten apple and expired orange juice. “You’re hopeless. Come on, we’re buying grocery.”
“What, why?”
“Because you want lasagna and we have nothing.”
Last time Seulgi checked, buddies don’t make lasagna when you ask them to.
“Are you coming or not?”
Joy should’ve buttoned her shirt all the way up because Seulgi can see a red mark on her neck, and she’s pretty damn sure there’s more of it. Seulgi knows who did it, and whoever this Chen is, she hopes he falls into a steaming pile of .
Seulgi tosses her scarf at Joy. “Wear it so you don’t freeze your off. I don’t want to carry your dead body.”
“This scarf is ugly.”
“Shut up and wear it.”
“It clashes with my coat.”
“Your colour-coordinating skills are non-existent.”
“Green and yellow look horrible together, why do you even have this?” Joy loops the yellow scarf around her neck, smiling at Seulgi. “Thanks.”
It’s only temporary, but Seulgi’s glad she doesn’t have to see that stupid mark on Joy’s neck. No, she’s not jealous. It’s just that she hasn’t used that scarf for a while and it kind of, sort of looks good on Joy.
She’s not jealous.
—
Their lasagna doesn’t taste like lasagna.
“You at giving instructions.” Seulgi pushes the lasagna towards Joy.
Joy pushes it back. “You at following them.”
“Finish it.”
“No. Feed it to a cat or something.”
“Cats aren’t Garfield, they don’t eat lasagna.”
“They do, I tested it.”
Seulgi frowns. “You say that like it was an experiment.”
“I have better things to experiment on.” Joy sticks her fork into the lasagna and leaves it there. Living things are hard to work with, that’s why she hates Biology (she almost fainted the first time she dissected a frog).
“Is everything an experiment to you?”
“How else do I learn?”
Joy should’ve known this would happen but nothing is predictable with Seulgi. They could be playing Scrabble, and one of them would somehow end up on the kitchen counter.
This time, they’re on the floor.
“You’re the worst.”
—
Joy checks her reflection in the mirror, wincing as she massages her neck. “Did you have to be so rough?”
“You weren’t complaining earlier.” Seulgi gestures to the scratches and bite marks all over her body. “And mine’s worse, you .”
“It’s like you drew a choker on me.”
Seulgi puts on an oversized sweater. She grins, pressing her fingers against a hickey she left on Joy’s neck. “I’m great, aren’t I?”
Joy pauses in the middle of buttoning her shirt, staring at Seulgi with a blank expression. She leaves her shirt half-buttoned, takes a bite of their leftover lasagna and dumps it into the bin.
“We’re doing it right this time, I’ll give you a hand.”
Instead of giving instructions, Joy shows Seulgi how to make lasagna.
It tastes nice.
—
Irene doesn’t say anything when Joy wears a turtleneck sweater at home.
—
“I don’t understand the point of giving someone flowers. Wouldn’t you rather eat pizza together and cuddle?” Irene asks.
“It’s good to switch things up, it gets boring if you always do the same thing.” Joy flips a journal, sitting next to Irene on a couch. “But yes, flowers are useless. There’s nothing to do except watch them die for the next three days.”
“Do you think Wendy would like them?”
“You’ve never given her flowers?”
“She likes ice-cream and chocolate so I usually get those. Besides, we get to share.” Irene plays Minesweeper on her phone and yelps when bombs appear on her screen. She lays her head on the armrest. “Should I give her flowers?”
“Go for it.”
“Although they’re pointless?”
“A little decoration wouldn’t hurt, they’re nice to look at when they’re alive.” Joy highlights a passage on her journal. “Did you use my highlighter again? It’s all dried up.”
“I’ll get you new ones. Could you help me choose flowers?”
“Sure.”
—
Wendy stares at all the different flowers in shades of blue. She points to herself. “For me?”
“Flowers reduce stress.” Irene gives the bouquet to Wendy. “You said you have to hand in your paper in three days but you haven’t started yet. I picked blue because it’s your favourite colour and it makes you calm.”
Wendy chuckles nervously at the thought of sitting in front of her laptop for the next three days, spending three hours to type less than thirty words.
At least she has Irene’s flowers to look at when she does her work. Wendy kisses Irene on the cheek. “You’re the best.”
Irene wraps her hand around Wendy’s. “Do you like the flowers?”
“They’re beautiful.”
Irene smiles and presses her lips against Wendy’s hand.
—
Procrastination is a funny thing. You tell yourself you’ll do it tomorrow but you’ll say the same thing tomorrow.
Wendy would argue she works best under pressure. Of course she does. Why else would she open a word document now to write a five thousand-word paper due in two days instead of having started two months ago?
Anyway, she has a paper to write. Something about dead people and stuff.
The Lost Colony of Roanoke
Type.
To this day, it is not known how a group of 117 people disappeared without a trace.
Wendy takes a sip of her energy drink. This sounds like a bad prologue of a thriller novel.
In 1587, John White led 117 people and settled on Roanoke Island. White sailed back to England to gather supplies; he returned three years later but everyone had disappeared. A wooden post was found with the word “Croatoan” carved into it.
She munches on a chocolate bar. Is there a movie of this? She looks it up — just a quick search, she’ll get back to her paper after this — and watches the trailer. It’s a low budget horror movie (she bets it’s inaccurate because Hollywood’s definition of ‘based on a true story’ is ‘the characters have the same names but that’s it’).
Hm, her room’s messy.
Wendy cleans the whole apartment and waters Irene’s flowers. Who knew flower arrangement could be so relaxing?
—
Wait, her paper.
—
Wendy slumps and lies on the floor. No good, everything distracts her. The (blue) flowers aren’t helping. She needs to hit the library.
Before leaving, Wendy takes a picture of Irene’s flowers.
—
Wendy spends two days in the library (thank goodness it’s open 24 hours a day). Irene drops by the night before Wendy’s paper is due.
“I brought dinner. You’ve been eating snacks all day, haven’t you?”
“Of course not, I had sandwiches.”
“That’s a snack.”
“No, it’s a meal.”
“This,” Irene points to the smoked salmon and avocado salad, “Is a meal. Now please eat and finish your paper so you can get some sleep.”
Wendy grabs a fork and starts eating.
—
Wendy asks Joy to help with her mock presentation. Joy comes over, not so surprised when she sees a vase of dead flowers in the living room.
Joy holds the flower between her thumb and middle finger. “These are dead, throw them away.”
Wendy presses her palms against her cheeks. “But they’re from Irene.”
“They’re dead.”
“But —”
“Dead.”
Wendy pouts and cradles the brown flowers against her chest. “Fine, I’ll throw them out tomorrow.”
“You’ll say that too tomorrow, and they’ll still be here next month.”
—
Two weeks later, Wendy still has dead flowers in her apartment.
Wendy puts them away when Irene gives her carnations of various colours: blue, purple, yellow, pink and white.
“Why carnations?”
“They last longer.” Irene hugs Wendy from behind as Wendy arranges the carnations into a vase. “And Joy keeps complaining about your dead flowers.”
Wendy tries not to think of Irene’s warm breath against her skin. She needs to talk about something. Anything. “Do you want to sleep over?”
Now she’s just signing her death warrant. Great job, brain.
“Okay.”
Irene’s lips — intentional or not, Wendy can’t tell — caress her neck and Wendy can’t decide whether she loves or hates it. Or both. Love because it feels frustratingly good, hate because it makes her want much much more.
“Am I doing this right?”
Yes. Yes, she is. A-plus, even. With all the stars in the sky.
“C- could you,” Wendy squirms as Irene nuzzles against her skin, “ on it?”
Oh God, oh God, oh God, what is she doing, stupid brain, you’re supposed to stop working only during the finals, not when —
“Like this?”
Oh.
“Y-yeah.” Wendy swallows, her heartbeat picking up its pace. “And could you.. it?”
Irene obeys her.
“Bite me.”
That too.
“Your hands..”
All of them.
Wendy isn’t sure how it happens but they somehow end up in bed with Irene on top of her. Really, she should’ve just kept shut in the first place, because when she flips their positions, Irene’s expression is nothing like how she imagines it would be.
“Tell me what to do.”
Of course, Wendy could be a selfish and just get on with it.
But that’s not what she wants.
“Are you sure about this?”
Irene doesn’t say anything. Instead, she looks at Wendy as if she wants Wendy to tell her the right thing to say.
“If you’re not ready yet, we can stop now.”
“I don’t..” Irene looks away. “I don’t mind.”
What a liar.
“Are you sure?”
“I..”
This is tiring.
And that’s why, no matter how much Wendy wants to continue, she pulls back and puts on the most genuine smile she can manage although she wants to scream at Irene.
“Enough playing around, I’m hungry. Come on, I’ll make dinner.”
Wendy stretches her hand to Irene and she hopes — prays — Irene will pull her back in. But instead, Irene takes her hand and gets out of bed.
Yeah, this .
—
Wendy stays in the bathroom for eight minutes.
—
Wendy doesn’t blame Irene. It isn’t Irene’s fault. No, no, no. Absolutely not. She knew what she was getting into and she agreed to take it slow. Like, super slow. Sloth slow.
But she’s human too, damn it.
She has needs.
No, it’s not enough doing it by herself.
—
“Do you think I’m a bad person?” Wendy asks.
“I’m not psychic, you’ll have to explain your thought process.” Joy lies on the floor, flipping through Wendy’s lecture notes. “Your handwriting is ugly.”
“As if you’re better. All you do is type, do you even remember how to write?”
“Everything about me is perfect.”
Wendy scoffs and sits on Joy’s back.
“Get off.”
“I thought you were perfect. What, can’t handle a little weight?”
“Your definition of little is wrong.” Joy makes a dismissive gesture, sighing in relief as Wendy moves and sits in front of her.
“So am I bad?”
“Details, Wendy.” Joy sits up, leaning against the wall. “But not too much.”
Wendy takes a deep breath. “I’m tired. I’m tired of having to spell out everything. I’m tired of acting like a mother instead of a girlfriend.”
She draws her knees against her chest.
“And it’s no fair, just when I’m about to give up, she gives me hope again. Why bother trying if you don’t finish what you start?”
Hides her face from Joy.
“I’m tired.”
Hears Joy shuffle beside her.
“Am I a bad person?”
“Not really.” Joy wraps her arm around Wendy. “It just means you’re human.”
Wendy prefers crying alone but just this once, she lets Joy see her most pathetic state.
—
There are times when Wendy has horrible thoughts, things she’d never say out loud, and she knows it’s wrong to think this way but she can’t help it.
Would their relationship be different if Irene doesn’t have aspergers?
It’s a stupid question because she’s reducing Irene to her autistic traits. As if her being autistic explains why she does everything she does.
As if she doesn’t see Irene as a person.
Author’s note:
a) Asperger is a form of autism.
b) Auality is not a side effect of autism. Most autistics are fine with romantic/ual relationships.
c) If my portrayal of aspergers and auality are inaccurate, tell me how to improve.
Edit [31 Dec 2016]: See you next year!
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