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.