Fragmented Us

전 종 석: He (3)

“Hanging out where I don’t belong is nothing new to me,

I get tired and I get sick and then I lose the strength to leave”

-R. O. A. R, I Can’t Handle Change

열일곱 (Seventeen)

Jeon Jong Seok [전 종 석]

February 25

Okay, so clearly everybody has had those really frustrating ‘where is my thing’ moments where no matter how many freaking times you comb through your drawers, cupboards, or desks, rummaged underneath the bed and pile of clothes sitting on your chair, you just can’t seem to find whatever it is that you needed because apparently when you need your stuff, it will dive down into the deepest unknown depths of wherever they disappear of to.

Your temper had risen, and a great deal of out loud swearing had escaped your grumbling lips because you “literally just placed it here, where the hell did it go? Fuuuuck”. It didn’t help that you needed it as urgently as possible, but you can’t just f*****g find it, can you? So, in the end, you just give up all shits and find an alternative makeshift or buy a new one. And then, a few hours, days, months, maybe even freaking years later, the thing you’ve given hell and inferno for would turn up out of nowhere. When you don’t need them anymore. Great.

Well, screw those moments, but most especially f**k those moments, because Jeon Jong Seok was having one right now. He had just answered a phone call from a certain b***h telling him she was gonna give him his old phone back now, literally just an hour after his new phone had come in.

Believe me when I say that it took Jong Seok his every being to not punch a window open and throw Jay’s telephone out the open balcony. Chae Min had not only shaken him up from the stupor he had been in but also had him furiously walking in circles around the couch he had been chilling on watching bird documentary just three seconds ago.

“You,” Bitterness rang in his words, clearly showing irritation and anger, “decide to call now?! It’s been almost a week, you do realize that, right?”

The voice on the other line was borderline sarcastic to the tone. “Yeah, duh. That’s why I’m giving it back.”

“It’s been almost a week.”

“I know that.” Jong Seok couldn’t believe it; he could imagine Chae Min rolling her eyes at him. “I heard you mention it, like three times. I counted.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be? You’re being very tactless, you know.”

God, this woman was testing his patience to the limits of all limits. The urge to unplug the dial phone and fling it to wherever Chae Min was just so that she’d gain some sense was unbearable. Jong Seok silently kicked a footstool that had been peacefully minding its business by the corner. It wobbled but did not stumble. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I hear that a lot.”

No surprise there. “Yeah, no s**t!”

“I know. I mean, it’s quite flattering, but kinda too much sometimes, you know. It’s slowly growing on me now though.” What the— “Well, anyway, I called to find out if you have time to get this really junk phone of yours tomorrow or sometime next week. And I meant that, by the way, this is a really old model. It’s practically considered antique—”

The nerve! It was a working phone that served him as much as any gadget had. He had bought it with his own money from mowing lawns back in California. There was no denying it, Jong Seok was a sentimental guy.

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t have time for a b***h like you.”

Jong Seok heard Chae Min take an offended breath, which he took as a sign of victory. “Okay, so first of all, f**k you. Second, I’m doing this for you. At least be a little considerate for once. Stop being an asshole, geez. I’m trying to be nice here.”

“I don’t need you to be nice. You haven’t been in the first place anyway.” Jong Seok kicked the bean bag lying on the carpeted floor before plunging into it to sulk. His temper was high; it made his head pound. Jong Seok was tired, plus he hadn’t exactly eaten lunch, and it was past 5 pm, so he had no energy whatsoever to deal with Chae Min’s bullshit. “Keep the phone. I don’t want to take time off to get pissed off by you.”

She made a high pitch fake laugh: ha-ha-ha. “To be clear, we’re on the same page here. It’s not exactly a dying wish to see your asshole face, you know? I just need to wash my hands of your crap and get this rubbish phone of your back to you cuz—”

Jong Seok was so done with her rambles. Not only was it annoying, it irritated his ears. “I said keep the phone. I don’t need it.”

“What? No, ew. I don’t need this. It’s— blech.”

“Me neither.” It was draining, talking to Chae Min. She goes on, and on, something Jong Seok had no tolerance for. “I bought a new one. All yours.”

“What the hell?” Chae Min reaction almost lifted his spirits. She sounded unpretentiously irked. “You couldn’t have said that in the first place and ended the conversation minutes ago? You’re a real douchebag, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Jong Seok smirked, eyes glinting with malice from the reflection of the open TV screen in front of him. “Frustrating, right?”

“Oh, f**k you.”

“Back at you.”

“Shu—!”

Click. Silence. Peace. Jong Seok cut off the rest of Chae Min’s s**t-chatter. Boy, was he exhausted. That woman was tough to get rid of. It was like trying to remove a persistent tick. Jong Soek slammed the handset back at the telephone hook, unplugging the cord, then locking it in the cupboard for good measure. He was gonna have to deal with Jay asking where it was later, but at least he’s free of any possible future inconveniences-- A.K.A Chae Min calling back just to say a cuss word back--a very likely circumstance.

Jong Seok grabbed a snickers bar, ears still warm with his recent argument with Chae Min. He plopped into the bean bag he had been agonizing with kicks of frustration minutes before. His weight sank him into the comfort of the seat, the ramble of his thoughts finally ridding him of pesky stresses while absorbing the rest of his bird documentary.

“b***h,” he muttered.

_ _ _

(.9)

To be honest with you, it didn’t even really matter. It wasn’t even big of a deal. It was just a dumb line. A tiny streak across a doodle. A smear. In fact, Jong Seok didn’t even care about it. It was nothing more than just a mere drawing.

But it gave him an excuse. A reason to unleash his rage. To pick a fight.

Pencil smudge covered 10-year-old Jong Seok’s left hand as he poured his imagination into illustrating a grey alien inside a space car on what was supposed to be his English homework. The lines were scribbled harshly, deeply denting the back of the paper, shapes and curves contouring into a figure with one gigantic eye blaring his held wonky lightsaber atop his floating car. It was quite a work; after all, in Jong Seok’s eyes, there was more to it than just scribbles.

There was movement, and Jong Seok could see from his side eyes that Jay had huddled closer to check his progress. Today was Friday, and ever since Jong Seok had started going to the same school with him, Jay would come over to the Jeon’s to do their work together. It wasn’t that it was necessary, (Jong Seok did enough to pass, really), his parents just decided that Jay would be a perfect guide for him since Jong Seok was more of a B+ sort of kid, and, well, Jay being Jay, was the A+ genius. You know, typical perfect Jay and the Jeon’s unrealistic expectations of their offspring.

Jay bobbed down beside Jong Seok, inspecting the younger’s paper. His eyes skimmed down the paper in a quick second, right before Jong Seok managed to knock him away to cover up his obviously unfinished work.

“Excuse you,” he said, jerking the paper out of sight, but he could already see the I knew it look on Jay’s poker face. He turned away to the couch to straighten his paper, scowling at the streak of line that now slashed across the alien aboard his car.

Almost like he was used to it, Jay bent back down at his own work. “It’s E.B White. The author of Charlotte’s Web is E.B White, not Neil Gailman. Neil Gailman’s book was Caroline.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Jong Seok, in fact, did not know that. He promptly reached for his green eraser, acting as if he was erasing his drawing when in truth, he was slowly reaching his hand down to rub the big wobbly circle he had etched around the letter B.

“And it’s a synonym,” Jay added nonchalantly, brushing eraser residue off his paper. “S-Y-N-O-N-Y-M. Synonym.”

“I know! I know!” He angrily scrubbed ‘sinonim’ from his work. It frustrated him that Jay had to be the one whom his parents told to come around. Couldn’t they just have hired a tutor? Jay was annoying. A smarty-pants. Every time he came over, his parents fawned over his tiresomely immaculate perfectness, which was something that irked Jong Seok to the end, since it only made his parents compare him to Jay.

Jay went silent. After scribbling the right letters, Jong Seok made no effort to continue working on his homework and instead carried on with finishing the space car his alien was in. It was in the shape of a topless car, like the ones Jong Seok saw in the old boring movies his papa watched every night, except the wheels were replaced with rockets shooting fire blasts that extended to the very edges of the paper. A line disturbed the alien’s raging expression.

Jong Seok felt Jay scuffle closer once more. He inched away just as the other sat beside him. “Here, let me help you. You’ve been on that paper for half an hour now.”

“No, I’ll do it myself.” Twisting away, Jong Seok grabbed the paper to again change positions. There was resistance, and he glanced back to see Jay holding his sheet back. He pulled in frustration. “Let go! It’s mine.” When Jay did let go, he ran to the other side of the coffee table. “Go away. I can do this myself.”

“If you say so, alright.” The twelve-year-old eyed Jong Seok from across the coffee table where their paper lay strewn. Then he added in a tiny voice, “Sorry.”

But Jong Seok didn’t think he was sorry. He thought him pesky—clingy, even. Why apologize if you’re just going to do it again? He took a look at the paper in his hands, and to his dismay, found the edge where he drew his spaceship torn. The rocket on the space-car’s left rear fraying at the bottom.

“You tore it!” Jong Seok screamed, his face flushed with fury. “You ruined my drawing!”

“Huh?”

“You tore it, look!” He shook the paper in the air, wagging it so close at Jay’s face he couldn’t even have a chance of inspecting it before Jong Seok grabbed it away. Jay tried to see by pinching the paper between his fingers the same time Jong Seok had snatched it further, but that only made the younger pull harder. He let go quickly but it was too late; strain built, and the paper ripped into two pieces.

The halve fluttered to the carpet, falling at an impossible snail pace.

Jong Seok’s rage rose.

I hate him. I hate him. I HATE HIM. His hands balled into shaky fists and tears welled up in his eyes. He unleashed the loudest yell of anger he could muster. Jong Seok jumped up the coffee table then flew at Jay, screeching his purest emotions at the top of his lungs. His throat hurt but he didn’t care; he grabbed a fistful of hair—he kicked—his knuckles hit something really solid. He was aware of everything around him; the maids were running towards them, Jay was pushing him back as if to stop him. It made him mad, seeing Jay not hit back. Why are you not fighting back? Coward. Coward.

“I hate you!” He dug his nails and cloved them deep into Jay’s arm. The foul words his parents forbade him to say came tumbling out his mouth without hesitation. “You’re a jerk, you’re stupid, you’re a loser, and I hate you!”

Jay yelled a cry, then shoved Jong Seok’s face at the coffee table. It knocked him aside; a cut started forming on his cheek, but all it did was make Jong Seok angrier. He pounced back—drove his fist into Jay’s mouth hard.

In no time, the maids had Jong Seok by the armpits, pulling him away. A string of “Shut up! SHUT UP!” erupted from him even though Jay hadn’t been saying anything. He struggled away from whoever’s grip it was to reach over and drop kicks on Jay, but it was in vain—Jay was hoisted up by the security, Jong Seok’s sister, Jung Heon, beside him.

“What’s happening here?” boomed his father’s voice. Behind Jay was Mr. Jeon, descending from the staircase. His mother followed closely as well, trailed by his grandmother. “What did you do, Jong Seok?”

Jong Seok pointed at the other, who was sporting a gash on his lip. There were also deep scratches that ran down his arms and neck that Jong Seok took satisfaction from. “He ripped my homework!”

Jay wiped his hand on his uniform. Blood stain ran down the white fabric. “I didn’t mean to.” A weak mumble, one that Jong Seok could hear as clear as day. “I’m sorry.”

He saw his sister crouch down to face Jace towards her. Her eyes sought the cut on Jay’s arms and face, bearing the softness that was never reserved for Jong Seok. His own mother ushered to Jay as well, a clear combination of concern and disappointment painted on her features.

Submitting to the sense of regret and guilt hurt Jong Seok, but nothing could be compared to the twinge of jealousy that weighed him down to see his own blood take the side of someone he despised. It felt heavy—almost enough to make him fall curl up right there on the floor—to see the affection he craved, the tenderness that was in no occasion reserved for him, the warmth that in no circumstance was ever shown to him, be given without hesitation to his nemesis.

Jong Seok bent down, lifting the untangled shoe he was wearing out of his socked foot as he competed with the stony grip of the maid that held him back. the shoe was filthy and soiled, but it didn’t matter; it wasn’t long before the shoe was gone from his hands and soaring into the air anyway.

It took off, skyrocketing into an unsuccessful attempt to hit Jay. It plopped to the left of the older, wobbling side to side at the feet of Mrs. Jeon.

Apparently, it was the peak for his father. Mr. Jeon squatted before Jong Seok with an almost emotionless expression. He stared at his son, hands knotted in front of him as if to form an infrangible loop, but Jong Seok couldn’t dare look at him anymore; the world around him had started to blur. There were droplets of liquid dripping from his cheeks as he struggled to untie the laces of his other shoe, yet he couldn’t figure out whether they were tears or sweat—actually, he didn’t even want to know. Tears or sweat, they were both irrelevant either way.

“Jong Seok,” his father called. “Look at me.”

The shoelaces were unbuckled, and Jong Seok gripped the shoe in his hand. They were shaking, from exhaustion, fear, and anger; maybe even more. He straightened, now only in socks, and raised the hand he held the shoe with.

“Jong Seok.”

He didn’t look. He didn’t dare look.

Jong Seok threw the shoe.

His father slapped him across the face.

“Look at me,” Mr. Jeon repeated, and Jong Seok did as he said. His father’s gold watch glinted in the noon sunlight streaming through the living room windows. Jong Seok then decided right there that he hated the color gold. “You will go up to your room, and you will not get out till I say so.”

Jong Seok stared. He stared and stood there, his watery eyes locked into his father’s. He stared, and stared, and stared, then he stepped away, silent and stiff as he climbed the stairs, the echoing silence behind him ringing in the air.

The shoe lay on the floor, nowhere near Jay.

_ _ _

열여덟 (Eighteen)

Jeon Jong Seok [전 종 석]

March 26

From time to time, Jeon Jong Seok gets this overwhelming feeling of numbness out of nowhere. He wasn’t sure when it started; as far as he can remember, he’s had it since childhood. It was one of those emotions that he didn’t have any fondness for but couldn’t seem to turn away from either—maybe the constant tug of miserable comfort was too addicting to ignore. The empty unfeelingness had begun creeping up to him during his afternoon classes, and now that it was late in the evening, it had filled his very being, right to the very fiber of is soul. Jong Seok hated it.

The city of Seoul was as bustling as ever at night as it was at any time of the day. Crowds flock street vendors and shops; beams of light illuminated store windows as shadows of strangers step into the basking fluorescence. The air is alive with chatter, the streets alight with eye-binding lamps. You could almost eat the smell of street food cooking in the air. The crowds were endless, bumping into him every now and then, a side-eye given each second passing, and he buzz in the air was nearly electrifying.

Jong Seok wasn’t really a fan of crowds, truth be told. He’d occasionally take a long turn if he had the time, energy, and he simply would rather travel in peace, but if unavoidable, it didn’t really bother him. Crowds were noisy and suffocating, in addition to the odd headaches and jitters they seemed to give him. It was reasonable to dislike them.

But not tonight. Tonight, Jong Seok longed for the noise of chatter and yells, the blinding fluorescence, the bumps and the side-eyes. He wandered through the crowdiest parts of the city, melted coke float in hand, desperately clinging to the buzz in the air. It made him feel anxious, like everyone was staring at him, seeing him for who he is, but it was better than feeling nothing.

Jong Seok had noticed that his coke float had already divided into separate layers of water and murky substance. Frankly, it would be better off in the trash, but Jong Seok can’t keep his eyes off the ground long enough to search for bins. The lukewarm cup felt like it had grown roots into his hand—he couldn’t let go. Not that he wanted to anyway, he wouldn’t know what to do with his hands if he did.

The gravel underneath him was becoming quite a blurry disorientation. Jong Seok hadn’t looked up once to see people’s faces, so he figured maybe that’s why. It was scary to even try, like eyes would peck him if he even thought of attempting to. He was having trouble remembering what he did every five minutes, or as a matter of fact, what direction he came from. Lost and dizzy, he clung to the crowds still.

Maybe, just maybe, the buzz in the air would kill the numbness in him.

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