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YOU CROSSED A BRIDGE I CAN’T FOLLOW
Five years. Five years it’s been, but still Chan finds it hard to grasp the idea that Minho is no longer around. That Minho’s never going to run to him and kiss him ever again. He misses him. Terribly. “Missing you again as usual, my love.” Chan says, placing down the bouquet he always gets for Minho. For a moment, he just stands there, looking down sadly at the tombstone. “How are you up there? Is it nice? Are they treating you well?” He knows the plaque isn’t going to answer him, but he asks away regardless. “It’s been exactly five years without you, Min. I miss you.” He says, trying his best to bite back the tears forming in his eyes. He can’t cry. Not now. Not anymore.
To distract himself, Chan brings out his phone and looks through his photo album containing all of his pictures with his late love. He knows it won’t help much either because he’s looking at things related to Minho, but he just wants to see his love smile. He just wants to remember Minho’s face, even though he knows it’s a face he could never forget even when there are no more pictures to preserve the memory.
An idea pops up in his head when he reaches the very last photo in the album, the very last photo he had ever taken of Minho before he was gone for good. Chan gets up, dusting himself off and quietly saying goodbye to Minho. “I’ll be back soon, my love. I promise.” He says, and walks off to the parking lot.
Once the engine is on and the built-in touchscreen flickers awake, Chan goes to the GPS feature. He opens the Favorites folder, scrolling through all of the addresses saved. He clicks the second one before stepping on the gas pedal. The drive to the place is quiet; Chan has chosen to keep the radio off, preferring the sounds of his surroundings over music he’d rather not hear in fear of being reminded of Minho yet again. The digital clock reads 8:19 AM when he takes a glance at it. “It’s still early,” he mumbles. “They’re probably still serving breakfast.”
He arrives at the restaurant no less than twenty minutes later, and sure enough, they are still serving breakfast. “Good morning, sir!” The waitress who opens the door for him greets cheerily despite it still being quite early. “Table for how many?” She asks. Chan notes that they probably had a change of servers; usually he’d recognize all of the waitstaff whenever he was there with Minho, but now the faces are all unfamiliar.
And Chan almost says, ‘Table for two, please.’ on instinct, having been so used to coming here with Minho that he never had to imagine coming alone. But he catches himself. You’re alone now, Chan. You have to get used to it. “Just one, thank you.” He replies.
He’s led to one of the tables somewhere near the garden the restaurant has out back, and he thanks the waitress with a nod when she hands him the menu. He doesn’t even need to scan the menu for his eyes to land on a certain meal. He’s come here so often that the spot Minho’s order was printed on was engraved in his brain.
Chan has always preferred pancakes over waffles, but after Minho practically dragged him to this place because “their chocolate marble waffles are fucking amazing”, Chan found himself craving waffles more.
The waitress from earlier approaches him, notepad out with a pen. “Ready to order, sir?” She asks with a polite smile. He nods, “Uh, yeah, I’ll have the chocolate marble waffles.” He says. The waitress nods and writes it down. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s all, thank you.”
The waitress then walks off into the kitchen, and Chan is left to wait for some time. He counts the minutes that pass, and once he’s nearing the eighteenth minute, a waiter comes out of the kitchen with his order. Eighteen minutes. It always took eighteen minutes. But Minho would always complain about how it was eighteen minutes too long, and each time Chan would laugh and kiss him to distract him from waiting impatiently.
“Here’s your order, sir. Chocolate marble waffles. Enjoy!” He says, placing the plate down onto the table. Chan looks up at him with a slight smile and is about to give him a ‘thank you’, but then his breath gets caught in his throat. “Chan?” It seems the waiter is thinking the exact same thing. Forget what he said about all the faces being unfamiliar, because this one is a face he’s well acquainted with. “Felix, hey. I didn’t know you still worked here.” He says, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah, well,” Felix shrugs. “Pay is surprisingly good, might as well just stay.”
Felix then beams like the sunshine that he is. “It’s been so long since the last time you were here, how’ve you been?” He asks, gently patting his shoulder. “I could be better.” Chan replies with a shrug, chuckling. Felix looks around as if looking for someone. “Where’s Minho? Has he gone to the bathroom?” He says, looking back at Chan.
Chan’s smile fades. “No,” he answers, shaking his head. “No, he’s… he’s not in the bathroom.” He pauses. “Minho… he passed a few years ago.”
Chan watches the way the boy’s eyes widen before his face falls as well, a solemn look of sympathy now across his features. Chan’s used to that look. He’s seen it way too many times to count. “Oh… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. Fate is just cruel like that sometimes, you know?” Chan waves a hand at the younger boy in dismissal. “I know,” Felix replies. “I just wish I could’ve been there for you when it happened.”
“I appreciate that, Lix.” Chan tries his best to smile gratefully. “Anyway, how are things with Hyunjin?” Chan asks, desperate to switch topics. Felix shakes his head, a wistful look upon his face. “Things ended last year. He’s with Seungmin now.”
“Oh. Sorry for asking.”
“It’s all good. Besides, I’m not any better for asking about Minho.”
A woman then calls for Felix, jerking her head towards the kitchen doors. Felix sighs. “Sorry, hyung, gotta go. But my Instagram handle is still the same if you need anything, okay?” He says, before quickly walking back to where he came from. “Yeah, thanks.” Chan says, but the boy is already back inside the kitchen.
He eats the rest of his waffles in silence, paying the bill when he finishes and quickly waving goodbye to Felix before leaving. Much too quickly, he’s back inside his car with his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. He sighs, breathing in and breathing out deeply before starting up the engine. Once more, he opens the Favorites folder on the GPS to look through the places he had been with Minho. “The garden,” he mumbles, a finger going up to touch his lips. “I wonder if that’s still open.” He says before clicking on the fourth address to start a new route.
So off he goes again, this time driving onto the highway leading to one of the outer cities of the region. Chan has always loved going on road trips, has always loved driving as the wind blew through his hair. But what he loves the most is getting to sit a few hours, give or take, with Minho next to him. Sometimes he’d whine about the traffic if it was bad, sometimes he’d play the most ridiculous songs on his travel playlist, sometimes he’d just talk about nothing and everything at the same time.
Now all Chan hears is the deafening silence that acts as his only companion.
He misses Minho.
Chan doesn’t realize he’s arrived until he sees the familiar wooden doors. He remembers vividly how this was the last place he ever went to with Minho, so coming back here is a little more painful than revisiting their other favorite spots. He hasn’t been here since then. Willing himself to have courage, he parks his car in the first vacant spot he sees and makes his way to the said wooden doors.
He finds that nothing seems to have changed upon entering.
The wooden desk at which a clerk would sit and receive visitors, it’s in the same place it’s always been, old, pieces of it chipping off. The gates that would always make a creaking noise every time they were opened are rusting and losing their original golden color. Even the owner still wears her creamy white apron she always used to wear. And the plants, Chan knows they’re all new sprouts, but the flowers and vines seem to look just as they did the last time he was here. With Minho.
And maybe it’s all on purpose. Maybe this place means to give off older vibes on purpose, means to make you feel nostalgic as if you were revisiting memories. Maybe they haven’t changed anything because there are some memories they don’t want to let go of. In a way, it’s like that for Chan, too.
He sighs at that thought walking past the white chrysanthemums. These flowers never really meant much to him, only passing him by as another kind of pretty flower. Widow’s-thrill is what he used to like for its meaning of eternal love and persistence. Perhaps both hold some meaning to him now.
Chrysanthemums were the flowers placed on Minho’s casket after all.
Chan glances at his phone to check the time, making one more round before approaching the old lady. “Thank you for having me again, halmeoni. Even though I haven’t been here in so long.” He bows in apology before handing her a 10000 won bill.
She makes a noise of dismissal and waves her hand around, “Don’t worry. You’re welcome anytime even if you disappear for a long time.” She replies, and then pauses. It seems she’s noticed the absence of a certain someone. “Did you break up?” She asks.
Chan sighs, smiling sadly before shaking his head. But he doesn’t say anything.
The old lady seems to understand anyway. “Ah, you were revisiting old memories?”
Chan nods, still not saying a word.
“When?”
“Five years ago today.”
“Ah,” She replies. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure he’s in a better place now.”
Chan thanks her and leaves, deciding immediately where to go next. It’s a little further out of the town he’s currently in, but he can just go to a drive-thru for lunch. So after he gets a light meal from the first McDonald’s he sees, he starts down a new road for the next place. It’s not one he and Minho used to frequent, having only been there once, but it still means so much to him. He used to think they could go there again and again and again, but things happened and his plans were thwarted.
The reason this bridge means so much to him is that it was where Minho took him after they had fought. Chan remembers it all so clearly. At home, they made up, they kissed, and then Minho said he wanted to take him somewhere. And that somewhere was this exact bridge. They talked, on and on until it was three hours into a new day, and while Chan doesn’t remember what it was exactly that they talked about, he knows it’s a day he’ll never forget. A day where he realized, yet again, that losing Minho would be the last thing he’d ever want to happen. But it happened anyway.
He parks the car near one end of the bridge, stepping out of it to breathe in the fresh air. Getting to breathe in the petrichor after a storm has always been soothing to him. So he savors it, walking towards the center of the bridge with relief that no one else is there.
Chan wants to yell. Wants to yell out Minho’s name over and over as if that would bring him back from the dead. Wants to yell out all his miseries because Minho’s not here. But he can’t. He hasn’t the strength for that, not now.
So all he manages to let out is, “I miss you, Minho.” with faint tears streaming down his cheeks. “I know it can be tiring to hear, but that’s all I’ve ever been feeling ever since you left. I miss you. I miss you so much.”
Chan’s thankful for his lack of company at the moment, thankful that he’s able to loudly let all of this out without feeling embarrassed. He also wishes there was some way to make it better, to feel better at least a little bit. But revisiting these places, revisiting memories, reminiscing — he knows they’ll only worsen the feeling of grief and longing, knows the healing process will likely take longer than he’d like it to. But what does it matter? It’s already been five years, “five years too long” according to some guy he matched with after trying Tinder for the first time a long while ago. Chan stopped replying to him after that message.
He glances at his watch. A whole hour and a half has passed by as he lamented in solitude. “I should go.” He mumbles to himself, noticing that the sky has turned quite gray. Perhaps another storm is coming soon. A little too soon, he thinks. It had rained earlier before he went to visit Minho’s grave. So Chan walks, albeit quite slowly, back to his car and sits in front of the steering wheel for a few quiet moments. And then he starts up the engine for the nth time, driving away from the bridge and driving away from his sorrows.
But he finds himself right in front of them once again when he sees that he’s stopped the car in front of a familiar white building. A building that’s smack in the middle of the city, a building that’s always been the centerpiece and the first thing tourists looked at when they visited. A building that is an artwork in itself. Chan knows that very well, because he’s been here more times than he can count, happily agreeing to tag along even though he knows he’s seen all of the artworks for God knows how many times.
It’s something not a lot of people knew about him. Art had its way of charming Minho, and he was more than delighted when he found out about Hyunjin being an art specialist. That’s how they found this museum. Or gallery. Or whatever it’s called. And Minho would always take any chance he’d get to go here. For what reason? It’s not a reason Chan knows either, nor would it be a reason he could understand. It’s just always been like that for him when it comes to Minho. He understands him so well, but at the same time it sort of feels as if he doesn’t. At least not fully. Minho’s always been some sort of enigma, a complex kind of person. That’s why he always had a hard time keeping people around. Because they never understood him the way he wanted them to. The way he needed them to. Until Chan, that is.
Chan walks around the second floor — the floor he’s always had some sort of inclination towards despite his great lack of knowledge or understanding of art — while making sure to take his time and soak everything in. And then he spots a certain painting he’s neglected to look at in his past visits; it’s an image of two men who, while the description says they are merely good friends, obviously look like their relationship is way more than platonic. They are in a tearful embrace, as if to say goodbye, as if they are about to be separated forever. One man has his arm tightly wrapped around the other man’s waist, and the second man’s hands seem to be messily sprawled out in the first one’s hair. Chan wonders how he hasn’t noticed it before. Is it new, perhaps? Or has he always been too busy looking at the happier portrayals of love that surrounded this tragic one?
Chan lets out a sigh with a shake of his head. It won’t do him any good if he stayed here for longer.
So he makes his way down the stairs, pointedly ignoring the paintings Minho would say were his favorite because he knows it’ll just hurt all over again.
A man stops him just before he can reach the doors. Chan looks up and sees a very familiar face, much to his relief. “Chan-hyung? Hey, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you around here.” Seo Changbin, the curator of this art gallery and a long-time acquaintance of his and Minho’s. Chan smiles softly. “Bin, hey, how are you and Jisung?” He asks.
“We’re fine.” Changbin says, and another man, the other curator and said Jisung, pops up next to him just as he says that. “Channie-hyung! I’ve missed you around here.”
“Hey there, Sungie. I’ve missed it around here, too.”
They know about Minho, and because they do they don’t ask about him. They know Chan is still in mourning. “So, uh, anyway,” Changbin starts. “What brings you here today? Just a casual stroll or?”
“No, uh, I was revisiting.” Chan replies. “It’s Minho’s fifth year today, you see.”
Jisung’s jaw drops ever so slightly. “Oh my God, right.” He says, checking his phone to confirm the date. “Babe,” he turns to the man beside him. “We should go visit before we go home.”
Changbin nods and leans in to whisper something in the younger’s ear. Chan takes this as his cue to leave and waves them goodbye. They both wave back and see him out just towards the door.
He doesn’t go straight to his car once he’s out of the gallery, and instead walks across the street to one of the more quiet corners of the city. Time seems to have passed a little too quickly, and Chan finds that it’s already a little past 3 in the afternoon when he casts a glance at his wristwatch.
“One more,” he whispers to himself. “Just one more place after this and then I’ll go home.”
He walks for a good five minutes until he reaches a dainty cafe with cats all around the windows. Anyone who knew Minho even a little bit would think that this would be his type of place and be right.
This place, unlike the previous ones, is one that Chan goes to every now and then for a nice cup of coffee or tea or a sweet cinnamon croissant. It has a soft and calm vibe to it, and Chan always grabs any chance he gets to just sit inside and relax with the cats walking around him.
“Chan-hyung!” A boy with platinum blond hair waves to him from behind the counter with a friendly smile. Chan waves back and walks towards the first vacant seat he sees. “The usual?” The boy asks.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Jeongin.” Chan nods.
It doesn’t take long for Chan’s order to finish, and Jeongin is back out of the kitchen with the same cup Chan had been given on his first date with Minho. “May I?” Jeongin gestures to the seat in front of him. “Yeah, go ahead.” Chan nods.
“Shouldn’t you be working, though?” He chuckles.
Jeongin waves a hand around in dismissal. “I own this place, hyung. They won’t mind.”
Chan laughs at that and takes a sip of his tea. Jeongin is another close friend of theirs, another person who is still mourning Minho. Chan finds comfort in that. In the fact that he isn’t alone. He’s not the only one still hurting for Minho.
“Will you stay long? The cats have missed you, you know.”
One of the calico cats jumps onto Chan’s lap, and he gently cards a hand through her fur, eliciting satisfied purrs from her. “Maybe not today, sorry. I have one more place to be after this, and I’m trying to get home before sundown.”
Jeongin nods at this and stands. “I see.” He places the cat he was holding back onto the top level of the cat tower before walking back towards the counter. “It’s on the house today, hyung.” He says. Chan can only nod in gratitude as a response.
He quickly finishes the rest of his drink and leaves a tip under the tray. “I’ll get going now. Thanks again, Innie.” He waves the boy goodbye before leaving.
Chan promised himself just one more destination after the cafe, so he figures he can rest for a little while before making his way there. The drive to Minho’s parents’ house will probably take around forty minutes at most; perhaps he should gas up just in case.
With their only child gone, Chan has taken it upon himself to visit Mr. and Mrs. Lee on important dates and whenever he can. These important dates usually include Minho’s birthday, both his parents’ birthdays, and of course, Minho’s death anniversary. Sometimes, Chan comes over to spend the holidays with Minho’s parents when he’s not in Australia with his own family. They always insist he doesn’t need to be going this far, doesn’t need to come to them every so often, but Chan’s always felt the need to be with them when he’s able to even though he knows they’re perfectly capable of handling themselves. Besides, he’s also kind of doing this for himself, too.
A hand clamps over the steering wheel, a sigh escapes Chan’s lips as he leans his head forward. He’s tired, but he needs to do this. He needs to keep going. For Minho. It’s always been for Minho.
So off he goes once more, first to fill in the gas tank, and then on to the road to Minho’s hometown. The radio is off, windows are down, so the only sounds filling up the car are the sounds of Chan’s soft breathing, the harsh blow of the wind as he drives, and the distant revving of engines around him. Making the trip to Minho’s childhood home has always been peaceful like this, and perhaps it’s part of why Chan saved it for last. Minho’s family has always made him feel as if he were part of the family, too, has always made him feel welcome and loved like his own family does. He loves Minho’s parents, he does, and there’s always going to be a part of him that will see Minho in them.
In the way Mrs. Lee smiles at something funny, he’ll remember the way Minho used to do the same every time he saw Chan. In the way Mr. Lee makes snide comments towards drama characters he dislikes, he’ll remember Minho’s sardonic humor and how he’d playfully threaten their friends when they tested his patience. In the way they both make others food as a way of showing they care, he’ll remember the times Minho made him homemade meals when he was missing home or when he forgot to eat. And Chan could keep going, but the list would be too long.
When he drives past a sign that reads Gimpo-si , he finds himself letting out a sigh of relief. Almost there. Just a little more.
Another twenty minutes pass, and Chan breathes out when he sees the familiar house he’s known for most of his life. He’s not sure if they’d both be home on a day like this, on today of all days, but Chan hopes he’ll find a sign of their presence at least. So he parks the car across the street, walking over and ringing the doorbell. It takes a few seconds for someone inside to yell, “Coming!” and another few for the door to open, revealing the aged Mrs. Lee. “Chan.” She calls his name, a soft motherly smile upon her lips. “It’s been quite lonely without you coming around here.” Chan bows before he gently brings her in for a hug. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit as often, Mother. I’ve just had so much else going on.” He says as the woman invites him inside.
Mr. Lee hugs him hello as well, and just before Chan can make himself useful in the kitchen, Dori comes purring at his feet. “Hello, my sweet, did you miss me? I’ve missed you.” He coos, petting the cat’s head gingerly. Dori’s siblings are nowhere to be found on the first floor; Chan figures they’re both sleeping or playing upstairs. Without Minho to pamper them and care for them, Chan had decided long ago that he was going to take his place. That he was going to care for Minho’s cats when he could. In his stead.
When Dori walks away in favor of the cat tower in the living room, Chan goes to the kitchen where he finds Mrs. Lee with some meat in a frying pan. She’s chopping some vegetables, and a bunch of other ingredients are scattered around the counter. “What’s it for today?” He asks.
Mrs. Lee turns to him and smiles. “Pork cutlets, dear. If you remember, it was the last thing Minho cooked for us when you two came to visit some summers ago.” Of course Chan remembers, he had helped Minho out in the kitchen and maybe fooled around with him a little just because. “Sounds good,” is what comes out of his mouth instead of anything sentimental. Perhaps Mrs. Lee wouldn’t want a reminder of what day it is. “How can I help?” Chan adds, and she points at the meat with her head. “Just watch the meat for me. I have a timer running beside the pan — the red one there — once it goes off, I want you to turn the stove off and transfer the pork over to that plate in front of you.”
Chan obeys, plating the cutlets with ease when he recalls the way Minho had done it before. No conversation is made, hence the current occasion is not brought up once by neither Chan nor Mrs. Lee. But when Mr. Lee joins them in the dining room to start eating, he is the one who ends up starting on the subject. “Have you visited him today?” He asks. Chan’s fork stops in mid-air just as he is about to place it back down on his plate. He blinks, clearing his throat. “Uh, yes, I was there this morning.”
Mr. Lee nods. “We went there perhaps just a short while after you had, did you change the bouquet?”
“Yes, that was me.”
Chan notices Mrs. Lee staring at something, and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Mother, is everything alright?” He asks. She looks at him and only nods. “Would you like to look at Minho’s old photos and videos, dear? I figured there’s a lot you haven’t seen yet.” She replies.
Chan follows her line of sight, realizing that she’s been staring at the framed photo of what seemed to be Minho in his elementary years. He chuckles fondly at the way Minho’s haircut covers most of his face, and at the way his face is scrunched up in a frown. He looks back at Mrs. Lee. “Sure, I’d love to.”
So when they’re all finished eating, Chan is led into the family room filled with a lot of photographs hung on the wall, picture frames, and cassette tapes. He recognizes a few: the family picture Minho had shown him the first time he ever came over, and a small polaroid of the two of them in their earlier years as a couple, a baby picture Minho had sent him out of nowhere one day. Chan’s seen a lot of them, really, but only a few ever actually stuck to him.
Mrs. Lee puts one of the cassettes into the machine, turning the TV on to show a video of a toddler Minho taking his first steps. Mr. Lee has a soft smile on his face, but it also feels wistful as if he were reliving his earlier days of being a father. The video ends with the baby falling on his face, and Chan can’t help the soft giggle escaping his lips because of how adorable he is. A new video is now playing on the screen, and in place of a baby, there is a little boy with an all-gray outfit. Behind the camera is Mrs. Lee, and Minho, perhaps four or five years of age, seems to be biting or licking his finger. He cracks a joke Chan can’t really hear, but that doesn’t matter when Minho smiles and giggles. Even in adulthood, the way the boy would crack into a grin was the same. It never changed.
The next few videos are of later stages in Minho’s life. There’s a video of Minho at his first day of elementary school, another one in middle school, high school, and the video of Minho being sent off to college. That was around the time he and Minho met, so this Minho is a bit more familiar to him.
The last video Mrs. Lee plays on the television is still old, but also kind of recent. “Hana sent this one to me two years ago. She said it was the happiest our Minho had ever looked.” She briefly explains. And Chan is mildly surprised to see himself appear, his late love tightly wrapped in his embrace as they laugh together. Chan remembers that day. It wasn’t anything super special, they were simply hanging out with all of their friends to just enjoy being in the moment before their last finals week. But it was still memorable, because it was the last time they were all together as a group. Happy as a group.
Chan feels himself tearing up as he watches the video end with Minho pressing his forehead against his, his vision now blurred with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He smiles sadly. “I miss him.”
And maybe he’ll continue to miss him for another few years, maybe he’ll continue to miss him forever. These past five years have practically felt like forever anyway. Maybe he’ll overcome his grief someday, move forward with life while still honoring Minho’s memory. But that day is not today. He is still hurting, and he needs more time, as much time as possible, to heal from his loss.
Someday, it won’t pain his heart to think of Minho anymore. To remember everything, every last detail of every last thing.
But that day is not today.