April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions

by Solangel, T. B.

  “What is it May?” She holds her breath.

  “Nothing,” I mumble. I blow out a batch of fresh air. There’s no point in starting the spiel now. “I have to go, Lina. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “That’s fine. Bye May. Thank you.”

  “Bye.”

  I hang up the phone. A deep feeling of dread comes over me. I am exhausted. A warm shower, some hot food, and sleep sound heavenly.

  HER DARK EYES HAVE ME in a hold. I am the prey locked in the gaze of the predator. She opens her mouth to speak. There’s disdain in her voice and body language. The dark halo that forms around her angelic face twists and turns like snakes. There is horror in my voice, but I cannot make a sound. She comes closer, reaching out for me . . . . The memories and the pain intensify. “No!” It finally escapes my lips. “May!” she hisses my name before the cloud of smoke and kaleidoscope of colors consume her. “Misun,” is my choked sob.

  _________________________

  MY ALARM GOES OFF IN a rhythmic pattern. Another nightmare. It’s the fourth nightmare since the shooting and hospital incident. My heart is racing. The sweat clings without mercy to my pores. I turn in bed and stretch, kicking off my warm bed cover. My body aches, especially my arm. I feel a hundred pounds heavier and an impending headache unfolds on the right side of my head. One glance at my alarm clock and I realize I have slept late into the evening.

  Today is my last day at The Trax. It is finally time to face the reality of a chapter ending. The vague memory of calling Mr. Chun to let him know I can no longer work sweeps into my mind like a fan. He was less than happy with me, but Lina’s assistance in helping me lie lessened the blow.

  It’s been exactly two days since my kidnapping incident, and approximately forty-eight hours since I last saw Choi Sangwoo. He’s been sending me short text messages, asking how I am doing, but other than that, he’s made no plans to see me. Even through the phone, it’s apparent that Choi Sangwoo is too busy for the girl he took a bullet for. But I am fortunate enough to avoid the initiation contract for now. Nonetheless, I know better. For someone like Choi Sangwoo, his silence is much like the calm before the storm.

  I drag myself out bed and head to the kitchen for a drink of water. On my way, I realize Eunhye is home. The door to her bedroom is ajar and I can see my exhausted mother underneath her bed covers.

  “Mom,” I whisper by the door. “Hi.”

  “May.” Eunhye struggles with sleepy eyes. “Are you going to work?”

  “Yes. Last day.”

  “Call me when you get off work tonight.”

  “I will. Go back to sleep.”

  “Bye honey.”

  I close her bedroom door quietly and continue my journey to the kitchen. Even the simple act of pouring myself a cup of water causes my muscles to ache. I have to fight through the fatigue and headache. I rally my last drop of energy and get ready for work. It is the last day at The Trax, so uniforms are unnecessary. I dress in casual black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. I study myself in the mirror and realize how much I’ve changed in the last three weeks. The girl staring back at me is thin, gaunt, and dressing like the gangsters around her now–black-on-black.

  I think about wearing something brighter to lift up the mood, but I am already five minutes behind the usual bus schedule when I leave the apartment. As I turn down the last step of the apartment complex, I stop abruptly. What is he doing here? My conscience cannot contain herself.

  Ren stands five feet away from me against an illegally parked car. He waves to me with a weary smile when we make eye contact. How long has he been waiting for me?

  “Hi,” Ren greets me when I reach him. The tattoos on his face are stark in the evening light.

  “Hi,” I answer warily. I notice the gray, unmarked sedan he is leaning on. “What’s going on?” Maybe Ren’s here to tell me news about Sangwoo.

  “I’ve been assigned to be your security.” Ren dispels my worries about Sangwoo and transitions me to the next concern.

  “Oh no.” I shake my head at his revelation. I don’t need a babysitter. “I’m fine. I don’t need security.”

  Ren looks crestfallen. At the same moment his phone rings. A look of relief comes across his face when he sees who it is. “Boss. Yes. I am outside right now. Yes.” Ren hands me the phone. “He wants to speak with you.”

  How apt of Choi Sangwoo to be readily available on the other side of the phone line. “Hello?” I take Ren’s phone.

  “May.” Sangwoo’s signature voice is smooth over the phone line. “I’ve assigned Ren to watch over you. I had a feeling you were going to go to work tonight.”

  I glance at Ren, who is waiting with bated breath. “Sangwoo, I don’t need security. I’ll be fine. It’s my last day at The Trax anyway.”

  “You are fearless, aren’t you? A rival gang member kidnaps you and nearly takes your life, yet you go on as though nothing’s happened.” Sangwoo takes the liberty of recapping the past forty-eight hours.

  “What am I supposed to do?” The words escape in a whisper. “I have to go on with my life.” Their debt has been paid in full and some more.

  “You need security. I will explain to you later. It will do my conscience a great deal if you’d just let Ren take you to work. If you are going to sign on to be an employee of mine, this is one of the constituents. I will see you after work. Have a good last day.” Sangwoo hangs up the phone promptly, leaving me hanging.

  I pull the phone away from my ears and stare at it. Who does he think he is to give me instructions? My intuition sashays back into the picture; she’s had enough rest. Granted Sangwoo is my future Boss, this still crosses the invisible boundaries of individual freedom. I didn’t even get to ask Sangwoo about his arm and if he’s discharged from the hospital. I suppose I will just have to wait until I see him. Again, even the details of that possibility are vague. I never know when these gang lords are coming or going.

  “Here’s your phone.” I hand Ren back his mode of communication. It’s not Ren’s fault that I am all flustered now. The thought of thirty thousand dollars and Sangwoo getting shot for me crosses my mind. Shit. I really can’t fight him on this.

  “Do you know the way to The Trax?” I ask Ren tentatively. The kinks are working in my mind. How do I retain my independence while trying to balance a gang leader’s desire to control every aspect of my life?

  “I am instructed to take you wherever you wish to go,” Ren responds with a passive tone. The tattoos on his face remind me that his call of duty is beyond chauffeur, so I should be treating him with care. I cannot see myself getting used to Ren driving me around.

  “Ok.” I awkwardly stand back to let Run lead the way to the gray car.

  Ren opens the back car door for me. Already, he is establishing a hierarchy. I don’t want to fight him on it. I know now that it is not my place too. Besides, it would be awkward sitting next to Ren. What kind of conversation can I possibly have with a gang leader’s right-hand man? I settle in the back seat while Ren starts up the car. Ren switches on the radio and the world news blasts the silence away. Perhaps he’s feeling the same awkwardness and wants to ease it. Regardless of the reason, I am grateful for Ren’s tact. I am able to disappear into my thoughts about Choi Sangwoo.

  I conclude that Sangwoo haunts me in a very myriad, complex way. I suppose this is the tricky part of a new relationship attempting to establish itself. In essence, Sangwoo’s exact intentions with me are debatable. He is out thirty thousand dollars and a pint of pride. Yet, Choi Sangwoo is willing to shower me with his security and employment offer. I don’t know if I should be afraid of his ulterior motive or his friendship. What does he want with me? That’s the million dollar question, my conscience mumbles in a whisper.

  Sangwoo doesn’t want a relationship with me. We have established that in a vague manner. Sure, the hint of attraction exists, but the topic of conversation keeps coming back to that damn initiation contract. It doesn’t make sense that San
gwoo truly thinks I’m gangster material. He just wants you by his side. My conscience kicks in again. Don’t forget Dead Girl May. Damn it all.

  “We’re here,” Ren announces, pulling me away from my dark thoughts. His tone is clear and precise, raining over the voices of the radio. Reality drowns out my conscience.

  The familiar streets that lead to The Trax unfold. Just two days ago, I was kidnapped here. The morbid memory is like a sour thought. Now, I return like royalty with my personal armor and guard.

  “Are you going to wait here?” I ask Ren with a guarded tone. He doesn’t need to guess that I am having second thoughts about returning to The Trax.

  “Yes,” Ren answers with an air of discretion.

  “I don’t get off work until twelve.” It’s only polite that I let him know the wait time.

  “I will wait.” Ren inclines his head in a manner that lets me know I have no idea how patient he can be.

  I remove my seat belt and leave the car feeling, for the first time, an ominous and nail-biting sensation. I know I am slightly crazy and neurotic to return to The Trax days after my kidnapping incident. For all I know, Mayhem’s gang members are lurking in the shadows waiting for a second strike. Perhaps Choi Sangwoo does have a point about my sanity. What’s more alarming is no one at The Trax knows of the incident. Since the closing announcement, the venue’s security cameras have remained disabled. I argue with myself that because it is my last day of work, I have every right to be here. Besides, Mayhem has the money. There is no need for him or his minions to come after me anymore. The pillow of thought gives me comfort and courage to go to work.

  “I’ll see you later,” I tell Ren as he gives me an inexplicable look. He inclines his head towards me again, and I know Ren’s surprised I am not kicking and screaming about this ordeal. Little does he know I plan to give his Boss a piece of my mind later.

  I turn to The Trax, committing the steps and walkway to memory. This will probably be the last time I cross this distinctive threshold again. I make my way through the doors to find the skeleton of a once lively and cluttered venue. The walls are stripped bare to its bleak wooden tones. A vast, open area is cold and empty where muddles of tables and booths once were. Even the lights above are dim and forgetful. Only footsteps and soft conversations circle the desolate venue.

  It takes me all but three seconds to see Son. He is in the opposite corner of the room chatting with Naili. Son’s intense eyes follow Naili’s rapid lips. As usual, Naili adorns her distinctive dress and demeanor. She waves her arms in the air, stringing invisible words and exaggerated examples. Naili stops abruptly when she catches my eyes. Son follows her gaze with dull eyes that become bright and attentive.

  Oh no. I hope he didn’t recognize me at his cousin’s funeral.

  I steady my pace as I walk awkwardly to them. From my peripheral view, I can see Joolie, Tailor, and some of the other co-workers working on the massive bar. Sans alcohol and other additions to the bar, the entire l-shaped island is now bleak and uninhabited. It appears as though Joolie and Tailor are in charge of breaking down the furnishing.

  “May,” Naili’s drawl of my name brings me back to reality. Her eyes are twinkling with earnest as though she has a secret she can’t wait to share with me.

  “Hello,” I greet her courteously. Behind her, Tailor makes eye contact with me. He waves while Joolie rolls her eyes in exasperation at Naili’s back. I do my best to suppress the smile that threatens my lips.

  “I’m going to need you to compile some more data today.” Naili inclines her head forward, occupying my vision. This time around, unlike the fervent stares she usually shoots at me, her eyes are soft. I wonder if Naili knows about my recent kidnapping. There’s no trace of information behind her black eyes.

  “Sure.” I am highly suspicious of this data-compiling quest she has going on, but there’s nothing underground in the paperwork.

  “Son will help you with the organizational process today. We want every document compiled into a binder and labeled,” Naili continues to instruct me. “Also, the new owner will be here later in the week to hand out severance checks.”

  The thought hits me with interest. I will finally get to see who the new owner of The Trax is. I attempt to hide my curiosity.

  “Naili, phone call.” One of her people, an older man wearing a complete dark blue three-piece suit, steps out of the hallway. He holds out a black cell phone for her to take.

  “Excuse me.” Naili quickly excuses herself. She hurries to the man, takes the phone, and disappears out of sight.

  Son and I are now alone. “Hey.” I offer him a smile to reduce the awkwardness. I want to make small talk to distract any thoughts or notions, but Son doesn’t give me much.

  “Hey,” is Son’s remark. His eyes are still too bright and attentive. “How are you?”

  “I’m good.” Shit. Does he know something? Inadvertently, I bite my lower lip to stop the anxiety from reaching my face.

  “Let’s get to work.” Son takes on his assistant manager persona and produces a nonchalant gait down the hallway.

  I feel my stomach drop as I follow him.

  We make our way to the meeting room where the laptop is next to three piles of paperwork. I take my usual seat in front of the laptop while Son opts for the seat to my right. I glance quickly at the pile of paperwork to my right and it’s mostly computation data. More specifically, the data reflect the most recent revenue. I roll up my shirtsleeves and get to work. I am desperate to dive in and reduce the invisible tension in the room. Son follows my lead and does the same. While I calculate and compute, Son organizes the physical evidence comprised of receipts ranging from checks to photocopies of other payment types.

  “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.” Son makes the first casual attempt at a conversation.

  “I think it’s been about a week.” I am careful with my choice of words. I am grateful for the light and casual conversation.

  “I missed work last week because of my cousin’s funeral.” Son doesn’t miss a beat. His fingers flip through the pile of paperwork indiscriminately, but the emotions that radiate from him are palpable.

  I pretend to be having trouble with the excel spread on the computer, mumbling a few, “What is going on with this?” and “This doesn’t make sense,” and finally, “I’m sorry about your cousin Son.”

  I can feel the power of his stare at my profile, but Son buys my nonchalant response. “It was a quiet gathering,” he tells me softly. Son’s fingers flick through the paperwork at a rapid pace. “We’re all heartbroken. It was supposed to be a day for family until he ruined it.”

  I am in the middle of organizing the spreadsheets by numerical order when I hesitate. The better part of me asks Son, “Who ruined it?” My voice is coarse and airy, giving away too much. But I am a victim to Son’s despair at this point.

  Son holds the stack of paperwork in his hands with a sign of defeat on his face. “The gang Boss. He was there. He infiltrated our most private moment. Of course, like the coward he is, he ran away when we spotted him.”

  I wait with bated breath for Son to mention the Boss’s female counterpart that day, but he doesn’t. Instead, Son has a faraway look on his face. I can see the sorrow in his eyes and the anger in his heart.

  “How did your cousin die, Son?” I ask with apprehension. The sentence is a string of whispers.

  Son lowers his head. He releases the stack of paper in his hands. “I told you, the gang leader ordered his death.”

  “Because of what?” I feel terrible for pushing the topic further, but the need to know overpowers my better judgment. I want to know even though Choi Sangwoo said he’d rather the family believed it was his fault than have them know the truth.

  Son looks up at me. The dark, defensive bar crosses the light in his eyes. “Does it matter? My cousin is dead. The gang leader could have protected him, but he chose to turn his back on him. The gang leader regarded my cousin as another expendab
le ant in his pathetic army. Then, he had the audacity to show up at my cousin’s funeral as if he was mourning. He was wearing dark sunglasses. I never got a chance to see his face.”

  I can feel the anger and spite rising in Son’s throat. The mix of hate and trepidation spills onto the table and over our paperwork.

  “I’m sorry,” is all I can say. I don’t know how else to express my sentiments without angering Son. I know it is not my place to give any opinion, but I can’t help myself. Son doesn’t know the truth of the matter any more than I do. I want to tell Son that he’s not the only one in the dark.

  “He brought someone with him too.” Son looks up at me, bombarding me with the information. The anger doesn’t subside in his eyes. “He didn’t bring his entourage. He brought a woman instead. He was trying to soften the blow. That manipulative bastard.”

  I focus on the set of documents in front of me, but my stomach’s having trouble keeping all this information down. I can feel the intense emotions boiling inside of me. The look in Son’s eyes tells me he doesn’t suspect it was me, but the tone of his voice is accusing.

  “I would like all of these to be exported by the end of today.” Naili is at the meeting room’s threshold; she successfully sneaked up on us. Naili’s eyes are murky as she gazes at Son. Naili holds another stack of paperwork in her hands as she moves into the room. Naili throws the paperwork on the table; it lands in front of Son. The soft gust of wind reminds us of our workload.

  The intense vibe of employer and employee ripples between the two of them. I can feel my scalp prickling from the anticipation of what is going on. If she had overheard the conversation, Naili doesn’t show it. Instead, Naili lowers her gaze from Son and shoots it over to me. “Today is your last day. Make it count please.” Naili’s lips press in a hard line as she reminds us.

  Son and I remain silent. Without another word, Naili exits the meeting room.

  “There is something underground about that woman too,” Son snarls. The look of disapproval taints his facial expression. He gives me an apologetic look, surprising me with his regret. “Sorry May. I didn’t mean to start talking about my cousin’s funeral. I just feel like out of everyone here at work, you understand me the most.”