My Brilliant Life

by Ae-ran Kim

  His face told me that he didn’t have good news, but I still wanted to hear what the bad news was. Seungchan had said he had something to tell me, in person, which was why he was here.

  I tried to mask my nervousness. “What did she say?”

  He hesitated.

  “She said no, right? She doesn’t want to go on the show? I knew it. I told you not to bother contacting her about it.”

  “Areum,” Seungchan said hesitantly. “I met her. She’s really sick.”

  I was dazed for a moment. “How sick?”

  “She’s in the ICU. It’s been a few days.”

  I was silent.

  “She may not be able to write to you again. She’s fighting for her life. Her mom told me they’re just praying. If she pulls through, they’re going to go abroad.”

  Her mom? The one who died? Right then, my mom came into the room.

  * * *

  I jumped out of bed as soon as Seungchan left. I had to ask him something before he left the hospital. I knew he was lying to me. But I couldn’t ask because of my mom. Why was he lying? Did he really meet with her? What did she tell him? I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. I knew I could call him up later, but I wanted to see his face to see what he was lying to me about. I walked quickly to the elevators. I would head to the lobby and if I couldn’t find him I’d call him. I spotted him in front of the elevators. He was talking with my mom. Her expression was … awful. He was breaking his promise; he was telling her about Seoha. Or maybe my mom had known everything from the very beginning. How could he break a promise made between men? Feeling betrayed, I ducked behind a trolley holding trays of food. I wanted to hear what he was saying.

  His tone sounded very different from when he was in my room. “There are a lot of assholes out there.”

  Mom’s face was icy. “What the hell does he do?”

  “I don’t know. He says he’s writing some screenplay but it didn’t sound like he’s written anything much.”

  “A screenplay?”

  “Yeah, for a movie. Something about love between a girl and a boy with terminal illnesses.”

  Mom shuddered. “So? What did you do? Did you call the police?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Seungchan didn’t answer.

  “Why not?” Mom’s voice shot up. “He needs to serve time. Fraud or something. Why won’t you do anything?” She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

  “Mira.” Seungchan grabbed her arm. He sounded apologetic and frustrated at the same time. “We can’t punish all the liars in the world just because they lied.”

  * * *

  The world inside LittleBigPlanet was beautiful and terrifying. Each of the realms had its own design, seemingly three-dimensional but flat, detailed but abstract, all looking as though thick construction paper was pasted on a thin sheet of paper. The music was simple and cutesy. The characters were clownish and eerie, as if they were in a cruel fairy tale, moving mechanically and with only one or two expressions. Sackboy was the weirdest. He looked cute and innocent, but there was something creepy about him. He avoided obstacles and fulfilled tasks and went to various countries, meeting the emperor in China and retrieving the lamp from the monkey king in Persia and rushing off to other places. He didn’t have a single weapon. He just ran, ducked, and jumped. I liked that about Sackboy.

  It was a simple game. The objective was to go forward, no matter what. You could start over if you failed. Very few characters died in the world of LittleBigPlanet. Sackboy fell into fire pits and was run over by a serrated wheel and was chased by dragons, but as long as I pressed Continue I could keep going. I spent most of my days with Sackboy. I got stickers when I succeeded, and I bought him hair and glasses and new skin.

  * * *

  The doctor ordered me to stop playing video games. My eyesight was worsening and my immunity was declining and I needed to rest. My parents tried to take it away immediately; at first they had been happy that I was happy, but when that was all I did they got worried.

  I threw tantrums like a five-year-old and refused to eat. My dad, who even threatened to spank me for the first time in my life, offered a compromise. He would allow me one more day to play the game, and then that would be it. It would be my choice to quit after a day of playing the game or just go ahead and quit right away. He seemed surprised that I spent the entire day playing LittleBigPlanet.

  The adventure ended at level eight. I had already gotten up to level five, with each level taking longer to complete than the previous. It was crucial to have nimble fingers, but I didn’t have much force in my hands and I was slow. Thankfully Sackboy moved fluidly on my command. He grabbed things when I pressed R1 and he jumped when I pressed X. He dangled on a ceiling and got a key, crossed a cliff with the help of a pendulum, and leaped out of the way when a herd of cattle came toward him. There were traps everywhere. Sackboy fell into spiky holes, was hit by rocks, and was burned. Each time, I pressed Continue. It wasn’t my head telling me to do it, it was my hand, moving automatically. I couldn’t stop once a new game began.

  My concentration diminished over the course of the day. My shoulders ached, my eyes hurt, and I wanted to sleep. But I couldn’t nap, knowing that this was the last time I would be playing LittleBigPlanet. I kept dying at level seven, when the enormous wheel comes out. I wanted to give up, but I kept pressing Continue. In the evening I entered level eight. It wasn’t as hard as the previous level. I went forward cautiously, imagining the terrible monster I would have to face, but the enemy I encountered was nothing much, not a dragon or a lion or a giant, but an ordinary hairy man with a terrible fashion sense, who didn’t look even as strong as my dad. He laughed, boasting that nobody could smash his castle, but I used all the skills I had developed and destroyed it. The Earth, made of yarn, floated to the top of the screen, and flowers and pieces of ice showered down. Under Sackboy’s round face was the word “CLEAR.”

  That was it. It was really the end.

  I let out a moan. It didn’t sound like it was coming from my throat, but from a world deep within me that had cleared and was being closed off. Everything had been accomplished but nothing had changed. A howl exploded out of me, like wind wending through a dark cave.

  Dad, who had dozed off, sprang to his feet. “What’s wrong, Areum?”

  I panted, my face turning red.

  “What’s wrong? What is it?” He felt my cheeks and my forehead.

  My throat burned. I felt dizzy. “Dad.”

  “What is it? Tell me.”

  I choked until I burst into tears. “I’m so happy.” Snot and tears streamed down my face.

  I could feel people in the room staring at me, but I couldn’t stop.

  23

  It was snowing, the first snow of the winter, and I was all alone, now.

  As Mom wheeled me across the skybridge, I felt something cold settle on my cheek and melt away instantly.

  “It’s snowing, isn’t it, Mom?” I asked.

  She stopped the wheelchair. “It is.”

  I looked up, out of habit. “How hard?”

  I sensed her looking around. “Really hard.”

  “What kind of snow is it?”

  “Just regular snow.”

  “Mom, I don’t think that’s right. There are so many different names for different kinds of snow. Tell me exactly what kind of snow it is.”

  She paused and tried to describe what she was seeing. “Well … the snowflakes are pretty big. And fluffy. And it’s really quiet.”

  I smiled faintly. I could almost see it. “I read about the different types of snow in an elementary school textbook Dad gave me. There’s snow pellets, snowpack, flurries, powder … There’s even a name for snow that falls quietly overnight.”

  “I know.”

  “Have you seen what snow crystals look like under a microscope?”

  “Of course.”

  “I always thought it was so strange,” I mused.

&n
bsp; “What’s so strange?”

  “That it’s so beautiful for no reason.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “We can’t see it with the naked eye and it vanishes as soon as it touches the ground.”

  Mom began to push the wheelchair. I felt the wheels roll. “Shall we? I’m cold.”

  I nodded and faced forward. “Hey, Mom? I discovered something for the first time today.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Snow has a scent to it.”

  * * *

  The days were tedious. I couldn’t figure out what to do. My mom wanted to read me newspapers and books every second she got, but I told her I was fine. I had nothing else I wanted to learn about. Old patients left and new patients came to stay in my room. I knew from the sound of people packing and unpacking their things, and unfamiliar voices and scents. Before, I would have gotten to know my roommates and cracked jokes with them, but there was no reason to open up when you knew you were going to part ways with them anyway. I didn’t want them to ask me anything, either. Our room was busy as always, with insurance agents and women selling yogurt and janitors and churchgoers coming and going. The patients’ family members washed dishes and towels in the shared sink in the corner; I could tell from the steam whether the water was hot or lukewarm. Right next to my bed was the shared fridge, which opened and closed many times a day, letting out all kinds of smells, including the pungent tang of kimchi. They made my stomach turn.

  The room grew quiet around two or three in the afternoon. Most patients and helpers took naps or went out for walks. I looked forward to that brief spell of silence, tired as I was from sharing my space with everyone. I focused on the quiet as though listening to music. I breathed gently, thinking about the composition, the harmony, and the beat of silence. I fell asleep, staring into the darkness before my eyes.

  When the room was crowded with people, I curled up in my bed and listened to the radio through my headphones, submerging myself in the concerns and jokes of ordinary people. Their words spilled over, the way sunlight spilled over on the yard. No matter what time it was, the outside world’s liveliness kept me company. I didn’t really love the radio but I didn’t dislike it, either. I just let the sounds wash over me. People wrote in to tell their sad stories, their funny tales, their moments of beauty. Once I recognized a song that someone requested; the song that she had sent me a long time ago. Even though I knew she wasn’t who I thought she was, my heart pounded.

  Sometimes, I had bad dreams. I’d had nightmares before, but now I was still in the darkness even after I opened my eyes. Though I was awake I kept wanting to wake up from the dream. The first thing I did when I woke up was to find the sunglasses by my bed. It didn’t matter to me whether I had them on or not, but I thought it would be impolite to force people to look into my unseeing eyes. I began to sink, unsure how deep I would go. Before, I’d felt connected to the world through books, but now it felt as though someone had slammed that window shut and lowered the blinds. I knew I would never leave that room.

  But my life continued. Monotonous days ensued. Wake up, eat, get checked, eat, get therapies and treatments, sleep. Wake up, get checked …

  Other times I found myself having the same dream over and over again. The trampoline dream. It would be the middle of the day in early summer, right after a rain shower. The sky would be a stifling blue, dewy grass would be stretched out over the field. I would be swaying in the middle of the greenery, on the surface of the trampoline, about to leap into the air. The olfactory cells in my nose would be bouncing gently, pushing the green wind into my lungs, which swelled and flattened in an attempt to inhale the world. I would jump into the air as hard as I could, closing my eyes as I hung in midair for a moment, embraced by the sky. Jumping again and again, I would fly up, laughing—boing—and jump up and stretch out—boing—I could continue forever. But soon, old folks would begin gathering around the trampoline, surrounding it, looking up at me, their mouths gaping. None of them had teeth, and their eyes were white. I would plummet to the ground as though shot out of the sky. The black cloth of the trampoline would suddenly give way, and I would be sucked into the ground, into a deep brick well. Putting my hands around my mouth, I would shout up toward the sky. Help, I would be thinking, but what came out of my mouth was: “Please give me a girlfriend!”

  There would be no response.

  “Please give me a girlfriend!”

  And then, with a splash, something would fall from above. I would lose balance and scramble in the water. I would turn toward it, managing to stand up straight. “Who are you?”

  It would be so dark that I wouldn’t be able to see a thing, but a low, heavy voice would say, “I am nothing … so you are nothing, too.”

  24

  The smell of hospital food wafted in from the hallway. I could sense family members and helpers getting up and bringing the trays in, but couldn’t detect any excitement.

  Mom sat by me and helped me eat. I shook my head after a few bites.

  “Are you done already?” she asked. “You like this dish.”

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  “Is your stomach upset again?”

  “No, I’m just not hungry.”

  “Areum, tell me if something’s hurting,” Mom insisted. “Then we can tell the doctor—”

  “Mom,” I yelled, “I said I’m not hungry! When’s the last time something wasn’t hurting?” I lay down and pulled my blankets over my head.

  I heard her sigh and start to put lids on the plates. I forced myself to sit up again to eat. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I told her. “The fried pork cutlet should be crispy, but it’s not.”

  After my meal I downed my various medications. The other patients had gone to the bathroom or out for a walk. I felt along the head of my bed for my MP3 player, where I always kept it, but I couldn’t find it. I should ask my mom for help, but I didn’t want to bother her. I reached over to the cubby, but felt something chilly brush against my hand and heard it fall and shatter on the floor. It must be the mug Mom used when she brushed her teeth. She rushed over to see if I was okay. I didn’t answer. I didn’t feel like apologizing or even telling her I was okay. She crouched below my bed, cleaning up the shards. I lay still, staring up at darkness.

  “Oh, I didn’t expect you here,” Mom said to someone. From her lukewarm tone she must not be thrilled to see this visitor.

  “I happened to be here for my own business, and I thought I’d come say hi to Areum.”

  I turned toward the familiar voice.

  “You didn’t need to bring anything,” Mom said as plastic rustled and the fridge opened.

  I smelled on the visitor the fresh, metallic scent of the outdoors.

  “Hey, you look like a movie star!” It was Little Grandpa Jang.

  I raised my sunglasses up and struck a pose. “Of course. You know I’ve been on the air,” I said, feeling better than I had been in a long time.

  We talked about all kinds of things, and the conversation flowed easily and lightly. It surprised me how truly happy I was that Little Grandpa Jang was here. Sure, I’d always liked him, but I didn’t realize I had missed this. I was thrilled that I could talk to someone about everything that mattered, but for some reason I couldn’t stop myself from rattling off silly joke after silly joke. Little Grandpa Jang was acting the same way, too. Maybe it was because my mom was here and we were conscious of that fact.

  A little later, I heard Little Grandpa Jang turn to my mom. Maybe he could tell how I was feeling. “Can I ask for a favor?”

  “What is it?” Mom asked.

  “Can I take Areum for a little walk?”

  Mom sighed. “Look…”

  “It’ll be really quick. We won’t go far,” Little Grandpa Jang begged.

  “I appreciate that, but with Areum’s condition—”

  “Mom,” I said, cutting her off. “Please.”

  She hesitated.

  “I really want to
,” I insisted. “I haven’t wanted to do anything for a long time. I really want to do this. Please, Mom.”

  * * *

  The winter scenery was skeletal and spare. While I couldn’t see it or touch it, I could tell from the smell of gauntness imbued in the wind that this winter was the same as any other winter. The bare trees inhaled the winter sunlight, and hearing their breathing made my pores open all at once, as though I, too, wanted to take in nourishment. My cells awoke joyfully, one by one. I blew into the air, wishing I could see my white breath appear like haze before vanishing.

  Little Grandpa Jang pushed my wheelchair around the garden and stopped in a secluded area. He picked me up and settled me on a bench. I could tell that I had become as light as a sheet of paper. I heard him murmur, “It’s still a chair but it’s got to feel better than a wheelchair.” He hummed as he covered my lap with a blanket, and he unwound his own scarf and wrapped it around my neck. The briskness of midwinter settled on top of my head. I could hear kids shouting, cars driving by, birds chirping, and the wind rustling the trees. They sounded like they were coming from another world. We listened quietly for a moment.

  We chatted, with me asking most of the questions, just like the day before I came to the hospital. “Grandpa Jang?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “If you could have a child who is sick but lives for a long time or a child who’s healthy but dies young, which would you choose?”

  Little Grandpa Jang snorted. I could imagine his dumbfounded expression.

  “Take euthanasia, for example,” I continued. “A lot of very well-educated grown-ups come on TV and discuss whether it’s right to let patients endure excruciating pain, or if it’s better to relieve their pain. I know it’s a different situation, but I wonder what I would choose for my child. If God said, ‘I’ll give you a child but you have to choose: a child who lives for a long time but is ailing, or a child who enjoys a healthy but short life,’ what would I do? What would you do?”