The Girls of My Dreams

Verse 2

Remember what I said about being watched? I remember exactly when I started to denote the difference.

"I can feel you looking at me," I didn't bother looking up, "Cut it out."

I kept my focus on the book in front of me, even though I'd just read the same paragraph three times over. It was hard to study over here. I was easily distracted.

She replied in her usual matter of fact tone, "I don't want to." I didn't need to look at her to know she was smiling. She has the same dimples. "What's wrong with me looking at you?"

"It's wrong," the moment I said it was the same moment I hated myself for my word choice, "It's like... I shouldn't be able to feel your eyes."

I could feel more than her eyes. How can you feel so much of someone who's not even touching you? And could she feel me as well? I wondered could she feel my heart, slamming into her bed and vibrating over her luxurious comforter? And in her watchful eyes, could she see each breath I took? Could she feel each shutter?

She laid out next to me, now staring me directly in my face, "Is this better than me watching you?"

I look away. I'm always first to look away, "No. Don't you know how to steal glances?"

"No," she responded, "Only kisses."

I'm still thinking about her kisses. And I'm still hating myself for it.

"Can you pass the mac and cheese, noona?" I come back to reality, and find myself seated at the dinner table. JP is calling me noona again, which lets me know that he's not mad anymore. I’m grateful, because I can’t handle him being mad at me too.

I hand him the dish, then attempt to go back to focusing on the dinner at hand. I look around at my family, the familiar feeling of not fitting in. JP looks like a photocopy of Oppa, Same golden waves. Same crystal blues. And one day he’d probably have his height too. When I looked back through old photo albums, it would be hard to tell them apart. The only real difference was he had Umma's freckles trailing across his nose.

Next to me is David, his long dark hair pulled back into a manbun. Since he graduated, he'd started wearing these thick glasses, even though he didn't need them. A true dork. Even though we shared the same dark hair and almond shaped eyes, even David did not stand out as much as me. He played his role as big brother well. Helped us with our homework. Played with us. Even when he got older, old enough to drive and leave us, he was around. Took us to practice (JP) and tutoring (me). Out for lunch sometimes. At times, he wasn’t just the big brother, he was the dad too. And without complaint.

Really, the most out of script thing he ever did was leave us.

"How long are you back for, Son?" My real dad asks, making conversation.

"I'll be here working all summer trying to save up," David takes a bite of chicken, "I'm looking at teaching English over there part time though."

The way he says this, I know that he's here more for necessity than for desire to be here. Either Oppa knows too, or decides to skip it. "I'm glad to have all my kids together before Natty leaves."

"Leaves is a funny way to say banished," I mutter to myself. David kicks me.

He turns to my other brother, "And what about you JP? Any plans for the summer?"

"Summer school," he explains, "Mowing lawns. The usual."

Oppa frowns, "What are you going to summer school for?"

JP looks at me, knowing that I know the answer. Then he lies, "Just for fun. Never stop learning, right?"

I smile to myself. In reality, he failed algebra. Which I know, because I'm the one who forged Umma's signature on the notice demanding he attend summer school. I'm also the one paying for him to go.

I’m not the only Baker kid keeping secrets.

"That's right," Oppa smiles. He doesn't bother to ask me what I'm doing for the summer.

He really hasn't bothered to ask me anything since he came back.

Dinner comes to an end and I stay to help clear the table even though it's not my night to do it. I figured that I should maybe to listen to JP about not making things worse for myself. David sticks around as well, not helping, just leaning across the counter.

"Just because you're helping doesn't mean I'm not mad still," JP hands me a plate to dry.

"You don't get to be mad," I tell him, "You're not the one being deported."

"You're not being deported," David interrupts, "So dramatic."

"I'm not leaving willingly either," I mumble, "Might as well send me back to Korea."

"Stop talking like that," JP fusses, "It's bad enough I don't get a big brother during the school year and now I don't get a big sister over the summer? What if I get in trouble at school? Who's going to be my 'parent or guardian'?"

"Wait---" David chokes on his drink, "You've been signing his permission slips?"

"I mean technically--- I am his guardian," I explain, "In the loosest interpretation that is."

My brothers are in fact, the only thing that I ever really try to protect. Even though David and I are only a year apart, when we were kids I was bigger than him because he gave all his food to me. So when we came to America, it was my job to protect him as much as his to protect me. And when JP was born that next summer, it was my job to protect him too.

The two idiots in this room with me now are my world.

And in two days I'll be ripped away from them.

"Interpret this!" JP jumps out the way as David grabs the hose and sprays me in the face, getting water everywhere.

"Hey!" I get him back by pushing him, my wet hands making imprints on his t-shirt.

He pushes me back and I catch myself on the edge of the sink, splashing him full out. David uses our little brother as a shield, avoiding getting any wetter.

"Natalie Jisoo!" The three of us freeze as Umma appears in the entryway to the kitchen, "What's going on here?"

I try to simultaneously think of an answer to her question while coming up with my own. How are you only calling my full government when the boys started it?

"I swear you turn everything into an event," she comes further into the kitchen, "I mean--- Look at this mess! There's water everywhere! What are you even doing down here bothering your brothers?"

"Me?" I ask, "First of all---"

Before I can stay anything, Oppa appears behind her, performing his magic trick. He places his hands on her shoulders, his preacher voice steady, "Becky, I'm sure the boys provoked her. And I'm sure they'll clean this up," he looks at us, "Right?"

We all nod, mystified.

She exhales, "I guess you're right."

And ta-mother f*****g-daa! The storm is quelled and the crisis is averted. They exit the kitchen and all of us exhale collectively, even though I was the only one poised to get ripped a new one.

We finish the dishes in silence, then end up moping the entire kitchen floor just to be safe. While my father did have the ability to calm my mother, all magic tricks lose their magic over time.

"So..." When we're all done, David is the first one to speak, "Ice cream?"

We cram into David's tiny electric car and drive toward the city, stopping at a hipster soft serve shop. Instead of a normal waffle cone, our cold treat is dished into a Hong Kong egg waffle, not that I'm mad about it. JP and David go with traditional vanilla while I order the most exotic thing I see--- lavender soft serve with fresh mango and condensed milk on top.

We take a seat on their patio, watching the sun set on the day.

"SO I totally won that water fight yeah?" David jokes.

"Only because Umma was ready to kill me," I sass, "And thanks for all the back up by the way."

"I wasn't about to jump into that mess," JP explains, "I refuse to be a casualty in a war I didn't start."

"Punk," I stick my spoon in his cone, scooping some for myself. "Hey!"

I stick my tongue out at him, teasing.

"Stop!" David whines, "It’s like I can't take you guys anywhere."

I flip him off and he returns the gesture.

"But for real though, what did you do?" he changes the subject, "Cause damnnnnn has she been mad at you. Like really she's been extra mad recently."

"I didn't even do anything," I try to downplay it, "You know how Becky gets."

"You did nothing and now you're being banished to Nana's?" David scoffs, "Okay so we're just lying now?"

"I'm not lying," I tell them. I decide in that moment that I didn't do anything. And admitting to otherwise is defamation of my own name.

"Are you ever going to tell us what you did?" JP presses, not buying it.

“Are you ever gonna pass algebra?” I say.

Nobody says anything to that and we go back to eating in silence. After all, there's nothing to be said.

***

I'm laughing. She's making me laugh.

No. Laughter is not the term for what I'm feeling. It has to be deeper than that. Cause the way I'm laughing now has me wondering if I've ever even laughed before this moment. Tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks as I throw my head back. I'm laughing so much that I'm not even making noise anymore. I probably look possessed.

Normally, I hate my laugh, but with her, I embrace it.

"It's not that funny!" her voice is whiny, childlike, "Natty!"

"Natty!"

"Natalie!"

I jerk awake to Umma standing over me. I groan, "Yes ma'am?"

"You're riding with Appa to church and then afterwards he's taking you to the bus station so make sure you have everything," she goes over to my duffle, going through it slightly. Sundays are the only time that Umma is sort of nice to me. I guess it's a sin to pray for your daughter's downfall on the Lord's day.

"Get up!" she turns to me, before turning back to my bag, mumbling to herself.

"I'm up!" I groan, rolling out of bed. I head to the bathroom, jumping in the shower. By the time I'm out, she's gone, and so are a bunch of my favorite t-shirts. "UMMA!"

She appears in seconds, fiddling with one of her ear rings, "Why aren't you dressed yet?"

"What happened to my Feminist t-shirt?" I question.

"You're not taking that to your grandmother's," she explains, "It's inappropriate."

"Nana can't know that I believe in equal rights?" I ask, indignant.

She stops with her earring and runs a shaky hand through her straight auburn hair, "Natalie, I'm not discussing this with you. Now get ready for church."

She leaves me to get dressed. I grab a white collared shirt and dark jeans, finishing with slip on checkered vans. In look in the mirror, and truthfully I look like a little boy. My frame was naturally narrow, and I didn't really have much of a figure. Puberty had thinned me out with growth spurts, but apparently my body never got the message I was supposed to get hips and titties.

My tomboy appearance was just another thing that Umma hated about me. I smile at the thought, roll up the sleeves, and head downstairs.

David and Appa are talking over coffee when I reach the kitchen. Coffee was another thing that was only around when Appa was.

"Good morning, sunshine," Appa smiles at me and pours me a cup of tea on queue. He hands it to me and kisses my forehead, "How's my Natty-bratty? Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," I lie. David, the only Baker who can sense my bullshit, chuckles into his coffee.

"That's good. Are you almost ready to go?" he asks, then answers his own question, "David, son, go get your sister's bags for me will you?"

We both put our drinks down and head back upstairs to my room.

"One day Appa is going to learn how much you lie to him," David scolds me.

"Doubtful," I refute. Our father John Paul Baker the second, was a lot of things, but observant wasn't one of them. He was kind, yes, but he was old school. Women stayed home and worked. Men went out and brought in the money and paid the bills. He cared about us, but it wasn't like any of us were running to him with our emotions. When Appa asked you how you were doing, there was a right and a wrong answer.

David looks around my room, which is a mess considering I won't be back in here for two months. I'm sure a normal person would've cleaned it up. Oops.

Truly our mother's son, David impulsively starts cleaning, pulling my sheets up and making my bed. I toss some more clothes into my duffel to replace the one's Umma discarded.

JP enters, just as David is done shoving the rest of my sneakers under my bed. His Sunday attire is similar to mine, only with actual dress shoes and a plain black tie. His normally unruly golden curls are slicked back and tucked behind his ears. "You're really leaving?"

I stop to look at him, "You're really surprised?"

He crosses the threshold, pulling me against his bony chest, "I'll miss you, asshole."

The mood turns dark, "I'll miss you too, punk." It occurs to me that I'll be missing his fourteenth birthday in two weeks. I realize that boys grow sporadically, and by the time I return home, my little brother may appear to be a grown man. I don't pray often, but I pray that God keeps him infantile until my return. Amen.

He holds me a couple beats longer before letting me go.

"John Paul Baker the third!" Umma yells, "Let's gooooooo!"

"Coming!" he calls back. He hugs me one more time before running down the steps and to her car.

I zip my duffel closed and David takes it from me.

"Ready?"

I shrug, "As I'll ever be."