by Ae-ran Kim
“Really?”
“Yeah. This might sound strange, but I still don’t feel old.”
“Oh.”
“Even my father tells me that I have a lot of growing up to do.”
“Grandpa Jang?”
“Yeah?”
“What does it feel like to grow old?”
“What kind of question is that?” Little Grandpa Jang sounded irritated.
“The writer for that TV show asked me that. I answered the best I could but I don’t think it was the right answer.”
“What a strange young woman.”
“Right?”
“You should have shut her right up.”
“How?”
“You should have said, We all look old to you, don’t we? To us, you all look like people who are going to get old!”
“Oh, that’s perfect! I should have said that.”
* * *
“Grandpa Jang?”
“What now?”
“Do you have a wish?”
Little Grandpa Jang raised his chin primly. “Dying after being ill for only one week.”
“Really?”
“Um … no. Dying after being ill for one day.”
“Okay.”
“No, no. Wait.”
“Aw, come on. What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Little Grandpa Jang said sullenly. “I guess I’ll just die.”
“But Grandpa, you’re still so young. Look. Your hand is so much more youthful than mine.”
“No, I’m old. Nobody needs me for anything. And I read something interesting in that book you gave me for my sixtieth birthday.”
“Oh, The Thing About Life Is That One Day You’ll Be Dead?”
“Yeah. My father was annoyed when he saw that and said I shouldn’t hang out with you, that you’re a bad influence. He tried to burn it.”
“Wait, it’s not that kind of book, though.”
“Of course it is!” Little Grandpa Jang retorted. “And it said something like, getting old is worse than dying. That really put me in a bad mood. Areum, do you know why that made me so angry? Because it’s true! I was so mad that I turned over the cover to see what this author looked like. And it’s some kid! Smiling at me! Let me tell you, I hate young kids.”
“What? That guy is in his fifties!”
“Exactly!”
“So what’s your wish?”
“I don’t know. Getting younger again?”
“What would you do if you could grow younger?”
“What do you mean, what would I do? I’d talk shit about old people.”
* * *
“Grandpa Jang?”
Little Grandpa Jang finally snapped. “What? What? What do you want from me?”
“Can I ask you one last question?”
He sighed. “Okay, whatever.”
“Were you always this smart?”
“What? Are you making fun of me? How dare you!”
“No, I just…”
“Listen, kid, have you ever asked me anything in earnest? That’s the problem of youth. You don’t ask your elders any real questions!”
* * *
The wind blew gently over the quiet streets. The laughing, chattering kids had gone home for dinner. We sat there for a while in silence. I had come to say farewell, but I didn’t know what to do afterward. I wanted to ask about Big Grandpa Jang’s condition, and I was curious about Little Grandpa Jang’s life, but it didn’t seem right to demand everything all at once just because I was leaving. So I decided to tell him about me. “Grandpa Jang?”
“Yeah?”
“I got a letter from a girl.”
Little Grandpa Jang’s eyes twinkled. “Is she pretty?”
I sighed. “Is that important?”
“Of course it is. Men like one type of girl. A girl who’s pretty in her teens, a girl who’s pretty in her twenties, a girl who’s pretty in her thirties, and a girl who’s pretty into her forties and fifties.” Little Grandpa Jang counted on his fingers to help me understand.
“What about in her sixties?”
Little Grandpa Jang grinned. “Should be pretty then, too.”
I nodded.
“So? Is she pretty?”
“I don’t know. She’s bald, like me.”
“Hm.”
“She sent me a song and she said she wishes me luck.”
“Hm.”
“Guess how I felt when I got her email.”
“I’m sure it felt good. What, did you dance or something?”
I remembered my trampoline dream and felt caught out, but kept that to myself. “Like I was going to throw up.”
“Huh?”
“When my blood pressure goes up, my heart starts beating and I feel dizzy and then sick. Like I’m going to throw up. Once I felt that way on the street and had to sit for a long time, holding on to a fire hydrant. Anyway, that’s what it felt like.”
Little Grandpa Jang nodded sagely. “Did you write back to her?”
“Well, it’s such a hassle,” I lied.
“True, girls can be a hassle.”
“But I’m also curious?”
“True, girls can make you curious,” Little Grandpa Jang agreed.
“When I was reading her email, it made me think that even though I’ve learned so many words in my life, I suddenly wanted to learn new ones. Who knows if it’s because of her. But that’s what I kept thinking.”
“Hey.”
“Yes?”
“Why do you make everything so complicated? Listen to me. Now that I’ve lived to this age I’ve learned something. When I was younger and dated girls, I thought I was in charge.”
“Okay.”
“But really I only thought I was in charge. So don’t waste your energy. It’s no use.”
I looked at his wrinkled profile. I thought about her, drawing in my mind the map of a world I had never set foot in. It occurred to me that it was just as greedy trying not to have something as it was trying to have something, deceptive to pretend you didn’t have anything.
I sat there, working up my courage to ask him something else. I opened my mouth, but hesitated. I had been agonizing over this. This was what I had been trying to say since we left Little Grandpa Jang’s house.
“Grandpa Jang, I actually have a favor to ask.”
“What is it?”
“I won’t tell until you promise you’ll do it for me.”
“Come on. What is it?”
“Grandpa?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you buy me soju?”
Little Grandpa Jang stared at me, his eyes bulging. “What? No! You’re being ridiculous. Go home.”
“Just once, Grandpa,” I said earnestly. “I’ll just try a sip. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
“I said no.”
“Grandpa!”
“No!” Little Grandpa Jang stood up and stalked away.
17
Dear Seoha,
Thank you for your email and the song.
Thanks for calling me a mountain. I’m the shortest mountain in the world, not even 140 centimeters tall, but I’ll examine what flowers are blooming inside me.
Take care.
Before I hit Send, I reread my sentences several times. Did I say what I wanted to say? Did I say anything I didn’t need to say? Should I take out that part about flowers? I had already erased a lot of other sentences I’d liked. I was dying to write, “A poet once described a blooming flower as ‘bursting with life.’ Isn’t that cool?,” but I managed to stop myself. I didn’t want to write anything that showed I was trying too hard. But at the same time I wanted to leave space, to create a hidden something to be found. I wanted to scatter feigned innocence and questions, like wildflowers. What did other guys write in this situation? Would they just send a text and be done with it? They’re not all like that, are they? And other guys would be able to do things I can’t, like hold her bookbag or attend the same after-school class or join a
band or dunk a basketball. This was all I could do, so I had to do it well. The cursor hovered over the Send button. I breathed in. I felt something dark in my heart. What was I doing? What was I hoping for?
I felt sad.
One, two, three …
Exactly five seconds, no more and no less. I thought of how everything looked different after the count of five. I gazed at my fingers resting on my keyboard, as if I had never seen them before, at my small, wrinkled, unremarkable hands. These hands weren’t the right ones to write certain sentences. I deleted everything I’d written and wrote a new email.
Dear Ms. Lee Seoha,
Thank you for your email.
Thank you for wishing me luck, instead of wishing me courage or bravery.
I wish you health as well.
I looked at the screen, feeling calm. I felt a smidge of sadness, but I knew I had done what I had to. At least I wasn’t being rude, ignoring another’s kindness. That was all I could hope for. I swallowed and hit Send. It flew lightly away, while my heart grew heavy. It was over. Regret suddenly washed over me. Was my reply too terse? Should I have been a little warmer? I tried to cancel sending but it was too late. I stared in a daze at the word “Sent.”
“Oh well.”
It might be a good thing that it was ending here. Otherwise … otherwise it could have become annoying. I was already so busy. All the books I read underscored how exhausting and annoying girls could be. Why else did Werther commit suicide? Why else did Romeo end up dead? Menelaus even started a war and innocent soldiers were killed. Emotions cause harm and they’re always a problem. You did well, I told myself. You just saved yourself, do you know that?
A week passed with no reply. Dejected and morose, I kept checking my inbox, and even double-checked that my email had been successfully delivered. I was embarrassed that I had let my imagination get away from me. She felt moved to write after the show, and then she’d moved on. This was an unremarkable situation and entirely expected, and exactly what I had wanted. No girl would respond after reading something as dry as I wish you health as well. I vowed to go back to how I was before, but was that possible? I resented that she had appeared out of the blue to affect me like this.
Clearly, she had done nothing wrong; I was mooning over a silly email. It took a long time for me to snuff those ridiculous emotions. But a while later, at the exact moment I was beginning to recover, just when I was feeling normal again, I got another email from her.
Dear Areum,
I read your email at least a hundred times. On my one hundred and first time, I understood you a little better. I realized you’re scared. Sorry, I don’t mean to assume.
I had to be brave to write to you. Not as much as you, of course. I contacted the studio three times to get your information. The show made me think that you’ve somehow managed to leap over hurdles. Other people might think it’s nothing, but I know how hard it must have been, how lonely you must have felt. I’m glad you liked that I wished you luck. You know how in American movies, people sometimes say “Good luck” instead of saying “Goodbye” when they’re leaving? I always thought that was cool, wishing someone luck as a way to say bye.
If it’s okay with you, can I write to you again? I have a lot to tell you. And a lot I want to hear from you. Next time, you can be less formal, too!
Once again, good luck!
I felt a strange premonition. I didn’t really know what it was but I could sense that something was poised to begin. What I had tried to flee from was back in front of me, making me feel both excited and afraid, but I still felt I had to protect myself. What if God was being so generous with me now so that I would still have something he could take away? I was the only person who could find out if this was a gift or a test, but to do so I would have to send another email. I waited a few days. The world wouldn’t end because I wrote another email. I was confident I could be strong and unmoved.
Dear Seoha,
Thanks for writing.
I don’t think you could understand what my life has been, but I appreciate your thoughts. Also, I’m not scared. I don’t scare easily. Because I can’t, not with my bad heart.
I’m not sure what your illness is but I hope you get better soon. Truly.
If you’d like, write to me.
Bye.
Her third letter arrived quickly. This pleased me.
Dear Areum,
I laughed for a long time when I read, If you’d like, write to me. You’re pretty private, aren’t you? I don’t mind but don’t do that with other girls. Okay?
You’re thoughtful and express yourself in an interesting way. That’s what I thought when I saw you on the show. I was under the impression that all teenage boys in the entire country are brainless. Well, guys in their twenties, too. Today I was studying at the hospital café, and there were three college guys next to me. They looked perfectly normal and very well educated, but they sounded stupid. They made time just to have an idiotic conversation!
But I wanted to be just like them. Isn’t that funny? I want to be just as pathetic, make the same mistakes, have the same delusions. If only I could grow up just like them. It’ll probably be impossible, though. Because hiding your cleverness is harder than hiding idiocy. Right? And I’m pretty smart.
Anyway, I wanted to tell you that your writing and your words and your thoughts are pretty special.
I’ll write again soon.
Bye.
“What are you doing, Areum?” Mom asked as she put her toiletries away.
“Oh, are you done?” I blushed, startled.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
Mom, who was dabbing lotion on her nose and cheeks, paused to look at me. She always asked me that, but my response had been odd. “What is it? You’re beaming.”
“Nothing. Aw, no, stop looking.” I tried to cover my laptop as she attempted to push me out of the way.
She shot me a look. “All grown up, aren’t we?”
“Huh?”
“I get it. I was like that when I was young. Your dad, too.”
Did she read something called How to Be a Good Parent: The Teenage Years?
“Mom?” I said, sighing.
“Yeah?”
“Do you smile when you look at dirty pictures?”
* * *
We exchanged emails almost every other day. Sometimes they were short, one or two lines long, and other times they were so long that you had to keep scrolling. Some days three emails would go back and forth, with me emailing in the morning, her replying in the afternoon, and me writing again that evening.
Dear Areum,
Sometimes I have a hard time sleeping. Waking up in the middle of the night is not a great feeling. These days, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I think, maybe you’re up, too. Maybe you’re staring at the darkness, blinking those big eyes of yours.
That makes me feel better.
When I was in ninth grade, my teacher was very kind to me. He would say, “See how Seoha does it” when other kids whispered in class or didn’t do their homework. “Look how mature and conscientious she is even though she’s sick.” One day I started to hate hearing that. Sure, it’s good for the other kids to work hard, reflect on themselves, study, and be grateful. But why did I have to be sick to spur them on? My teacher cared about me, but maybe he cared about the other kids more. Just like God does right now.
I’ll write again soon.
Have a good day!
Dear Seoha,
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, too. I can’t do anything, though. The guy in the next bed is a light sleeper and the old man next to him is even more sensitive than him. So all I can do is think about a story I’ve been writing for a long time. That’s one thing I can do in the darkness. And it’s something that I can do better in the darkness sometimes.
This morning I was reading a science magazine. It said that a person would explode in space because inner force
s are more powerful than the outer ones. I wanted to tell you that. That we might all be stronger than the outer forces.
That’s all for today.
Bye.
Dear Areum,
I’ve been at a temple with my dad for the last few days. He’s become interested in alternative therapies. The monk told me that I look like a bellflower.
There’s a river nearby. You can hear the rush of water. It’s really loud. My dad calls it white noise. Apparently it’s good for your health. When you open the door in the middle of the night that’s what you hear. I feel reassured that there’s something that vibrant nearby, alive, right near me.
I used to feel silly when I used the word “happiness.” But these days I think that’s courage, too. So I’m going to try to be happy. I don’t know if God will let me, but I decided to be anyway.
If I really do find happiness, I’ll share some with you. Look forward to it.
Bye.
Dear Seoha,
It’s cold today. Even when I crank the thermostat, I guess there’s nothing that’s stronger than the will of the Earth. I like how everyone becomes the same in the face of cold. That’s why I look straight into the wind, although sometimes it’s so cold that I have to turn away. Still, I have to talk tough sometimes, and say yeah, I’m weak, but not as much as you might think.
I hope you sleep well instead of waking up in the middle of the night, alone. I hope light and wind and the trees cooperate so that you can sleep well.
Bye.
Dear Areum,
I’m back in the hospital. Trying to deal with it in the countryside, living on herbs, made me really miss painkillers.
I think it was hard for my dad to watch me in pain. So I’m back here.
I’ll write again soon.
Have a good day today, too!
Dear Seoha,
It’s weird to see both the words “pain” and “good day” in the same email. How do you deal with it?
I’m not religious but sometimes I find myself wanting to pray. Especially when I’m suffering, like you are. Then people ask, Who do you want to pray to? With the chilliest expression I say, To whoever.