Back then. When she could do anything she wanted and yet could do nothing at all. When she wanted to get away but didn’t know where to go, and when the place she got away to only became another place she would have to escape. When day and night, summer and winter, today and tomorrow were all the same. Looking back on it now, nothing had really changed since then. She’d been so clueless. Thinking that the worst part of her life had passed. She’d had no idea she would make it through hell only to have to step back down into the muck again in order to get through the next hell.
Now that she’d stopped hiding out at home, Se-oh kept coming across people who looked like Mi-yeon. Women with similar slim physiques and the kind of faint smile that came off as standoffish but that those close to her knew was genuine. Women with thick, black hair down to their shoulders, who styled themselves in clothing and handbags that looked simple but had been crafted with great care and attention to detail. For all of Mi-yeon’s apparent uniqueness, it turned out there were a lot of women like her.
Se-oh froze each time she saw one. She would get flustered, trip over her own feet, draw attention to herself. She would rush ahead and openly examine the woman’s face. Her mind would not rest until she’d confirmed it was not Mi-yeon. At the same time, it angered her that Mi-yeon still hadn’t surfaced. She realized that her conflicting emotions were allowing “back then” to continue its grip on the present.
Se-oh and Mi-yeon had once been best friends. In fact, they were more like family, having practically grown up together. They could tell each other anything. Se-oh had no other friend who listened to her without judgment. Mi-yeon alone did that for her. Se-oh could say anything without fear of being misunderstood. They talked endlessly every chance they got, sharing everything the moment they were alone together, until they both knew everything there was to know about each other.
Back then Se-oh had a habit of stroking Mi-yeon’s earlobe. Whenever her finger touched that soft, scarred lobe, Mi-yeon’s lips would part slightly. While in the middle of talking or listening, Se-oh would watch closely until Mi-yeon exhaled. Each time her breath brushed Se-oh’s skin, she felt a stirring in some unknown place.
In elementary school, Mi-yeon had had her ears pierced and started wearing glittery, cubic zirconia earrings. Se-oh never touched Mi-yeon’s earlobes when she wore the earrings. The ear-lobes looked like they were a part of the accessory. As Se-oh and Mi-yeon moved up to middle school, the dress code grew stricter, and Mi-yeon had to take the earrings out. The holes closed up, leaving behind a small knob of scar tissue, as if to show that no injury can ever heal to its original state.
Their other friends were shocked to see Se-oh massaging Mi-yeon’s earlobes or delicately stroking her eyelashes. But Se-oh refused to stop doing these things that she alone was allowed to do.
Things began to change after they started high school. At first Se-oh thought it was because they had less free time. They attended different schools, which meant there was far more catching up to do each time they talked. They even had to tell each other what color their gym clothes were. Se-oh hoped that Mi-yeon would tell her everything and not leave a single thing out, but she soon realized it was impossible. She didn’t know how it was for Mi-yeon, but for Se-oh, it was time-consuming work. She had to accept that they could not return to their previous state of perfect knowledge.
To make matters worse, Mi-yeon not only stopped talking about herself, she stopped having time to listen to Se-oh. During their phone conversations, Se-oh could hear Mi-yeon clacking away at something. Mi-yeon gave formulaic responses, and when Se-oh asked her opinion or sought her agreement, Mi-yeon deflected the question to hide the fact that she hadn’t been listening. When they met in person, if Se-oh reached for her earlobe, Mi-yeon’s face would turn hard and she would pull away. She never told Se-oh to stop, but her face never softened either. Se-oh pretended not to notice. Mi-yeon’s aloofness and attitude were a part of the person that Se-oh liked.
Not that Se-oh told her everything. It worried her greatly that Mi-yeon was gradually changing, but some topics of conversation become decisive the moment they are broached. This topic was one of them.
As they’d grown older, Mi-yeon’s tendencies toward callousness and fickleness had grown worse. She could be kind and friendly when she wanted to, but mostly she was aloof. Se-oh sometimes felt she was trying too hard to please Mi-yeon. She could tell it would become too much for her one day. She used to think she knew Mi-yeon well, but that had all changed. Whenever she wanted to feel superior to Mi-yeon, or when she felt frustrated at the lack of a reward for her continued loyalty, Se-oh told herself it was because her friend had grown up without a father, and she felt sorry for her. But it made her extremely angry when Mi-yeon blamed Se-oh’s excessive attachment to her on Se-oh’s lack of a mother.
She found she spent more and more time waiting in silence for Mi-yeon to say something. She even stopped reaching for Mi-yeon’s earlobes. They usually met at a playground about halfway between their houses, where they would sit on a bench or quietly swing on the swings. As she became conscious of the silence, Se-oh found it harder to look at an empty swing set, a seesaw with one end tipped high into the air, a jungle gym with no one climbing on it, a rusted slide.
What had become of the stories they used to share? She’d thought they were etched into each other’s bodies, as indelible as veins. But no. Their stories had plunged into a deep crevasse in the earth. They’d fallen to the bottom of a frigid ravine. They’d vanished into a pitch-dark cave.
Se-oh tried to imagine how Mi-yeon spent her time. She had a lot of time to herself, just like Se-oh. She had to. The alternative was impossible. What they did with that time and the things they thought about were surely different, just as the intervals between their breaths and the way they drew air into their lungs were also different from each other. Just as their shadows belonged to them alone, they each had a space and a time all their own. Why had it taken Se-oh so long to realize it? She’d stupidly mistaken attachment and obsession for friendship. She was ashamed.
But even after realizing it, she did not give up on this friendship that was hers alone. She felt she had to be selfless and put Mi-yeon first. The more she did so, the more her unbearable sense of shame hardened and grew more secretive.
The person who killed her hope that things would get better with time was Bu-wi. He went to the same high school as Mi-yeon. As he began appearing more frequently in Mi-yeon’s stories, Se-oh’s spirits fell. The first time Mi-yeon told her about him, she’d bubbled with excitement. She’d gone on and on about whatever uninteresting mischief he’d gotten into and giggled stupidly. She retold the same trivial details over and over. Then she started to say something more, but stopped and refused to finish no matter how much Se-oh badgered her. Se-oh had assumed it was something else about Bu-wi.
Mi-yeon seemed to be in awe of Bu-wi. She talked about how witty and generous and thoughtful and kind he was. Whenever she talked about the things he liked, she sounded just as excited as when she talked about the things she liked.
Se-oh had seen Bu-wi once. At an after-school cram class. Mi-yeon had tried to act uninterested in Bu-wi while Se-oh was around. Se-oh was the only one who knew Mi-yeon wasn’t acting like herself, and she couldn’t help being conscious of it.
Se-oh didn’t care for Bu-wi at all. To put it bluntly, she was closer to hating him. So much so that she felt disappointed in Mi-yeon for choosing to be friends with him. Bu-wi was far too rambunctious. It was like he couldn’t bear to be bored for even a second. And he was always cracking terrible jokes. Plus, he didn’t exactly seem to be in love with Mi-yeon. That, at least, was fortunate.
Once, on a day off from school, Se-oh ran into Bu-wi on the bus. Bu-wi greeted her first.
“What are you doing alone? You and Mi-yeon are usually joined at the hip.”
It made Se-oh happy to hear that.
“Oh, that’s right,” he added, “Mi-yeon said she had plans today.”
<
br /> And just like that, Se-oh’s good mood was ruined. Mi-yeon hadn’t told her about any plans.
It hadn’t come up during their phone call the night before. Se-oh grew quiet because of what Bu-wi told her and because of what she was guessing. Instead of asking where Mi-yeon was, she asked Bu-wi where he was going.
“Church.”
He kept his answer short and turned to look out the bus window. Se-oh thought he was feigning seriousness, but it turned out that Bu-wi simply had nothing else to say on the subject. Se-oh felt irritated. It took great effort for her to tell herself that befriending Bu-wi, with Mi-yeon in the middle, was to her advantage. Not that he shared any such interest.
“I like your T-shirt. That design looks good on you,” she said.
“You think so?” he said, sounding reluctant.
Se-oh suspected she should not ask anything more, but there was something she wanted to know.
“Where’d you buy it?”
Bu-wi seemed to know that Se-oh wasn’t actually interested in his T-shirt. He shrugged and didn’t respond.
“I only ask because it’s an unusual print.”
The T-shirt sported a large, colorful print of an owl. She would have said the same thing if it were a zebra or a tiger instead. It wouldn’t have made a difference if there were no design at all. Bu-wi laughed. She wasn’t sure why.
“Why are you laughing?” Se-oh asked, careful to keep her voice friendly. If she sounded like she was prying, he would get secretive.
“Because. You and Mi-yeon are so alike.”
Now he was showing off. He knew she was digging for information, and he wanted to lord the information over her. Like all the other pretentious, boring kids would do.
She couldn’t imagine what Bu-wi and Mi-yeon might have talked about that would make him say that. What did he know about Mi-yeon? Could he really have talked to her enough to be able to say they had the same personalities or tastes or ways of speaking? What on earth had Mi-yeon told him?
Bu-wi shocked her by acting like he knew Mi-yeon well. Se-oh tried to think of a way to put her mind at ease. She wanted to tell him something that Mi-yeon didn’t know. Just like Mi-yeon, she wanted to have secrets, too. Secrets that would hold for a little while but that she wouldn’t be able to keep forever.
Se-oh started going to church again. The same church Bu-wi attended. Bu-wi wasn’t loose-lipped or prone to bragging. But he would let the news slip eventually. Because it wasn’t something he would even think of keeping secret.
The third time she went to his church, Se-oh gave Bu-wi a watch. It was a sports watch, a style hugely popular among kids their age. She’d spent all of her savings to buy it for Mi-yeon.
She chose to give it to him right before the service began. The other kids wouldn’t crowd around to check out his gift, but there also wouldn’t be zero witnesses either.
“What’s this?”
Bu-wi turned the box this way and that, as if the answer were written on the wrapping paper.
“A present.”
“I can see that, but why are you giving it to me?”
He didn’t look happy about the surprise gift. He gave no indication of appreciation and made no move to unwrap it.
“It’s for your birthday.”
“Do you mean the birthday that’s four months from now, or the one that happened eight months ago?”
Se-oh couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was liking this or not.
“Both. Happy belated birthday and happy upcoming birthday.”
“My own family barely celebrates it, so I don’t know why you would celebrate two of them at once.”
Now she knew. He hated it. He might even make her take the gift back.
“It’s no fun to do it at the same time as everyone else.”
Bu-wi’s face softened a little at that. He looked like he was even starting to enjoy the surprise. He hesitated a moment longer and then said thanks. Se-oh liked that. She liked that he hesitated, and she liked that he gave in and accepted the gift.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“I’ll open it later.”
She figured he simply couldn’t be bothered. He turned to rush into the chapel. Se-oh grabbed his arm.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t tell anyone I gave you a present.”
Bu-wi turned back and faced her straight on.
“Who are you telling me to keep it a secret from?”
“Everyone. You can’t tell anyone.”
“I’m not okay with that. I’ll just give it back to you.”
“Please take it. It’s yours.”
Se-oh kept her voice earnest and shy. That would give the secret more value. The heavier the secret, the more certain it would leak out.
“Take it back, and I promise not to tell anyone you tried to give it to me.”
Bu-wi pressed the box into her hand and turned and went into the chapel. Se-oh fought back tears. She tried to think only about the secret that had just been born regardless of whether he went along with it. At last, she’d hatched a secret, and yet she felt terrible.
Before long, she could sense the other kids at the cram school whispering about her.
No sooner did Se-oh ask one of her friends about it than the girl jumped right in, as if she’d been waiting for just that moment.
“I don’t know if I should tell you this, but . . .” Few stories that began with that phrase were worth suffering through, but Se-oh endured. She already knew the other kids weren’t exactly crazy about her. She wasn’t a great student, didn’t have much of a personality, and was always tagging along after Mi-yeon. So whatever it was the girl was pretending to be reluctant to say had to be about Se-oh or Mi-yeon.
And she was right. The girl left out parts in order to avoid naming names, but it was clearly about Se-oh. The gossip included what Se-oh really had said and done to Bu-wi. She figured the parts about what Bu-wi and Mi-yeon said and did also included some truths. But in the end, most of it turned out to be overblown or embellished. Even Se-oh herself couldn’t tell which parts were true and which were made up.
She should have set the girl straight, but she feigned ignorance instead. Trying didn’t mean things would go her way. And anyway, those sorts of rumors never just cropped up without reason. She simply had to wait it out. Of course, Se-oh wasn’t worried about rumors spreading. What worried her was that, as the story made its rounds, certain parts would get exaggerated to the point that none of it would be believable.
It would make its way around to Mi-yeon eventually. Even if she didn’t hear what they were whispering about, she would figure it out from their attitudes. She would find out about it belatedly and want to claim that it was all exaggerated or untrue, but she would refrain, since some of it was true. According to the gossip, Mi-yeon was the instigator among the three of them. It didn’t cast her in a positive light.
The two of them never talked about him. They kept their mouths shut about the rumors, including the parts that could have used airing out. But they still saw each other now and then, and pretended nothing was amiss. Whenever a subject arose that they were better off avoiding, they either didn’t talk about it at all or only discussed part of it. As a result, Se-oh felt like Bu-wi was constantly with them.
One evening, Se-oh was sitting by herself at the playground when someone appeared at her side. It was Mi-yeon. Se-oh did not turn to look at her, and Mi-yeon did not greet her. After a while, Se-oh addressed Mi-yeon first.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I thought maybe you had something you wanted to say to me.”
Mi-yeon’s voice was gentle, unlike Se-oh’s sharp tone. She even gave her a little smile. Albeit a distant one. Se-oh didn’t respond. She was beginning to understand, however faintly, the power that greed and jealousy could wield over an ordinary friendship, and how easy it was to completely distort a relationship.
That was a
s far as it went. The two of them sat quietly for a while. The words spilling out of her throat stayed pooled inside Se-oh’s mouth. They were as heavy as if she’d swallowed iron. She wanted to confess. Her jealousy, Mi-yeon’s coldness, the unnatural tension that Bu-wi had placed between them. The watch she’d tried to give Bu-wi. The rumors she’d purposely started.
In that silence, Se-oh came to the clear realization that she alone had ruined their friendship. She wanted to prove to Mi-yeon that she was willing to do anything for her. She wanted to profess her unchanging love and apologize for all that had happened. The overwhelming desire to touch Mi-yeon’s earlobe the way she had when they were kids tormented her. But she suppressed it. Instead she tapped her finger restlessly against her thigh.
It flustered Se-oh to realize that she’d never imagined this situation arising. It filled her with regret, just like when she’d first realized her own stupidity. It would not be easy to get over.
18
Their first phone call in three years. Should she have been suspicious from the get-go? That is, should she have known something was fishy the moment Mi-yeon said her name warmly, remarked on how it had been far too long since she’d last called, and said, “So what’ve you been up to?” as if it had only been three days and not three years?
Se-oh hesitated when she realized it was Mi-yeon. Instead of answering the question, she said, “How’ve you been?”
“A little busy, but enjoying life.” Mi-yeon sounded breezy. “Where are you, Se-oh? At home?”
“Yeah.”
It was her fourth semester break since starting college. Her father was in the middle of closing up his tool and die shop, which had been in the red since taking a big hit during the push for commercial redevelopment. It was obvious that he’d be left with debt after the business closed. For all she knew, she would probably have to take a leave of absence the next semester.
The Law of Lines Page 11