by Ae-ran Kim
Whoever.
I’ll pray to whoever answers my prayer first. If I ever meet that god, I’ll tell him about how you’re doing. So I hope you’ll remember that you also need to have a good day today.
I’ll write again. Sleep well.
We didn’t just exchange serious letters; since we didn’t have each other’s numbers, we emailed each other even the silly things you would normally text your friend. That made me happy in its own way.
Dear Areum,
A funny story today.
There are three older healthcare workers here, and all of them work for the same company so they know one another well. I don’t notice the time passing when I listen to them chat as I lie in my bed. You know what that’s like, right?
Today, another healthcare worker came by and was talking about the patient she was assisting. She said she has to bathe the old man, but he doesn’t want to be naked in front of her, so he refused a bath for a few days. Today, he says he wants a bath, but when she goes into the bathroom, she’s surprised to find him wearing underwear he made out of a black plastic bag. He made it himself with scissors and tape, even though he has a cast on one arm! Can you imagine how much concentration and effort he would have needed? The others were laughing, saying, I guess he’s still a man, and I turned over and laughed quietly, too. I like how proud he is.
I’ll write again with other funny stories.
Have a great day. Bye.
Dear Seoha,
A funny story for you, too.
There’s a guy who’s been coming to the hospital for a few months. He would shower here, like my dad, and watch TV in the waiting room, and share drinks and snacks that other families brought. If anyone asked, he would tell them he was so-and-so’s family member, but I guess that name kept changing. And the room number of that so-and-so changed from 201 to 406 to 703.
Turns out, he’s homeless.
He doesn’t come around here anymore, but maybe he’s napping at another hospital somewhere. Maybe you’ve seen him at some point, too. So if you meet someone similar, can you say something for me? Just whisper: I hope you don’t get caught.
Dear Areum,
I laughed at your email yesterday.
That’s all I’ll say because I’m weak today. I didn’t want you to wait.
See you.
Dear Seoha,
I think I’m pretty good at getting someone to laugh. Let me know anytime you need a good laugh.
The days continued, and my heart kept pounding. I wrote and she responded, then she wrote and I responded. A single sentence sustained me, and my heart soared with a single breath. We didn’t have a name for what we had, but I liked that I could talk to someone. Now I knew why Little Grandpa Jang said I should have a friend my age. Everything had meaning and everything was important. Everything she sent became allusions—her stories, her words, the songs she shared, the empty space she cut across. I translated and interpreted the world. I leaned in, examining and touching what we had. I suddenly liked the world because I liked someone.
My parents were thrilled that the hospital treatments seemed to be working. I was so deep in my own world that I almost didn’t notice that my mom was taking new pills. She had said she was taking a multivitamin, but she kept getting slower and her complexion was looking worse.
One day, I decided to ask about it. “Dad, is everything okay with Mom?”
“What?” He looked taken aback. “Why do you ask?”
“She just looks so tired these days. Maybe because of me?”
“No, no. Your mom always had bad skin. And since you don’t talk to her all that much these days, she’s probably trying to get your attention.”
“I’ve just been busy.”
“Busy? Why would you be busy?”
“This might come as a surprise to you but I actually have a lot of things to do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Dad smiled slyly. “I thought so. That’s why I brought you something. For when you want to relax.”
“What is it?”
“Just you wait. We got something awesome delivered!” He took out a paper bag he had hidden under my bed and pulled out a beribboned box. “Ta-da!”
I was silent.
“Don’t you like it?”
“I mean, it’s fine…”
“Aren’t you excited? Don’t you like it?”
“It’s great. Did you buy it?”
“No, someone saw the show and sent it for you.”
I stared at the box in my dad’s hands. On the outside were neat letters that said PSP. He took out another box, which had a stuffed-doll image on it. It seemed to be some game character. “Looks like something you’d like,” I said.
“I know. But it’s for you.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” Dad said falteringly. “So try it, and if for some reason you don’t like it after that…”
“Yeah?”
“You can give it to me.”
18
Seungchan came to visit with an easygoing woman in neat, expensive-looking clothes. She had to be Sumi, I realized.
“You must be Areum!” she said, her face lighting up. Sumi asked my mom how she was doing, telling her that she had a lot to say, and my mom said she couldn’t wait to hear all about it. The two of them left to spend some time together.
I suspected that their conversation wouldn’t last too long. It was obvious that my mom was feeling awkward around her old friend, judging from the way her voice had pitched higher than usual. Seungchan and I were left alone together.
He sat by my bed, and I put my laptop to the side.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Not too bad.”
“Have people recognized you since the show aired? Has anyone asked you for an autograph?”
“Once in a while. I’ve been getting a lot of emails.”
“Yeah? Did you know that there were a lot of posts on the website, too?”
I didn’t want him to know that I had read all of them. “Oh? I should take a look.”
“What’s with your wallpaper on your laptop, anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“A bellflower? You’re like an old man! Why not a girl band or something?”
“What’s wrong with a bellflower?”
It was pretty quiet in my room. After lunch my roommates went out for a walk or took medication-induced naps.
“Um, Mr. Chae?”
“Yeah?”
“You probably had a lot of girlfriends since you were a good student and pretty cool, right?”
Seungchan looked a little embarrassed. “I suppose.”
“You must know a lot about girls?”
He grinned. “I don’t know about that.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“No. I’m married but I still don’t understand women.”
“Oh,” I said. “I looked up the word ‘woman’ recently, and it just said, ‘a person born a female.’ So then I looked up ‘female’ and it said ‘denoting the sex of a woman.’ I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?”
“A dictionary can be unhelpful. Some people make their own.”
“Like who?”
“Poets.” Seungchan smiled.
That reminded me of the book of poetry he had given Mom. I wanted some answers on her behalf. “Mr. Chae?”
“Yes?”
“Do you like poetry?”
“Yeah, I used to.”
“Have you read this collection called Standing On My Own?”
Seungchan hesitated, an enigmatic smile spreading on his face. The smile of an adult, confident that he could fend off a sixteen-year-old’s challenge. “Of course.”
“So what do you think about using that to make a girl like you? I doubt that was the poet’s intention.”
Seungchan thought for a moment. “I’m sure it wasn’t written for that purpose. You’re right.”
“Right?
”
“But I think he would be happy. Wouldn’t he be happy that his poetry was used for something good?”
I had a lot I wanted to ask but I stopped myself. I had the sense that if I wasn’t careful he would win this verbal sparring. Instead, we talked about other things. Seungchan was someone I could talk to, I realized, though not as freely as with Little Grandpa Jang. I wanted to brag about Seoha. I had been feeling frustrated that I was the only one who knew about her, and how amazing she was. “By the way, there’s something I’m really grateful to you for.”
“What’s that?”
“Sharing my email address with someone named Lee Seoha. She said she contacted the station three times. Are you the one who told her?”
“Huh. I don’t remember. Maybe Narae did? I’m sorry. I’ll give her a piece of my mind as soon as I get back.”
“No, no. Thanks to her I have a new friend,” I said.
“Yeah? Who’s your new friend?”
“I don’t know that much about her, but I know she’s also sick in the hospital. She’s my age.”
Seungchan’s eyes suddenly glinted. “She’s sick?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re writing each other?”
“Yes.”
Seungchan laughed lightheartedly. “So that’s why you asked about girls, huh? I see what this is about.”
“What? Oh, no, I was just curious. But don’t tell my parents. Nobody else knows. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, laughing. “But what’s this?” He pointed at the box to the side.
“Oh, a viewer sent it as a gift.”
“You haven’t even opened it.”
“Well, I’m grateful for the present, but I’m not that into video games,” I explained.
“Really? My son spends all day playing video games. I wish he were more like you.”
* * *
After everyone left, I turned on my laptop again. It whined as it booted up slowly. I looked around, waiting, until my gaze settled on the box. The doll on the box grinned at me. Made of thick yarn, it had a huge head, a scar-like zipper in the middle of its stomach, and thin limbs. I grabbed the box and began reading the directions.
The game was called LittleBigPlanet. The doll came out of its small glass box when I turned on the game, which contained both 2D and 3D images. The doll’s expression looked cute but scary, happy but sad. A spotlight hit the doll as it danced around. A cheery female voice, sounding like something out of a children’s program, came out. “On the LittleBigPlanet, you become a delightful little Sackperson. This is you.”
She went on, explaining how the controls worked and what the rules were. “An ability to jump so high you defy the laws of gravity is a must-have accessory in LittleBigPlanet. Give the action button a short sharp stab for a modest hop, or a hard lingering press for a big-boy bouncy bound.”
Interesting. I pressed this and that button, following along. As my Sackboy twitched on my command, I felt a jolt of electricity run through me. I concentrated on the screen. The narrator explained how to adorn my Sackboy. “… you’re going to need to stand out from the crowd and customize yourself. Press the menu button to access your Popit.…”
I rubbed my dim eyes and looked at the doll on my screen. The naked doll, without a single hair or eyelash, kept smiling at me.
19
My relationship with Seoha was a bit different from before. I kept opening the Sent mailbox to read what I had written her, and even more frequently, read the emails she had sent me.
Dear Areum,
Yesterday I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. That’s when I sit on the edge of my bed and listen to music. Then it feels like there are just two people in the world: the person who made that music and me. I like that feeling of aloneness.
We can say all sorts of things with all sorts of words, but at times those aren’t enough, so we sing and listen to music. I think music is God’s response to everyone praying, Dear God, please help, please do something, I can’t stand it anymore.
What do you think? That makes sense, right?
So I listen to music, kind of begrudgingly. Like I’m accepting his apology. Especially on days like today, hard days.
Areum, if I can be reborn, I want to never think about my health and not take care of myself. I want to live carelessly. I want to laugh out loud and tell everyone how happy I am.
Dear Seoha,
Hi. It’s cold today. I’m sure it’ll get even colder. I run cold, maybe because I was born on a warm day. I’m glad that the wind doesn’t care about anyone’s situation, though. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’re dealing with.
Since I was young I’ve had this habit where I hold on to a word that bothers me and turn it over and over. I make up a story with it or imagine something outlandish. Sometimes I get sad when a word is so thin and weak, because then you can’t do anything with it. These days I wonder if my pain is lessened because I have access to words.
Sending you a song.
Bye.
The song I sent her was “Glide,” from a Japanese coming-of-age movie. I had been struck by the trailer, which featured a boy in school uniform wearing headphones, in the middle of a field. The boy’s faraway expression as he listened to music, buried in the greenery, had made me look up the song to listen to it afterward. It was a beautiful song. I didn’t send Seoha the lyrics; I wanted to present her with the chance to interpret, translate, and discover it, just like I did. I thought offering someone something to do was a way of showing consideration and playfulness.
The song started and ended with wanting to be something like the sky, the wind, the sea, unburdened and free. It was simple and easy. Putting myself in the shoes of the boy in the movie, I listened to the song again. My eyes became his as I read the lyrics. My ears became his as I listened to the melody. The song coasted the wave of the equalizer and became a radio wave, spreading far away toward other planets, waiting to be understood. A lonely voyage through a dark, cold universe stretching from one person to another, but not one without meaning. Because the two of us won’t freeze.
Dear Areum,
Thanks for sending “Glide.”
I like songs like that, gentle and flowing, maybe because I don’t have a lot of energy myself. When I listen to the song I get the feeling that the singer loves life, and my breath catches in my throat. Why is this girl saying so sadly what she wants to be? It’s like she knows we can never be those things.
Anyway, God should know that today I ignored his mistakes. All thanks to you.
More later. Sleep well.
The season changed and trees grew sparser as we shared emails and jokes and music. It would soon be spring. And then summer, then fall again. I grew to know her more intimately, but strangely the more I learned about her the more I was curious about what I didn’t know. Not about her values or anything like that. I wanted to know her blood type, her shoe size, her birthday, her favorite color, what she treasured, which school subjects she hated. I wanted to ask questions that were in silly quizzes that floated around online. Once, I nearly sent her one of those quizzes. Even though I told myself I wouldn’t, I even looked up her online ID, hoping to find something more about her. But I couldn’t find anything. Not even anything trivial, like a movie she commented about, or an online community she belonged to.
I didn’t dare ask for her number; I didn’t want to be a burden and felt I should keep my distance in that way. I didn’t dare dream of meeting up with her or holding her hand. Well, to be honest, I did imagine that a few times, sucking on my lip as I wondered what a real kiss would feel like. I knew something like that couldn’t—and would never—happen to me. But I was greedy. I wanted to know what she looked like. Even if it wasn’t in person. I wanted to see her picture. I like how you write, I emailed her. I like reading your emails more than reading novels or watching movies. I added, I started looking at the scenery around me like it was my last time. I’m sor
ry to talk about something so dark. But it occurred to me as I was reading your emails that I’d been wanting to see everything I like before I go blind, and I’m so happy that your emails are one of them. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time—if it’s okay with you, would you send me a picture of yourself? It could be from before you got sick or when you were little. I thought I would regret it if I didn’t ask. Don’t worry, I won’t be upset even if you don’t.
She didn’t reply for a few days. I spent those days anxious and ended up sending her two messages of apology, but still no response. I held my head, torturing myself, wondering why I had asked for a picture. My greed had ruined everything.
I obsessed over the email I’d sent. I thought about her as I ate, as I did physical therapy, even as I sat on the toilet. It was much harder to wait for a response than it was to write an email. You could send one on your own time, but when you were waiting to receive something, you were leaving it up to someone else. It would have been fine if I’d done nothing, but I had gone ahead and done something. And I’d done it with my heart. Because my heart was on the line, the only thing that could make me feel better was if she gave me her heart in return.
Did something happen to her? In a hospital, no matter how brave you were, you cycled through despair and hope multiple times a day. Maybe she was done with useless optimism. And if you let go of one thing, you want to let go of everything. Was I one of the things she was letting go of?
* * *
I was near collapse when she finally wrote back. The timing was interesting; she was clearly an expert at matters of the heart. I glared at her name when it popped up in my inbox. My heart leaped and sank as soon as I saw it, and suddenly I wanted revenge. I hadn’t expected to feel this way. Before I even opened the email I was thinking of ways to punish her for taking her time, so she would experience what I’d been feeling. It was so petty. I chose to punish her in the most serious of manners—by deciding to read her email the next day.
Unfortunately, I needed to summon superhuman strength to do that. I tried everything I could to be away from my laptop for a whole day. I had been dealing with feelings of rejection all week long, and I refused to let go of this tiny, sweet moment of power. I wanted her to feel disappointed and anxious as she waited for the notification that her email was opened. All of that signified that I’d already lost this game. The joy I felt as I waited really felt like pain. Essentially I was punishing myself, not her, but somehow I was enjoying it. Whatever. Even if this was messed up, I was committed.