9th August, 2019

"Can't believe I'm attending a revolutionary wedding wearing . . . this."

I turn away from the mirror and look at him, sitting on the bed. He is looking down at his attire, which is nothing more than a plain gray sweatshirt, plain black sweatpants, and a pair of brown sandals one size too big for his feet. A very typical look for university students of our country, though he never made it to one. Dale dresses almost like that too. The first time I met July, I remember absent-mindedly thinking whether he came to the graveyard straight from his bed.

That day feels like eons ago.

"It's not like anyone else is going to see you except me," I reply while working on the navy blue necktie.

"But still! Sometimes I want to look good for you too, you know."

I bite the inside of my lip, holding back a smile. How can he say such things so easily sometimes? It baffles me. But I say, "You look good all the time, July. Don't worry."

"Noooo." He plops back into the bed, arms outstretched as he blinks at the ceiling. I watch him for a while. That's when I get an idea.

"You don't have to change your clothes," I say. "You can just change the way you wear it."

"Eh?" He sits up. "The way I wear it? How else can you wear a damn sweatshirt?"

"I don't know, just roll up your sleeves maybe. Oh, you could also tuck the shirt in."

Despite looking a bit doubtful, he does as he is told. "Like this?" He looks at his hands and then down at himself. "Woah, this really does look different."

"Definitely." I take in his whole picture and smile at how attractive he looks. "I think wearing it like this suits your body type more. And! You can also change your hairstyle a little, and that will be a whole new look."

"OMG!" He rushes to the my side to take a look at himself in the mirror, but his smile falls when he can't see himself there.

I quickly pull him away from it. "I'm saying you look good. And different. You look like a, uh, like an 80s queer kid. That's right. It's perfect for today's revolutionary wedding. Now go."

"80s queer kid . . ." He mutters as he walks back to the bed while I grab my belt. "You mean Will Byers?"

"Shut up." We both laugh. He begins to hum to a song while I put on the belt, which is also rented. The blue shirt is rented, the black pants are rented, the necktie, the shoes, and the suit are also rented. At this point my whole existence might as well be rented. Both uncle Ray and aunt Sayra insisted on buying me one several times, but I refused, letting them know I have many of these at home.

"Ugh, what's wrong with this belt?" I say as I walk to the bed.

"You can't lock it?" July asks, sitting on the edge.

"It's different from the one I wear at school. I think I have to attach this hook somewhere . . ."

"Let me see." With that, July touches my belt, without standing up. I abruptly realize the position we are in, and immediately pull away. "Huh? What?" he asks, hands still raised mid-air.

Meanwhile my face is growing hotter and hotter as I blink at him. Shaking my head, I stammer, "N-nothing. I'll- I'll do it . . . myself." I go to a corner of the room, cursing myself and my dirty brain under my breath. God, what is wrong with me? Was my mind always like this? I'll end up in hell at this rate.

So while I struggle with the belt, I imagine myself floating in the black waters of a sewer—where I belong. But finally, I manage to lock it. I come back to the bed and sit down, feeling exhausted all of a sudden.

July says, "Hey, how about you part your hair today?"

"Hmm? My hair?" I touch my bangs, all of them neatly covering my forehead. "You mean show my forehead?"

"That's right. You should try to overcome this insecurity, you know. Since you look so good with your hair parted."

"No I don't." I laugh a little, my ears becoming warm. On one hand, it feels good to hear things like this from him. But on the other hand, I wish he wouldn't say them. I end up feeling a lot of emotions at once, and it's both overwhelming and foreign. I don't know what to do with this feeling, and I'm afraid of getting too used to it.

"But still! Do it for me today." He holds my arm. "And besides, you will have a mask on. Won't that make you feel a bit more loose anyway?"

I rub the back of my neck. "Fine, if you say so." I part my bangs from the middle and then pull them to the sides. They're not long enough to reach behind my ears, but they stay separate anyway.

"Yay! Now what should I do with my hair . . ."

"Why don't you push it back? That will complete the whole 80s teenager-esque look, y'know what I mean?" I put my hand on his hair and try to pull it back, but my fingers get stuck in a knot. When I try to pull it out, his head comes along with it and he yelps in pain.

"Mama Mia," he says.

"July." I blink at him in disbelief. "When was the last time you combed your hair?"

"Umm . . . " He ponders carefully. "Sometime in May . . .?"

"God." I take the comb sitting on the bedside table and go sit behind him. Though he can do it himself, I do it for him. Just because. He has been doing these things himself his whole life. And towards the end of it, he didn't have the energy to do even that. Maybe it's time for him to experience how it feels when someone else does it for you.

He stays quiet as I break the knots with patience. His hair isn't exactly dirty or greasy. I can't see his face, but I notice him rubbing a finger on his eye.

"July, are you really crying over this?" I ask.

"Nah." After a pause, he says, "Just a little." Then he chuckles. "I'm not used to getting taken care of."

"I'm not used to taking care of others either."

He nods. His hair is longer than mine. It reaches down to the middle of his neck. He probably hasn't cut it in a long time either. But it's soft and silky, which is why I could never tell it's all knotted up inside. I wish I could touch it all the time.

Then he says, "At least you've started now. I hope you will always take care of the people around you, Cedar. Whether they mean anything to you or not. You may never know who needs it. You may never know whose life it can save. Even if it's a very small thing, like offering them a glass of water, or letting them talk about what they like. I hope you will always do it."

I continue combing. He talks like a mother on her deathbed giving some final advice to her child. These days, he talks like this quite often. He is as aware of how close our story is to ending as I am.

"Sorry. You don't like it when I talk like this, do you? I didn't wanna ruin the mood."

I put my hands down. "Don't say sorry."

"It's just that, I don't want to leave anything unsaid. So that I don't regret it later. I want to tell you everything that comes to my mind immediately."

"Then tell me more."

He turns his head, just a little. Behind his lashes, his eyes faintly reflect my image. He tells me, almost in a whisper, "You look so beautiful today, Cedar. I'm afraid everyone will be looking at you."

I lean closer. "But I will only be looking at you, July."

----------------------

The wedding is taking place in a restaurant.

The owner is a close friend of Miss Sana, so there is no lack in the arrangement despite the space being rather small. There's a stage at the very front, decorated with flowers and balloons, and a cute banner at the center saying SANA & LIVVY. Cute. There is a blue carpet running through the center of the room from the entrance gate to the stage, where the brides will walk in through. On either sides of the carpet are wooden tables and chairs for the guests to sit. After some mental counting, I find that there are about thirty of them. A very small number of guests compared to most weddings. But that's to be expected. They must've only invited people within the community and people they trust a lot. 

There are two tables at one side of the room. One is filled with different types of light snacks like cookies, macarons, candies, dry cakes, and even fruits like grapes and berries. Another table is filled with drinks. There is a flower vase at the center of every table. On one side of the stage is a music box. Nothing is too extravagant, the place is not very crowded, and it's all very pretty. I wish all weddings were this comfy.

Aunt Sayra has Aurora in her lap, who is dressed in a fluffy purple dress. The two of them along with uncle Ray go to talk with their friends, while Tiara, me, July, and Aris go sit at a table. All guests or the brides themselves haven't arrived yet. It's only a bit over 5PM right now, while the wedding is supposed to start at 6.

"Should I bring something for you two to eat or drink?" I ask Tiara and Aris, while pointing at the food table with my chin.

"I wanna get them myself!" Aris says, raising his hand.

"I'm good," Tiara says. She is wearing a sleeveless blue dress that looks pretty on her. Her eyemask is a deeper shade of blue than the dress.

"You're not hungry? We had lunch almost three hours ago."

"I am but . . . if I start eating one of those I won't be able to stop."

"It's okay. You're in a wedding. Enjoy yourself."

"She don't wanna get more fat!" Aris says with a snicker. "Ya want her to get fatter than she already is, brother Cedar? She will never get a boyfriend!"

"Aris . . ."

Tiara lets out a grunt and tells her brother, "Ya runnin' your mouth an awful lot, ain't ya? Ya want me to tell him about the time you almost pissed yourself-"

"No!!" Aris exclaims loudly, and some people nearby turn to look. "How dare ya-"

"Okay okay, Aris." I grab his arm. "Let's go eat. Come on." I glance at July, who is sitting on the empty chair of the four-person table, and he tells me to go ahead and come back soon. Over the days I've realized he is actually quite lazy. So I quickly take Aris' hand and and head towards the food tables. The last thing we want is for a sibling fight to break in the middle of someone's special day.

Aris soon forgets about everything else and begins to look through the foods available. I reach for the bottle of cola but another person touches it first. My eyes move from their pale hand to their face, and we make eye-contact through the masks. It's a guy, dressed in a white shirt and dark blue jeans. I gesture him to go first. He is wearing a black beanie that seems a bit large for his head, and doesn't go that well with the mask that covers almost everything but his thin lips.

He smiles and gives me a light nod before opening one of the bottles. Something about that smile is eerily familiar, but I can't put a finger on it.  He takes two plastic cups and fills them both. Then he takes one of them and holds out the other to me.

A bit taken aback, I take the cup from him. "Oh, thanks a lot."

"You're welcome." His lips remain in a smile that hints at amusement. What's there to smile about? Maybe it's just his personality. He raises his cup and says, "Cheers?"

Hmm, I guess people in the countryside are rather friendly. So I awkwardly nod and clink my cup with his. Then I lean against the table and keep a watch on Aris. Not like he will get kidnapped in such a small place but still.

"So, how are you related to Miss Sana?" the guy asks, also leaning against the table. "Or miss Livvy, for that matter."

Man, I wasn't looking for a conversation. I should've just gone back to my table. But I reply, "Aunt Sana's friend, aunt Sayra. She is my friend's mother."

"Ah, the- hold on a sec, right- the Emmens."

"Yep. I've been staying with them for a while."

"Ooh. So Tiara is your . . . girlfriend?"

I raise my brows. "Did you . . . hear me mention the word girlfriend?" I give him a tight-lipped smile.

"Haha, come on, don't get mad!" He pats my shoulder. "I was just throwing a wild guess. You see, you are quite beautiful and I'm interested in you."

I almost choke on my Coke, but try to maintain my composure. As surprising as it is, my heart actually skipped a beat at that. And here I thought July is the boldest person out there. Well, doesn't matter anyway. I say, "Why, thank you." Then I gulp down the whole cup of Coke and stand straight. "It was nice talking to you."

"Oh shit, I went too fast, didn't I? Okay, let's slow down, step back a little bit." He crosses his arms. "Alright. What's your name?"

"Michael."

"I meant your real name."

"David."

"Nopes."

"Frank."

"What next, Billy Joel?"

I smile. "You should have gotten the hint by now." Why am I lowkey enjoying this? July would sulk so much if he found out. I glance at the table where he is sitting, one leg over the other, arms crossed. With his hair pulled back, he looks like he could be an actor.

"I see, so you're gonna play hard to get." He pours himself another cup. "That only further alleviates my interest."

Hmm, maybe I should have ended the conversation long ago. My lack of experience is evident. I shake my head and say, "You don't even know me. How can you develop interest in someone without knowing them at all? That's like saying you loved a book without ever reading it."

He ponders over it for a while. Then he asks, "Are you demisexual?"

"Huh? Me? I- I don't . . ." I rub the back of my neck. Demisexual. Developing sexual attraction for someone after establishing an emotional bond with them. I've heard of that term. I first came across it in a book of Becky Albertalli, and then I studied about it. But I never thought it could apply to me. But then again, I've never thought which sexuality would apply to me in general.

"Looks like you still haven't figured it out," the person says, nodding empathetically. "Don't worry babe, you'll get there."

I feel my brows crease. "Do you call every stranger you meet that kind of endearment right off the bat?" But then again, that's what July did too.

"Look, for me, if I find someone pretty, I walk over to them and have a little conversation with them, and more often than not, that's all I need to judge whether I want them or not. And we've talked more than enough for me to realize that I do." He smiles as if he has just made a statement that I should have a positive reaction towards.

"Uh . . . okay. Thanks, again." I should go back to July. Though he says equally cheesy stuff and in a much less charming way, at least I don't find them somewhat unsettling.

"Okay okay fine, I give up." He raises both his hands in a surrender gesture. "Sorry for hitting on you when you're obviously uninterested. But stay with me a bit longer, won't you? I have no one I know in this gathering, you and Tiara are the only ones my age. And Tiara isn't the most, uh, conversation-worthy individual out there."

"She's getting better at it," I reply defensively.

"Good for her. So, do you read books?"

I purse my lips inwards. "Was that also a wild guess?"

"I actually have very good deduction skills. Call me Osamu Dazai from Bungou Stray Dogs."

"So it was a wild guess."

"Yep."

I laugh. His smile turns to a grin. He's not so unsettling when we are just having a normal convo. "I've read a book of Osamu Dazai actually."

"And I have watched an anime with a character based on him. I think we are the perfect match."

"Perfect match what?" July speaks up from right beside me. I jump a little in surprise, finding him scrutinizing the guy with eyes that are, for lack of better words, filled with disgust. "Did he just say you and he are the perfect match? When you look like a British Royale prince charming heartthrob and he looks like a college dropout on his way to the convenience store?"

"What happened?" the guy asks, evidently confused. "Did I say something funny?"

"No, uh . . ." I clear my throat, trying my best to not laugh. "Just recalled something funny when you mentioned, um, anime."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Just-" I watch as July walks over to his side, inspecting him from up to down.

Suddenly, July's eyes go wide, and he leans in closer to that guy's ear. He looks at me, then mouths the words, Push him.

I give him a questioning look.

Do it!

"Hello? Is the call still connected?" The guy asks, looking behind him and trying to figure out what grabbed my attention. I take this opportunity.

"No, I was just thinking-" I reach for the bottle of Coke, pretend to stumble, and then lightly bump into him. For some reason, his first instinct was to grab my waist to steady me. But right at that moment, July pulls off the beanie from his head and it falls on the ground, revealing his hair underneath.

I freeze in shock, and so does July. The guy asks me, "Woah, you okay? Damn, my beanie-"

But I barely register it. All I can see is that his hair is dyed a shade of hot pink, which, if my memory isn't fabricated, is the same hair colour I saw on a guy on my very first day here at Greenwoods.

The guy whose girlfriend stole my fucking phone.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

01-03-2022