by Ae-ran Kim
The next morning, as soon as Mom left my side, I opened my laptop.
Dear Areum,
I’m sorry it took me this long to write.
I had a major surgery. My second. They say it went well but I don’t know if I believe them. My dad used to lie to my mom, too. And even though he nags me all the time that I should do this or that, he’s the one who smokes and drinks constantly. Then again maybe people don’t always learn from the past. I don’t know why he does these things, when they’re so bad for him. But then I see how he relaxes when he takes a drag, and it makes me think that maybe we like to court death.
Even my doctor chain-smokes. Weird, right? There are so many weird things in this world.
I don’t know about sending you a picture. I know it’s not fair that I know what you look like but you don’t know what I look like. I even know what you sound like, what your expressions look like, and what your parents look like.
So here’s a picture for you. I know it’s not exactly what you wanted. I’m trying to be brave, so don’t make me feel bad about it, okay?
I hope your day is filled with things you want to see.
Bye.
I clicked on the image file at the bottom. A large picture unfurled itself onscreen. A close-up of a small, cute hand, like a fall leaf. Her arm was stretched out as if to touch the sun, toward the blue sky. Her hand looked like a child’s. It wasn’t high-res; maybe it was taken with an old digital camera. That fuzzy texture made the picture seem friendly. I stared at her hand for a long time, then put mine on the screen, on top of hers. I felt warmth through the LCD screen.
Maybe it was the heat from my laptop.
20
Our friendship went back to normal. We didn’t write as much, but we shared even more intimate stories and grew more comfortable with each other. I liked the silly P.S. she added to her emails, talking about celebrities that I’d never been interested in, or about skin care. I believed that true friendship was built on trivial things like that. One day she went on for a long time about a comedian she liked, then added this P.S.
I remember how you said you wanted to be the funniest kid in the world.
I tried to match her light tone. What do you want to be when you grow up? I was genuinely curious.
Two days letter, her email arrived in my inbox.
Dear Areum,
I have two versions of what I want to be. Double bookkeeping, as the adults say.
When my dad asks, I say I want to be a doctor. My dad looks sad and proud at the same time. I know that adults like that kind of answer. When one of the caretakers asks, I say, I’m thinking about being a lawyer, and she nods, knowing it’s a good job, her expression telling me that’s the right dream I should have. I have lots of other answers I can give people. Diplomat, reporter, teacher, horticulturalist.
But the answer I tell myself and myself alone is this: I want to be a writer. Eep, just writing that down makes me embarrassed. But whatever. I can dream, right? Writers are the coolest.
I haven’t told anyone so you have to keep it a secret too. Okay?
That was the beginning of the end. I shouldn’t have asked her what her dream was. But once I read her email I made the fatal mistake of telling her I was working on a story, too. I told her it wasn’t really a novel or nonfiction, but that I had started writing it for my parents. I’d mentioned it just to seem cool, but she reacted so earnestly, saying she’d known I was special from the beginning, and that she couldn’t wait to hear more about what I was writing.
But I had deleted the story I had bragged about a long time ago. I looked through the trash in my laptop, hoping for a miracle.
Hoping she would forget about it, I told Seoha that I couldn’t show her yet since I wasn’t done. Just when I started to relax and believe that she had forgotten, she would ask again. So I started over. What else could I do? To her, writers were the coolest.
21
Every spare moment I got, I worked away on what was too embarrassing to call a novel. I saved the manuscript on the hard disk of my laptop, then also emailed it to myself. Who knew when my junky laptop was going to expire, or if I’d get upset and delete the file again. Since I was going to show it to someone, I couldn’t be sloppy. Once the first paragraph was written, the next one unspooled organically. Thinking of the rhythm of the sentences, I added repetition and variances, smoothing the prose. In that process I realized that I wasn’t just writing for Seoha or for my parents, but also for myself.
Dear Seoha,
My parents met in the hills. When they were sixteen.
At the time my father was suspended from school. He would go for a swim in the river when he needed to clear his head, at a secret spot only he knew about (it’s gone now, underwater).
That’s where my mom and dad met for the first time.
When my mom appeared (how she appeared will be revealed later!), my dad thought an angel had fallen from the sky. I don’t mind how he exaggerates. I like that I was born from their love, but I also like being born from a white lie.
The two people in this story meet in a great way. You’ll have to wait a little bit to find out how.
I guess part of growing up is getting used to disappointment. Even if writing can’t completely protect and comfort me, it might make me better at handling disappointments. I’d like to read your writing sometime, too.
More soon. Bye.
Seungchan called around that time. The phone for our room rang from the top of the fridge, and someone picked up and handed it over. Thankfully my mom wasn’t there right then. I had been hard at work, editing my manuscript.
Seungchan asked briefly how I was doing, then cut to the chase. “Areum, are you still in touch with that girl?”
“Yes.”
“Do you happen to know her number?”
“No.”
“Then can you tell me her email address?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to ask her something.”
I suppressed my anxiety. “What’s all this about?”
I could tell Seungchan was trying to tamp down his excitement. “We had a meeting at work, and we were thinking about broadcasting her story.”
I was quiet.
“Areum?”
I didn’t answer.
“Hello?” Seungchan said.
I was suddenly enraged, but managed to speak calmly. “I don’t think she’ll want to. She’s told me that she doesn’t like to be the center of attention. I don’t think you should reach out.” I vowed never to tell him anything ever again.
“Of course I won’t push if she doesn’t want to. But I can ask, right?”
I didn’t answer.
“Maybe you’ll be able to meet her through this, Areum. Don’t you want to meet her? You know personally how beneficial it is to go on the show. Maybe this will help her, too.”
I stopped listening at Maybe you’ll be able to meet her … Eventually, I said, “But what if she gets mad that I gave you her email?”
I sensed Seungchan’s relief through the receiver. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain it all to her.”
* * *
That night, I got an email from Seoha. It had been a while since the last, and the tone felt strange.
Dear Areum,
Today, I want to try something else.
How about we ask each other something we’ve been wanting to know?
We each get one question, and nobody can get mad.
You first.
Maybe she hadn’t received Seungchan’s email yet, but she seemed different than usual. I was happy to speak more intimately, but also worried. If she really wanted to do this, I did have a question for her. I wrote just one sentence.
Dear Seoha,
What are you sick with?
An answer came days later.
Dear Areum,
So that’s what you were wondering about. I wasn’t hiding it from you. My mom passed away when I was little, so I live with my dad, just
the two of us. It was a long time ago, but I still remember her jokes and her scent and the way she used to fold the laundry. I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
I remember one thing in particular. We were watching TV, eating dinner together. We were watching Hope for Our Neighbors. My mom said, Those people are in that situation through no fault of their own. I nodded, and she said, That means that something like that could happen to us, through no fault of our own. She said that made her feel so anxious.
I think she was happy before that time, but was suddenly so afraid of everything. She said her heart sank when my dad went to work. She felt choked up for no reason, worrying that something might happen to him. She probably felt that way with me, too.
A few months later, they found cancer in my mom’s bone marrow. I was the last one to find out.
My mom was pretty anal. She was the type who would dust the top of the wardrobe every day, even though other people would probably do that once a year at most. When she got sick she kept asking my dad to wash her, asking if she smelled bad. She was compulsive about it, sometimes nearly crazed over it. Once my dad screamed at her, You smell, okay? You stink! He sat down and burst into tears and wailed, I don’t care about that, so just stay alive.
What am I sick with? I have the same disease as my mom.
I spent a long time writing my next email.
Dear Seoha,
It’s raining hard today. I think it’s going to get colder. I can hear the ground cooling all around me. When this season turns over we’ll be older. I’ll wish you happy birthday when you turn seventeen.
I don’t look in the mirror often, but my face is reflected in other kids’ faces. I don’t know how to describe it, but this description pops into my head: a hospital-aged face. I’m going to wish myself a happy birthday when I turn seventeen, too.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me when I was little. There was no point, really. Once, a neighbor who always had the Bible with her told me that all pain had meaning. That didn’t help, because what I needed wasn’t meaning. What I needed was a childhood.
That’s what I want now, too.
At first I wondered if you were trying to use me somehow. Some people need God and some people need lies and some people need painkillers. Maybe you needed someone sicker than you. I didn’t want to write back. But I don’t believe that anymore. If someone sicker than you is what you need, then I’m happy to be that for you. Because I like you and I don’t have anything else to give.
Before, I thought I was handling it well. I tried to be brave and a good son. But maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I managed to trick my heart, but my body saw right through it. I’ve never told this to anyone but a few years ago I ran away from the hospital. Without any thought, just impulsively. I thought I was going to go insane if I didn’t leave. I went straight into the streets wearing only my hospital gown. It was early so thankfully nobody was around.
It was cold and deserted, and I was wandering around in my slippers, without any money, desperately trying to get away. I was like a lost child, unsure of where to go. Suddenly there was a bunch of people rushing toward me, like the tide. I backed up, worried that I would be trampled. They were all dressed in sleeveless shirts and shorts and sneakers. A marathon. They ran past me, making me dizzy. All kinds of people, Black, white, Asian. They all had strong physiques and muscles. And then the streets were empty again and I was alone. And I think that was the first time that I sat down on the ground and cried for a long time.
Seoha, I know how hard it must have been to get all those treatments. You must have been in so much pain. I hope it wasn’t as painful as I think it was. And I’m sure there are parts that are harder for you. I lost my youthful face so quickly that I can’t remember when I looked different, but you probably remember what you looked like before you got sick. I don’t know who’s more unfortunate: someone who misses something they’ve had, or the person who imagines something they’ve never had.
I don’t know what to tell you. But there’s a sentence that pops into my head. Hey, Seoha, I’m happy you’re in my life.
I got a response two days later. Her tone was a little softer than when she wrote about her mother, but that actually made me feel more anxious.
Dear Areum,
I stared at the sentence, Hey, Seoha, I’m happy you’re in my life, for a long time. It’s the first time you wrote my name like we were real friends. I bet writing that was hard. I appreciate how you opened up to me.
Remember how we were going to ask each other a question? Last time I answered yours so it’s my turn. Don’t get upset, okay? I always read your emails as if it’s me writing them to myself. But still, if it feels too personal, you don’t have to answer. I won’t mind, truly.
Areum, what makes you want to live?
Dear Seoha,
I’d be lying if I said that question didn’t take me by surprise. I would have refused to answer if it was anyone else, but I’ll tell you. Don’t worry, I’m not upset.
I’ll start with whatever pops into my head. At home we keep uncooked rice in a red clay pot. Early in the morning my mom would scoop out some rice to cook it, and I like hearing the faint sound of the lid of that jar closing. That makes me want to live.
When I see clichéd trailers of a melodramatic movie, that makes me want to live.
And when celebrities I like joke on TV.
And when the gruff owner of the neighborhood store cries as he watches a drama on TV.
What else?
When I see evening clouds that have all kinds of colors mixed together.
When I see a nice word I didn’t know before.
I’ll just keep going, okay?
When I see prints of soccer cleats on the schoolyard, old, underlined textbooks, soccer players who cry when they lose a game, girls talking loudly on the bus, hair in my mom’s comb. When I hear my father clipping his toenails, my upstairs neighbor flushing the toilet, the happy-new-years that people repeat year after year, a middle-aged man doing a really terrible imitation of someone famous on an afternoon radio program. When I see new electronics that keep advancing beyond my imagination. When I hear the languid gospel choir on the radio while doing physical therapy. When I see the receipts piled up at home.
Wow, that’s a lot. That doesn’t cover everything, and it won’t even if I stay up all night. I’ll tell you the rest in due time.
Anyway, everything I see and hear around me is brilliant and gets me fired up.
Oh, and one more thing.
Your letters make me want to live.
More soon. Good night.
That was it.
Without any notice, she cut off contact. I emailed her several times, wondering how she was doing. But she never responded. Maybe she was ignoring me because Seungchan reached out to her. Maybe something really bad happened. I won’t go into how much I worried or how sad I was. I should have guessed that something was off when she asked what makes me want to live. Or when she’d sent me a picture of her hand. Or even before. I don’t know if I missed it or chose not to see it. I don’t know what she really thought about me.
PART FOUR
22
Not long after our final email exchange, I found out that the girl I had shared secrets with, the girl who made my heart pound, the girl who was my summer, my greenery, my first—and maybe only—love, wasn’t a sixteen-year-old girl at all, but a thirty-six-year-old man.
I wrote her a one-sentence email.
Who are you?
No response. No explanation, apology, or denial. I scoured the internet for a while, trying to find the person who called himself Lee Seoha. I wouldn’t know what to do after I found him but I believed that it was an important first step. But I couldn’t find anything about this person in reality or online. I soon grew tired of everything. I stopped working on my laptop, I didn’t think about interesting words or listen to music.
* * *
One day, Mom asked, “Areum, what are you doing?”
“Mom!” I chattered, excited. “His name’s Sackboy. If you press this button he advances and if you press this one he jumps. It’s awesome. I don’t know why I haven’t been playing this all along.”
She leaned over. “Looks like Super Mario Brothers.”
“Yeah, it’s similar.”
“You’re doing pretty well.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s easy. All you have to do is duck, run, and hang on.”
“Like that?” she asked.
“Yeah. You have to be good about hanging on to something so that you don’t die.”
* * *
Another day, the nurse said, “Areum, take this medication first, please.”
I heard the medicine packets crinkling. I didn’t look away from the game. “You can leave it there.”
* * *
Another day, Dad said, “Areum.”
“Hey,” he said. “Answer your father.”
“Hey!” he called. “Han Areum!”
“Ugh, Dad,” I complained. “Don’t talk to me right now.”
* * *
I found out that Seoha was a man through Seungchan about two weeks before I sank into the world of the Sackboy. I still hadn’t heard from her and was having a hard time sleeping. He came for a visit and I looked at him expectantly, anxiously. I had the feeling that he might have the answer.