jihyun could stare at him for hours and hours without getting bored, there was nothing that could make jihyun tired of him. jaewon was like a surprise, like a book with blooming pages, like a secret, a few could understand.
and jihyun was curious. jihyun was attracted to puzzles, to mysteries. he was attracted to things that were hard to understand and solve.
and opposites attract. that's the rule of nature none can deny.
Disclaimer: While I have been to Chicago on multiple occasions, I am not, in fact, from Chicago. If anyone who knows the city better than me notices something that makes absolutely zero sense, please let me know. The only exceptions is the whole plotline of Omar winning a scholarship for the art institute, I fully acknowledge I made that up.
My back slammed against the seat, my head hitting the headrest with a resounding thunk that resulted in a throbbing pain to my skull. I watched in horror as we accelerated more and more, convinced we were about to collied with the truck in front of us and bring a painful, early end to this adventure.
“Jesus, slow down!” I yelled at Omar in a panic.
His hands rested on the wheel casually, as if we were creeping along an empty field at five miles per hour. He groaned in exasperation. “I thought we agreed you were gonna get over yourself. We’re literally on the highway.”
I grimaced. He was right, but I still felt like we should be extra careful considering our relative inexperience operating four-thousand-pound death vehicles more commonly known as cars. I already wasn’t a fan of the floor length, baby blue skirt he’d chosen to wear. What if it tangled around the pedals?
When I voiced these concerns to Omar, he again made an infuriatingly valid point. “You know going too slow is dangerous too, right?”
I settled for anxiously watching the road. When my constant comments inevitably became too much for him, I began fiddling with the radio until I managed to connect it to my phone. We passed the time by singing along to Tegan and Sara and country-era Taylor songs at the top of our lungs. The newer ones just weren’t as good for road trips.
“Do you want to play Zitch Dog?” Omar suggested once the playlist was over.
I gave him a side-eye. “What’s that?”
“You say zitch dog whenever you see a dog. Whoever says it first gets a point. I saw it on How I Met Your Mother,” he explained.
“Did they play it on the highway in the show?” I jokingly asked, fully assuming the answer would be no. I was wrong.
“Yeah, why?” he asked.
“Really? Where do they see enough dogs on a highway for it to be interesting?” I pointed out.
Omar seemed stumped. “I don’t know, it might’ve been a fake TV show thing,” he admitted.
“We could do zitch flag, like whenever you see an American flag,” I suggested instead.
“Okay, and if you see a dog, you get ten points,” Omar said enthusiastically, as if we were playing for a prize.
“Deal. Zitch flag.”
“Zitch flag.”
“Zitch flag, zitch flag.”
“Zitch flag.”
“I think the flag thing might be too easy.”
-----------------------
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Omar said to himself, like he had been for the past half hour. His casual grip on the wheel had turned to constantly tapping it while anxiously leaning forward once we’d reached the inner city. I was doing my best to remain calm as cars around us zipped past, cutting in front and switching lanes seemingly at random. There had already been multiple occasions where Omar’d been forced to swerve suddenly, which was the reason for my unwavering grip on the door handle.
“Does that look like we’d fit in there?” Omar asked, motioning with his head to an empty parking spot coming up on our right.
“Um…” How was I supposed to know? I couldn’t see it properly from this angle, but our short window for making the decision was rapidly closing as we sped towards it.
“Does it?” Omar asked again, panicked. “Should I stop?”
“I don’t know, maybe!” I said. How many other parking spots were we going to find?
“Oh god, oh god,” Omar said. “I can’t do it.” I turned my head to watch the spot pass. We would have fit in easily, which felt like a taunt.
“There’ll be other places,” I said, forcing back my instinct to close my eyes and let Omar handle this alone. I thought wistfully back to the time before I had a license and could simply sleep in the back, blissfully unaware of the horrors of the road. “Maybe if we drive a little further out? Like in the direction of the hostel.”
“But then it’ll take ages to get back here, and it’s already one,” Omar brushed me off, the same way he had the other few times I’d made the suggestion. “I want to have enough time to explore.”
“Okay, then I’ll look for parking garages around here,” I said, pulling out my phone.
“Do you know how expensive those things are? Fuck, fuck, fuck, what am I supposed to do now?” He began swearing in Spanish as we took the front spot of a left lane merging onto a four-lane road. A car behind us honked, making him look back in panic. “Jamie, I can’t tell where I’m supposed to go!” he yelled, completely switching languages now.
I tried to block out the sound of him hyperventilating as I did my best to understand the layout of the road. Even while squinting, I had trouble finding the path lined for us to merge onto the other side. The car behind us honked again, this time for multiple seconds.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Omar yelled, mostly to himself. “Should I just go?”
“Yeah, I think you’re supposed to follow those lines,” I said in English and pointed. The mixture of languages had become a routine for us in stressful situations.
He stepped on the gas a bit too enthusiastically, but managed to get us through the turn without further incident. Omar glanced in the rearview mirror. “I think I got her stuck behind the red light,” he said, speaking English again.
“She deserves it for having road rage,” I said, though I knew I’d feel bad if I was the one driving. “Can I please just look for a garage now? I’ll even pay for it if you want.”
Omar agreed, probably realizing that paying the fees was infinitely better than getting in the fender bender that was bound to come if we kept our current attitude up. I managed to maneuver him to the nearest one, praying he wouldn’t change his mind once he saw the prices. Luckily, by the time we reached it, he was stressed enough to do anything I said without question.
“Thank god,” he said once we were inside and saw the employee directing the cars. For all his panicking, he slid into his assigned spot with an ease I could only have dreamed of.
Once he’d killed the ignition, he let out a groan and threw his head against the backrest. Despite not having physically exerted myself in the slightest, it took me a few minutes to catch my breath. Omar didn’t seem to be doing any better. When I glanced at him, I found him staring off into space, looking like he was about to throw up.
“That was really good,” I told him once my mind was at least halfway back to normal. “Especially the parking. I would’ve needed like three tries to get that right.”
“You sure?” he said uncertainly. “I’m pretty sure I missed.”
I opened the door to check my side and found the white line a good half foot from the edge of the car, perfectly visible. “Nope, you’re actually really well centered,” I reassured him.
“Okay.” He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, accidentally honking for a millisecond before he wrenched it away and frantically looked around. “Fuck, sorry!”
After I got over the initial shock, I laughed. “You should be glad your parents aren’t here. I bet they could finance a full date night from the swear jar earnings alone.”
He groaned in lieu of an answer, but gave me a small smile.
“What do you want to do now?” I asked once I’d given him another few minutes. “I think I want to go see the Bean first.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
I frowned. “You know, the Bean.”
He gave me a blank look. “Never heard of it.”
Was he messing with me? How could Omar, artist who wanted to study at the Art Institute of Chicago, not know what the Bean was? But according to his expression, he was being completely serious. “How can you not know what it is?” I asked in disbelief. “You didn’t even come across it when you when you were preparing for the trip?”
Omar looked at me as if I’d just suggested he try and fit the Bean into his mouth. “Why would I prepare for a trip? It’s not school.”
“What was your plan, then?” I asked. “Just walk off in a random direction and hope for the best?”
“No, follow my friend who’s literally from here,” Omar said like it was obvious.
“Well, what if we got separated and you got lost?”
“I have google maps, you donut.” Omar had taken to calling me a donut a few weeks ago, and I still couldn’t decide if it was loving or his way of calling me an idiot.
“What if your phone died?” I pressed.
Omar rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry I didn’t account for the apocalypse happening while I was packing.”
“That’s not an apocalypse scenario,” I argued. “It’s a perfectly normal and likely thing that could happen, and it’s not even that hard to plan for.”
“Did you plan for it, then?” he asked.
“Of course I did,” I said, thinking of the gigantic power bank in my overnight bag, as well as the smaller one in my backpack Alex always cautioned me to never leave the house without.
“Yeah, well, see, that’s why I don’t have to plan for it,” he said. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me with you around.”
I knew he was teasing me, but I still wished he’d at least keep a small power bank on hand for his own safety. There was no point in pushing the issue, though, so I said, “You’re just lucky I care enough to keep an eye on you.”
He gave me a smug grin. “Damn right I am.”
As we got out of the car, I remembered Omar’s skirt and my throat clammed up. Technically, I knew I should feel safer in a city like Chicago in comparison to our small hometown. But the familiarity I had there somehow made any stares we got fade into the background. Here, I felt like a fish out of water. There was a reason I’d ignored all the bright colors in my closet this morning and picked out blue jeans with the most boring, grey sweatshirt I could find. As we walked past the woman directing the cars, then a security guard and a family, it was as if I could feel their eyes boring into us. I focused on the ground as I fastened my pace, doing my best to get away from them before one of the parents could yell at us for being gay in front of their kids.
“Everything okay?” Omar asked as he sped up with me.
“Fine,” I lied, forcing myself to slow down. I couldn’t ruin this day by being embarrassed of him. This trip was for Omar, and if I was any kind of good friend, I needed to pull myself together. “Sorry, I just had a burst of energy.”
Of course, the amount of stares only increased once we turned onto the street. At least, I imagined they did. Maybe I was fabricating things in my head because I was already expecting them to happen. Wasn’t that what Dr. Klobuchar said I was prone to doing?
It didn’t help that the closer we got to the Bean, the more areas I recognized from a time in my life where I’d felt nothing but small and helpless. I hadn’t been lying when I’d dismissed Alex’s concerns of me coming back. I genuinely hadn’t considered it to be a problem, seeing as we’d barely ever come here with Mom and Dad. Most of my memories were from school trips, maybe a rare shopping afternoon with Mom when we were little, before she’d decided it was easier to leave us at home to fend for ourselves. As we turned onto Michigan Avenue, my stomach did multiple somersaults as I remembered an incident where she’d dragged us from shop to shop for an entire day, yelling when our little legs inevitably couldn’t move fast enough. Eventually, Alex had had to pick me up and carry me.
“I think I need to sit down,” I said to Omar, already looking around for the closest bench. I found one and headed towards it.
“What’s wrong?” Omar asked as he sat down next to me.
I stared at my shoes, trying to force back the bile that had risen in my throat. “I feel kind of sick.”
“Do you think it’s something you ate?”
It definitely wasn’t, but I pretended to entertain the idea. “I don’t know, maybe.”
What was wrong with me? I had tons of happier memories here; the time we went to the aquarium in kindergarten, or the fifth grade trip where we’d been allowed some time to explore on our own and the people in my group had wanted me to sit with them on the bus ride back. Why had my brain felt the need to ignore all of that and conjure up the single negative memory from the absolute deepest depths of my mind? I hadn’t thought of that trip with Mom in at least a decade.
I cleared my throat. “I think… I think coming back here is fucking with my brain more than I thought it would,” I admitted.
“Oh,” Omar said, sounding unsure now. I couldn’t blame him. What did you say?
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to ruin your trip,” I apologized. “I really thought I’d be fine.”
“You’re not,” Omar said. “Just take your time.”
Did Mom still come here? Did she even still live here? With how important reputations were for her, the most in character course of action would have been to move far away from anyone who knew anything about me, Alex and Dad. Alex probably knew where she was, he had to keep in touch with her because of the money. Or maybe that was all regulated through some legal third party I knew nothing about. I’d never paid attention to any custody proceedings, all I knew was that with my injuries as evidence, it had been relatively easy for Alex to win.
“I think I’m fine now,” I said, getting up after a few minutes. I didn’t actually feel any better, but I didn’t see the point in sitting around. Maybe I needed a distraction.
“You sure?” Omar asked, getting up with me.
“Yeah,” I assured him.
We eventually reached the magnificent silver vegetable, and Omar gasped. “Oh my god, I know that thing!”
A girl standing near us turned her head, a smile on her face. I did my best to smile back. She had to be laughing at his reaction, not his outfit.
“I told you, it’s really famous,” I said, hoping I didn’t come across annoyed at the attention he was drawing.
Thankfully, he was too invested to notice. “Yeah, but there’s more to it. Wait.” He stared at the Bean, tilting his head before he gasped. “I know! It was made by that dickhead artist who was gatekeeping colors!”
“Anish Kapoor?” I asked, curious again. The guy’s name had been ingrained in my head by every teacher who’d ever walked past the thing with me.
He gave me an excited look that told me I was in for a good info dump. “Okay, so basically, some scientists or something created a color that was supposed to be the blackest black to ever exist. As in, you could paint a circle with it and it would look like a full-on void. The bean guy copyrighted the color, which is basically the most evil, stuck-up thing an artist can do, so everyone was really mad at him. Then this other artist created a color that was like the pinkest pink, and when you bought it you had to sign you weren’t gonna give it to Kapoor or something.”
“What an icon,” I said, making a mental note to google more about the story later.
“I know, right?” Omar agreed.
We went closer, taking pictures of our distorted reflections from the side and craning our necks as we walked under it.
“I kind of think Cloud Gate fits better when you’re looking at it from here,” I said. The sky’s reflection on the brilliant metal did make it seem like an entrance to another world.
“Yeah,” Omar said.
An older lady spoke up from next to us as we took what had to be our hundredth selfie. “You two want me to take a picture of you?”
I’d never understood the readiness with which some people gave their phones to strangers, but Omar enthusiastically handed his over. I felt awkward posing in such a public place, but I forced myself to plaster on a nice smile as I put my arm around him.
“Wait, I have an idea,” I said. “Get on my back.” Somehow, having something to do made me feel better as I crouched down, hoisting his legs up as he jumped on me.
“Perfect!” the lady said. “Just perfect.” She gave us the phone back, because of course she really was just a nice lady and not a mugger.
“Thank you,” I told her with a smile.
“No problem,” she said. “I hope you like them.”
“Don’t worry, our standards aren’t very high,” Omar said, making her laugh as she walked away.
Even if they had been, it wouldn’t have mattered. The pictures were perfect.
I'm making a taglist for my writing, I've already messaged a few people but anyone else who wants to be on it pls let me know (this is also for people who know me from the Second Look Creative Writing Feedback community because I'm not in that community anymore)
Summary: a slice-of-life drama following an two brothers escaping an abusive home together and figuring out their identities along the path to healing. The story is split into multiple parts showcasing different phases of their lives, each with a time skip of four years in between. Alex (19/23/27 years old) has had a parental role thrust upon him from a young age and is coming to terms with the consequential loss of his childhood. Jamie (14/18/22 years old) is discovering what it means to have a queer identity and finding community after escaping his homophobic father. The third part will also focus on Aaliyah, Alex’s longterm girlfriend, as she follows her dream of opening her own dance studio built on a socialist model with her best friend Billie.
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What's My Age Again?
My current wip, a slice-of-life drama following an two brothers escaping an
