"Death," I say while I'm at Haraboji's funeral, speaking to the people who came to mourn his loss. "Death is a word, is something we all have to go through eventually. But there are some words that we also go through in our lifetime." I take a deep breath and let the tears flow, let my voice thicken looking at Haraboji's picture. Mom is crying and Dad is clutching to her like that's the only way to keep her from exploding. So she implodes.
"The first word is breath. We're born into the world and breathe. Haraboji took his first breathe November 19, 1944." I choke on the words, and take a deep, burning breath. "The next word we go through is loathe. Haraboji, even though he was an amazing man had many people who disliked him.
"But this word was caused by the word 'wreathe'. In Ancient Greece, people were crowned for their victories by golden laurel wreathes." I reach for a golden wreathe, the crowning jewel of Grandfather's funeral: the only thing of color. He wouldn't have wanted all black. Haraboji believed he was classy, and I'd want him to go out like that. Murmurs bust out as I place it on the podium I stand at, before continuing. "Grandfather held many victories in life. His successful business and lifestyle, among other things, made many jealous of him.
"'Regret,' my next word. Haraboji always told me that he regretted not doing things. He told me that I should regret decisions I make, but never know what it's like to miss an opportunity, that if there was anything that I wanted to do, I should make that decision.
"And this is how I end for you. We can mourn for now, but we can't let my Haraboji's death have happened without him having taught us something. I encourage each of you to look inside yourself and know what decision there is that you want to make, high risk, low risk, or anything, and make it worth it. Make him and his advice!" I shout pointing, tears now blinding me, eyes wide in a last effort of self control. "Worth it!" I beg, one last time as I fall to my knees in front of the podium.
Next thing I know, the wreathe is crowning the gravestone, and I am in the car, that my dad is driving, comforting my mother as she curls up beside me, waiting to get home.
Six Months Later, School Has Ended
I took Jung Ji on that childhood dream date, and gave her a promise ring. For a while, I thought it would be too cheesy, but I didn't want to regret anything anymore. Never again.
We sat on the Busan beach next to the fire. Evening was descending upon us and the sun illuminated our books from the reflections on the shimmering waves ahead of us. We were wrapped in three to five blankets because it was high tide, and freezing, but we wanted to stay here anyway. I pulled a hat from beside me and pulled it over her ears. Jung Ji pilled one onto mine as well, admiringly. She silently turned a page of her book (her eighth book since we started this everlasting date. I wasn't far behind.) and grinned. She was about to shut the book to speak to me, but I stopped her first. I placed a carefully made bookmark in her book.
She gasped. "Jimin, I-!"
"Its a promise ring," I assured her. "It's my promise that I really do love you, and I want to be with you when your hair is grey and then you bleach it and dye it red again. I want to be there when you fight with someone, and if I have any children, i want hem to be as much yours as mine. I want you when you're young and spontaneous, and I want you when you grow mature and loving, I want you forever."
"Minnie," she breathes. "I want that too. I want you to stop me from dropping dishes, and overcooking the ramen." Jokes Jung Ji breathily witha a chuckle. I chuckle along, knowing that I do those things already. "I want you to drive me to my first day of work, and I want you to pick me up when I retire. I want to hold you for as long as my arms will let me, and if they're even remotely mine, then they'll hold you forever."
"I love you, Min Jeon Jung Ji." I whisper into her ears.
"I love you to Park Jimin." I lean in and touch her lips with my own, the warmth flooding my bones more than the ocean breeze can chill it. The book mark in Jung Jo's hand means that the pages flip for both our open books as the breeze drifts on by. But we don't care.
We're the only ones in the worl-
"Yeahhhh! Jung Ji, my sister, get SoMe!" Hypes Yoongi Hyung from a long distance away.
"HYUNG, ThAt'S diSgUstInG!!" Announces Jungkook, loudly. "I can hear her thoughts. They're all 'Jimin Jimin Jimin,' and nothing else! Oh,
Ji, that's disgusting!"
"JEON FUCKING JUNGKOOK, MIN GODDAMN YOONGI, YOU TWO DID NOT JUST RUIN A MOMENT!" She shouts, slipping the ring onto her finger as she kicks up sand running toward them, leaving me to run after her so I can make sure she doesn't get cold.
"You're right, Ji. We didn't." Notes Jungkook before hoisting Yoongi Hyung up off the ground, "we set the mood. Run!"
"OH, YOU BETTER RUN!"
YOU ARE READING
The Perfect Set of Twins (P.jm)
FanfictionWhen I was in second grade, I met the perfect set of twins. They dressed alike, they depended and cared for each other, they thought alike. It was the perfect stereotype. When I moved away, we lost all contact. Now that I've moved back, the twins wi...
