moon landing Bianca Michelle Rasmussen
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riendship is a funny thing; how one shared experience unfolds into many, weaving themselves like strands of light into our lives. How curious it is when the intricate strands of a stranger so effortlessly intertwine with our own. That’s how we started, anyway. And how I try to remember you. ~ It’s Tuesday night, also known as “Veggie Tuesday”, or “that day of the week where everyone goes to the kebab van after hall”. On the way out of the library, I hear the soft melodic jangling of metal, and you catch up to me, keys bouncing from the lanyard against your chest. “There’s still so much work to do, I honestly don’t have time to eat in hall tonight,” you say with a groan. “Do you want to just go grab a quick bite somewhere instead?” I ask. We head out into Oxford. The food is ordered, and as the waiter takes away our menus, I real-
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ise we’ve never been just the two of us together before. “So—where did you say you were from in Korea?” I ask. “Jeju Island. It’s really beautiful,” you say. “You have to visit it someday, if you ever get the chance.” Your food arrives before mine. Without thinking I start taking photos; you instinctively begin to pose with your pho. I catch your eye and we both laugh. The waiter interrupts our photo session with my dish. “I think I’m going to break up with my boyfriend,” you say. I nearly choke on my noodles. “What?” “Sorry—overshare!” You smile. “I just really needed to tell someone.” “No, that’s alright. Walk me through it.” By the time we’re done with our food and I’m caught up on the heart flutters and frustrations of your relationship, the veggie meal in hall is long over. We leave the restaurant arm in arm. ~
