by Kim Sagwa
Crystal bursts into laughter. “Wow—way to go, Mina! How do you like it?”
“It’s okay.” Mina frowns. “The kids are seriously stupid. It’s a Hall of Fame of total idiots,” she says, spreading her arms wide in emphasis.
“Why am I not surprised.”
“Really! A full assortment of idiots, take your pick: love-deprived sickos, losers, misfits, hypochondriacs, kids with personality disorders, kids who are mentally ill, or at least faking it—and that last bunch is so boring.”
And you’re a perfect fit. With this thought Crystal affectionately links arms with Mina. You’re one of them! Am I sup-posed to be jealous of you? With an affectionate smile Crystal looks at Mina, who’s in her own world as she licks the crepe with her eyes down. No matter how much Crystal looks she just can’t figure Mina out…
“Are you still reading that book by the guy who ran the mental hospital?”
“A guy who ran a mental hospital? Which book? Sounds interesting. What’s the name of it?”
“Mina…you know what I’m talking about—that book you were reading. There was a doctor a long time ago, he identified a mental illness. I think he wrote the book, but maybe it was his student? Anyway, that’s the one. You don’t remember?”
“Um, let’s see… Jung? Is that who you mean? He ran a mental hospital? Come on, you’re making stuff up again.”
“Who cares. Anyway, are you still reading it?”
“No. Why are you asking?”
“Is the crepe any good?”
“Yeah. Want some?”
“Nope.”
“Let’s go to the old part of the city; we can take the bus.” Mina tugs on Crystal’s arm.
“I don’t feel like it. I didn’t bring any money or my phone.” “Don’t worry, I can pay for both of us.”
They hop on the bus and bow, as schoolgirls should, to the driver in his Ray-Ban sunglasses. He has a coppery complexion and his hair is fine and silvered. There are very few passengers. A human interest story about a factory worker streams from the radio. The bus rattles into motion. The air-conditioning chills their pale arms. Taking out her MP3 player, Mina offers one of her headphones to Crystal.
“Who are you listening to?”
“Promise you won’t laugh,” says Mina, blushing furiously. “Justin Timberlake. Don’t laugh.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“I said, don’t laugh.”
“You’re going to a school for dumbasses, and the next thing you know you’re just like them.”
“I don’t know. I’m kind of obsessed with him these days.”
“How come?”
Mina wishes she could shrink into a cockroach or a cricket and disappear between the seats.
“I can’t figure it out either. How can I put it? He’s just going through the motions, don’t you think? A lightweight. Half-assed singing, half-assed dancing, half-assed flirting. But I think there’s more to him. I don’t know, he’s playful, but to me that somehow gives him some weight.” She punctuates her answer with a determined nod, then looks out the window.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think what?”
“He’s not playful. He may seem like it to you, because you can’t see him any other way. But he’s actually doing his best, and he is serious.”
“What? You like him too? Really? Since when?”
“No way.” Crystal scowls. “No. I don’t like him. I don’t even really know who he is…never seen him.”
“Oh stop. Of course you’ve seen him. He’s all over TV, every day.”
“Maybe, but I can’t remember.”
Mina cracks the window and tosses the crepe wrapper out. It’s made of fine plastic, white with tiny silver dots, and Crystal follows its flight, thinking it’s beautiful how the brand name is printed in orange all over the wrapper. In no time it has disappeared and Crystal’s gaze returns to Mina. The driver yells at Mina. Mina extends her middle finger next to her thigh and giggles. “Dickhead.”
“Language, Mina.”
“What’s the matter?”
“What are people going to think?”
“About what?”
“About you—they’ll think you’re garbage.”
“Shut up.”
The light turns red and the bus stops. A banner hangs, fluttering, from a rooftop railing. Mina points at it. It’s five stories up, the ivory color barely visible through a layer of crud. The sign says Samik Self-Study Hall.
“That’s where she died,” Mina says to Crystal, smiling as she says it.
“Who?”
“Chiye.”
Crystal smirks.
“Why are you smiling?”
“You smiled first.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Sure you did—just now.”
“No, I didn’t. When? When did I do that?”
“All right, you win. Sorry. I guess I was seeing things.”
“No…actually…” Mina’s face hardens. “You’re right—I was smiling.”
Crystal nods, “It’s okay. You can smile. Smile all you want. It’s better than crying.”
“I’m losing my mind.”
“No, you’re not. You’re normal. Why would you be going crazy?”
“Because I didn’t want to smile but I did.”
“That’s why I like you.” Crystal smiles, and Mina does too.
“Why did she do it?” asks Crystal. “Why would she want to kill herself? I just don’t get it. Despair? Something like that? What’s such a big deal about despair anyway? You won’t find me killing myself because of despair, you know that.”
Mina doesn’t respond.
Crystal sighs. “Lately I feel like throwing crepe wrappers out of windows and killing whoever has the bad luck to get hit by one of them. Or maybe everybody. I just want to kill.”
“A gun would make it easy. You could shoot from a distance, spray everyone with bullets.”
“Not as easy as you think. Guns are heavy. Besides, everybody’s scrambling to get out of the way and bullets are so tiny.”
“So you run after them and keep shooting. Hey, we’re here, let’s get off.”
They’re in the middle of the old city. They cut beneath a huge overpass, the elevated section of a twelve-lane avenue.
“Let’s go that way.”
Crystal’s eyes follow where Mina’s hand points.
They’re in a gently winding alley surfaced with square cobbles and bordered by low brick walls capped with red and blue tiles. It’s just wide enough for them to squeeze through side by side. A young woman in a black suit holding a gaudy, flower-pattern parasol is coming their way. She stops to let them pass single file. The woman gives off a fragrance of citrus. A cracked vase containing chunks of Styrofoam and a broken-down umbrella sit to one side. A dog barks. A scent of lilac hangs in the air and a magnolia tree comes into sight above the wall. The sky is the brilliant color of a fresh lemon. Underfoot, no two cobbles are level and even. Crystal looks back and sees only a wall; the alley curves out of sight. Beds of lettuce sit on a low rooftop, leaves fluttering in the breeze. The sun has a languid feel and the alley stretches out endlessly in silence. The sun is getting stronger. The two of them trudge along without making a sound, heads down and hands in their pockets. Warm air tickles their cheeks. The sun alternately beats down on their backs and massages their bellies. On they go. Their lungs are heating up. A child is whining. Flushed and languid from the sun, they enter a dreamlike state. The alley is going up now. Crystal and Mina step lightly through the sunlight, their feet leading them steadily toward the sky. But Crystal keeps looking back, her expression fearful. The breeze picks up and the sun changes color. Crystal looks back again: the wall blocks the view of the alley again. She looks at Mina. Eyes half closed, Mina sways along, listening to her headphones. Dizzy. Crystal is scared. Dizzy. Her head hurts. Dizzy. Her head is about to split open. She sees two beetles, locked together as they mate, crawli
ng up the wall, and she starts screaming: “Aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaauaaaaak let me out of here aaaaaaaa I don’t know where I’m uaaauaaa uaaauaaa uaaaaaga…aaa…”
Pushing against the wall as if determined to topple it, Crystal slides writhing onto the cobbles. To Mina it’s surreal, a scene from a nightmare. Terrified, she steps back from Crystal, calling out her name at the same time. Crystal’s screaming, shrill and yet sleek and lovely, boils over and slowly subsides. Silence returns to the alley. Mina looks around, then gingerly approaches and shakes Crystal’s shoulder. Slowly Crystal looks up, her face bright red. Her forehead is a sheet of perspiration, her irises uncommonly dark. Crystal shuts her eyes tight, then opens them wide and looks up at Mina. Mina can’t read Crystal’s expression and it makes her uneasy. Is she angry? Crazy? Sad? Is there such a thing as alley-phobia?
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here. Sorry that happened.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. But yeah, let’s get out of here. I need some air.”
Crystal’s face is back to its normal color. But where she’s holding on to Mina her hand is still warm.
Outside the alley they walk for a while in silence before coming to a crosswalk. Looking to their left, they catch sight of P Bridge. It’s part of a four-fold scene—gray, blue, titanium white, and charcoal; clouds, sky, bridge, and walkway. Slanting shafts of golden sunlight shower down on it.
“Let’s take the bridge,” says Crystal, pointing in that direction.
Except for the deep red arches, the steel superstructure is white. The walkway is dark gray asphalt and lets out a roar whenever cars pass by. On the far side of the river, against a backdrop of apartment buildings and factory smokestacks, a pleasure boat motors by, its dirty beige froth of wake looking like a mass of hands.
“What’s new with you?” Mina ventures.
“What do you want to hear?”
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
“Is it okay if I’m not totally up front with you?” Crystal watches Mina. “You’re telling me to say whatever I want? Do I have that correct? All right, then, you’re hoping I’m not doing well because you’re not around—right? But you’re wrong—I’m doing just fine.”
“Then why are you angry?”
“Who says I’m angry?” Crystal produces a theatrical laugh. “I’m laughing, see? Laughing. So how can I be angry? How’s Minho? Is he getting along okay?”
“That dumbass? He broke up with his girlfriend.”
“Wow.”
“Best news you’ve heard in a while.”
“Did he really? You’re serious? Wow, that’s great!” Crystal looks up at the sky, putting her hands together. “I’m going to fall in love with him, starting now. I just decided.”
“Hey, watch out for that bicycle.”
Crystal looks down with wide eyes. There’s no bicycle. She glowers at Mina and Mina responds with a grin.
“Congrats! You’re weirder than ever.”
“Liar. You’re the one who’s weird… How’s the new school, really? You’re okay there?”
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to go but my mom made me—she said I’d be all right, that one of her friends teaches there. Shit. I can’t believe I fell for that.”
“So, are you all right there?”
“Well, since they say it’s all right, I guess it’s all right… sure it’s all right. Fuck—what am I saying? The kids all think they’re so ridiculously special. They’re so starved for attention, all they do is fixate on how to make themselves stand out. You know, shaved heads, mismatched socks. Just for the attention! If they really want to dress weird, if that’s what they want, what they really want, then of course I can understand. But if not? One glance tells me if it’s to get attention or if it’s really what the kid wants. One glance says it all. To me, to you, whoever. And it’s all about attention, finding out what the other kids think, it’s what’s on their minds all day long. The difference is that instead of wanting to look a little more normal they want to look a little less normal. But the bottom line’s the same, isn’t it? It’s so boring. They all think they’re so special. I just wish I could clue them in, tell them to their faces.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Yeah, maybe I should. But I feel kind of sorry for them, you know? But on the other hand… There’s this kid who writes poetry. I had a look at it and it’s garbage. But the teachers rave about it. What the fuck? It really pisses me off. At least the kids in our school didn’t write poetry. But these kids are, like, straight out of the eighteenth century, from some no-name place on the border of Europe before capitalism, Catholics who made a living by milking goats.”
“Hard to imagine.”
“Seriously. I had no clue before I got there—I never would have believed kids like this exist. And the teachers? They’re like Buddha bobble-heads. It’s totally messed up!”
“Then why did you transfer? I just don’t get it.”
Mina pauses and looks at Crystal. “I was having nightmares. Every night. They made me not want to go to sleep. It turned into insomnia.” Mina’s face is red. “I wish I could forget those dreams but I can’t.”
“Mina, please don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying, bitch… My mom told me she called Dad and said she was afraid I was going to kill myself. She was crying.”
“So, were you?”
“No—why would I want to do that! There’s so much that people don’t get about me! Shit! Mom said that if school was taking so much out of me, then I shouldn’t go. But was that the problem? Was it really the school? For sure? Who knows? I mean, maybe it was. I don’t know. It got to the point where I didn’t know what was what. And then… And then… In the end I just accepted it. Just accepted it. I wanted to sleep. Really sleep. But I couldn’t. And so… And so… And so… what? Oh hell, what am I saying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me neither.”
“Ah, I like how the river smells.”
“Not me.”
“Anyway, don’t get on Minho’s case. He’s mine now.”
“What! You must think I’m nuts or something. Anyway, I thought you had a boyfriend. Did you break up with him already?”
“No, he’s still around. But he’s him and Minho’s Minho.”
“That’s pathetic!”
“What is?”
“You.”
A woman on crutches with her leg in a cast approaches them. They back away from each other to make way for her. She’s followed by two bicycles and a jogger, and now the two girls are farther apart.
“You still live in the same place?” asks Crystal, closing the gap. “You didn’t move, did you?”
“Huh? Um, uh, no, I didn’t. I already told you that. You don’t believe me?”
“Why do I have this feeling you moved? Anyway…you know…I killed a kitten the other day.”
“What? How come?”
Crystal scowls, and in the next moment is pressing down with her left hand on the fingertips of her right hand.
“Why’re you doing that? Something wrong with your hands?”
Crystal shakes her head. “Doing anything tomorrow?”
“Let’s see, after school…nothing much. I’ll be done at one.”
“Great, then let’s meet tomorrow. We’ll go somewhere.”
“What about you? Don’t you have school? And cram school? And tutoring?”
“Tomorrow’s a holiday, the school’s anniversary—you forgot already? I don’t have tutoring tomorrow, and I’ll call in sick for cram school.”
“Who besides you would remember the school anniversary?”
“Out of sight, out of mind—good for you. Me, I remember everything.”
Silent again, the two girls start across the bridge. Looking up, they see dark gray clouds shrouding the bridge towers. Looking back down, they make thei
r way under the clouds, still not talking. The bridge feels as if it’s inching upward toward the sky and then, just as gradually, it drops down. A woman wearing a black cap, mask, and gloves jogs past with a huge dog in tow. A group of boys pass by them on bikes, full of vitality. At the far end of the bridge the bus stop comes into view, and then the bus. They set off running for it.
The bus makes its sluggish way out of the old part of the city. The sidewalks are swarming with tourists in backpacks and women window-shopping, and the narrow, winding, crisscrossing alleys are choked and smoggy with cars. The entire area from beneath the ground to the hilltops is crowded with places for people to live. In contrast, the newer part of the city, the suburb where Crystal and Mina live, was planned, laid out in a grid on the flat land—a crush of perfectly squared box-shaped cement buildings and streets that stretch out freely and easily among them, giving off a buzz of energy. A practical combination of lines and surfaces.
While the cramped riot of streets gives way to wide, straight, simple avenues, the sun gradually sets. The avenues stretch out, perfectly plumb and endless. Every few minutes they see commercial establishments with identical signs and interior design: a pizza parlor, bakery, and steak house, then a different bakery, cheesecake shop, and coffee shop, and then a different coffee shop, salad buffet place, and Vietnamese restaurant, every one of them a company franchise. The swaying bus lurches to a stop at yet another store packed with merchandise. The faces of the two girls remain peaceful, compressed by a lifetime of repeated experiences in the forty minutes they’ve been on the bus. Crystal thinks about the alley from earlier in the day; Mina, the Samik Self-Study Hall. Mina thinks about Crystal’s screaming; Crystal feels drowsy. Thanking the driver in chirpy voices, they hop off the bus at a boundary where there are fewer cars and buildings and the background changes from gray to dark green. The scenery is pleasant in its simplicity, the air pungent with the smell of grass. Crystal boards a different bus as Mina waves goodbye. Crystal waves back. The bus takes off and Mina slowly crosses the street, disappearing down a well-tended walking path. Past the path the bus turns right and the next moment Mina can no longer see it.
PARTY TIME
Dressed in a black tracksuit with a large black backpack on, Crystal sets out for Mina’s place. When she arrives, the door opens and the champagne-colored chandelier in the living room shines dreamily, with five layers of candle-like bulbs and, suspended evenly beneath them, large turquoise stones and delicately cut crystal in the form of water droplets. As she always does, she counts the bulbs and nods. Twelve of them, all present and accounted for.