The sky is filled with contrails as I follow my sister out the doors of the bustling Chicago airport. What a long way from Korea. She should be thankful that our whole family came all the way here to drop her off at school. Sighing deeply, I look over at my sister’s face, but her vacant eyes are fixed on the busy cars moving down the lanes in front of the airport. Fine.

I lose count of all the suitcases that roll by us. Our own bulky, black baggage lies in a heap at our feet. We slump over next to it, exhausted from thirteen hours in a cramped cabin. We haul ourselves up and drag our luggage along the bumpy, cement sidewalk to our hotel. With tangled hair draped across her face, my older sister falls behind. She is in a trance, nearly sleepwalking by the time we reach the hotel, but the echoing chatter and happy laughter from the passersby keep my eyelids from sliding shut. I take a deep breath, admiring the way the orange sunset bleeds across the evening sky. I try to draw my attention away from my aching feet, my sore back, and my drowsy mind. The day is waning, but I want to absorb as much of the city as I can on this trip, even though it isn’t for me. It is for my sister, the new, college freshman.

The next morning, I am crammed between my family’s luggage and my eternally sleepy sister in the backseat of a rental car. For five hours, I have to fend off the precarious heap with my forearm every time my father turns the wheel. I feel overwhelming relief when I finally spot a massive green sign that reads:

WELCOME TO SAINT LOUIS!

“We are here,” my dad casually announces with a big yawn.

My sister opens her eyes for the first time during the entire drive, taking in the incessant honking and rows of ancient brick buildings with a bored frown.

“Wow,” she mumbles.

I am more easily impressed. The houses here seem to have been the model for the dollhouse I played with when I was six, a two-story, red brick colonial. I decide that my college-aged sister is too sophisticated to be impressed by the doll association, so I keep that observation to myself. She may be blasé about moving to a new city, but I am excited to take it all in it.

“Look at that!” I beg my parents. “Please, please? Please!”

They ignore my bid for attention “We have more important things to take care of first,” they reply.

My dad points the car in the direction of a giant supermarket, the kind that sells everything a college freshman could ever need or want. Inside, we are bombarded by the whirring of fans on display, vibrant pillows and sheets and blankets, the glittering of silverware and lamps and laundry hampers and bookshelves lining the infinite aisles of the store. Red pen clutched in one hand and long shopping list crinkled in the other, my sister starts her journey into the maze, initially with a tragic expression.

But within moments of passing through the automatic, sliding-glass doors, my mom and sister are transformed into military commanders preparing for an impending war. They quickly and efficiently decide what they need, muttering their thoughts to each other.

“It’s fluffy but too expensive. Let’s get this one… no that one would be great,” Mom declares as she runs her fingers over a dorm-sized, wool rug.

“These bowls are cute but look too fragile. Let’s buy the gray ones,” my sister proposes as she dumps some kitchen materials into the cart.

I stare at the cart being filled: twenty-packs of hangers, transparent, plastic drawers, a fuzzy pillow cover, and a year’s worth of books that are filled with millions of words that I cannot even pronounce. I dutifully push our squeaky artillery cart throughout the store. The cart fills up as my heart empties out.

On my last night in St. Louis, I lie in bed beside my sister. The room is bathed in moonlight, which feels heavy across my legs, like a quilt.

“Are you awake?” I whisper.

I feel my sister rolling her body over to face me.

“I want tteokbokki. I miss those chewy rice cakes dipped in a hot chili sauce…” my sister pauses, then falls silent. She is thinking. Where could we get our favorite Korean fast food in the middle of St. Louis?

She opens her mouth at last. “Do you want to watch Food Network or something?”

We laugh at her silly suggestion, pressing our faces into the pillows to keep from waking our parents in the adjacent room. We begin reminiscing about our long airplane ride to Chicago and gush over our favorite musicians, and I realize that this might be my last effortless, spontaneous moonlight talk with my sister.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her. The summer is very nearly over.

“Just overwhelmed,” she chuckles lightly. Even though we both have lumps in our throats, we continue talking in the gentle glow, drifting in and out of slumber. I don’t remember falling asleep.

Early the next morning, everything is already set to go before I even wake up. The car is overflowing with luggage and the engine is purring. We all pile in, heading to campus in sticky silence. As we draw closer to campus, I start to hate the city that had inspired me when I first arrived.

At first it looked gorgeous, but now it looks like a prison, I grumble to myself. A prison that is going to separate me from my sister.

Student guides with shining white teeth and branded, university t-shirts greet us at the front gate of the dormitory, and show us where to park, where to drag my sister’s luggage, where her dorm is located. Folding my sister’s clothes into drawers, lifting her bedframe with plastic risers to maximize storage underneath, stacking plates and bowls beside a makeshift pantry of snacks, making the bed, and organizing the hundred other odds and ends, doesn’t give anyone in my family enough time to prepare to say goodbye without tears. I’m sure that my parents are trying to hide their glistening eyes from us. My sister stands in the middle of her room, glances around with her hands on her hips, and lets out a resigned sigh. A tear drops out of my eye without permission. I duck my head to hide my face, but it’s too late. I dive into my sister’s arms for one last hug. All too soon, we head in opposite directions: my sister runs off to join the crowd of freshman gathering on the front lawn, and my family trudges back to the front gates. Again, we have a nearly five-hour drive back to Chicago, but this time, there will be no luggage trying to flatten me.

“Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes’ time.” The echoes of announcement permeate the Chicago airport. My phone blurts out the sound: “Kakaotalk.”

A new Message from my sister: a photo of her putting her arms around her new freshmen friends with a big smile on her face. That was fast. I am happy enough for her but I fall short of feeling overjoyed as I line up for the plane.   

Staring out the window on our flight home, I feel myself being left behind. I miss my sister, who has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. But sometimes-- this time-- change is good.

Time is impatient. It doesn’t wait for us to be ready to say goodbye or adjust to all of the challenges that life throws at us. My sister is starting the next chapter and I will have to fill my time before our next moonlight talk because, I decide, there will be many more. There has to be. I smile at the sun dipping below the horizon, its colors melting into a deep, rich navy.