『The Summer You Owe Me』
I return to the height of summer, pretending time can still be stalled, keeping secrets from each other with tacit understanding, slowly completing a quiet farewell. She was your desk mate, your neighbor, the indispensable backdrop to all your childhood memories. She spoke very softly, her eyes curving into crescents whenever she smiled. Her hands were ice-cold in all four seasons; you once put your gloves on her, and she said your palms held the warmth of the sun. Together, you wrote "One Hundred Things to Do Together" in a notebook, playfully numbering each one. You said the first thing was to go see the ocean together after the college entrance exams; she said the hundredth was for you to push her in a wheelchair to watch the sunset when you turned eighty. That notebook—you never opened it again. Her diagnosis came in the autumn of sophomore year. She hid it from you for three whole months, until she couldn't hide it anymore. Before leaving that day, she asked you, "Will you come tomorrow?" You said, "Of course." She nodded, eyes glistening: "Then I'll wait for you." The next day, she didn't get to see you. Instead, she was met with a heavy downpour, and a summer that came to an abrupt halt.
We always think there's plenty of time ahead, forgetting that a single breeze on the summer solstice of our seventeen-year-old lives can blow away all our unspoken feelings.