Summers

Summer had finally rolled around, but like yesterday and the day before, Emi and I continued doing our usual thing. Lounging around, watching TV, going to the park, all the like. But after our previous talk at the park, Emi and I decided it might be best if we found hobbies that could bring in some money.

A lot easier said than done. Sure, there were plenty of hobbies out there, but to make an income from them, you had to be either exceptionally good or exceptionally experienced. Either way, it wasn’t something that you could just go about doing.

I had no clue where I wanted to start. Back in college, I loved to write. I even majored in English. But before I knew it, I was in an office. I wasn’t writing creative pieces, I was writing information down on docs and filling out spreadsheets. I never truly got to experiment with my creative side, huh?

Emi, on the hand, was experimenting with everything. Last week it was the guitar, this week bass. Hell, she even started running, saying things like: “Maybe I could become Usain Bolt if I tried hard enough.”

That girl… she truly had resolve made of titanium. It was hard for me to believe that someone like her had ever been restricted in the first place. Guess that goes to show just how strong societal expectations were, huh?

As it stands now, Emi eventually would find something suited to her. I had no doubts about that in my mind. But when she did, what would become of me? Would she leave me behind? Find herself a boyfriend, move in with him, then send me packing back to my parents?

I didn’t want to believe that to be the case, but Emi and I weren’t teenagers. We were adults. In the long run, if I weren’t someone who could be of use to Emi, then no doubt about it, she’d leave me in the dust.

I didn’t find that to be cruel or sad. I just thought: “That’s life.” I’d probably even do the same thing if I were in her shoes as well.

With that said, I needed to get a move on. If I never make the first step, nothing will happen.

While Emi was out running, I picked up her guitar. It was silky and smooth, and the strings were in perfect condition. The same applied to the bass, too. Even though she wasn’t the best with these things, she still loved and cared for them. That felt very “Emi-like” to me.

I plucked the strings one by one, starting from the bottom. As I went up, the octaves grew deeper in tone. To an experienced player, they’d surely cringe, but to me, I found myself fascinated.

For the next few hours, I sat there, plucking those strings, which I later found out were called E, A, D, G, B, E, left side representing the deeper octaves, right side representing the higher octaves.

When Emi returned from her walk, upon seeing me, she was of course, shocked. She hadn’t complained about me messing with her belongings, though, which I partially expected. Instead, she sat down next to me, which I kind of wish she hadn’t. Why?

Because she hadn’t even taken a shower yet.

She taught me all about the guitar. She showed me chords, power chords, bar chords, and even how to string chords together in conjunction with one another.

Emi knew that I wasn’t passionate about the guitar–that I was only experimenting, yet she gave me all the devices I needed, in case I wanted to further pursue it. I had to wonder:

Had our relationship always been like this?

I didn’t have an answer, but when I thought about it… Maybe it had been? If Emi wanted to experiment with something, and I had even a sliver of knowledge, I’d probably do the same as her.

What exactly did that say about us? I still didn’t know. Perhaps I wouldn’t know until the answer was right in front of my face.

That night, before I went to sleep, I took out my laptop: one of the few things I brought with me from home. I started writing the first things that came to mind, and before I knew it, I’d started writing a story about two girls in an apocalyptic world, with nobody but themselves to rely on.

I wrote about half a chapter before I shut down my laptop. I didn’t know what to name the girls, or where I wanted the story to go, but before I fully closed my eyes, I felt myself crack a smile. Then, in the distance, I heard a door creak open, followed by subtle footsteps.

By that point, I was already seconds away from falling asleep, but right before my consciousness faded, I felt something wrap around me, followed by a voice as sweet as honey.

“Good work today, Mei. I’m so proud of you.”

That line reminded me of what I’d heard all the time at work. My coworkers, bosses, hell, even my parents, they all praised my superficiality. But never before had my creativity, my original prowess, been appreciated.

That night, in my dream, I was surrounded by darkness. But through that void, she alone was what brought me solace. She grabbed my hand and steered me through the void while I shut my eyes.

She alone was the only person who could do this.

Who I’d let do this.

Emi.