7,279 words.
There were two pieces of orange left on the plate, which meant there was one. He was a little drunk, but after sweeping his eyes to the left and then to the right he located a toothpick. There were small green remnants of melon on the toothpick. He hated melon, which meant it wasn’t his toothpick. Not ideal, but at that point he was far too drunk to waver on such things and he let the weight of his body fall toward the table. As it got there he pawed at the sliver of wood. Once it was well under his palm he dragged it toward his body. As his hand came across the faux-mahogany glossy table, bits of ash, flakes of gold foil from the top of a beer bottle, and some gummy remnants of undeterminable food gathered under his hand, along with the toothpick.
“Ahhh, this chick sings well,” a co-worker said in the general direction of his ear. “Really fucking well.”
He swung his head in acknowledgement, in case the person speaking to him was older. He wasn’t sure, and he’d more or less forgotten where he’d been sitting in relation to the other people. The fact that someone was singing was also something of a surprise. But he could feel the music blaring in his ears. To concentrate on the voice he forgot about the toothpick and listened to the rich tones flowing up and down. The song was so familiar he let it enter his ears and course through his body. It was “Busan Kalmegi,” “Busan Seagull,” a symbol of the city; its citizen’s willingness to reach higher. To fly up to the heavens to reach success.
He sat and let his head bob up and down, backwards and forwards, as if it were a baton his body was using to conduct the song. He let his eyelids fall closed. The song nearly disappeared, and a dizzy, black, vortex began to overtake his stomach and force its way up. In a panic his eyes shot open. Things became momentarily clear. He surveyed the room. Then he remembered the toothpick he’d been after, to get that last piece of orange.
He lifted his hand up. The toothpick had stuck to it, so he brought it toward his body, snatching at it with his left hand. With some determination, fueled in no small part by the song’s crescendo, he vaulted his left hand in the direction of the orange. He’d eaten several slices earlier in the evening when the fruit plate, along with several buckets of beer on ice, three silver boxes containing bottles of Chivas 12, a giant plate of raw fish, and a partitioned tray of M&Ms, dried squid, dried anchovy and peanuts, had first arrived. The juice would do his parched, cigarette laden, whiskey coated mouth well.
But as his arm sprung forward another arm; female, much less-drunken than his, had darted ahead. He couldn’t be sure of the sequence. All he knew was that the particular slice of orange he’d been working on for the better part of five minutes had vanished. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone chewing and delicately letting a toothpick fall to the table from her index finger and thumb.
“Bitch!” he said in the direction of the single remaining orange slice. “You fucking bitch!” he said a little louder. His turned in the direction of the girl, but as he did, his head hung forward a little, and bounced as he squinted and tried to make out who she was. All he could see was the sparkle of the silver sequined straps of her dress. But that was enough to remember who she was from the beginning of the evening. He’d thought her the prettiest of the lot and at one point he had chosen her, and she’d been sitting with him. But at another point she’d disappeared and a girl with a silver hairclip had appeared beside him.
“You fucking bitch,” he screamed. The sound was muffled because of the song, but everyone heard. Still, they barely glanced over, focusing on the song. The girl with the sequined straps looked over and widened her eyes.
The song was winding down anyway. From her vantage point, standing at the head of the table, the woman singing the song saw the whole episode unfold, right from him pawing at the toothpick. In fact, she had been standing there, singing that particular song, because it was exactly the time of night where this sort of thing was likely to erupt. 3 a.m.
In the middle of singing the last line she abruptly broke off. The other men at the table snapped out of their hazy nostalgic trances, pleading looks on their faces. They wondered why the woman had screwed up the conclusion to such a blissful rendering of “Busan Kalmegi.” At first they assumed it was some fault of hers. She was the teasing sort, an older style of madam. Not attractive, but motherly. She treated them like sons. She was stocky and hard, more apt to be sarcastic and pushy than polite, despite the considerable expense. Of course, no one complained because this almost always rendered the employees of such a woman particularly meek, congenial and servile. Especially with their boss right there in the room, keeping tabs on them at all times.
However, anyone in the room who hadn’t figured out what was happening, did as he yelled another insult, extended his hands on the table, and made a broad sweeping motion across it. Some paper from the fish plate went into the air, a few M&Ms rolled across the surface like marbles, and one of the Chivas 12 bottles flew off the table. Everyone saw the bottle wobbling in the air, the label rotating slightly, as it went in the direction of the six televisions behind the woman with the microphone. The song had completely ended, leaving the room silent, except a whiny gasp from one of the girls.
The bottle hit the plastic corner of one of the televisions. Remarkably the screen didn’t break. And in what would be one of the more joyfully recounted facts that Monday, the top of the bottle broke clean off. As if someone had stood it on a table and sawed straight through it. If it had shattered, suggested one of the men as he dropped his cigarette butt into his paper Maxim cup the following Monday, none of them would have been fucking that night.
In the safe confines at the end of the hallway on the 14th floor of their workplace, they howled at this candid observation. But just 19 hours earlier, they had all had some serious doubt if the conclusion to their evening would indeed be a happy one.
Lucky for them the woman in charge had recently sunk thousands of dollars in the opening of a computer gaming room not far from the room salon. She needed the extra money so she wasn’t about to throw everyone out. Once the bottle had stopped bouncing and spinning on the floor, and the karaoke machine had flashed “YOUR SCORE: 97” on the televisions behind her, she took control of the situation. She marched over, grabbed the offender by the collar of his shirt, and playfully tapped him on the head. “Hey,” she said. “Hey you!” Surprised and docile he let her gently push him back in his seat. She picked a toothpick up from the table, stabbed the last orange slice and stuffed it into his mouth.
“You’re sooooo polite in not wanting to take the last orange slice,” she said to him like a mother, dotting at the corners of his mouth as the orange sent bursts of juice into his mouth. “You need to be less polite around this room salon if you’re going to get what you want!”
Everyone burst into laughter. Even the woman with the hairclip, who was now nervously anticipating being left alone in a motel room with a drunken, possibly violent patron. She nervously shifted her feet, making a mental note to ask the woman with the silver sequined straps, the person who’d talked her into working at a room salon in the first place, to arrange for their rooms to be next to one another. In case there was a problem. So she could scream for help.
Not wanting to risk any further problems the manager quickly negotiated the final price for the girls and the rooms. She took the money from the tallest and oldest of the group. As he handed her the money he jokingly let his opposite hand fall onto hers, slurring something about wanting her to teach him something nice from her vast experience, in lieu of the pretty young girl he had been partnered with.
“But you might feel cheated,” the madam said as they exited the room, “Because I will have you exhausted and asleep within two minutes…and you’ve already paid for two hours!”
The group burst into collective laughter again. As the madam pushed them down the hallway toward the front door she doubted, as non-existent as her sex life with her husband had become, if she could stomach having sex with such repulsive looking man. He was tall, gangly, and had the mouth of horse. Imagining his purple shaded lips and bizarrely misshapen teeth drunkenly looming over her naked body was enough for her to burst out yelling “Hurry! Hurry! Go up to your rooms!” She pushed the entire group out the door and up the stairs, toward the third floor where the motel manager was patiently waiting with each of their keys.
The girl with the hairclip managed to get a room next to her friend. She felt a little more at ease, but not entirely. Her customer hardly acted like the violent type now. As he flopped down on the bed his head hung like a vulture. He sat there in silence while she inventoried the room, arranging the pillows and such.
“Sir, I’m going to take my shower now. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll prepare a towel for your shower.”
He grunted something and started to fall back onto the bed, but he had the wherewithal to know he would automatically fall asleep or vomit if he did. Before going into the shower she stood looking at him for a moment, pondering how she could make this situation as smooth and unproblematic as possible. This was the worst part of the job. Trying to make something out of nothing. It was better when they pounced, because at least then it was all over within a couple of minutes. This sort of situation had the potential to go on for the entire two hours.
She hoped that by leaving him alone for a couple minutes he might regroup. In the past, when she’d played it correctly, she’d managed to get a big tip out of a similar circumstance. As she walked into the bathroom she slammed her big toe against the corner of the doorway. She cupped her hand over her mouth and whimpered, shutting the door behind her and turning on the water before crouching down to inspect it. She couldn’t walk on it, but the skin wasn’t broken either. She gingerly stood upright and hopped on her back heel, before stepping into the shower.
As he sat on the bed he could hear giggling in the next room. It was his boss, the tall one. The truth of the matter was he had semi-consciously hoped his bottle outburst would sabotage the evening and get them all thrown out of the place. His cock was like a wet noodle. It seemed more likely to invert rather than to go into someone else’s body. This had been going on for some time. Drinking too much, cigarettes, being overworked, and feeling unhappy in general; all of these things came into play. Not being able to have sex with his wife was one thing. They barely even bothered following the birth of their second child. But this was a perfectly attractive, slim, young, willing girl. If he couldn’t do it with her, who could he do it with?
The thing that bothered him the most about his impotence was the cold truth that he was getting older. He was dying. Between finishing school, getting a job, marriage, and having two children, his life had breezed by. He was clearly on the other side of the mountain and looking down. If the pattern maintained itself life would only get faster. There was nothing he could do to stop it.
He debated bolting out the door right then. He could hear the girl in the shower, the water falling to the plastic floor as she wet her hair. She’d still get her money. He could even leave her a small tip on top of the television. Hopefully she wouldn’t tell any of his co-workers if she happened to run into them once they’d all finished. The shower in the room next door went on and he could hear the tall guy humming “Busan Kalmegi.”
He stared at the front door. Suddenly it looked more like a gateway to freedom than simply a way out. His woman turned the shower water off. The shower door slid open and he could hear her drying herself off. His eyes ping-ponged back and forth, from the bathroom door to the front door. The girl was pretty; there was no doubt about that. In the abstract, having sex with her would be a pleasure. But did he have any hope of doing it? His mind drifted back to earlier in the evening. She’d been running her hand up and down his leg, touching his hand, whispering into his ear. None of it broke through. If anything it made him recoil. He’d sat there in fear of the moment when she would find out. When she would find out he was a man in name only. He stared at the bathroom door. At the last possible moment he leapt off the bed and scrambled to slip his shoes on. He fumbled with the lock a little, but managed to get the door open. He felt a rush of excitement, as if he were a boy running away after breaking a window with a rock. For a few seconds it was fun.
Before she opened the door she sensed he might be gone. It had never happened to her, but her friend had told her occasionally customers take off. The other girls confirmed it had happened to each of them a few times. Chalk it up to the small mind of a man who can’t perform. It’s nothing to take personally, because there are ample opportunities during the night for a man to switch to a woman they like better if that’s the problem. If a man ditches out while you’re in the shower he’s either guilty or impotent. And drunken men rarely feel guilty about much of anything.
She walked into the empty room. For a few seconds she wondered if he’d maybe gone to get more cigarettes. But she had a hunch he had left. She wandered around the room, half-wondering if he’d come stumbling back through the door and half-hoping she’d find a tip. She checked the table, the bed, and lastly the top of the television. Nothing. She sat down on the edge of the bed. She kicked her legs in the air and let them fall to the floor with a slap. When she pieced together the other events from the evening it started to make more sense. The guy hadn’t seemed interested at all. At times he even looked a little fearful when she moved close or touched him. She sighed and stood up, moving to the bathroom to get her purse. She stared at herself in the mirror. Certainly he had left because he couldn’t get it up. She nodded in the mirror. But still, even being confident of that she couldn’t help but worry it was because he thought she wasn’t pretty. She carefully inspected herself in the mirror. She’d been getting some pimples on her forehead. Probably from lack of sleep. She thought it might not be such a bad thing to go home early and get some sleep.
Outside the fresh air did him good. It sobered him up a little. Once he’d gotten far enough way from the motel and room salon he stopped running. He bent down and tried to take a few deep breaths. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run anywhere. Possibly not since he’d finished his military service. The boyhood excitement he’d initially felt running out the door was long gone. Now he felt less like a child and more like an adult running out of a motel room to avoid the embarrassment of impotence. He thought about his penis again and what a void it was. He took out a cigarette and tried to think of something else. At least he was out of the motel.
He debated getting a taxi and going home, but he felt like walking for a while. He needed to clear his mind. It had been a shitty night to cap off a shitty week. Work had been a massacre. They’d had all kinds of new budgets thrown their way and they’d all been slaving the entire week. Nobody had been scheduled to work that Saturday, but they were requested to come in. They still hadn’t made much headway on what they needed to get done and the following week would be as bad, if not worse. When the tall guy had walked over to their section near the end of the day and said “Let’s go out for a drink,” they all stared blankly at one another, hoping the other would lead the “we’re excited” brigade. On one hand it would be nice to cut loose a little. Sing a song or two, eat some tasty food. But with the tall guy there was never anything “little” about it. It would be full tilt, until they were either stumbling out of a bar, puking and picking themselves off the street, or passed out in a motel room in bed with a whore. And often all three.
The tall guy had been fixated on getting prostitutes long before the evening had even started. His wife was on a golf tour in Thailand with a group of friends. His kids were in Yangsan staying with her parents. The entire week he’d seemed hell bent on making the most of his freedom, and the extra budgets had simply gotten in his way. So where the extra work had worn the rest of them down, it had the tall guy all the more determined. His hands were all over whatever girl had come into his vicinity and he kept making this excited “wheeeshhh” sound he’d recently picked up from a character on a weekly variety program. It had annoyed everyone the entire night.
A taxi drove by and beeped on the horn to highlight its availability. He was sure the last thing he wanted to do was to go home. As exhausted from work as he’d been during the week, the idea of getting into bed next to his wife was downright revolting. Of course there was no danger of her trying to have sex with him, and therefore discovering he was incapable. But he didn’t even want to see the lump her body made in the bed. Not for a while at least.
He stared at the reflection of pink light in a puddle. Couples shuffled around him, coming or going from one of the many motels. He’d needed to get completely out of the area. He started walking in no particular direction.
He got out of the nightclub/room salon/motel area and found himself in the vicinity of his old high school. Still a little drunk, he laughed to himself as he approached the front gate. It had been years since he’d even thought of the place. He wanted to go inside and have a look. A smile came over his face and he looked around for a convenience store.
He bought a bottle of soju and a pack of cigarettes. He felt a little silly to be drinking alone at nearly 4 a.m., so he requested two cups. The clerk was sleepy, looked to be of university age, and had a chemistry book open on the counter. He wanted to say something smart like “study hard” or ask if the young man had an exam coming up, but the clerk hardly seemed to be in the mood for teasing. He handed him the cups with his eyes half-shut, mumbling “thank you” with zero enthusiasm.
He walked outside the store and stood in front of the school before going in. He took a deep breath. He wanted to take it all in. He wanted to ready himself for a proper trip down memory lane. He smiled as he imagined himself as a boy, walking through the same front gate. They always traveled in packs during those days. Usually six or seven at a time, occasionally even 10 or 15. This was before the days of computer game rooms, where he heard most kids dwelled nowadays. He had an idea to call one of his high school friends he still contacted occasionally. To invite him to enjoy the nostalgic rapture he was about to begin. But he thought better of the idea. He twisted the cap off the soju and downed two shots before lighting a cigarette and making his way across the street toward the gate.
As he walked he could just see the top of a statue of the school’s founder. It reminded of a prank he and his friends had pulled upon leaving the school, dressing the statue in woman’s clothes. They even put white paint for makeup on it. A smile came across his face. Fun.
When he was young, people had always said things like “enjoy your youth,” “don’t grow up to fast,” and “have fun now…your life will be harder later.” He’d always tried to appreciate what they’d said, but as he knew now, there was no way to understand. Not until it’s too late and you’re old enough to wistfully say it to someone else. Then you’re lucky if you even have a few spare moments to sit back and enjoy the good parts of life, or to even mourn the passing of time. A tinge of sadness welled in his stomach. He stopped again and took a long pull directly from the soju bottle. He was starting to feel lighter. Not as drunk as before, but energized, if a little melancholy. At any rate, he was ready to face his high school past, for better or for worse. He eagerly put the cap back on the bottle and marched through the gate.
Just inside the gate he heard a voice. Startled, he stopped and turned around. A guard was leaning his head out the window of his post.
“Hey, you can’t go in there.”
They stared at each other for a few seconds. He’d been so anticipating basking in the nostalgia of high school he hadn’t even noticed the guard right next to the gate. It was surprising that such a guard would be awake at this hour. They usually slept through the night.
“I just want to take a little walk around. I was a student at this school.”
“Sorry, but I can’t let you do that.”
Again they stared at each other. He thought about running into the school. The guard was old and surely would have trouble catching him. But then what? Hide under a bush? Hop up on the roof like he might have in high school? He doubted he could even remember the best bushes and corners to hide in.
“Please, sir, I just want to look around for a few minutes. I haven’t been here in….”
“No,” the guard said. “Sorry. Please turn around and leave.” The guard rose from his chair and started to step outside.
“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m leaving.”
Once outside he turned around and looked. The guard was standing there in the middle of the gate area watching him, so he kept walking. The guard watched until he was so far down the street it was clear he wasn’t coming back. He shook his head as he walked back into his post. Every Friday and Saturday at least one drunk thirty-something guy tried to reacquaint himself with his past. They think they can walk right onto the school grounds, sit down with a bottle of soju and soak in the nostalgia. When he first started working there he’d let them do it once in a while. He was young once too. It was sometimes important to revisit your past. But every time he let them do it, the next morning the place was littered with soju bottles and cigarette butts. Sometimes, they just passed out and were found by people coming to play soccer the following morning. So no more. At this point he’d grown sick of dealing with it. Nearly every Friday and Saturday. One of these days, as one of them is walking through the gate, they’re going to be met with a fist. Most of them would be too drunk to notice. They wouldn’t even know what hit them. They’d wake up the next morning, looking up at the sky, wondering how the hell they fell asleep at the front gate of their old high school.
The guard walked back into his post and sat down. He lit a cigarette, turned up his mini-TV and tried to calm down. He decided then that if another one of those drunk assholes showed up that night, he’d be ready. He looked at his hand and made it into a fist. The young generation has no concept of difficulty. When he was in high school the war was going on. People were flooding into Busan from all over the country. He and his friends just wanted the chance to go to school. Any school. There were so many students they had to sit on the floors. Teachers ran around, spending half the class time just counting the number of students. They weren’t worried about pulling pranks or their fucking mobile phone or Internet dating bullshit. They were worried about someone bombing their goddamn city. Worried week to week if they’d have a country or not. The guard stared at his fist and took a drag from his cigarette.
Far down the street a soju bottle shattered on the pavement. He’d tipped it back, almost balancing on his lips, until every drop had gone into his body. He’d let the bottle juggle from his fingers, bounce off his shoulder blade, and shatter on the ground behind him. He let his body fall forward, just catching himself, before he might have fell to the gorund. He looked ahead and tried to reorient himself. He was on a quiet part of the street, close to the center of Seomyeon. Younger people were still stumbling out of bars and clubs, many of them limping and swaying around, in groups of three or four. A taxi with its light on drove past him. The taxi driver craned his neck certain he needed a ride. But instead he made his way toward a convenience store called “25 Plus” across the street.
He had half a mind to back to his high school. To fight his way onto the campus. He’d march right through the front gate and if the guard came out again “POW!” He’d flatten him mid-stride. Just before he entered the convenience store he debated going back there. His mind was hardly clear, but physically he felt great. Good enough to pummel a cranky old guard, at least. As he stood with his fists clenched the sweat on his forehead started to cool him down. He took out a cigarette and smoked it. A couple of times he stumbled and almost fell over. No, there was no sense in doing something that was going to get him in trouble. How embarrassing would it be for the police to bring him home drunk, cuts all over his hands from fighting with a guard at his old high school?
Three girls of university age walked in his direction. They were drunk and had their arms were around one another. They wobbled from one side of the sidewalk to the other. The way they were dressed indicated they’d been at a nightclub. Two of them had miniskirts half way up their thighs. He stared at them openly, trying not to sway too much. One of the girls made eye contact with him and then abruptly stopped in her tracks. Her friends jerked to a stop.
“Oh why? Why did you stop?” one of the other girls said.
They looked at their friend and then to what she was staring at. Without saying a word they changed their course and veered toward the street to hail a taxi.
“Did you see that weird guy?” one of them said as they got in the back seat, resuming their giggling.
Reminded once again of the inverted phallus between his legs he took inventory of the evening’s previous events as one might flip through a set of photos--the bottle flying off the table, the tall guy’s spindly fingers through the hair of the girl with the sequined silver straps, and finally his own escape; bounding from the motel room before the girl came out of the shower. He looked at his watch. It was nearly 4:30. They were all probably finished fucking by now. He hoped none of his co-workers noticed he had gone missing. The others wouldn’t say anything if they noticed, but the tall guy certainly would. He was a relentless bastard.
He realized he’d been standing in front of the convenience store for a while. He’d finished his cigarette a long ago and he was still swaying a little, still imagining himself running out of the hotel room. His legs felt wobbly. He saw the bright green and red sign from the 25 Plus store and pushed open the door. Inside the store the light blinded him. He covered his eyes as he made his way to the alcohol at the back of the store.
“Fucking lights,” he muttered, waving his hands across his face to block the light. The girl behind the counter was of high school age. She watched him looked at him and her mouth dropped open slightly. She stood frozen, a little scared.”Sorry, sorry,” he said as he opened the refrigerator door and considered his options. “I’m just a little drunk,” he continued to no one in particular. “Don’t worry about me. I just want to buy something and then I’ll be leaving.”
The girl behind the counter was getting more nervous by the second. She looked down at her mobile phone, which was on the seat next to her. If she had to call her mother she could. Her mother had begged her to work the overnight shift just this one time because she’d had to work the previous 20 hours straight, since the other helper had quit. Both she and her mother were leery of her working the graveyard shift. She’d learned to run the store by herself in middle school. But she’d never worked overnight. But there was no other option. Her poor mother needed some sleep.
He stumbled as he made his way to the front of the store, knocking three bags of chips to the floor. He snapped his head around, as if someone were behind him. Realizing it was just a few bags of chips, he tried to straighten his back as if nothing had happened, but then bumped into the magazine rack. He paused again and tried to act like nothing had happened. He carefully placed the bottle of soju on the counter. He girl scanned it. He noticed her hands were shaking.
“Oh,” he said, gesturing at the girl’s hands, “Don’t be scared. I just want to buy this.”
She held out her hand for the money, not wanting to look at him directly.
It was then he felt compelled to make the girl feel comfortable. He had scared her, and the last thing he wanted to do was walk around Busan scaring people.
“Hey,” he said, trying to prompt her to look at him, “I’m a normal guy. I work at an office not far from here. I have a lovely wife and two good children. I know I’m a little drunk now, but please don’t be scared of me. It’s okay.”
She nodded and took his money, still not wanting to look at him.
“I bet you’re a high school student,” he smiled as she handed him his change. “Right?” He stared at her until she nodded her head slowly. “I remember you….I mean, I remember high school. I hope you know how lucky you are. You know, life doesn’t get any easier. Before you know it you’re going to be married, taking care of your husband and children, and even though having children is wonderful….wonderful, you’re going to wonder where the time went. Do you know that?”
The paused, trying to consider what he’d said, which was difficult. She slowly nodded, hoping that was the answer he wanted to hear. Out of the corner of her eye she tried to locate her phone again.
“In Korea we have to work very hard. Nothing will come easy for you in our country. But you have to remember to stop sometimes. Don’t forget to enjoy your life a little, because it will be all gone in the blink of an eye. People always told me that, but I never listened. I mean, I listened. I heard them, but I didn’t really hear them” He pointed to his ear, to emphasize hearing.
He tried to steady himself on the counter, but he kept wobbling from side to side. The girl was trying her best to look friendly. She lifted her face up in an attempt to show him she was comfortable, in hopes that he would leave her alone.
“But also,” he started again. The girl’s face sank, “You have to know something about life. You have to know that with age comes responsibility. And with responsibility comes stress and with stress comes…” He’d lost his train of thought. He stood there, trying to appear as if he was pausing for effect, but he’d lost it. He tried to go back to the beginning of the conversation. He could only remember knocking over the chips. “But do you know what you can never forget?” he finally said.
She had been trying to listen to him, because she knew that at some point his voice would raise into a question. But she had no idea what he was talking about. She’d understood the first thing, the part about taking care of her husband, and the part about enjoying her life. But the last few sentences he’d been slurring and she’d only understood “stress.”
She nodded her head and looked down.
“What can you never forget?” he said again, raising his voice and lifting his finger in the air.
She shook her head, afraid he was getting angry. She wanted to call her mother. If she reached down and grabbed the phone, she could push the number 1 that instantly dialed her mother’s phone. Even if he started to hit her she could throw the phone on the floor and hope her mother would at least hear the struggle, and come running. Their apartment was just down the street.
“What you can never forget is…though the heavens may fall, there will always be a hole to escape through.”
He smiled and looked at her. He brought his open palm down and held it out, as if he’d given her a gift.
“Do you know that proverb?” he asked carefully, grinning. “They still teach that one in the schools?”
The girl nodded again. He nodded back and was quite proud of himself for remembering such a proverb at that very moment. In fact, he hadn’t learned it in school, but from his father. But the point was the same. He raised his eyebrows, turned around, and walked out the front door.
“You have a nice night. Study hard.”
When the door had swung closed the girl stood there with her head down for a couple minutes. Music played from a radio station she’d picked earlier. It was Dong Bang Shin Ki, one of her favorite groups. But it hardly comforted her. When she finally looked up she looked at the door. He was gone.
Though she’d had some trouble understanding him, his final words had been clear. She’d heard that expression many times in her life, but only from her grandparents. But when he had said it, her mind, as if it was creating a personal horror movie, she had imagined him saying it as a way to forecast he was about to do something horrible to her. To rain the heavens upon her.
She picked the phone up from the chair. Her hands were still shaking. She sat down and stared at the phone. It seemed likely that the man was gone, so she could let her mother sleep.
She had never wanted to work in the convenience store in the first place. She hated it, even in the day time. People were always rude and in a hurry. She always complained about working there. But her mother had forced her. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother the whole story the next morning. She’d think twice before she drove the next part time worker to quit. Was her daughter’s life worth it? She rested her chin on the counter. She was angry at her mother now. She closed her eyes and tried to calm down. It didn’t work. She stood up and grabbed one of the cigarette packs from above the counter. She walked to the back of the store and opened the back door. She pulled out a cigarette and held it awkwardly from her fingers. “This is your fault mom…,” she said to herself, striking the match. “This is because of you.”
After walking for a few minutes he let his body fall down on the steps of a department store building. He was still satisfied with the fact that he’d recalled such a wise quote at the exact moment. He was happy that he’d decided to walk around for a while. With a proud grin he watched the scene around him. He opened his new bottle of soju and took a long drink from it. It was nearing 5 a.m. and most of the people straying out from the bars and clubs were blind drunk. People were stumbling around, laughing, shouting and crying amongst a litter of nightclub flyers and empty coffee cans. Taxis circled around like buzzards, honking horns, flashing lights, trying to get patrons to notice them.
“So appropriate,” he said to himself, still thinking about his clever use of expression. He sat quiet for a moment.
“Give any tree 10 strokes and it will fall,” he then said, bursting into laughter. Another one. Equally appropriate. He grinned and took another drink. He could remember his grandfather saying things like that to him when he was younger. At the time he’d barely understood them. Like so much advice, it had gone in one ear and out the other, even when he had tried in earnest to comprehend it. Now, here he was, dispelling the same advice to younger people. The cycle of life continues.
“The ground,” he raised his hand and pointed his index finger toward the sky “hardens after the rain.” He nodded.
He stared at the soju bottle and again took innovatory of the night. In its own way it had turned out to be a good night. The way it had started, by him feeling shameful and old about being unable to perform. Going to his middle school, trying to recapture a moment of his young, and being denied and frustrated by that. But it had all led him to the steps he was sitting on, reconnecting with proverbs that his wise grandfather had told him when he was a boy. Things he never really understood until he had been able to say them himself. Sure, his life seemed bad at times. Surely getting old wasn’t fun. But now, he had something else to offer people. Experience. Wisdom. He would remember this night for some time. A night of transformation. Even though he was married, had a job, children, something had been incomplete. But now he had come full circle.
He drank the rest of the soju down in one gulp. He stared through empty bottle, which made him dizzy. He tired to stand up, but wobbled. He had to brace himself with his body on the department store doors. He told himself to take it easy. It was definitely time for him to go home.
He pushed himself away from the door and took a deep breath. He looked across the street. There was a Burger King restaurant. He was familiar with the restaurant because he’d eaten there countless times over the years, in both middle school and high school. He stumbled off the stairs and crossed the street. He peered through the glass doors.
The place was the same. The floors were black and white checkered, and all the seats were painted bright yellow and red. Even the photos on the wall were the same. Old black and while photos of people who he didn’t know, but whom he could identify as Hollywood stars. They were black and white stills from movies he’d never heard of. Most of them were people laughing or, in general, looking quite elated in one way or another.
He’d never thought about it before, surely it had never crossed his mind as a boy, but the photos all looked to be from the 1940s and 50s. A strange irony, he thought. Strange that the photos taken during arguably the worst point in Korean history would be hanging in a hamburger restaurant in that same nation just fifty-some-odd years later.
Upon coming to this conclusion he backed away from the window as if the entire restaurant might blow up at any moment. Once he was in the middle of the street he stopped. For the first time in a while he was tired again. He also felt drunk. Not energized drunk, like he had upon finding his old high school. But the kind of drunk that needed to be safe at home. Not wandering the streets. He could see a line of taxis down the street. Before he walked in their direction he tightly griped the empty bottle, reached back, and hurled it at the Burger King window as hard as he could.
He didn’t watch the bottle or the window shatter. He turned around and sprinted toward the taxis. When he heard the glass a burst of excitement radiated through his body. He felt the same excitement as he had earlier when he fled the motel room. Just for half a minute or so, he felt like a little boy again.

5,167 words.
“Hurry up.”
“Get your bag”
“Hurry up.”
The kids put their school bags in the car.
“Both of you sit in the back.”
“But mom, I want to…”
“Get in the back.”
She shut the door and checked the mirror. She put on her seat belt and started the car. If there was traffic they would be late. She veered toward the surface, whipping around the turns and twists of the parking garage under the apartment building they lived in. Around the turns the tires sounded like fabric ripping. Black rubber on green rubber.
“Will I have my lessons later?”
“I told you both no class today.”
“Where are we going?”
“Seoul.”
“Why? To see Grandma?”
She didn’t say anything as she sped out of the garage. Toward the bridge.
The car passed by LG apartment building number 116, which was where they lived. The kids looked up and tried to find the apartment and there was some commotion about that.
“Mom, I forgot my `society’ book.”
She glared at Min-chul in the mirror and sighed. He looked back, but strangely. Even two months later he still wasn’t used to her new eyes. He looked away. More suddenly than he might have before.
After a pause Min-chul’s sister asked “Will we see grandma today?”
“No,” she snapped.
“Why?”
Again, she chose to just not answer. They got on the onramp toward Gwangali Bridge.
“Our old apartment!”
Min-chul pointed in the direction of the older Samick Beach apartments. Both children leaned toward Min-chul’s window. In their day the apartments were amongst the hottest in Busan. But that was 15 years ago. Now, they stood as relics. Oddly colored, some even dilapidated.
She steadied the wheel and glanced over too. She was happy to be out of that place, still. Even four years later she was glad. She pitied their old neighbors who probably still lived there. Busan was a dump, yes. But at least living at LG made it tolerable.
“When can we go to Outback again?”
They had passed Outback as well. She ignored this too. She looked at the clock. It was 9:31 a.m. If traffic wasn’t bad, they could eat lunch before the appointment.
“Mom, I’m hungry.”
“Eat that,” she said, nodding toward the Kimbap, ham sushi, in the passenger’s side seat.
There was traffic as the bridge ended and her shoulders tensed as the car stopped. This left them all staring at the Lotte Castle apartment buildings. While LG was fine, and closer to the good middle schools, a high rise apartment at Lotte Castle had been what she’d always wanted. She’d heard even the worst apartments had spectacular ocean views.
“I want to live there!”
The anger in her stomach suddenly rose. She felt that sometimes her children were attacking her. That they enjoyed finding the places in her heart that made her the craziest. The angriest in the shortest amount of time. Then, like surgeons, they delved inside her to poke and prod her toward insanity. She wanted to turn around and smash her daughter right then. But when her eyes darted into the mirror her daughter was not even looking in the direction of Lotte Castle. She was pointing to the right. Toward the Yacht Club.
“People don’t live there, stupid” said Min-chul, vocalizing his mother’s own sentiment.
“Why?”
“People don’t live on boats,” Min-chul sang sarcastically. As she slowly moved her eyes back to the road from the mirror, she realized she had no idea if people lived there or not. But she was content to let Min-chul’s answer suffice. What did it matter?
“Really? Mom is that true?”
“Maybe.”
The traffic eased. She accelerated more. Tried to get out of there as quickly as possible. “People take them on the water, but they don’t live there,” said Min-chul.
“I want to live on a boat!”
Again the anger rose, though not as much as before. She steadfastly looked ahead, simultaneously trying to will her daughter quiet.
It was quiet for a few minutes as the traffic as they moved through the rest of Busan. Whenever she drove out from Busan, which was rare, she always wished it could be the last time. She didn’t give any thought to where she might be going that would eliminate the city from her life, but she liked to pretend. When she drove into Busan, she was always reminded of her first impression of the city. The first time she’d come with her husband, then fiancé, to meet his family. Seoul was huge. But it sprawled outwards. Busan was like one poor, shitty part of Seoul built atop another. A shitty city built upon a shitty city. Seoul was reduced to rubble during the Korean War. Busan had not been, which was too bad, she thought. She had realized that as she and her husband wound their way around the aimless, never ending streets for the first time. She was immediately overtaken by the sheer density, even having grown up in Seoul. So many buildings made with little rhyme or reason. Zero attention to detail. Everything completed in a mad rush. It matched the inhabitants perfectly, she thought. In truth, she had hated it from the first time she saw it. But by then it was already her fate. At that time she cried.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
She turned to the window.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I think I’m getting a cold.”
“You should drink more tea.”
Yes, drink more tea. And then drink more beer. And then drink beer and wine. And then get pills. And then drink beer and wine, take pills, and hide in the stairwell and smoke every night and wonder what would have happened if she’d not fallen for the illusion of love and just stayed in Seoul.
She looked in the rear view mirror. Min-chul was asleep. Her daughter was, however unfortunately, wide awake. Don’t speak, she thought. Don’t speak. Her daughter was watching the buildings become smaller and fewer. Soon they were surrounded by mountains.
“Mom,” she whispered, “why can’t I know where we’re going?”
“No,” she said tersely, even though it didn’t really match the question. In her mind she was answering her daughter’s asking permission to speak. She was tired of talking about it. She’d answered the question dozens of times over the course of a week. From everyone. Min-chul. From her husband, whose idea it was. His parents. Her parents. His sister. His sister-in-law. Her sisters. Without noticing she tensed up and pressed down on the accelerator. Tightened her grip on the steering wheel. The speed monitoring system beeped. She pulled her foot off completely. As if to punish the car for having reprimanded her. A white car behind her honked and swerved into the right lane to pass her. It honked again as it passed her.
“Don’t ask me that again,” she loudly snarled into the mirror.
Min-chul opened his eyes. He looked at his sister and drew his hand up as if to hit or play some kind of trick on her.
“Go to sleep. Both of you,” she hissed into the mirror.
The kids simultaneously closed their eyes.
She looked at her phone, mostly to make sure it was right at her side. Her husband would call at some point. His mother would also call, the bitch. Her own mother would also call. In fact, everyone would be calling her. It was going to be one of those days where everyone feels compelled to call. She hated these days. She would be happy when it was all over. When she could be back at the apartment. Having a glass of wine. Sneaking a cigarette out in the stairwell. Leave the phone in the kitchen.
She got lost in this idea for a while, but then remembered she hadn’t eaten anything all morning. She looked at the bag on the passenger’s side. She checked the mirror. The kids were indeed asleep. She slid her hand toward the bag, trying to still focus on driving. Most of all, to be quiet. But the bag was just beyond her reach. Closer to the passenger’s side door than to her. For a split second she considered waking her daughter to get it. No way. Sleep. Don’t talk. She didn’t need to eat. She back up straight and tried to think about something else.
For a while everything was quiet. There weren’t many cars on the road. In her mind she re-checked her checklist. Tonight they would come home. She had some special food. Food that would be easy to eat without chewing. Some cold bean soup, already prepared. She’d bought the grape juice Min-chul liked and the orange soda her daughter liked. If she was lucky, the doctor would give them some pain medication. They’d asleep by eight, hopefully. Even earlier, if the trauma of the procedure tired them out.
She checked them in the mirror. Why was she always so angry at them? She needed to change her mind. They were her children. She did love them. It was her situation that wasn’t so great. She needed to endure it though. For them. She had to remember that.
She looked at Min-chul. He’d sunk from 3rd to 20th in his class since he’d switched to the foreign language middle school. What was the problem? She needed to push him harder. To study more. They had the money. If he didn’t do better she’d hear form her husband. And then soon enough from her bitch mother-in-law. And she wouldn’t be direct about it either. She’d just start calling. Everyday. Several times a day. Like water torture.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning the house.”
“Where is Min-chul?”
“He’s at school, of course.”
“What did you make him for breakfast?”
“Rice and seaweed soup.”
“I’ll bring you some more food tomorrow. What time do you wake up?”
“After the kids go off I go back to bed.”
“I know. What time do you get up?”
“About 8:30.”
“That’s so late.”
Stupid little conversations. But all day and every day. One to advise about a new vegetable market. Advice on what to serve for breakfast. On what she would make for dinner. Just calling again and again. Until Min-chul’s ranking went up. Then the calls would subside. Until the next crisis. It was the most unsubtle of subtle hints.
She stared into the mirror at her son again.
It was quiet for a while. They were approaching Deagu. A livable city. Why couldn’t her husband get a job in Deagu? Why didn’t she meet a man from Deagu? Min-chul opened his eyes. It startled her. As if Min-chul had heard her thoughts. He slowly turned his head to the window, trying to understand where they were.
“We’re almost in Deagu” she said nicely, trying to change the mood from before. “We’re half way to Seoul.”
Min-chul looked around the car. Their eyes met in the mirror again. Reflexively she stretched toward the passenger’s seat. She unbuckled her seat belt to reach the bag with the gimbap. Her fingers just touched the top of the bag. She slid it toward her. Just then she started to veer off the road. The left tire hit a warning surface and the entire car started to rattle like an old train. As though the tire might suddenly fly up and right off the car.
She came back to the wheel and overcorrected, nearly running into the lane next to her. Finally, she got the car under control. She took a breath and easily picked the food off the seat and handed it to Min-chul.
“Eat this.”
In the commotion her daughter had woken up. At first she had been stunned, but once the car steadied she also steadied. Like Min-chul she groggily looked around her. Trying to remember where she was. Just be quiet like your brother she thought as she looked her daughter over. Just put some food in your mouth and be quiet.
“Give your sister some Min-chul.”
They both still sleepy. They chewed slowly and stared quietly out the window. This was what she liked. It wasn’t that she objected to having children. She just wanted them to be quiet. To not bother her all the time. She had plenty to think about without having to worry about petty arguments or annoying questions about where they were going in Seoul. She checked them every few moments. Soon, they finished eating, closed their eyes, and slept again.
It was remarkable. The trip was going swimmingly. She couldn’t help looking in the mirror every few seconds. Just to assure that indeed, they were still quiet and sleeping.
She again reminded herself that it wasn’t her children that were to blame. She reminded herself to keep the children separate. For example, it wasn’t their fault her mother-in-law was a vicious bitch. Nor was it their fault that her husband’ sisters were witches. It wasn’t even their fault that her husband was ungrateful to her, or that once or twice a month didn’t come home until 5 a.m., smelling of cigarettes, booze and perfume.
With this fixation her anger rose again. Her palms became sweaty and she adjusted her hands on the steering wheel. She tried to stretch and air them out.
As she could have guessed seeing Deagu reminded her of a former lover. It always did and she always indulged in the memory. She checked the mirror again.
Deagu had been their refuge. It was private. Neither of them had any family or friends in Deagu, so there was no chance in being spotted by anyone who might disapprove for whatever reason. Deagu was growing so fast. They’d come one time, and then the next time it would look like a completely different city. New high rise buildings, new villas, new malls.
He had done his military service there, and despite all the construction, he knew the city like the back of his hand. She could remember the back of his hand. He had delicate, smooth, well manicured hands. Soft to the touch. Perfect hands for being a doctor, they were indeed. So unlike those of her husband, who before becoming a ship building tycoon, been a ship builder since high school.
In Deagu they held hands and acted like children. Chasing each other around. There was no risk of anyone ever seeing them. The perfect getaway. They would hold hands on the bus. The entire way. Her sleeping on his arm. Occasionally waking to nibble on snacks or stare out the window. Getting there and going to the park. She could imagine her hair, then, it had been long and flowing, falling down when they stopped, in time with the park’s fountain. Getting fat and drunk on gabli, pork meat, and stumbling into motels. Exhausting themselves before finally falling into a bathtub or making love right there in the entry way.
She hadn’t been in love with him. Not any more than her husband, or anyone else in her life. But those days in Deagu, even though there couldn’t have been more than four or five of them, were some of the best she’d had. They were certainly the most exciting. Not that excitement was everything. But they were the days that mimicked films. Love stories.
His family eventually separated them; his mother being at the front of a lobby to persuade him to go to medical school in America. She married a rich man anyway. With the exception of having to live in Busan, her situation might have been about the same had she married him. Still, she thought, as she checked the kids in the mirror, and stared aimlessly down a wide street, rows of five story buildings, she traveled back to those days in her mind more often than she would have cared to admit.
Then, she heard a sound in the backseat.
Her daughter was crying. She looked back to the road, hoping it would stop. Wishing it was merely a whimper in a dream. But she’d seen the tears running down her daughters face. She knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Her daughter continued to cry.
“What’s wrong?”
Silence.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
Min-chul looked down at his hands, then outside.
“What happened to your sister Min-chul? Why is your sister crying?”
He said nothing. He looked groggy, but content.
“Min-chul!”
There was no answer. Just the soft crying of her daughter and the tires rhythmically running over separations in the concrete.
“What is it?!” she almost screamed.
“Min-chul said they’re going to cut my tongue.”
She looked at Min-chul with fire in her eyes. She wanted to strangle him. She wanted to pull the car over and strangle him on the side of the road.
“What did you say to her Min-chul?”
There was no answer. Her daughter continued to cry.
“WHAT did you say?”
Min-chul stared out the window. He looked bored.
“He said you’re taking me to get my tongue cut so I can speak English better.”
Even though the building commotion of her children was jerking her away, there still existed the outer remnants of the happy daydream. Initially, it prevented her from snapping immediately. But as the reality of what had happened, what Min-chul had revealed to his sister, became clear, awaking from the daydream was even more severe than had she lost her temper immediately.
“Is that….” Her daughter was nearly hyperventilating. “…TRUE?!”
She checked the road to see how far out of Deagu, and hence, how close to Seoul, they were. They were just over half way to Seoul. She checked the mirror, the clock, and again tired to calculate how long it would be to Seoul. Perhaps an hour, if there was no traffic. She pushed on the accelerator.
“MOM?!”
Min-chul punched his sister on the arm. His sister screamed.
She tried to remain calm. It was her only defense. She thought about what her husband would do. What her father would do. What her brother would do. What her mother-in-law would think. And then, she even thought what he would do. The man she hadn’t married. How she wished she could drift back into her daydream. But that was long ago now.
She tried to calm herself and analyze the situation. The fact was Min-chul had revealed to his sister that they were indeed going to Seoul. In Seoul they would indeed both get a tongue procedure that would elongate their tongues, enabling them, according to her husband, to speak English more clearly. Several of his friends, ironically from Seoul, had told him of their children’s success after having the operation.
She had been appalled at first. She’d heard of such things on television, but they seemed excessive. Grotesque and esoteric. But her husband had insisted it could help them. That it would give them a competitive advantage in school. In life.
It would have been one thing if Min-chul had told her as they neared Seoul. At least then she could accelerate and get to the hospital before the tears became a tantrum. But now, they were just past Deagu. She took her foot off the gas pedal. They were only half way.
Her daughter had been screaming for a few minutes and was now physically tiring. Her head hung forward in a delicate, even sleepy, sob.
She looked up at the mirror. “Mommy, are they going to cut out my tongue?”
Her eyes bounced between the two children. Min-chul remained satisfied with his destruction.
“They aren’t going to cut out your tongue,” she finally said, “Now stop crying.”
It was as though her mother finally reacting to the situation gave her license to cry again. It was to be a delicate persuasion for Min-chul’s mother. She tried her best to be responsive and caring. Even if she had to fake it a little.
“Darling, it’s so you can speak better English. It’s just a little operation to help you speak better English.”
“I don’t want to speak English! I hate English!”
“Hey! Now listen to me,” she said calmly, “You need to study English. English is very important to you and your life. Your father makes a lot of money because he can speak English. Now, you need to be brave about this.”
This calmed her daughter down a little. Min-chul looked surprised, and a little disappointed, that his sister had controlled herself. His mother looked at him. She was trying her hardest not to say anything, but trying to convey that he might was going to suffer her wrath when the time was right.
“How do they do that?” her daughter said.
Instantly frustrated that her initial explanation hadn’t finished the conversation she let the anger steep in her mind. She had one hand on the wheel. With the other she dug her fingernail into her brown slacks. She tried to remain calm and construct the least terrifying offensive way to describe to her six-year-old daughter that a doctor was going to slice through the bottom of her tongue to make it longer.
“They take scissors and do like this…” Min-chul made a gesture, opening and closing his hand in front of his mouth, making a disgusting slushy sound. As he did it the smirk on his face became more severe.
The little girl screamed and turned her head away.
Min-chul’s mother she said nothing. She just stared at the open road while tears welled in her eyes. At that point she wanted to open the car and fall out. She looked in the mirror. Her daughter was still sobbing.
“STOP!” She looked in the mirror, moving back and forth between the two children who both looked at her in shock.
After a few seconds she realized she hadn’t planned anything to say. She just wanted them to be quiet. To be normal little children. But the longer it was quiet the more Min-chul’s eyes changed from shock to amusement. The kind of amusement one might feel when one is in control of a situation.
“Darling,” she said, ignoring Min-chul and turning again to her daughter, “Please calm down. I promise you it won’t be bad. It’s a very simple operation. More simple than the one mommy had last month, ok? Remember that? Your mommy wasn’t hurt at all.”
This of course, was a lie. She had been terrified of getting plastic surgery, even though it had been something she had wanted to do since she was a teenager. Even if it had looked worse than it felt, it still had been utterly painful. As if someone had taken a torch and burnt off her eyelids. Not to mention the pain and bruising around her eyes that made her look like someone beaten to death.
She cleared her throat and adjusted the mirror, Min-chul was smiling a little and looking at his hands. At that moment, both Min-chul and his mother knew he could very well say whatever he wanted at that moment. Whatever the punishment might be for another outburst, it wouldn’t be severe. Not after the operation. The operation her husband had insisted upon.
“Darling,” she started again, “you’re going to be okay. Don’t worry. It’s very simple.”
She sniffled and wiped her eyes. She finally looked up at her mother. She too found the difference in her mother’s new eyes a little strange. More beautiful, as nearly everyone had said, but different.
It was quiet for about 10 minutes, but as they neared Seoul both children became uneasy. Min-chul seemed calm, but the fact that he hadn’t teased his sister led his mother to believe he was nervous. His sister on the other hand, sat in stunned silence. Most of the time she stared out the window, watching the distance between the car and her fate get smaller, just as the mileage to Seoul became smaller. Occasionally tears would stream down her face, but there was no sound, which as far as her mother was concerned, was fine.
As they reached the edge of Seoul she realized they were early for the appointment. They would indeed have time for lunch.
“Are you hungry? Why don’t we stop and get something to eat?”
There was no answer. Both children stared outside the window aimlessly.
“Do you want some chicken? I know a really good chicken place near where I grew up.”
The rhythmic sound of the tires on the pavement was the only sound in the car. When they reached a newly paved portion of the freeway, and even that sound was almost gone.
“McDonalds? Do you want to eat McDonalds before we go to the hospital?”
Min-chul nervously picked at his cheek as he continued to stare outside. For both children, the reality of the situation was settling in. In just over an hour they would be inside the hospital, preparing to have their tongues cut. Min-chul wished he was at home, playing a computer game. Even studying. How wonderful being in his bedroom, the door closed, memorizing a list of trigonometry proofs, or even English vocabulary. He didn’t want McDonalds. How could he eat anything? His stomach was in his throat. He wanted to cry. He wanted to sob like his sister. But he kept it under control. He dug his finger into the skin on his face. It hurt, but it prevented him from unbuckling his seat belt, crouching down into a ball on the car floor, and wailing.
Even though Min-chul’s mother didn’t know this fact exactly, she could read it on her son’s face. He was trying his hardest to be a man, just as his father had impressed upon him again and again. His father was rarely around. He worked long and had several work-related activities on the weekend or at night. However, when he did show up he felt it was his duty to impress the great lessons of being a man onto his son. Often, she thought, it was ridiculous. But still, a few of her husband’s words carried far more weight than anything she ever said.
At that moment she hated her husband. As she looked at her children, cowering, as if they were being marched to their deaths. Her husband had no idea about this end of it. He just made the decisions and left them to her to carry them out. And to top it off, they all treated him like a king. Including her. They were all dependent on him and adjusted their lives accordingly. If he wanted to eat a certain food, they ate it. If he wanted to watch golf instead of the comedy program they all liked, then they watched golf. If he wanted to tell them what to do they didn’t question is logic, they just did it. Well, that may be true, she thought, but she was certainly questioning it now.
As they pulled into the hospital parking lot she suddenly had the idea to escape. Escape. She could drive out of the parking lot. Get back on the freeway. Drive straight back to Busan. There wouldn’t even be traffic since it was the middle of the day. She could tell her husband the operation was canceled. That the doctor had an accident. That they got to the hospital and found out the doctor had a car accident and couldn’t perform the operation for over a month. Since he was the doctor her husband’s friends had specifically recommended, they would wait until the doctor had healed. Not try to go to another. Then, perhaps, her husband would forget. Or, conversely, she could delay the appointment. If another appointment opened she would say she was doing this or that. Maybe then the whole idea, which was a bit trendy to begin with, would fade away like any other fad.
As she turned a corner she could see the exit. Suddenly a loud sawing sound filled the air. Startled, she slammed on the brakes. She and the children flung forward as the sound stopped, then started again.
It was her phone, vibrating against the plastic surrounding the gear shift. She looked down and picked it up. It was her husband.
“Hello?”
“Yes, we’re here now.”
“Okay.”
She handed the phone to Min-chul. There was a long pause. She stared straight ahead. The exit was still there, right in front of her. But the phone call had given her pause. She just stood there, staring at the exit. Contemplating, even the beginning of piecing her plan together again. Min-chul sat quietly with the phone to his ear. The deep murmurs of her husband’s voice filled the car. Min-chul grunted a few times in acknowledgement. Drive through the exit. Get back on the freeway. Drive home. Explain about the accident. A golf accident.
Min-chul closed the phone and handed it back to his mother. For a while the three of them sat in the car. The engine hummed softly.
As she parked the car Min-chul’s mother knew this would likely begin the onslaught of calls from everyone else. In fact, she was surprised her mother-in-law hadn’t already called. She removed the key from the ignition and told the children to get out. Just then she thought she felt a vibration in her purse. She ignored it. As they walked toward the hospital and her purse slapped against her leg, she was sure it was her phone vibrating. Screw it. The bitch can call all day, she thought. She didn’t have to answer. She was busy.
The doctor was kind, and very handsome, she thought. He carefully explained the operation to the children. Telling them exactly what he would do, but in a way that gave them some comfort. She stared at his hands as he spoke to the children. They were much more similar to those of the old boyfriend she had visited, earlier in the car. His fingers were long and smooth. He gently gestured at different diagrams of the tongue with a pen that hung delicately between his fingers. He was her age, perhaps a couple years younger. She couldn’t help but wonder what his wife was like.
The doctor informed her that the children would be in the same room during the procedure. She was thankful for that, though she couldn’t help over-smiling a little when he told her. She wondered if he liked her eyes.
She said goodbye to her children, crouching down and fixing their clothes. She assured them she’d see them in less than an hour. Min-chul’s face was resolute. He didn’t look scared anymore. Her daughter seemed less sure, slightly in a state of shock. But as they turned away from their mother and followed behind the doctor toward the room where they’d have the operation, Min-chul took his little sister’s hand in his. At that point they were far down the hallway, but by squinting her eyes she could just make out her daughter tightening her grip in Min-chul’s hand.