Running With Scissors [Prologue]
Title: Running With Scissors | Prologue
Author: dohremi
Rating: PG-15
Pairing/Focus: Ontae
Summary: A/U | "The hottest love has the coldest end." Socrates
Author's Note: Prologue is very long. [4023 words] I promise to not be like this later on ^^' mianhae.
Click for Poster | Cred: LILCHAN | Profile Cred: nerosdecay
Running With Scissors
The Prologue
I was 18 when I found out my grandfather had cancer. Maybe because of the fact that I have not seen him in ten years that I found it hard to sympathize with the old man. At the age of eighty-two, harabeoji had never failed to pickup any illness old age unfortunately bestowed upon him, suffering from many episodes of stroke, heart-attacks and who knows what else. He was a sickly old man. To this day, I am still surprise that he even remembered my name let alone suggested that I come stay at his place for the summer.
At first I refused. My whole life, I have never been anywhere outside of the state California. The weather here had never dropped below fifty degree fahrenheit. There is a beach right in my backyard, and I never find the need to use Hangul. You can say I was one of those kids who they called "American Born Child" ABC for short. Most of my friends are American. Come to think of it, I did not really have much of an Asian pride.
I thought, that was it! That's why umma decided to send me away after a one day prior notice. To be more Asian, learn about your culture and…stuff. She even got my bags packed and readied. I thought, if dad was still here, would he even tried to get me out of this? Would he cared if his only daughter was spending her summer in a foreign country--herself and an old dying man whom she had not seen face to face for a decade?
No. Of course not. He wouldn't.
Would he?
Well…how would I know. Appa died in a car accident even before I could pronounce 'appa.' If only umma had not guilt trip me, if only she had not mention how much of a resemblance harabeoji and appa have, and how much more of him I would know if I spend that summer with my grandfather, I would still have refused. The truth was, I miss my dad even though I don't quite remember anything about him.
So there I was, fresh fish in the land of kimchi. I must have seemed so bitter after that twelve hours flight. I didn't even bother to fake a smile. I was shock, however, that a sleek classic limo was waiting by the entrance. The backseat with its door opened and window downed. Maybe somewhere between the argument I had with umma, I failed to pick up a little detail that my grandfather was somehow a..millionaire?
No.
Not quite.
An obnoxious honk startled me out of my daze. I switched my attention to the sound and caught the sight of a guy waving excitedly at me. In that moment, I couldn't help but turn to the dream car with a pathetic expression, pursing my lips at some rich kid climbing into the backseat of the limo.
My limo…
"Haru-ssi! Lee Haru-ssi!!"
I hesitated. My name. The man knew my name. Suddenly, in my head was a recap of all the kidnapping movies I've seen. Umma did mention about someone picking me up. Though, she did not say anything about a guy.
"Haru-ssi? Your grandfather told me to pick you up at the airport. I'm Jihoon. I work for your grandfather." The male explained in what would be a horrible English accent with every syllable stuck to his teeth. He had a toothily smile. The kind that resembled a cushion expression when you get stuck in an uncomfortable situation. I stood there, half as awkward as he was.
"..Sorry..I am not good with English." He apologized after a minute or so when I became unresponsive and resorted to staring at the old rusted piece of metal that was my transportation.
"How..do you know what I look like?"
I spoke up with a slight edginess to my voice. The Hangul sounded fresh to my vocal chord. I couldn't help but blush embarrassingly. In a way, I was trying to act tough. You know, in case this was really a kidnapper. I prayed it wasn't.
This Jihoon person reacted differently than I expected. He held up a finger, mouth formed an silent 'O' as his eyebrows jutted up simultaneously. Jihoon pulled out something from the front pocket of his worn out dress-shirt.
"You?"
Taking the picture out of his grip, I frowned when I realized that it was only taken last year, on a summer camp. I was tanned, even the freckles on my face was tanned.
"Y-you..speak Korean?"
This time Jihoon asked in his mother tongue. I would think that in Korean, he wouldn't be stuttering, but perhaps, if I had guessed right, he was intimidated by me. The thought had me laughing inwardly. I nodded and proceeded to the passenger side.
My limo was an old truck with chipped blue paint and a coat of odor resembling live chickens. It was a hot summer day, and even though the windows were down, the stink clung to the leather seats and pretty much every surface I could imagine smelled like chickens.
Jihoon began the car and had the a/c on full blast. He turned with a toothy grin, and I rolled my eyes before looking away, not before catching a glimpse of my reflection in the passenger's mirror.
"Music?" Jihoon suggested, finger already hovering over the power button. He had this excitement in his face as if just the sound of music blasting through the stereo would get the corners of his lips up a couple more centimeters.
I shrugged. I even gave him a weird look, brows furrowing like dark clouds yet Jihoon seemed clueless toward it.
I bit the inside of my cheek when a song came on. It sounded familiar to one of those songs umma likes, very old, very country, very---
"Trot! Do you like trot?!"
Jihoon was half bouncing half singing along. Strangely, he wasn't out of tune, not too sharp nor flat. He couldn't hit the high notes nor the baritone parts, and he would laugh shyly to replace those parts he couldn't do. He glanced sideways before returning his eyes to the road again. Now that there was not much space between the two seats, Jihoon did not look any older than myself. Perhaps only twenty.
"Do you Haru-ssi?"
I blinked quickly and remembered that he had asked me a question. "Uh..yeah.." I didn't lie. Trot music reminded me of umma.
---
When we arrived, the sun was already in full bloom. The heat of the twelve o'clock sun burned through the straw hat I had thrown on after Jihoon handed it over, mumbling something about having to walk because the truck couldn't get through.
I followed behind closely, passed by a vast field of sunflowers, and nearly stopped and stared. This was something California does not have. But the hurried echoes of my name caused me to push the sight to the back of my head, reminding myself that I could always come back another time.
"Haru? Uri Haru-yah."
harabeoji came out of nowhere and pulled me into a crushing hug the moment my foot stepped through the doors. I mustered up a small tight chuckle, arms and shoulders tensed until harabeoji decided to let me go. The hanok was just like I imagined, ancient, classical, and spacious. I suddenly felt out of place in my Puma T-shirt and skinny jeans. I left my high top converse at the steps because they were even more out of place than my outfit.
I was pulled by the wrist toward an opened room where echoes of laughter and more trot music were slipping through. I threw Jihoon a look of desperate, and he returned it with a comforting smile. "I'll go get your stuff." He disappeared like loyal dog who had been called for food.
"Haru-yah~ Haru-yah~ Uri Haru~" There were a handful of old people sitting on the floor, smiling at me with those twinkling dull gray eyes. They each reach out a hand, grabbed a leg, an arm, my shoulder, my hair, toward them. I ended up being crushed in an old people group hug, earning myself some pats on the head.
"These are my friends. Village friends. I told them not to come but they were so excited to know you're here." harabeoji sat down beside me and handed me a glass of something that later I found to be tea.
I sat there, kneeling, for what seemed like forever, with them touching my face, smoothing my hair, pinching my cheeks, and I had to endure it all with a tense smile until harabeoji sent them all back home, and Jihoon came back, panting and sweating as if he had just been running a marathon.
"Did you like the welcoming party?" Jihoon asked with not even a bit of authenticity in his tone. He was mocking me with that smirk that looked out of place on the face that I had matched with the toothily smile. I knew it and groaned in response. harabeoji came back but he had lost some of that cheery hues on his cheeks since he saw me. He looked pained and suddenly weary. Jihoon saw it too, and he was by the old man's side in a blink of an eye.
"harabeoji~ you don't ever listen to me do you? You're so stubborn. You should lay down."
My eyes followed after the two as Jihoon had his arm around harabeoji's waist, steering him toward a room in the back. I stood up quickly but did not go after them. Jihoon appeared after a while with a frown. Our eyes met and the wrinkles on his forehead ceased to exist. The corners of his lips lifted soon after. "Don't worry much. He needs his medicine. He'll be fine." It sounded very much convincing if I hadn't continue to stare at Jihoon.
"Uh…Yeah..he is resting now..I should show you your room.."
I didn't push it further because it was nothing I don't know, and I couldn't really help either. "You live here too?" I questioned when we stopped in front of a door and I found myself face to face with harabeoji's worker again.
Jihoon nodded. "I like harabeoji. He is like my own." The male answer with a sudden far away look in his eyes but vanished quickly once the door panel slid open. "This is your room. I brought all your stuff here already. You got a lot of stuff." He said as if it was a declaration but with good intention nor bad one, I wasn't sure. I threw a glare at his direction and did not bother to thank the guy.
The room was as sizable as the one at home. I wasn't quite expecting a bed but there was one at the corner by the window, completely adorned with a thin layer of soft pink sheet, white thick comforter and a simple pink pillow with little hearts all over it. Beside it was the closet, which I found to be empty and full of clothes hangers. I ran the pad of my thumb down the surface of a small but do-able desk right nearby and found the suitcases laid by the foot of the bed, just like Jihoon had said.
I swallowed thickly. Not sure what to say.
"Will he be okay?"
Jihoon looked like he had came back to his senses. His back straightened up as if someone had dropped an ice-cube down the back of his dress-shirt. With a small sigh, the male nodded. "Of course, it isn't the first time this happens."
There came another pregnant pause, awkward silence filled the bedroom, and it reminded me of how tired I was. "You should rest too. Bathroom is down the hall. I'll be in the kitchen fixing up dinner. Call me if you need anything." It all came out too fast as if the other really wanted to escape the awkwardness so he just decided to throw a bunch of reserved instructions. Jihoon nodded again for no reason and slid the door close behind him as he leaves.
I realized that I have been staring quite a lot. I was staring as haraboji's worker did the monologue and stiffly walked away. "He cooks?" That was pretty much the only thing my brain had responded to before my body gave up, and I fell like a sack of potato onto the bed, successfully messing up the smoothness of the cover.
"Umma~~~" I called to my mother half way around the word, already feeling homesick, half blaming her for the grim meeting that day but more so for the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach as if eagles instead of butterflies were preparing to take flight.
---
The few weeks after were blurry. On certain days, when the sun wasn't too selfish to hide behind the ruins of clouds, and harabeoji could make it out of bed and sit on the porch, swiping at flies and fanning himself with a paper fan, and I would be just beside him, pretending to be his conversation partner, but the truth was I had nothing else to do.
The old man likes to look at photographs. One day, in his wrinkly palms was a thick heavy looking book. With trembling fingers, he placed it in my laps before sitting down on the cushion right beside me. The weather that day was neither sunny or rainy. It was a clear day, and I found it quite disappointing that there were no clouds in sight. If there were, I could at least ease my boredom by trying to draw recognizable shapes out of those inorganic collection of particles. But there was none that day, so I had to go along with whatever that had landed on my laps.
"What's this?"
I could already feel the dust beneath my fingertips. I rubbed my them together before wiping down the side of my jeans.
Harabeoji did not answer. There was not even an expression as if he was deaf. Old people can be deaf. I reminded myself before returning my attention to the book. It was an album. An old one with brown edges and even weird fungus looking things eating away at some of the pictures. The sharp cracking of the spine as each page turns made me think that it probably hadn't been opened for a long time. I didn't recognize anyone. I kept flipping from page to page, hurriedly at first but slowly as I started seeing some resemblances in these people.
"Harabeoji? you??" I pointed at a young boy. Not older than seventeen, standing on top of what appeared to be an abandoned truck. The young boy in the picture was wearing a pair of yellow boots. In the next two pictures, he was riding a bike. He had fair skin, delicate cheekbones, dark smooth hair with loose strands blown by the wind. For some reason, the murkiness of the photo paper, or even who knows how long ago this was taken, didn't make me any less sure that it was harabeoji. Maybe because of the smile, or the way his eyes fell naturally into thin happy crescents that didn't seem to disappear through time, that I really believed it was him. I flipped through some more pages, skipping the ones that didn't have that boy until I found another one. This time he was wearing a dark graphic t-shirt, standing in front of corn trees.
"Hah! It is you!" I laughed, suddenly finding myself quite amazed at the person inside these old photographs. "You look good harabeoji~" I teased him but stopped as soon as his smile dropped. Okay so perhaps he doesn't like being praised.
I went back to looking at the pictures. My eyes kept darting back and forth between the person sitting beside me, an eighty-two year old man, and the youth in the picture, at the shy age of barely seventeen. As the album gets near the end, I found some closer dated pictures. There were ones that made me stopped and held my breath: a woman cradling a baby close to her bosom, a cute months old kid playing with toys, a teenage boy [ not the same one I saw earlier but very much resembled each other ] standing among a crowd of students.
"Appa."
The sound slipped out whenever I didn't notice. It wasn't until I felt a hand on my shoulder before I could breathe again. I sighed and smiled. "He looks just like you harabeoji." I knew that. I just didn't think I could see it with my own eyes.
We kept looking through the photo album until there were no more pictures to look at, and I stealthily flipped back to the ones with appa in them, holding the book up for a closer look, turning it sideways to derive anymore possible views from these pictures.
When I looked up again, it was already dawn. Harabeoji was no longer beside me. I realized it was close to his bedtime. Old people do sleep early. I laughed at the thought and turned toward the sound of engine approaching. Closing the album, I tucked it neatly beneath my arm before greeting the person at the gate. Jihoon had came back after some chores harabeoji had somehow telekinetically ordered him to do. Weird. I have never seen them talking, yet Jihoon always managed to find things to do.
"Good day?" Jihoon spoke up after wiping the sweat gathered all around his forehead with the sleeves of his shirt.
"Why'd you say that?" I carefully smiled, bouncing up toward the small motor engine that looked like a lawn mower.
"You're smiling. First time in three weeks. Must have been a good day." Jihoon grinned. I tried not to feed his satisfaction, turning back toward the house and up the steps.
"Oh by the way. No need to cook dinner. I already took care of it." Spinning on the balls of my feet, I informed harabeoji's worker with a tiny smirk of my own before disappearing back inside.
---
"Hey..uh..what are you doing?"
I snuck a peek into the storage room down the hall. The whole day, all I could hear was loud noise, occasional banging and things falling. I couldn't make out what it was that Jihoon was doing with all those things in the storage. Since it was a storage, shouldn't all the stuff just stay there and be stored away? After many hours of consideration, not wanting to admit to myself that I was bored to death, and that watching grass grow would be the most exciting thing to happen (if it really happens and if I was lucky enough), I made it out of my bedroom and down the hallway, poking my head inside to take a look of the so called mysterious chore harabeoji had ordered Jihoon to do.
"Cleaning." Jihoon didn't bother to look over. He was covered in dust, even faint blotches of dark were there on his cheeks. Scattered around the room were boxes of things: lamps, books, clothes..odd things. Just odd to me. "Why are you cleaning them?"
The worker boy was in the middle of organizing some books. He stopped though and finally looked up with a relieved sigh. "Harabeoji wants to throw them away. Donate them. Throw them away." Jihoon seemed like he wasn't sure what he was doing with them. Throw them away or donate them? He was confused, making me confused. If harabeoji was here, I would ask him what he really wanted to do with all these things. But the old man was sick again. Bedridden for couple days now according to the weather. It had been raining nonstop. Almost as though the whole place was floating on water the last time I checked outside. When mother nature is like this, harabeoji turns tired and ill and would sleeps away all the time he has left.
"Need some help?" I offered because I had nothing better to do, and that I hadn't shower, and that I was nice. But mostly, because Jihoon looked like he was about to be buried in the stack of mess and later on might possibly turn into soots himself.
I only got a shrug as a reply so without hesitating, I pulled up my sleeves and got to work. It only took another pair of hands and some diligent time and the whole room looked as close to being empty as it could be. Most things were in boxes according to what they are--fragile materials, clothes, random artifacts--useless things were all packed in these cardboard boxes aside from the various books still towering on the floor.
"Hey. It stopped raining so I'm going to load these boxes now and try to bring them to the nearest shelter."
It really did stop raining. But it was close to dusk. The sky looked as though someone had lit a backlighting of purple and pink, leaving the silhouettes of clouds all over the horizon.
We carried all the stuff and thankfully the little cart Jihoon pulled along with his lawnmower had fit all of those boxes. I was half hoping some didn't fit so they could stay behind. It was a shame to be rid of all those things that harabeoji was once close to.
Jihoon got on the motor and drove off among the splashes of water. I went back and decided to do the last bit of cleaning left behind by the years long dust. With a broom in my hands, I continuously swept around the place, gathering a mountain of dust, cobwebs and plenty of airborne bacteria infected things. Afterward, since I was already playing Snow White, I took a small rag and decided to clean off the dirty old book shelf now looking miserably empty with no companions around.
"…"
The floor below my feet felt uneven. I looked down to the foot of the bookshelf and spotted a small leather book, lying crookedly half under the wooden shelf. I felt bad for stepping on a book, but automatically, the pessimism was replaced with the joy for the newfound left behind item.
"Must have overlooked you." I commented over the simple outlook of it, black leather with no letters for a title. Must have been a notebook. I took it along with me back to my room after cleaning up the storage. Jihoon was back but he was soaked thanked to the rain. He mentioned a bit about how he got the stuff there just in time before it started pouring, but I was too zone out to listen.
After the shower did I finally wake up. My arms were heavy and sore and so were the muscles on my back from bending down. Just before I closed my eyes, they landed on the leather notebook sitting by the edge of the desk. Lazily reaching over because I was that close to falling asleep, I decided to play the edges of the papers, feeling it sliding passed my thumb before opening the front cover.
I was half expecting some kind of a scribbles but none, nothing. Maybe this was just an empty notebook with clean, undefiled pages. I pursed my lips and was going to put it back on the desk but somehow my finger slipped through the first page, and there it was. At the top right hand corner, over the crispy clean square boxes of notebook paper, was some words written in faded ink.
Property of Lee Taemin
If found, please return.
I frowned at the name. Lee Taemin? I said it a few times to re-familiarize the sound on my tongue, but no such name could be recalled. At that moment, I debated whether to continue looking through something that I assumed to be so private. But I really had nothing to do, and my curiosity got the best of me. With that, even before my brain could make a decision, my fingers were already flipping through the pages.
Dear Journal,
You can't believe what happened today.
I found a way to make my life less miserable.
Lee Jinki and his jerks had gotten themselves in big trouble now.
☛|
A/N: Phew..this is the longest chapter I have ever wrote. All 4000 words in one night. I'm actually glad I did it though or else I would keep procrastinating. Harabeoji (if you hadn't figure out by now) means grandfather on your dad side. Also, if you really want to see those pictures. I got them here.
Author: dohremi
Rating: PG-15
Pairing/Focus: Ontae
Summary: A/U | "The hottest love has the coldest end." Socrates
Author's Note: Prologue is very long. [4023 words] I promise to not be like this later on ^^' mianhae.
Click for Poster | Cred: LILCHAN | Profile Cred: nerosdecay
Running With Scissors
The Prologue
I was 18 when I found out my grandfather had cancer. Maybe because of the fact that I have not seen him in ten years that I found it hard to sympathize with the old man. At the age of eighty-two, harabeoji had never failed to pickup any illness old age unfortunately bestowed upon him, suffering from many episodes of stroke, heart-attacks and who knows what else. He was a sickly old man. To this day, I am still surprise that he even remembered my name let alone suggested that I come stay at his place for the summer.
At first I refused. My whole life, I have never been anywhere outside of the state California. The weather here had never dropped below fifty degree fahrenheit. There is a beach right in my backyard, and I never find the need to use Hangul. You can say I was one of those kids who they called "American Born Child" ABC for short. Most of my friends are American. Come to think of it, I did not really have much of an Asian pride.
I thought, that was it! That's why umma decided to send me away after a one day prior notice. To be more Asian, learn about your culture and…stuff. She even got my bags packed and readied. I thought, if dad was still here, would he even tried to get me out of this? Would he cared if his only daughter was spending her summer in a foreign country--herself and an old dying man whom she had not seen face to face for a decade?
No. Of course not. He wouldn't.
Would he?
Well…how would I know. Appa died in a car accident even before I could pronounce 'appa.' If only umma had not guilt trip me, if only she had not mention how much of a resemblance harabeoji and appa have, and how much more of him I would know if I spend that summer with my grandfather, I would still have refused. The truth was, I miss my dad even though I don't quite remember anything about him.
So there I was, fresh fish in the land of kimchi. I must have seemed so bitter after that twelve hours flight. I didn't even bother to fake a smile. I was shock, however, that a sleek classic limo was waiting by the entrance. The backseat with its door opened and window downed. Maybe somewhere between the argument I had with umma, I failed to pick up a little detail that my grandfather was somehow a..millionaire?
No.
Not quite.
An obnoxious honk startled me out of my daze. I switched my attention to the sound and caught the sight of a guy waving excitedly at me. In that moment, I couldn't help but turn to the dream car with a pathetic expression, pursing my lips at some rich kid climbing into the backseat of the limo.
My limo…
"Haru-ssi! Lee Haru-ssi!!"
I hesitated. My name. The man knew my name. Suddenly, in my head was a recap of all the kidnapping movies I've seen. Umma did mention about someone picking me up. Though, she did not say anything about a guy.
"Haru-ssi? Your grandfather told me to pick you up at the airport. I'm Jihoon. I work for your grandfather." The male explained in what would be a horrible English accent with every syllable stuck to his teeth. He had a toothily smile. The kind that resembled a cushion expression when you get stuck in an uncomfortable situation. I stood there, half as awkward as he was.
"..Sorry..I am not good with English." He apologized after a minute or so when I became unresponsive and resorted to staring at the old rusted piece of metal that was my transportation.
"How..do you know what I look like?"
I spoke up with a slight edginess to my voice. The Hangul sounded fresh to my vocal chord. I couldn't help but blush embarrassingly. In a way, I was trying to act tough. You know, in case this was really a kidnapper. I prayed it wasn't.
This Jihoon person reacted differently than I expected. He held up a finger, mouth formed an silent 'O' as his eyebrows jutted up simultaneously. Jihoon pulled out something from the front pocket of his worn out dress-shirt.
"You?"
Taking the picture out of his grip, I frowned when I realized that it was only taken last year, on a summer camp. I was tanned, even the freckles on my face was tanned.
"Y-you..speak Korean?"
This time Jihoon asked in his mother tongue. I would think that in Korean, he wouldn't be stuttering, but perhaps, if I had guessed right, he was intimidated by me. The thought had me laughing inwardly. I nodded and proceeded to the passenger side.
My limo was an old truck with chipped blue paint and a coat of odor resembling live chickens. It was a hot summer day, and even though the windows were down, the stink clung to the leather seats and pretty much every surface I could imagine smelled like chickens.
Jihoon began the car and had the a/c on full blast. He turned with a toothy grin, and I rolled my eyes before looking away, not before catching a glimpse of my reflection in the passenger's mirror.
"Music?" Jihoon suggested, finger already hovering over the power button. He had this excitement in his face as if just the sound of music blasting through the stereo would get the corners of his lips up a couple more centimeters.
I shrugged. I even gave him a weird look, brows furrowing like dark clouds yet Jihoon seemed clueless toward it.
I bit the inside of my cheek when a song came on. It sounded familiar to one of those songs umma likes, very old, very country, very---
"Trot! Do you like trot?!"
Jihoon was half bouncing half singing along. Strangely, he wasn't out of tune, not too sharp nor flat. He couldn't hit the high notes nor the baritone parts, and he would laugh shyly to replace those parts he couldn't do. He glanced sideways before returning his eyes to the road again. Now that there was not much space between the two seats, Jihoon did not look any older than myself. Perhaps only twenty.
"Do you Haru-ssi?"
I blinked quickly and remembered that he had asked me a question. "Uh..yeah.." I didn't lie. Trot music reminded me of umma.
---
When we arrived, the sun was already in full bloom. The heat of the twelve o'clock sun burned through the straw hat I had thrown on after Jihoon handed it over, mumbling something about having to walk because the truck couldn't get through.
I followed behind closely, passed by a vast field of sunflowers, and nearly stopped and stared. This was something California does not have. But the hurried echoes of my name caused me to push the sight to the back of my head, reminding myself that I could always come back another time.
"Haru? Uri Haru-yah."
harabeoji came out of nowhere and pulled me into a crushing hug the moment my foot stepped through the doors. I mustered up a small tight chuckle, arms and shoulders tensed until harabeoji decided to let me go. The hanok was just like I imagined, ancient, classical, and spacious. I suddenly felt out of place in my Puma T-shirt and skinny jeans. I left my high top converse at the steps because they were even more out of place than my outfit.
I was pulled by the wrist toward an opened room where echoes of laughter and more trot music were slipping through. I threw Jihoon a look of desperate, and he returned it with a comforting smile. "I'll go get your stuff." He disappeared like loyal dog who had been called for food.
"Haru-yah~ Haru-yah~ Uri Haru~" There were a handful of old people sitting on the floor, smiling at me with those twinkling dull gray eyes. They each reach out a hand, grabbed a leg, an arm, my shoulder, my hair, toward them. I ended up being crushed in an old people group hug, earning myself some pats on the head.
"These are my friends. Village friends. I told them not to come but they were so excited to know you're here." harabeoji sat down beside me and handed me a glass of something that later I found to be tea.
I sat there, kneeling, for what seemed like forever, with them touching my face, smoothing my hair, pinching my cheeks, and I had to endure it all with a tense smile until harabeoji sent them all back home, and Jihoon came back, panting and sweating as if he had just been running a marathon.
"Did you like the welcoming party?" Jihoon asked with not even a bit of authenticity in his tone. He was mocking me with that smirk that looked out of place on the face that I had matched with the toothily smile. I knew it and groaned in response. harabeoji came back but he had lost some of that cheery hues on his cheeks since he saw me. He looked pained and suddenly weary. Jihoon saw it too, and he was by the old man's side in a blink of an eye.
"harabeoji~ you don't ever listen to me do you? You're so stubborn. You should lay down."
My eyes followed after the two as Jihoon had his arm around harabeoji's waist, steering him toward a room in the back. I stood up quickly but did not go after them. Jihoon appeared after a while with a frown. Our eyes met and the wrinkles on his forehead ceased to exist. The corners of his lips lifted soon after. "Don't worry much. He needs his medicine. He'll be fine." It sounded very much convincing if I hadn't continue to stare at Jihoon.
"Uh…Yeah..he is resting now..I should show you your room.."
I didn't push it further because it was nothing I don't know, and I couldn't really help either. "You live here too?" I questioned when we stopped in front of a door and I found myself face to face with harabeoji's worker again.
Jihoon nodded. "I like harabeoji. He is like my own." The male answer with a sudden far away look in his eyes but vanished quickly once the door panel slid open. "This is your room. I brought all your stuff here already. You got a lot of stuff." He said as if it was a declaration but with good intention nor bad one, I wasn't sure. I threw a glare at his direction and did not bother to thank the guy.
The room was as sizable as the one at home. I wasn't quite expecting a bed but there was one at the corner by the window, completely adorned with a thin layer of soft pink sheet, white thick comforter and a simple pink pillow with little hearts all over it. Beside it was the closet, which I found to be empty and full of clothes hangers. I ran the pad of my thumb down the surface of a small but do-able desk right nearby and found the suitcases laid by the foot of the bed, just like Jihoon had said.
I swallowed thickly. Not sure what to say.
"Will he be okay?"
Jihoon looked like he had came back to his senses. His back straightened up as if someone had dropped an ice-cube down the back of his dress-shirt. With a small sigh, the male nodded. "Of course, it isn't the first time this happens."
There came another pregnant pause, awkward silence filled the bedroom, and it reminded me of how tired I was. "You should rest too. Bathroom is down the hall. I'll be in the kitchen fixing up dinner. Call me if you need anything." It all came out too fast as if the other really wanted to escape the awkwardness so he just decided to throw a bunch of reserved instructions. Jihoon nodded again for no reason and slid the door close behind him as he leaves.
I realized that I have been staring quite a lot. I was staring as haraboji's worker did the monologue and stiffly walked away. "He cooks?" That was pretty much the only thing my brain had responded to before my body gave up, and I fell like a sack of potato onto the bed, successfully messing up the smoothness of the cover.
"Umma~~~" I called to my mother half way around the word, already feeling homesick, half blaming her for the grim meeting that day but more so for the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach as if eagles instead of butterflies were preparing to take flight.
---
The few weeks after were blurry. On certain days, when the sun wasn't too selfish to hide behind the ruins of clouds, and harabeoji could make it out of bed and sit on the porch, swiping at flies and fanning himself with a paper fan, and I would be just beside him, pretending to be his conversation partner, but the truth was I had nothing else to do.
The old man likes to look at photographs. One day, in his wrinkly palms was a thick heavy looking book. With trembling fingers, he placed it in my laps before sitting down on the cushion right beside me. The weather that day was neither sunny or rainy. It was a clear day, and I found it quite disappointing that there were no clouds in sight. If there were, I could at least ease my boredom by trying to draw recognizable shapes out of those inorganic collection of particles. But there was none that day, so I had to go along with whatever that had landed on my laps.
"What's this?"
I could already feel the dust beneath my fingertips. I rubbed my them together before wiping down the side of my jeans.
Harabeoji did not answer. There was not even an expression as if he was deaf. Old people can be deaf. I reminded myself before returning my attention to the book. It was an album. An old one with brown edges and even weird fungus looking things eating away at some of the pictures. The sharp cracking of the spine as each page turns made me think that it probably hadn't been opened for a long time. I didn't recognize anyone. I kept flipping from page to page, hurriedly at first but slowly as I started seeing some resemblances in these people.
"Harabeoji? you??" I pointed at a young boy. Not older than seventeen, standing on top of what appeared to be an abandoned truck. The young boy in the picture was wearing a pair of yellow boots. In the next two pictures, he was riding a bike. He had fair skin, delicate cheekbones, dark smooth hair with loose strands blown by the wind. For some reason, the murkiness of the photo paper, or even who knows how long ago this was taken, didn't make me any less sure that it was harabeoji. Maybe because of the smile, or the way his eyes fell naturally into thin happy crescents that didn't seem to disappear through time, that I really believed it was him. I flipped through some more pages, skipping the ones that didn't have that boy until I found another one. This time he was wearing a dark graphic t-shirt, standing in front of corn trees.
"Hah! It is you!" I laughed, suddenly finding myself quite amazed at the person inside these old photographs. "You look good harabeoji~" I teased him but stopped as soon as his smile dropped. Okay so perhaps he doesn't like being praised.
I went back to looking at the pictures. My eyes kept darting back and forth between the person sitting beside me, an eighty-two year old man, and the youth in the picture, at the shy age of barely seventeen. As the album gets near the end, I found some closer dated pictures. There were ones that made me stopped and held my breath: a woman cradling a baby close to her bosom, a cute months old kid playing with toys, a teenage boy [ not the same one I saw earlier but very much resembled each other ] standing among a crowd of students.
"Appa."
The sound slipped out whenever I didn't notice. It wasn't until I felt a hand on my shoulder before I could breathe again. I sighed and smiled. "He looks just like you harabeoji." I knew that. I just didn't think I could see it with my own eyes.
We kept looking through the photo album until there were no more pictures to look at, and I stealthily flipped back to the ones with appa in them, holding the book up for a closer look, turning it sideways to derive anymore possible views from these pictures.
When I looked up again, it was already dawn. Harabeoji was no longer beside me. I realized it was close to his bedtime. Old people do sleep early. I laughed at the thought and turned toward the sound of engine approaching. Closing the album, I tucked it neatly beneath my arm before greeting the person at the gate. Jihoon had came back after some chores harabeoji had somehow telekinetically ordered him to do. Weird. I have never seen them talking, yet Jihoon always managed to find things to do.
"Good day?" Jihoon spoke up after wiping the sweat gathered all around his forehead with the sleeves of his shirt.
"Why'd you say that?" I carefully smiled, bouncing up toward the small motor engine that looked like a lawn mower.
"You're smiling. First time in three weeks. Must have been a good day." Jihoon grinned. I tried not to feed his satisfaction, turning back toward the house and up the steps.
"Oh by the way. No need to cook dinner. I already took care of it." Spinning on the balls of my feet, I informed harabeoji's worker with a tiny smirk of my own before disappearing back inside.
---
"Hey..uh..what are you doing?"
I snuck a peek into the storage room down the hall. The whole day, all I could hear was loud noise, occasional banging and things falling. I couldn't make out what it was that Jihoon was doing with all those things in the storage. Since it was a storage, shouldn't all the stuff just stay there and be stored away? After many hours of consideration, not wanting to admit to myself that I was bored to death, and that watching grass grow would be the most exciting thing to happen (if it really happens and if I was lucky enough), I made it out of my bedroom and down the hallway, poking my head inside to take a look of the so called mysterious chore harabeoji had ordered Jihoon to do.
"Cleaning." Jihoon didn't bother to look over. He was covered in dust, even faint blotches of dark were there on his cheeks. Scattered around the room were boxes of things: lamps, books, clothes..odd things. Just odd to me. "Why are you cleaning them?"
The worker boy was in the middle of organizing some books. He stopped though and finally looked up with a relieved sigh. "Harabeoji wants to throw them away. Donate them. Throw them away." Jihoon seemed like he wasn't sure what he was doing with them. Throw them away or donate them? He was confused, making me confused. If harabeoji was here, I would ask him what he really wanted to do with all these things. But the old man was sick again. Bedridden for couple days now according to the weather. It had been raining nonstop. Almost as though the whole place was floating on water the last time I checked outside. When mother nature is like this, harabeoji turns tired and ill and would sleeps away all the time he has left.
"Need some help?" I offered because I had nothing better to do, and that I hadn't shower, and that I was nice. But mostly, because Jihoon looked like he was about to be buried in the stack of mess and later on might possibly turn into soots himself.
I only got a shrug as a reply so without hesitating, I pulled up my sleeves and got to work. It only took another pair of hands and some diligent time and the whole room looked as close to being empty as it could be. Most things were in boxes according to what they are--fragile materials, clothes, random artifacts--useless things were all packed in these cardboard boxes aside from the various books still towering on the floor.
"Hey. It stopped raining so I'm going to load these boxes now and try to bring them to the nearest shelter."
It really did stop raining. But it was close to dusk. The sky looked as though someone had lit a backlighting of purple and pink, leaving the silhouettes of clouds all over the horizon.
We carried all the stuff and thankfully the little cart Jihoon pulled along with his lawnmower had fit all of those boxes. I was half hoping some didn't fit so they could stay behind. It was a shame to be rid of all those things that harabeoji was once close to.
Jihoon got on the motor and drove off among the splashes of water. I went back and decided to do the last bit of cleaning left behind by the years long dust. With a broom in my hands, I continuously swept around the place, gathering a mountain of dust, cobwebs and plenty of airborne bacteria infected things. Afterward, since I was already playing Snow White, I took a small rag and decided to clean off the dirty old book shelf now looking miserably empty with no companions around.
"…"
The floor below my feet felt uneven. I looked down to the foot of the bookshelf and spotted a small leather book, lying crookedly half under the wooden shelf. I felt bad for stepping on a book, but automatically, the pessimism was replaced with the joy for the newfound left behind item.
"Must have overlooked you." I commented over the simple outlook of it, black leather with no letters for a title. Must have been a notebook. I took it along with me back to my room after cleaning up the storage. Jihoon was back but he was soaked thanked to the rain. He mentioned a bit about how he got the stuff there just in time before it started pouring, but I was too zone out to listen.
After the shower did I finally wake up. My arms were heavy and sore and so were the muscles on my back from bending down. Just before I closed my eyes, they landed on the leather notebook sitting by the edge of the desk. Lazily reaching over because I was that close to falling asleep, I decided to play the edges of the papers, feeling it sliding passed my thumb before opening the front cover.
I was half expecting some kind of a scribbles but none, nothing. Maybe this was just an empty notebook with clean, undefiled pages. I pursed my lips and was going to put it back on the desk but somehow my finger slipped through the first page, and there it was. At the top right hand corner, over the crispy clean square boxes of notebook paper, was some words written in faded ink.
Property of Lee Taemin
If found, please return.
I frowned at the name. Lee Taemin? I said it a few times to re-familiarize the sound on my tongue, but no such name could be recalled. At that moment, I debated whether to continue looking through something that I assumed to be so private. But I really had nothing to do, and my curiosity got the best of me. With that, even before my brain could make a decision, my fingers were already flipping through the pages.
Dear Journal,
You can't believe what happened today.
I found a way to make my life less miserable.
Lee Jinki and his jerks had gotten themselves in big trouble now.
☛|
A/N: Phew..this is the longest chapter I have ever wrote. All 4000 words in one night. I'm actually glad I did it though or else I would keep procrastinating. Harabeoji (if you hadn't figure out by now) means grandfather on your dad side. Also, if you really want to see those pictures. I got them here.
