True Love Waits

You’re dressed in the full attire: university jacket, matching track pants, towel slung around your neck, running shoes gripping the cement. But you’re not with them. You’re not a part of the flock of athletes doing warm-up circles around the track.

Instead, you’re behind Jiyu, holding the glossy handles of her wheelchair.

“You should be with them,” she mutters, eyes fixed ahead of her as she watches the track team complete another lap. “The finals is in two months. You don’t have much time.”

Your lungs shudder as you take a deep breath. Jiyu can’t see the way you shake your head as you reply, but maybe it’s for the best. “Wouldn’t be the only finals. Isn’t the end of the world, yeah?”

“But it’s the first one you’ll miss.”

Leaning over her shoulder, you gesture sideways with a nudge of your head. “Leave them be. Want to go around campus? Where do you want to go this time?”

She purses her lips, and from the way her mouth twinges at the thought, you can tell she’s hesitating again.

Sighing, you place a hand on her shoulder. “Jiyu, it’s fine.”

“Is it really? Is it really fine to take this away from you?” she asks, her eyes never leaving the oval. She has this look on her again—the look that tells you her gaze is wandering far beyond where her own legs could take her. “You could just l—.”

You pivot her a full hundred-and-eighty degrees until she’s facing you, forcing Jiyu to confront nothing and no one else but you. “How about the library? It’s quiet there. I could read you a book again.”

“Oppa … I keep telling you that’s embarrassing. Everyone’s going to …”

You chuckle and pinch her cheek. “Let them stare. I’d rather they talk about us then … about …”

You stop yourself from even thinking of saying it, but your eyes glimpse the blanket over her trembling knees for just a second and you can suddenly taste iron at the back of your tongue. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to …”

Jiyu’s the one calling you back now. Before you can look away, she caresses the side of your face like she would the spines of her favorite books and forces a smile. “We can always just go home too. You look tired, oppa.”

“Tired? Me?” you scoff, stifling a yawn. You’d be lying if you said this new routine of yours with Jiyu was something you’d gotten used to already. But you have to do what you have to do. “Want to grab some snacks instead then?”

“Apples?”

“Apples.”

“With peanut butter?”

You shake your head, ruffling the top of hers as you prepare to wheel her off the bleachers area. “You can have all the peanut butter you want.”

But even with your promise of her favorite spread, you can’t help but notice how Jiyu’s eyes still linger on the track. While her body slowly leaves this space, her mind—her mind is rooted in place.

And you swear you see a few tears fall from her eyes.

“Oppa? What are you doing?”

As Jiyu appears at the top of the stairs, you abruptly stop yourself from your step-ups and turn around. But you know you’re not fooling anyone. “I … I was just …”

You hear the repetitive thumping sound of Jiyu going down the stairs. One step at a time. Hearing every smack of her bottom against the polished wood. You face her and offer a hand, but she’s already a few steps away from where you are by then.

She drags her lips into a grin, holding up a paper bag. “Got this in the mail. Grandma sent them. I was hoping you’d help me put them on.”

“Put them … clothes?”

She nods, and when she’s bumping knees with you now, you hold her by one arm and along her slender waist to hoist her up and into the seat of her wheelchair. “I haven’t tried to see if they would fit yet. Do you mind?”

“Jiyu, I should be the one asking you that,” you correct her. Whenever she needed help dressing up in the past, it would mostly just involve you wiping her back or changing out of her jogging pants. But as you take out the gifts from her grandmother one at a time, you begin to see how these might be more difficult.

Holding up the floral dress by its strings, you peek your face out to the side towards Jiyu. “I don’t think you’ll want me around for these. Even with underwear on, it’s … a bit much, isn’t it?”

“But but,” she mewls, her eyes widening with a pout. “Grandma wanted pictures. She’s … she’s just been worried. About me.”

Wheeling her toward the living room, an idea comes to you. “Do you mind if I borrow the kitchen?”

“Please don’t do anything weird with my new clothes, oppa,” she instinctively warns you. But all you do is smirk at her before purring and disappearing into the next room.

When you come back out, Jiyu is screaming in delight, laughing uncontrollably at the sight of you dressed up in her floral dress. It’s a tight fit, and it bunches around your broader chest and torso, but you manage to make it work. You strut down the invisible runway in front of her TV and strike a few poses to show off how the dress hugs your figure.

“So? How does it look? Thought I’d show it off on myself if we can’t have them on you.”

Click.

She giggles behind her raised phone screen and tilts her head in your direction. “Next one, next one!”

You shake your head and sigh with a smile. “Alright, alright. Don’t get too trigger happy with those photos now.”

A yellow sun dress. A thin halter. A wrap dress cut along the thighs. An elegant maxi.

You put on every single dress that her grandmother gifted her and show it off to Jiyu. While you argue in the back of your mind that these would all look infinitely better on her, you continue with your little pageant. You keep going because this is the happiest you’ve seen Jiyu in a while.

And you would do anything for her happiness.

“This has a weird texture. Is it silk?” Jiyu asks as you’re wearing the final purple off-shoulder from the bunch. You grab a handful of the fabric for yourself and feel it out too. “Huh, it does feel a bit like silk. It’s really hot in this one though.”

She taps the armrest of the couch next to her, and you accept the invitation, sitting next to Jiyu.

“One of these days, I’m going to actually help you into these dresses,” you tell her, glancing at her visage from the side. You watch as the mop of hair atop her head trickles downwards in clefts, racing towards her chin. You almost want to fix her appearance, but you know better than to just invade her personal space. “It’s actually a crime to not see you in one of these.”

“Really? But what would I even be using it for? It’s not like … it’s not like I can just … go out …”

You feel a pain in your chest.

It’s always like this. You never mean to, but it ends up happening anyway. Referencing her injury. Referencing her disability. And once you realize the mistake you never even knew you were making, you find yourself having to deal with the fallout with Jiyu.

You reach for her hand and place yours atop hers. “It won’t be like this forever. We’ll … we’ll keep these in the back. When you heal, you can try them on yourself, and I can take pictures of you, and we can compare how they looked on both of us.”

“But what if I don’t heal, oppa …? What if I-I never—.”

You squeeze her hand tightly and cut her off. “You will. I know it.”

That’s a lie. You’re not even sure yourself. But you have to believe in something—and so does she.