Fragmented Us

박 재: Him (3)

“Hey,

It’s not like you’ve ever tried to stay,

Sometimes it seems like I’m in your way,

Well, that’s how it seems,

Hey,

You know what I mean?”

― Yot Club, YKWIM

열아홉 (Nineteen)

Park Jay [박 재]

April 4

College, for Park Jay, was tragically dull. Perhaps it had been his fault for raising his expectations sky-high, but it was an inevitable thought process for someone who had constantly been reprimanded about the challenges of college classes during his senior year. Jay was ready, yes—the sudden pile of tasks didn’t sway him as much as he expected it to, and he was even able to stay atop of his deadlines without having to break into many all-nighters. It also kept him busy; at some point, he found himself yearning for more work just for the sake of giving his mind and hands something to do, feeling restless at the thought of an empty timetable.

It worked wonders for his misery though. Distractions kept the monsters at bay and kept his dreams undisturbed. The claws of depression only shadowed him when his work felt unsatisfactory and whispered when the void in his routine quieted. The spiraling whirlpool of unpredictable emotions had stabled. Jay felt… emotionless.

Calm.

Too calm.

Something was coming.

Jay smiled apologetically as he regarded his classmate’s face. She was an insistent little thing, height barely over Jay’s chest, always at his side asking whether he wanted to hang out with them after classes. He had a feeling the reason they have been trying to socialize with him was because he was so adamant on trying to avoid forming attachments with anyone at college and it was starting to show—to these students, it meant challenge, there was nothing more satisfying than winning the quiet kid’s affinity into their group. Jay appreciated the gesture, but he would rather be left alone; being treated as a pity case was just as horrible as being the outcast weirdo in class.

“Sorry,” he said, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “Work stuff.” Liar, liar. Pants on fire. His reasoning was starting to become repetitive.

The girl’s eyes were bright as ever, either indifferent to his shuns or just incredibly determined. “Damn!” Her curls sprung as she walked backwards to her group of friends. “Catch you sometime then, maybe? Have a good day!”

Jay grew up with this unwritten rule rooted in his system: quiet meant caution. A silent house meant staying on your toes or risking getting disciplined over something trivial. An unspoiled week was destined to be upturned by troublesome events. Having a good laugh was always followed-up by the gloom of solitude after. It was similar to a tsunami—the calm before a storm. Anything that seemed calm or serene was fated to be destroyed. It was a childhood rule. Jay wouldn’t have survived his adolescence without it.

Frankly, he hated expecting the disastrous outcome of these things. An unwelcome involuntary instinct that ruined every attempt to be happy for once. It is held accountable for stopping Jay from trying new things. Even feeling new emotions.

He watched the group chatter as they stepped out of the room, cheerful as ever.

It would be quite a calculation to wonder if Jay had lost the ability to feel.

The chances were pretty big though.

Stop. Don't do that. Jay knew optimism hasn't been his forte for the past few years, but it wouldn't hurt to try and not be a pessimist for once. Or twice. Maybe even until he finally gaslighted himself into feeling better. There wasn’t anything bad about it. Much.

Jay picked his book up. The lecture hall was already empty, dreadfully quiet compared to how it was before and during the discussion. It seemed silly to him how he preferred the solemn quietness of a room to the lively buzz it has with people around. Was it the lack of noise itself or the feeling it gave him that he craved? Would it have been knowledge that he was all alone in that massive room, the freedom he had?

Dumb questions. What did it matter? It wasn’t like he needed an answer. He would’ve taken up philosophy if he did.

He could see the girl he didn’t know the name of by the lockers outside the hall. She took no notice of him as Jay passed their group, leaving the building in quick, long strides.

Perhaps the next time she asked him he’ll try going out with them.

_ _ _

(.10)

Jay felt hot. Not sexy-hot, (he wished) just normal sticky-warm hot. The sky was bright and pleasant, but the air was dry, and the wind was non-existent. Summer in California meant dead nature and brown grass, so it wasn’t like Jay expected this year to be any different than the last, but it did not stop him from again wishing Jane kept an air-conditioner in her cabin instead of the gigantic sluggish ceiling fan that she insisted on when her family had the cabin made.

The ‘cabin’ was what they called the small treehouse-like room that sat in the backyard of the Wilson’s backyard. Supposedly, it was a storage room for the gardeners before, but Jane turned it into her solo kitchen after they built a new garage. She had been spending her free time baking things in the Victorian-like cabin.

Wiping the perspiration that had gathered on his forehead, he watched the cause of his agony knead dough on the island table he was leaning on, giving no impression that she was feeling warm at all. A speaker by the corner was softly playing music. Jane was even singing along with it. He would’ve been singing along with her, but goddamn, was it hot? How is this girl even breathing? Jay didn’t know if he was impressed or scared.

Watching Jane happily massage the dough in the midst of the mess she had somehow managed to conjure before he came over, Jay waddled beside her. The dough appeared fat, like a bubble. A snowy bubble even.

He let his intrusive thought win. Jay pokes a hole on the dough Jane was kneading.

“Don’t.” She slapped his hand away, hands covered in flour. Her apron was dirtied with a combination of eggs, flour, and other things. Even in her messy state, she somehow managed to look decent. “I don’t trust your hands and where they have been, “Jane added, working up a mom-like authority, then breaking into a hidden smile.

Jay scrunched his face in a joking but still offended way. “Look who’s talking. I washed my hands.” He slapped the dough to make a point, then giggled. Jane gasped, her horror then turning to a grin. She slapped his hand away once more, leaving a white hand mark on his arm and sleeve. Her eyes crinkled with smile lines as she eyed her triumph.

“Sorry,” she laughed, hardly sounding as if she was apologizing.

“Hey!” Jay wiped his arm. Jane smiled her innocent ‘what?’ grin. It was a strategy that often worked at him. And it did its magic once again, because not only did she palm the flour she was using on the table but also wiped it on Jay’s sleeve before backing away, giggling madly. “What the—? Jane! Come here.” Scooping up the remaining flour, Jay ran around the table to throw it at Jane. It flew into the air, white pecks of dust landing right at her head. Jane’s laughter bubbled as the flour transformed her ponytail grey.

“Jay!” Jane wiped her face, opening her eyes to see Jay coming at her to wipe his powdery hand on her face. She screamed, running around the table to reach for the container of the flour to throw at him as he smushes his flour hands on her face. The flour she threw caught Jay straight in the face, making him cough in the middle of his laugh. He could taste flour in his mouth. As revenge, Jay reached into the container in her arms and threw one back at her. She coughed, laughing as she tried to stop his hands. The container slipped from her hands, falling to the fall to create a miniature snow mound. “Stop! I apologize dearly for my sins.”

“As you should!” Jay threw his hands up in defeat, trying to get out of Jane’s grip. “I forgive,” he coughed again, stepping away from the pile of flour that had buried his feet. What was once a black shirt had been transformed into a spotted greyish-white shirt. The text had even disappeared behind the mess. Even his tongue felt like it was covered in flour.

Jane wiped her eyes, her eyelashes and eyebrows a grey shade. “That was wasteful.” She eyed the shambles of utensils that had fallen from their chase and the specks of white that flew around them with a grin on her face.

“Fun though.” Jay brushed the flour out of her hair. “I’ll help clean once you’re done.”

“Thanks, Jay.” She circled the table, folding the dough into its back. The movement she made as she transferred the dough into a bowl took her ponytail out of its tie, sliding off her hair and onto the floor. Jay couldn’t help but smile shyly at the sight of his girlfriend appearing radiant in the afternoon sun.

The smell of baked bread wafted the air. The speaker sings. The wind blows. Peace.

Love.

And behind him, the oven dings.

_ _ _

스물 (Twenty)

Park Jay [박 재]

April 20

Ding.



The soft chime of the bell rang behind him, announcing Park Jay’s arrival at the small bookstore that caught his eye as he wandered around the city. It looked peaceful, unlike the other stores around. It even reminded him of stores often found in the countryside.

The inside of the shop was as cozy as it looked on the outside. Every corner was filled with bookshelves, and they lined up in the middle as well. Chairs and tables filled the spaces in between. It smelled musty, ancient. Pair of shoes were arranged in a shoe rack, beside another rack filled with hotel slip-ons. The wooden sign above says ‘No shoes. Wear socks. Slippers provided’ in rough green painted letters. An old man in slippers greeted him as he entered.

“Hello!” The man, a tiny thing, bent forward with the height of his cane. His eyes disappeared behind age lines when he smiled. “Newcomer?”

He hesitated. “Yes.” Slipping out of his shoes, Jay placed them along with the others on the rack, then took a pair of slip-ons. Awkwardly, he shuffled forward under the steady eyes of the shop owner.

“Ah. Well, you must know, this store—like a library. We sell books, but if you’re a member, we allow book reading in the house.” The man hobbled towards the counter, where he took his time trying to sit on his rocking chair. “20% off first month! Also, free coffee.” He nodded at the coffee machine in the corner of the shop. A girl was banging on the machine, knocking on it a few times before it spat out coffee in the white paper cup she held. The owner grinned.

Jay wasn’t even fond of Korean books. He just wanted a distraction. But the old man smiled so dearly while holding out a brown membership card that Jay couldn’t help but feel guilty. It wasn’t like it was expensive anyway. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money. He could just buy the card and come back once or twice to try the store out sometime. The coffee even looked decent.

“Okay.” He took the card, handed the old man 20,000 won. The old man grinned even wider.

“Very good! Very good!” Opening the register to give Jay his change, he counted bills to return. “Store open 4 am to 1 am! New books every week. No taking home books.” His voice suddenly turned sullen. “Many tried. Bad kids.” The grin returned to his face. “Enjoy!”

Jay then found himself facing bookshelves, trying to escape the man’s unwavering stare. The fan on the ceiling was working surprisingly well; the shop air was crisp, almost perfect. The smell of old books wafted through the air like the scent of newly baked bread. Even the chairs that the man had mentioned were padded, like couches. There were even pillows on the carpeted floor.

A reader’s haven.

Endless rows of books lined up for his attention. They were mostly Korean novels. The English ones were either overrated or newly released books by first-time authors. Jay finally felt at peace. He sank to the floor, grabbing the lone pillow that lay across from him. It had been quite some time since he felt like he could catch a breath. It felt nice, realizing it was what you needed for so long. His fingers hooked on a book spine that caught his eye, pulling it down to his hands. Maybe he’ll just stay here for a while. Get worth of his membership privileges.

Feet clad in pink socks and beige slip-ons stepped beside him. Raising his eyes to the flared jeans and the white top that followed them, Jay found himself searching the face of a girl with a book in her arm who seemed to be equally as curious as he was. And as the morbid realization that she was exhibiting rude behavior sank in, she swiftly bowed an apology, returned her gaze back at the bookshelves she was once immersed in. But then her interest in him returned, and Jay found himself being marveled at by a girl that, for some strange reason, seemed oddly familiar.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but aren’t you Jong Seok’s friend?”