When I see a taxi crawling up the street, I use one of Brown Eyes’ arms to flag it down. It is clear to see the taxi driver hesitating behind his car’s windshield. Evidently, business must be slow for him because he pulls over.
“Is he drunk?” The taxi driver is an old man in his early sixties. The lines on his face crease together when he asks the question. He rolls his windows down halfway, weary of our company.
“A little bit.” I put on my best smile. “But he’s fine. He’s just sleepy. He won’t throw up in your car.”
“I hope not,” the taxi driver states shortly. He glances at Brown Eyes and then back at me again. “Get in.”
“Thank you,” I breathe. If he didn’t let us in, I don’t know what I would do.
I make my way around the left side of the taxi swiftly. With Brown Eyes still leaning on me, I move him around and place him inside the taxi first. Immediately, he slumps over in the seat. I have to go around the other side to get into the car.
“Where are you two headed?” From his tone of voice, the taxi driver is making clear judgments.
“East Point apartment complexes, please,” I answer. I nervously touch the strap of my tote bag.
“Uh huh,” is the taxi driver’s snappy remark.
I sit to the far right in the back seat for the duration of the ride to my apartment complex. I don’t want to take any chances of Brown Eyes going for his second win if his stomach starts to act up. But I don’t need to worry. He is fast asleep. Now and then, the taxi driver glances in the rearview mirror at us. I have a smile on my face, putting on a show that everything is fine. Little does he know I am on edge about this situation. I am anxious about what to do.
When we finally arrive at the familiar iron white gates, I do my best to wake Brown Eyes up and guide him out of the car. I pay the taxi driver ten dollars. He mumbles something that sounds like “good luck” before speeding off.
The walk to my apartment complex feels as though it stretches on for miles. Why do I have to live on the sixth floor with no elevator? I mentally curse my luck. East Point apartment complexes are home to families who are in the bottom income tax brackets. Each complex is sectioned off into different compass points. I live in the southeastern region of East Point at the village most residents refer to as sun and moon. Each East Point apartment is no bigger than a thousand square feet with amenities included in the monthly rent. It is a practical place to live, so many residents remain at East Point for most of their lives.
My stepmother, Eunhye, and I have been living at East Point for a couple of years now. The location of the apartment, along with its affordable monthly expenses, is exactly what our household of two needs. Since moving in, we live a quiet life. Tonight is the one and only exception.
When Brown Eyes and I finally reach my apartment landing, I am completely out of breath. A cool sheet of sweat coats my back. I lean Brown Eyes against the apartment front door. Lina would label this stage of drunkenness as ‘blackout.’ Speaking of my cousin, maybe I should call her for help. Did I make such a rash decision in bringing Brown Eyes home?
I don’t have time to contemplate my decision. Brown Eyes is shivering from the cold air. I rummage through my tote bag for my keys. When I get the apartment door open, I muster one last drop of strength to pick up Brown Eyes again. “Come on. You can collapse inside.” He does little to struggle against me.
The apartment is completely dark except for the light illuminating from the empty fish tank. I used to have two gold fishes, but when the first one died of old age the second one died soon after of a broken heart. Since then I have not had the heart to buy new fishes to replace them or to throw out the fish tank. So now, we have an empty fish tank with the sole purpose of providing a night light. I convinced Eunhye that it goes well with the layout of our apartment; a large living room that connects to a vast kitchen complete with its own amenities.
“You can sleep here–” I stop before I complete my sentence.
I realize I am about to let Brown Eyes sleep on our white couch completely exposed in the living room. When Eunhye comes home from her graveyard shift at the hospital as an emergency nurse, she would have a panic attack. The only man to ever step foot inside this apartment was my father and even then he surprised us.
After careful deliberation, I decide to take Brown Eyes to my bedroom. It is the only alternative.
As soon as I open the door, Brown Eyes goes straight for my bed. He is incredibly intelligent for an unconscious drunk.
“Oh no, you don’t!” I grab the back of his shirt and pull him down on the floor.
Brown Eyes stumbles and fall onto the hard carpet, but he doesn’t seem to feel the pain. Immediately, he curls up on the floor and falls back into sleep.
I ransack through my closet for a clean pillow and blanket. After I find them, untouched after two years, I place the pillow under Brown Eyes’ head and cover him with a blanket. I stand over him for a couple of minutes to watch the rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps. His handsomely defined features have a story to them. The same sense of familiarity comes over me, but I do my best to ignore it. It is difficult to imagine that we have before and decided to forget one another. There is no point in assuming there is a past if it doesn’t exist in the present.
I hover over Brown Eyes for a couple more minutes. When I am finally convinced he is dead as a rock, I grab my bathroom bag and a clean pair of pajamas.
I make my way down the hall to the bathroom with a heavy feeling of tiredness, anxiousness, and anticipation. Everything in the apartment feels foreign because of Brown Eyes’ presence. I am used to existing by myself with only the few people I allow in my life. Yet, here I am tonight, giving full access of my life to a stranger. Granted, he is beyond intoxicated to take advantage of the situation. It looks as though misery left him to die.
When I reach the bathroom, I turn on the light and lock the door behind me. I nearly drown myself underneath the rainfall showerhead. I take my time shampooing my hair and scrubbing myself with body wash. Afterwards, I dry my hair with the wall fan by the mirror and clean my ears out with fresh cotton swabs.
Eventually, I run out of things to do in the bathroom. Now, I have no choice but to go back to my room. Sleeping on the couch would raise suspicion when Eunhye comes home. My elaborate plan is to have Brown Eyes leave the apartment while Eunhye sleeps off her graveyard tiredness.
I take a detour into the kitchen to grab a fresh cloth. I run it through some warm water and enter my bedroom quietly. I am sure that if I scream at the top of my lungs and bang on the walls, Brown Eyes will still be sleeping like a baby. I tiptoe to him and place the folded cloth over his head. His forehead is still hot. The fever is taking hold of his bodily functions. I watch him for a couple more seconds hardly believing that this beautiful creature is sleeping like a child in my bedroom.
Brown Eyes is in a deep state of sleep. At least in sleep, he is able to forget the pain he is experiencing.
Before I crawl into bed, I make my way to the closet and pull out a softball bat. It is a Pro Maple, approximately thirty-four inches long and six inches thick, made out of authentic African wood. I remember begging my mother for it when I was in high school, believing that my calling in life was to join a softball team. Evidently, it didn’t work out that way, but at least I am able to put it to good use. Granted, this is probably not how Eunhye would have dreamed of me using it.
With the baseball safely underneath my right arm, I climb into my warm bed. I lay on my right side with the bat against my body and pull the blanket up to my chin. I chase away as many thoughts as I can sleep. I have work tomorrow as well as some errands to fit in.
From the other side of the room, I can hear the soft rise and fall of the Brown Eyes’ breathing.
“Good night Brown Eyes,” I whisper into the darkness. Beautiful, tragic, and bittersweet soul. Or in Joolie’s words Super-Gorgeous-Sexy.
Then, slowly and peacefully, I drift off to a deep sleep. My body aches, e
specially my arms and legs. The heaviness on my eyelids feels relieved from the pressure. I lose sense of time and physical being. Hmm. My bed is warm.
THE NEXT THING I AM conscious of is a soft breeze against my skin. The morning sunlight casts several rays into my bedroom, lighting up the walls with orange shadows. I shiver slightly from the cool air and pull my blanket over my shoulders. At the same time, my baseball bat falls onto the ground. The unmistakable thud on the carpet reminds me why I have it in my bed in the first place.
I immediately sit up in bed and look down at the floor where Brown Eyes is supposed to be sleeping. Now, it is just the usual empty spot in my room. “Oh no,” I mumble. I throw the blanket off as fast I can and run out of bed. Where is he? Where is he? I am frantic and afraid. See what happens when you let strangers in? My intuition wakes, stretching and yawning.
As soon as I reach my bedroom door, I can hear the voices in the kitchen. I pray that Eunhye is on the phone and Brown Eyes is long gone. Instead, I find the both of them leaning against the kitchen.
“Well, I do enjoy getting up and going to work. But, it can get quite tedious,” Eunhye is saying. She holds her favorite tea mug as she laughs.
“It’s really admirable though,” Brown Eyes replies to my stepmother. “You save a lot of lives.”
This is all wrong, all out of sorts. He doesn’t belong here in my drab and normal kitchen. In fact, he doesn’t earn any right to hold a full conversation with my Eunhye. Now that he is conscious and sober, Brown Eyes is back to his strikingly handsome and charismatic self. He looks presentable despite the fact that he is still wearing clothes from last night, sans the black blazer. In the light, it is easier to gather the features of his face. With dark hair cascading over his features, Brown Eyes’ bright complexion makes his face appear more open. It is evident Brown Eyes doesn’t belong to our world. Everything about him, including his demeanor and attitude, is not from mainstream society. Brown Eyes belongs to a much deeper and darker world than mine.
“Oh, look who’s awake. Good morning.”
I am too busy staring at Brown Eyes and Eunhye to realize that they see me looking at them.
My stepmother’s face softens at the sight of me. I normally call her mother, but Eunhye is actually my stepmother. My biological mother died when I was younger, so my father ended up integrating me into his primary family. From the beginning, Eunhye treated me as if I am her biological daughter. She makes it easy to like her and over time, I began to love her like my biological mother. The stereotypical myth of stepmother and stepchild drama was never applicable to us. Of course we have our differences, but what mother-daughter pairing doesn’t? Eunhye never misses an opportunity to teach me a lesson, however.
At the moment, Eunhye has her relaxed and entertained face on. She is the prettiest Korean woman I know with her bright eyes and full smile. My stepmother always has her hair piled on the top of her head to display her favorite gold earrings. She is only five feet tall and about a hundred pounds, but her personality makes her comparable to a stick of dynamite.
Brown Eyes must have already worked some kind of special magic on her because Eunhye doesn’t seem upset that he’s in the apartment. In fact, she is standing there with an expectant expression on her face.
“Good morning,” Eunhye repeats again.
“Good morning,” I mumble under my breath. “I see you met–”
“Your friend, Choi Sangwoo?” She completes my sentence shortly. “We’ve been chatting for the past half an hour, sleepyhead. You want a cup of tea?”
Choi Sangwoo. Sangwoo Choi. I like the name I gave him better. Choi Sangwoo sounds too regal and elite, dangerous and obsolete. But I have to admit the name is befitting of him. It embodies him from head-to-toe. I am not sure if I will ever find out just how much, but I am willing to bet on it. Now that Eunhye and I know his official name, Brown Eyes is moving from stranger to acquaintance quickly.
“No tea,” I answer Eunhye finally.
I turn my attention to Choi Sangwoo. I am still mentally testing out his name. The face does match the name. My intuition gapes at him.
“Good morning May,” he says as soon as we make eye contact. Sangwoo is holding my usual coffee mug in his hand.
“Good morning,” I reply shortly. Who does he think he is, looking so gorgeous after such a drunken escapade, standing in my kitchen buttering up my mother? I know it is easy for him. Choi Sangwoo probably has the charms and wit that only experience conjures.
Fortunately, Eunhye doesn’t catch the awkwardness between us. “You never told me about Choi Sangwoo.” She turns back to look at him. “He’s very handsome.”
Sangwoo lets out a chuckle, but doesn’t look shy. A little bit conceited huh? It is too much of a boyish response for someone like him to pull off.
“There’s not much to tell . . . about Sangwoo,” I reply to Eunhye. My mind is ransacking all the lies I need to come up with on the spot. I am well aware that Sangwoo has his undivided attention on me now. “We’ve been friends for–”
“Ever since I started working at The Trax,” Sangwoo cuts me off. He gives me a nod as if to say he can handle this. Sangwoo turns back to my mother and continues with unfathomable confidence. “As I explained earlier, we had a promotional campaign for the club last night. I had too much to drink with a few customers. I wouldn’t have been able to make it home. May was nice enough to help and let me crash on her floor. I hope you understand.”
“Oh. Of course!” Eunhye replies quickly. She lifts up a hand to touch Sangwoo’s right shoulder softly. It is a clear indication that she likes him. “I would rather you stay here and sober up than get in trouble on the way home.”
The situation is too precarious for me to interrupt, so I keep my silence and let Sangwoo tell my mother the fabricated details. Apparently, he is a master at stringing the lies without any detection of false play.
“Well, I’m glad May is putting herself out there and making more friends. She’s quite the loner, you know. I tell her all the time to make more friends. She’s consistently working two jobs and putting her social life aside. She doesn’t let too many people into her life, so I welcome the ones that she does.” Just when I think she isn’t going to embarrass me, there is the classic remark mothers tend to make. I suppose a mother’s worse nightmare could go either way when it comes to her daughter having too many friends or none at all.
I don’t miss Choi Sangwoo glancing curiously at me after hearing that piece of information. There is a clear delight in his brown eyes.
“. . . Your phone is ringing mom,” I announce abruptly.
She thinks I am making a smart excuse, but Eunhye’s smile subsides when the familiar ring emits from her bedroom. “It must be the hospital calling.” Eunhye clutches her mug with alertness. The classical conditioning has her wired.
My mother doesn’t forget her manners. Eunhye pats Sangwoo’s shoulder with endearment before leaving the kitchen. “Come by when you’re free. We can have dinner together. I’d love to get to know you better.”
What? You’re inviting him to dinner already? My intuition shifts uncomfortably on her meditation mat.
“I definitely will. It was nice meeting you Mrs. Lee.” He bows respectfully in return.
Eunhye gives me a smile before she leaves; it’s her we-need-to-talk-later smile. My heart sinks a little.
“Thank you for what you did last night.” Choi Sangwoo waits until Eunhye is in her room before he addresses me.
Heart stop. I find the words jumbling in my throat. I should feel violated. He took advantage of my Samaritan act too far by introducing himself to my mother without my presence. But when Brown Eyes addresses me with the whole package of alluring tone of voice, sultry look, and commanding presence I am silly putty again.
“You’re welcome,” I answer in a submissive whisper. Who are you? my intuition hisses at me with condemned betrayal.
“I hope you don’t mind. I introduced myself to your mother. I
woke up thirsty, so I went out to the kitchen to get some water. Your mother was making tea and she looked very surprised and . . . hurt that I was here. You’re a good girl. You don’t usually bring strange men home, do you?”
Of course not! I’m not a slush–Lina’s term for a slut. “No, I don’t.” My tone of voice is unwavering. I narrow my eyes at Sangwoo to let him know I take offense.
Sangwoo smiles without teeth. He is clearly joking with me. “So I had to conjure up a story about how we work together,” Sangwoo continues to elaborate calmly, but his facial expression is hard to read.
“You could have woken me up,” is all I can respond. My conscience is shaking her head, not impressed by how I am handling the situation.
Sangwoo’s eyes appear delighted that he has me eating out of his hands. “You were sleeping so peacefully with your baseball bat.”
I have no reply to the truth. My cheeks heat up at the look in his eyes. Well, a girl’s got to protect herself.
Sangwoo brings the mug he is holding back up to his lips. How many girls would give anything to be that mug right now? My face increases with heat as the bad thought crosses my mind. Choi Sangwoo’s body language is the same as the previous night. Only this time he isn’t drinking alcohol, but instead fresh green jasmine tea–one of Eunhye’s favorite concoctions for a hangover.
“But thank you, though, for your hospitality.” Sangwoo’s eyes glow. “You and your mother remind me that there’s still humility, innocence, and peace in the world.”
I am careful not to let the confusion show on my face. When I realize why he is describing us like that, I remember the necklace on his neck. As my eyes move to his collar, Sangwoo’s hand nonchalantly tucks the diamond-encrusted chain inside his shirt.
In that instant, he knows that I know.
I lift my eyes up to look straight into his. “Why did you come back to The Trax last night?”
Sangwoo pauses at my blunt question as though he hadn’t anticipated for me to be so straight forward. He places the mug back on the counter. Then, he deliberately turns the sink faucet on and washes his hands. The seconds tick by in awkwardness with a tint of tension. When he finishes, Sangwoo rinses his hands on one of the sink towels. How can someone make washing their hands look so sexy? My conscience is staring at him with her undivided attention; this creature confounds her.
April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions Page 5