RILIE (APRIL, 2011)

     We were trapped in the bar for only about an hour that night. But it’s that single hour that has broken down all the walls I have been constructing around myself for all these years. It’s terrifying for me to step out and away from the borderlines I’ve so painstakingly painted.

      Nothing is the same afterward.

      For some unknown reason, Changmin gave me the reassurance that there are endless possibilities on the outside. It’s only baby-steps, but gradually, I start to see life as life is.

      There are a few things about Changmin I’ve grown to know: his eyes are lopsided when he laughs really hard; he’s actually only three-quarters of a head taller than me (which is an accomplishment I’m extremely proud of); he has a slight bladder issue and has to go to the bathroom when he sees someone else going; he will have to eat seven to eight meals a day, even if one of them means dog food, he still will eat it just for the sake of not missing a meal.

      And there are things about me he has grown to understand too, like how I’m secretly scared of needles but am fine as long as I look away; I’m an early riser that can wake up without alarm clocks; my favorite color is sapphire but all my clothes are purple, and that I will really hurt someone if they are noisy in the study hall during exam season.

      Changmin’s existence becomes so natural to me. Somewhere along the lines, it has become a habit for me to give him a wake-up call in the morning and to cover up for him in lecture when his cell phone vibrates noticeably with whatever emergency.

      Professor A is undoubtedly aware of our occasional white lies and excuses, but he has decided to turn a blind eye on us. Before I know it, the usually excruciating winter has already gone by in a blink of an eye.

      The lush lawns sparkling under the morning glow signals the arrival of an early spring. The morning air is saturated with the fresh scent of wintergreen as it floats through the crevice of the library window. I make my last adjustments to my midterm report for chemistry and cross my fingers for the best mark after countless all-nighters.

      When days later I stop by Professor A’s office for a mark update, he’s already waiting for me.

      “Just as I expected: the first one to hand in the report, and the first one to retrieve it,” Professor A searches through his folders as I stand by his office door.

      “Of course.”

      “At least that much hasn’t changed.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he hands me my papers, “The punctuality.”

      I tilt my head, unsure what he means.

      He sips on his Starbucks and reclines back in the chair. “For the past month or so, I can see a significant change in attitude in both you and Changmin.”

      I’m taken back. “Both of us?”

      “Changmin’s mark has gone up impressively, and his midterm project was quite memorable.” He pauses, “But I can see that he’s had an impact on you as well.”

      For a minute I start to panic as I gape at the papers in my hand. “Professor A, are you saying I regressed?”

      He laughs, “You are definitely more spontaneous now, Rilie. Your past works have been great, but nonetheless reserved. Though I can see a lot has changed since the beginning of the term - your report was the best and most fascinating I have seen in years. Your theories on changes in natural fluorine release according to climate change and its potential effects on the ozone are quite speculative. You’ve really outperformed yourself this time.” He stood up and placed a hand on my shoulder, “Congratulations. You are guaranteed a scholarship for next year’s graduate chemistry programs.”

      I thank him cheerfully and feel the happiness bubbling from inside out, making me want to skip across the courtyard and immediately share the news with Changmin. I know he probably won’t mind my immature act, being an enormous kid himself.

      It’s Friday afternoon, and I know he always leaves early to find his manager after lunch and return before the day ends to catch up on schoolwork. As expected, when I wade through the spring slush to the back parking lot, the silver convertible is parked in its usual stop just on time.

      Without a second thought, I gallop towards the convertible and raps on the window a few times, sticking my papers recklessly into the window as the glass sluggishly rolls down. “Guess who just earned the scholarship for next year?!”

      No response.

      Then I’m hit with a horrific realization: It’s not Changmin who has been sitting in the convertible.

      The side profile of the driver can’t be more familiar: I have seen it on TV, music videos and billboards million of times. Whether enlarged, zoomed in or live—the leader of TVXQ—is sitting centimeters away from me, and in spite of being with Changmin so often, it’s overwhelming to see his bandmate in real life. And the diagrams of the decomposing fluorine atoms are still almost pressed to his face.

      “I’m sorry!” I stutter, withdrawing the papers