by Patti Kim
The table is crowded with food. There are platters of rice, kalbi ribs, fried butterfly shrimp, bulgogi, japchae, dumplings, kimbap, potato salad, acorn gelatin, kimchi, bean cakes, rice cakes, crab cakes, sweet-and-sour pork, sesame chicken wings, spicy tofu, spinach with sesame seeds, boiled squid, pig ears stacked like fallen dominoes, pickled radishes, pickled cucumbers, pickled garlic stalks, and you got it, mushrooms, too.
Asa Banks is being chased by a bunch of little kids. He made the mistake of letting one kid touch his hair while giving her a piggyback ride, and now they all want a turn. His mom and dad stand in line at the buffet table, making their plates. It’s nice to see them trying my mom’s kimchi. They asked me how to say “thank you” and “congratulations” in Korean. I hope they try out their Korean on the deacon. He’ll probably think they’re saying some American words he doesn’t know and look them up in the dictionary. That would be funny.
Mickey stands with a group of girls. Judging from the way she waves her hands, I’d say she’s giving them hair, makeup, and fashion advice. Then again, she could be telling a knock-knock joke. She wears a dress she said she found at a thrift store for a dollar. “Made in Italy, Ok. It’s vintage Oleg Cassini, Ok!” Mickey actually looks pretty stylish. Her hair looks great, thanks to me. Can’t go wrong with a crown of braids. Her parents were invited to the wedding as well, but her dad is on the road, and her mom said she had to stay home and watch Benny. My mother said Benny was welcome too, but I guess they decided not to come. That’s fine. It’s hard going to parties where you don’t know most of the guests, and Mickey seems to be having a fine time without them.
A woman with green eye shadow sparkling like a pair of emeralds walks up the hill toward me. She leans in to my face and says, “Tell me your mother’s secret ingredient.” She smells like French fries and Shalimar perfume. Her cheeks are streaked with pink blush like a pair of wings, and her hair is shaped like a big chrysanthemum. “Tell me,” she says again, winking at me.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I say.
“Here,” the woman says, stuffing money into my pocket.
“Thank you, but I can’t. It’s a secret,” I say, returning the money to her.
“Keep the money. I’m happy for you. You’re such a good son.” She puts the bills back into my pocket.
My mother’s kimchi has gotten kind of famous around here. People from other churches order jars of it, and the Korean grocery stores stock it on their shelves. My mother puts a sticker of her smiling face and her name on each jar. She calls it Sora Lee Kimchi. It sounds like Sara Lee. Maybe she too will become a household name. Nobody doesn’t like Sora Lee.
My mother stands at the bottom of the hill and waves to me. I wave back. She taps her fingertips on her mouth. I taught her some sign language after learning it from Asa, who’s been teaching it to his entourage so we can communicate without teacher interference. Eat, my mother signs. With my fist, I nod yes.
I stand up, brush off the grass, and walk down the hill. I look up at the endless blue sky and assume a life of possibilities. As I make my way toward the party, Asa comes running to me with a string of laughing and screaming kids chasing after him. He gets behind me and grabs my shoulders, using me as a human shield to protect him from the mob of kids. They charge. I brace myself. I stand firm and open my arms.
fifty-two
I ride in my father’s Cougar. It speeds along George Washington Parkway, his favorite road. It’s lined with trees and runs along the Potomac River. It’s dawn on a Sunday morning. The sun begins to rise. No one else is on the road but me and my mother. She drives my father’s Cougar. She drives with only a learner’s permit, no license. She is breaking the law. The black plastic bag of my father’s ashes rests on my lap like a sack of rice.
“Are you ready?” she says, shifting gears.
I nod and roll down the window. The wind blows. My hair whips wild. My cheeks quiver. My ears deafen. I close my stinging eyes and think of my father, how he loved this car, how he loved to drive, how he loved this road, how he loved to speed, how he loved my mother, how he loved me.
I raise the bag to the window, open it, and release him to the wind, leaving a trail of smoke and ashes. “Appa! Appa! Manse!” I call out, my face wet with tears.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Michelle Humphrey at the Martha Kaplan Agency; the Maryland State Arts Council; Marion Young; Christopher Moore; Pamela Gerhardt; Regina Coll; Nicole Salimbene; Susi Wyss; Nan and Steve Cho; Julie Epstein; my editor, Reka Simonsen; my father, Sung Ho Kim; my mother, Linda Ji Kim, who makes the best kimchi in the world; and my husband, John, who works, cares, and dreams for me.
About the Author
Born in Busan, South Korea, Patti Kim immigrated to the United States on Christmas Day, 1974. Convinced at the age of five that she was a writer, she scribbled gibberish all over the pages of her mother’s Korean-English dictionary and got in big trouble for it. But that didn’t stop her from writing. The author of A Cab Called Reliable and Here I Am, Patti lives with her husband, two daughters, and a ferocious terrier in University Park, Maryland. Visit her at pattikim.myxini.com.
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Atheneum Books for Young Readers
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Patti Kim
Jacket illustrations copyright © 2018 by Genevieve Santos
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Interior design by Vikki Sheatsley
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Kim, Patti, 1970– author.
Title: I’m Ok / Patti Kim.
Description: First edition. | New York : Atheneum Books for Young Readers, [2018] | Summary: Ok, a Korean American boy, tries a get rich quick scheme of starting a hair braiding business and winning the school talent competition to hide the fact that he is struggling with the loss of his father and the financial hardships he and his mother must now bear.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017046909 | ISBN 9781534419292 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781534419315 (eBook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Mothers and sons—Fiction. | Korean Americans—Fiction. | Loss (Psychology)—Fiction. | Moneymaking projects—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.K5835 Im 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017046909