There was a chill in the air. Steam rose slowly, the smell of spices and fruit mixing with the sweetness of scented candles.
My friend and I sat on cushions by the little attic window. I hadn’t seen her for five months – ever since I left for university in Australia.
The cups in our hands were faintly warm; candlelight enveloped us. For a moment, we were silent.
“Do you think… next time we meet, will it be the same?”
Her nose and face were red. A sour feeling seeped out of my heart. I stared at the cup in my hand for a moment, to calm my emotions.
“Maybe, but we’ll be better versions of ourselves.”
*
I first met Eki at a pizza lunch thrown by someone we both knew. She narrated how she’d been betrayed by her best friend, who targeted her at every turn and made fun of her for “trying too hard” – jealous that Eki was a good student.
“I can’t think straight,” Eki choked out. “I was nice to her, and I even taught her things she didn’t know. Why can’t she see me learning when she’s trying to learn?”
We fought for Eki, reassuring her that it wasn’t her fault.
“If you want a friend to have meals with later, come and join us!” I said.
From then on, we ate together, and went to and from school together.
Ours was a boarding school, and was strictly regulated. A security guard stood at the entrance, and students who lived on campus could only leave on weekends.
Those living nearby could apply to access campus every day at noon and in the evening. Teachers would give them a card with their picture and basic information, which they could use to enter and exit.
At 16, I lived at school and Eki lived at home. She knew I could only eat in the school cafeteria every day, and wanted to take me to enjoy a meal outside the school.
One afternoon, Eki led me to the railing.
“You wait here for me!”
“Okay!” I watched with some confusion as she trotted all the way out of the school.
A few minutes late, she reappeared on the other side of the fence and passed her access card through a gap.
“Quick! Take it and cover the picture with your fingers. Blend in with the crowd and show it to the security guard as you go. Be natural! I’ll meet you outside!” she panted.
A feeling of excitement surged through me. Am I going to escape from campus like a spy? So cool!
Blending in with the crowd, I slowly made my way to the entrance of the school.
My palms got sweaty as I saw the security guard checking the students’ ID. I followed the crowd, forcing my composure.
When it was my turn, I paused and showed the front of my card. Then I pulled the strap of my bag with both hands and exited the campus.
I couldn’t hide my smile. Even the wind blowing over me smelled of freedom. Eki was waiting for me not far from the school gates.
“You made it! What do you want to eat? I’ll take you there!” She took the card and patted me on the shoulder.
“I want noodles!”
We laughed heartily.
*
At that age, to us at least, college entrance exams felt very far away. I was hooked on horror novels. I used to sneak out and drag Eki to the kiosk to buy yogurt to drink during evening study sessions. Together, we would discuss boys of interest in the grade.
By our second year, the school’s emphasis on setting ourselves up for success started affecting me. I spent every recess writing problems in the classroom, and my nights studying in the art room. All along the corridors, walls and staircases, red slogans of all sizes screamed, “Strive for a hundred days, be happy for the rest of your life.”
Tension spread. Although I felt that the slogans were narrow-minded, making the entrance exams seem like the criteria for a good or bad life, the atmosphere got to me.
One day, I lost track of time with my homework and went to find Eki. All the other students had gone home, but she was in an empty classroom concentrating on a craft: a small box.
“Hey! What are you doing?” I asked as I sat down next to her.
She froze and stumbled. “Just… a gift for a middle-school friend.”
“So that’s what it is – you’re so attentive.”
In that moment, I envied the friend for having someone who would prepare a gift for her with such care.
Days later, when Eki put that little box in front of me, it was me who froze.
“Happy birthday!”
“Huh? It’s… for me!”
I covered my mouth in surprise. I was so exhausted from studying that I had forgotten it was even my birthday. The friend she had treated with such care was me.
Inside the box was a small house with beautiful wallpaper she’d put up herself, a lace tablecloth on a little table, and tiny tea sets on the cabinets. Leaves surrounded the house that Eki had carefully trimmed into perfect shapes. There were even strings of lights around the perimeter of the box that reflected the house in warm light when you flicked a switch.
I remembered the way she had taken her tweezers when I’d found her days earlier and carefully pulled the tea set, smaller than my fingernail cap, out of a fabric bag.
In that moment, I decided that no matter what happened after that, she would always be my best friend.
*
Eki and I grew up in an island city on the southern coast of China. After graduating high school, she went to university in Beijing while I went to a local one. She’d come back every vacation, and a few of us would spend the night at my house.
After 22 years in that city, and with the support of my parents, I decided to add some challenge and fun to my settled life. I’d always wanted to study media, so thought it would be a good idea to go abroad for a postgraduate program.
It takes a lot of courage to go and live alone in another country you’ve never been to before, but I think life sometimes just needs change to become more interesting.
Eki had a hard time convincing her parents that she was going to go to Japan to study language and painting – a journey that will take her five years. I know that after this separation, the chance to reunite again will be very rare.
For this reason, I flew home from Australia as soon as I had a holiday. Eki couldn’t wait to come to my house.
“We haven’t spent the night together in ages!” she said over the phone.
Together we picked out some rose- and fig-scented candles. After going back to my house and eating three pizzas in one sitting, we decided to add some warm and sweet feelings to the evening.
“Make mulled wine!” she suggested.
Having never tried heated wine before, I couldn’t wait to put on my apron and pull out a small pot.
She took some oranges, apples and strawberries out of the refrigerator, cutting them into small pieces.
“How were your last few months in Australia?” Eki asked.
“I’m still a little bit confused… it’s so different from here. People there live at a slower pace and like to take their time enjoying brunch or sunbathing on the beach – unlike the relatively faster pace of life here, where recreational activities are mainly indoor tea and mahjong. But I like it ! The sea is as beautiful as sapphires, and there’s something in the air… taste of freedom!”
As I picked off the strawberry leaves, I said, “What about the apartment you’re going to live in in Japan? Did you find the right one?”
“I found an apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a tastefully decorated kitchenette.” Her eyes lit up. “I can boil a cup of hot milk each morning, and eat breakfast by the window while watching the streets of Tokyo come to life.”
She paused and said, “You know, I can finally be myself!”
I’m genuinely happy for her. I know she’s been having a tough time. Moving on is the best way for her to regain her energy.
Together, we put the fruit into the pot, added a few pieces of rock sugar, some cinnamon and star anise, and half a bottle of red wine. As the concoction began to boil, the aroma of fresh fruit slowly dispersed.
We’ve had our share of separations.
When we were 16, Eki went to other cities to participate in art training for half a year.
Friends and I bought a bouquet of her favorite sunflowers wrapped in brown newspaper. She pretended to be relaxed and joked with us, but there were tears in her eyes.
Every day, I wrote her a few sentences in a notebook – like what happened at school, as I waited for her to come back. Every test we had, I kept her name sticker and stuck it in the front page.
When Eki finally returned, a few of our best friends snuck out of school for dinner to celebrate our reunion – choosing the same pizza place where we first ate together. It was here that I handed her the book.
“Check it out!”
Puzzled, she flipped through the first page and laughed suddenly “Why have you collected so many stickers of my name?!” Then she froze as if she realized something.
Pages and pages were filled with every day’s events from when she wasn’t on campus. I’d even passed it around to the other girls, so it was full of in-jokes and mock arguments between us all.
We went to dinner late after school today, read my scrawl.
It’s because she writes the questions so slowly, and she writes slower with her hands than I do with my feet, interjected our friend Ida in her own hand.
Eki’s eyes grew moist. Reading it, she felt like she’d never left us.
“You guys don’t have a crush on me, do you?!” she joked as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
*
This time, our farewell was different.
“It’s a little sour,” I wrinkled my nose and said as I took a first sip of our wine.
Then a sweet aroma filled my mouth. I smacked my lips. “But, sweet aftertaste, wonderful!”
We carried mugs into the attic and made a little bed on the ground as the cat walked around curiously.
We talked about the past, and after laughing and laughing, we fell silent and stared at the glass.
As if gathering her courage, Eki looked up and asked me, “Do you think if we didn’t see each other so much, we would still be best friends?”
“Of course! What are you thinking about, of course!” I patted her, and the tears came out. “But I’m so happy for you. You finally get to live the life you’ve always wanted. Having your own small apartment, classmates to experience Japan with, a new life, new goals… everything is really worth looking forward to,” I continued. “Unlike me, although I like it in Australia, I often feel lost. The new friends I made in the first semester already graduated.” I sighed.
Without speaking at once, she took the kitten in her arms and touched me on the shoulder with her little paw.
“Think differently,” she said, “and you’ll have a chance to make some new friends. When I come to Australia to play with you, don’t forget to introduce your new friends to me!”
She raised her glass and said, “May we all have a bright future!”
I lifted mine, clinking it lightly against hers: “May we all become better ourselves!”
The wine was still warm in the mouth; the night was still quiet; the cat curled up on the blanket, breathing steadily. Neither of us spoke again.
After this drink, we will go in different directions under the guidance of fate.
*
Farewell is a melancholy word. It means that your lives will not intersect for a long time. But because of this, we have the opportunity to experience different things, pursue our own goals and dreams. Although we may not be the same when we meet again, and might initially feel a sense of distance, I’m sure we’ll be able to sit together with a glass of mulled wine and talk about our experiences.
Farewell is like that glass of mulled wine that will stay in my memory forever: a little sour at first, but as time goes on, the sweetness gradually emerges – finally leaves a mellow aftertaste on the tip of the tongue.
Friendship is the same: it never fades, but like wine, precipitates over the years, forming a deeper and more unique flavor.
I believe that no matter where we go, no matter how far apart, one day, we will raise the cup again, smile at each other, and say: “Long time no see.”
