Swimming Through the Dawn

by R. P. Rioux

  Heather, who had been silently listening for most of the evening, shared her thoughts. "A trainer once said to me, 'If you can imagine yourself doing anything other than being an idol, do it.' At first, I thought he was dissing me, but I later understood him to mean I'd need that level of passion to succeed."

  As the cumulative effects of the soju took hold, the conversation shifted more naturally into Korean. Steve became a mere observer. Erin, too, looked perplexed as she struggled to keep pace with the frenetic conversation. During an occasional pause, Steve interjected by asking, "What is this egg yolk I keep hearing about?" Even Erin snickered at that.

  "Aegyo, not egg yolk," said Heather with a gentle laugh. "How do I explain it?"

  Mindy didn't wait for an invitation. "Aegyo is the Korean art of cute flirtation. It's useful for when you want to get your way in a non-intimidating fashion. All idols learn at least some, and new aegyo often goes viral because of an idol."

  This turn in conversation brightened the mood. The four veterans, Sun-hee, Mindy, Grace, and Heather, demonstrated some of the most well-known examples, ranging from simple hand gestures like finger hearts to full aegyo songs for the benefit of their less experienced friends. The demonstration evolved into a competition as they each attempted to elicit the biggest response from their audience. Mindy sang "Gwiyomi," while Sun-hee offered her version of the "Confession Song." Heather shared an original aegyo song. But it was Grace who dropped the mic with an excellent "I dreamt of a ghost" aegyo. Her performance was met by howls of collective laughter and a consensus she had won. Mindy found it hilarious to watch Grace become the life of the party.

  The four contestants turned tables on their audience when Heather declared a 'Baby Shark' challenge.

  "You mean that song is an aegyo song?" asked Steve.

  "Yes, and you're not escaping it," said Grace.

  The girls cheered Steve's name in unison until he was forced to relent. Mindy provided a basic tutorial, then turned her pupils loose to face their critics. Erin, as expected, was well-suited for it. Though her execution was rough, she possessed an innately cute way of moving that complemented her latent talent. Steve, on the other hand, looked positively ridiculous, and his attempt to repeat what he had just learned sent the girls into fits. Heather was so amused she even fell off her rock.

  Suddenly, Shandi's voice rose from one of the tents. Her words boomed forth in a no-nonsense tone. "Shut! The Fuck! Up!"

  Laughter around the campfire instantly ceased. The delinquents sealed their lips to comply with the demand, though not without a few giggles and pointing accusations along the way.

  "All right, we should get some sleep," whispered Steve. "I'll be waking you in a couple hours anyway."

  16

  June

  Every year, thousands of aspiring talents flock to Hollywood to pursue dreams of stardom. For most, the move represents the beginning of an exciting new chapter in life. For 19-year-old June and her Aunt Ye-jin, whose lives had already been irreversibly altered the past two years, the move signified closure.

  Together as passengers in a family minivan, they gaped at the row of beautiful houses passing by, awestruck by their grandeur. Like the fabric of dreams, each displayed vast green lawns, immaculately tended flowerbeds, and prettily painted exteriors. That the dwellings they had so often seen in smuggled movies turned out to be real after all thrilled them both.

  The realization of what they were doing had sunk in when the customs agent at LAX called her June. Her new English name seemed as foreign as the strange city she was witnessing for the first time. Already many of her expectations about America had been overturned. More were sure to come. Her head was swimming with questions.

  The city was enormous. From the air, Los Angeles stretched to the horizon and beyond. She hadn't known cities could cover so much ground. Those in China were much taller. This one was short and squat like those of her homeland, but many multitudes larger. Where it ended, she could only guess. The arrivals area of the airport was unlike anything she had ever witnessed before, stuffed with a multiplicity of people of every race, size, shape, color, and manner of dress. If life as a refugee in China expanded her worldview, this experience energized it to an altogether different magnitude. Having grown up in a monoculture, the experience was jarring.

  While June's English was poor, she could at least hold basic conversations, which was more than her aunt could claim. Before they could meet the church volunteers in the greeting area, they had to navigate the customs process. The airport signs were bewildering. Vast quantities of them pointed in every direction. None were in Korean. Her aunt waited patiently as June studied them, trying to determine where to go next.

  "Are you lost?" A stocky black woman in her late 50s greeted them. The encounter marked the first time June had met a person of her race. "Are you looking for someone?"

  The woman looked friendly and wore a staff uniform. June's initial instincts, however, bred by years of survival through distrust, led her to assume the worst. "No."

  Noticing the baggage claim tickets in her hand, the woman provided directions to the luggage carousels, but again June resisted the help. "I'm sorry. We have no money."

  The woman looked surprised and laughed. "I'm not interested in your money. Here, follow me." The guide escorted the two of them through the labyrinthine terminal, chatting ceaselessly. Much of what she said flew by incomprehensibly, but it was her demeanor that was interesting. The woman spoke freely about her family and her job and asked if it was their first time in America. Why would a stranger be that gregarious unless it was part of a scam attempt, she concluded? She kept on guard and clutched her documents tightly, yet once they had reached their destination, the woman simply wished them farewell and walked away without soliciting anything in return. June and her aunt shrugged shoulders in bewilderment.

  A half hour later, standing in the arrival hall with their meager belongings in hand, they spotted their names on a placard. The smiling group of Korean-Americans, a family of four, born and raised in the U.S, welcomed them. Their dialect was utterly unfamiliar. Despite speaking Korean, they were as hard to decipher as the black woman was. With patience, June was able to learn about the church's program to resettle refugees. Like the woman at the airport, they too seemed at ease sharing intimate details of their personal lives. Was this a common trait among Americans, she wondered?

  When an offer was made to eat dinner, June and her aunt politely declined, despite being famished. "We have no money."

  "Don't worry," the family matriarch replied. "Consider it our homecoming gift."

  June had no idea what that meant but accepted it to avoid being misconstrued as rude. The restaurant they visited sold hamburgers. This was disappointing news, as the few she'd tasted were uniformly awful. Despite being absolutely packed with customers, and with all tables occupied, the white-and-red-tiled eatery was immaculately tidy. A host of staff worked furiously behind the bright red counters. Numbers were called at regular intervals while customers retrieved their own orders. The delicious smells of beef patties and onions emanating from the grill exacerbated her hunger.

  "I recommend the Double-Double," the father suggested. By this point, June was becoming more agreeable and took his advice. It didn't take long to realize her previous encounters with the dish were mere mockeries in comparison to what she ate that day. Her aunt, too, was impressed. Their first meal in their new home proved to be a memorable one.

  The surprises didn't end there. The family called the road they traveled on a freeway. One, two, three—June had to count each lane; there were so many. Ten on each side, all packed with vehicles. She wondered how that was even possible. Even China didn't have roads this big. The traffic was positively chaotic compared to the empty streets she experienced as a child, yet the father navigated it all effortlessly.

  Not everything she saw was pleasant. Sizeable areas under bridges and along roadways were occupied by brightly colored canopies and litt
ered with garbage. June didn't understand what they were for and wondered why authorities didn't clean up the mess since they presented such an eyesore. To her dismay, she learned the canopies—tents they were called—were temporary shelters for those without homes. It worried her how a country with such apparent wealth could allow people to live in such conditions.

  The van left the freeway and entered a neighborhood significantly different from the one she had seen earlier. This place was not cheerful. The apartment complexes looked old and utilitarian, more like the structures in her old country. Lawns, if they existed at all, were poorly tended. Unreadable words were scrawled in paint along many of the walls and fences. Cars parked along the street were shabby. The few trees there looked scrawny and starved of water. The van stopped before a gray building. Without prompting, the family members helped carry belongings into one of the apartments.

  "Welcome to your new home," said the mother cheerfully. June surveyed the place. Austere and weary from years of constant use, it was clean and positively enormous compared to what they'd been accustomed to. The apartment was also devoid of furniture. Several gift boxes prepared by church members were presented. Donations included food staples, necessary household supplies, as well as sheets, blankets, dishes, lightbulbs, and kitchen items. The family explained the use of appliances and reviewed the available assistance programs. Her aunt's weariness must've been evident, for the family graciously found a reason to depart soon after.

  When the van drove away, June and her aunt burst into tears. They held each other, overwhelmed by the understanding that they had beaten the odds by making it this far. At the same time, they were equally sobered by the realization of where they stood in this new world.

  "We survived," said June. "We should be grateful for that."

  "We have much work to do," her aunt responded.

  17

  Heather

  Made in Heaven's rental van, packed with passengers and band equipment, made its way through the scruffy eastern reaches of Hollywood. Heather watched as two unhappy pedestrians puddle jumped their way across the potholed street. It hardly ever rained in L.A., so of course tonight, of all nights, it did. Angelenos tended to treat even mild showers like the end times, and this storm was decidedly not gentle. Heather wondered if anyone would bother coming to their official debut. Arnie had promised them a club gig within a month and had delivered. Would their debut be a success?

  Arnie briefed the musicians as he drove. "We're running early—Showtime's at 9:00. Play for half an hour. Pretty sweet, right?"

  Nobody said anything.

  "Told your friends and family, right?"

  A few muttered yeses.

  "Tell them to drink a lot too. That's what gets ya called back."

  Again, no response. Heather didn't have the heart to tell him their friends were mostly underage.

  "C'mon, where's the energy? It's like a morgue in here."

  Arnie slowed the van as it entered a somewhat desolate stretch of Fountain Avenue, turning left onto a side street near their destination. He rolled down the window and shouted at a guy wearing a club jacket who took shelter under the marquee. "Where does the band unload?"

  The guy pointed to the alley. "In the rear." Heather looked at the blinking neon sign and the tattered facade.

  "The Wormhole?" she had asked incredulously when Arnie first revealed the venue earlier in the week.

  "Ya think you can play the Palladium on your first night?" he responded. She couldn't counter his reasoning and let it go. Now that she saw the club in person, it was even less impressive than she imagined.

  When the van stopped, Arnie slid the side door open. "Okay, grab something and head inside." The five band members struggled to "grab something" without lingering too long in the downpour, but the effort to hustle complicated the extraction of equipment. By the time they made it past the burly bouncer at the door, their outfits were soaked, makeup streaked, and finely coiffed hair lay limp.

  Stepping into the harshly lit backstage area, the scene before them looked like a bunker from a Fallout game. The band was met by the perplexed stares of what appeared to be, at first glance, a dozen members of an all-white, all-male motorcycle gang. On display was a profusion of leather clothing, tattoos, facial hair, and piercings. The girls instinctively huddled together like cornered prey.

  One guy with a soul patch, stringy black hair, and a Machine Head t-shirt looked at them, chuckled, and uttered, "What the fuck?" Heather heard catcalls from across the room but dared not look.

  "Is this like Babymetal or some shit?" said a guy in a Slayer shirt with a bald head and short boxed beard. His companions laughed.

  "Kono sukebe jiji me," whispered Mindy under her breath.

  Heather stifled a laugh. "Babymetal's Japanese," she told Grace in Korean.

  "That's a little beside the point, right now, don't you think?"

  Arnie forcibly squeezed around the girls as they steadfastly refused to budge. "What kind of club is this?" Grace whispered. Before he could answer, a beardless guy emerged from a side office. He appeared to be in his upper 50s and donned a long gray ponytail. Arnie greeted him with a broad smile and a bro hug. One look at the girls, however, and beardless guy grew distraught. "What did you bring me here?" he asked, failing to put a positive inflection on his voice.

  "Tim, this is Made in Heaven," Arnie said, presenting a band flyer.

  Tim took one look at it and grimaced. "Dude, you made it sound like an Iron Maiden tribute band. What the hell is this?"

  "You girls like Iron Maiden, right?" Arnie asked. They stared at him, blankly without saying a word. "They're a K-Pop group, but don't worry, they rock." The news generated snickers.

  "A what? Dude, you're killing me here. What do I do with this?"

  Arnie addressed the girls. "Don't worry. I got this." He ushered Tim into the office and shut the door. Heather could hear them locked in a heated debate. The girls continued to stand uncomfortably by the entrance as most of the "biker gang" lost interest in them.

  Slayer guy, though, seemed anxious to make amends for his initial reception. He walked to a tattered leather couch, the most substantial furnishing in the room, and kicked the legs of its current sole occupant, a black-clad, scrawny teen. "Hey, dickhead, be polite for once." The teen grumbled but relocated to a Marshall amp. Slayer guy gestured for them to move to the couch. Not wishing to cause a scene by resisting, Heather took the first tentative steps. She was soon followed by the others. The five moved like a school of fish avoiding sharks. Scrawny kid shot them a resentful glance as they hesitantly occupied his former seat. Heather hoped whatever substance stained the upholstery wouldn't transfer to their wet outfits.

  After an interminable amount of small talk with Slayer guy, the office door reopened. Tim approached. "Here's the deal. We're moving you off the 9:00 slot. You can start first or last. I'd recommend the former. The crowd won't be as drunk."

  Erin looked to Mindy for reassurance but received none. After a brief discussion in Korean, the band conveyed their preference to go on at 7:00. All enthusiasm regarding their official debut had long vanished.

  The primary advantage of the opening slot was the leisurely setup time it afforded. At 6:30, a soundcheck was conducted with the house engineer, who appeared more interested in talking with his friends than making sure the band sounded good. Once ready, the group congregated at the stage end of the bar awaiting their call.

  "We told our friends to be here by 9:00. What should we do?" asked Heather.

  "We could text them," said Grace.

  "Will anybody show?" asked Erin.

  "Do we want them to?" asked Mindy. "We might not have friends after tonight."

  The clock rolled around to 7:00, then 7:15. No stage call came. A middle-aged, female bartender in a sleeveless Sturgis t-shirt was wiping the bar near where the band waited when she spotted Sun-hee sitting on a stool looking dismayed. "You sure do look like you could use a stiff drink," the woman sa
id, "but if you're planning on sitting there, sweetie, I need to see some ID."

  Sun-hee stood. "Sorry, I'm not old enough."

  "What's wrong, honey?" asked the bartender. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  Sun-hee surveyed the room. "Are they going to kill us?"

  The bartender laughed heartily. "What, these guys?" she said, indicating the clutch of muscled, leather-bound, middle-aged men who stood at the opposite end of the bar. "Nah. So long as you stay on their good side, you're in the safest place in America."

  This statement did not reassure Sun-hee. "How do we stay on their good side?"

  "Keep doing what you're doing," the bartender explained. "Believe me, they ain't seen girls like you in this club since the Reagan administration." She left to attend a customer at the other end of the bar.