Yeong-Do, Busan, July 2009

 

An old lady with a hunched back screams at me for wearing Abercrombie short
shorts. I avert my gaze and squint to see if the bus is coming from down the main
road. But only a tiny Daewoo van sputters past me, shooting out hot, dirty air. I unzip
my Abercrombie duffle bag, which I doubled as a swim bag, and take out my Bratz
beach towel to wipe my drenched forehead.

 

   In Korea, they call this day a bok nal. But where I am from, we call it the dog days
of summer. I do not know what dogs have to do with the summer. My guess is that
someone saw their dog panting so much on a hot day and decided to name the day
after them. It sounds dumb, but I kind of get it. Sometimes I have to look at a dog
sweating to realize I am, too.

 

   The Hamjigol Youth Center’s yellow bus arrives and covers the hot sun. I stuff
my towel in my bag and march forward. The bus door hisses open. I catch a glimpse
of the steam rising from the baked pavements before I step onto the bus, when the
old Korean lady grabs hold of one of my spaghetti straps and yanks me back.

  “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?”

  “Let me go!” I let out a cry in English and wanted to push her away, but I couldn’t
when the old lady forcibly turned me around.

  “What is this child saying? Stay still and listen to me carefully, you gashina!”

  “No! I am an American!” I say. The old Korean lady stays still for a moment, and
her eyes widen as she stares into mine.

  “You’re a gyo-po?” she says quietly.

  I do not respond.

  She releases me. The rumbling sound of the bus is louder now, and I hear the
bus driver call for me. I expect her to say something – an apology, maybe.

  She doesn’t.

  Her eyes dart off to the side. She shuffles off and disappears into a run-down
store. The bus driver calls for me one last time.

 

The skies are perfectly blue as I gaze out the bus window. No clouds in sight.
Just the blinding hot sun that was burning my bare legs. But I do not mind. Ever since
I began wearing clothes from Abercrombie and Hollister two years ago, my
classmates back at home would always tell me how pale I looked and how I needed
to get out in the sun more. So, this is me, tanning during what is kind of my summer
vacation, and I hope my tan will not fade in the upcoming fall, winter, and spring
seasons while I am here.

 

The bus screeches to a stop in a poor neighborhood. Gazing out, I see two very
young boys on a hilltop full of old, small homes. They are wearing dirty white tanks
and running in loose, cheap sandals as they chase each other down and pass by a
skinny brown dog in a cramped cage. The dog then gets carried through the front
door of a small restaurant.

 

The bus moves. I keep my eyes on the skinny dog through the window until it is
just a blur. Just like that, the whole neighborhood and the dog are gone.

 

My parents, born here in South Korea, once told me that it is not my place to
judge what others do. They were referring to what Korean people do that is different
from what Americans do. And they told me to keep this in mind when we moved
here. But my stomach tangles into a sick, wet knot. I do not like it here. There is
something wrong with everyone here. I do not like any of them, and I want to go back
home now. Not in ten months.

  Suddenly, a clammy finger taps on my shoulder, and I jump from my seat.

  “May I sit here?” a voice says from my left. It belongs to the timid boy from my
swimming class, who has been staring at me since I started last week. I nod, though
hesitant at first. The boy’s eyes light up when he realizes I did not reject him.

  I look away, silently, and admire Taejongdae’s sparkling blue ocean on my right.
We are already at the top of the mountain, driving up along the cliff, but the immense
ocean surrounded by the luscious mountains of green pine trees is still there, with
waves crashing violently against high, jagged rocks.

  The boy, now next to me, clears his throat. “This…for…you…,” he says, surprising
me with his English, though very poorly attempted. But then, he holds up a fresh red
flower and presents it to me.

  I stare at him for a second. My throat feels so tight. Is he being nice? Is he…
asking me out? I don’t know what to say.

  His face turns pale. He pulls the flower back and switches back to Korean.

  “Did I say it all wrong? Aish,” he mutters to himself. “I should’ve paid more
attention in my English classes.”

  With delicate fingers, I take the long stem into my hand and smell the
bittersweet aroma of the flower. I do not know what the boy’s intention is here, but I
have never seen a flower that was startlingly red and perfectly shaped like this
before. The red petals were thick and waxy, like a fresh tube of my mom’s Estée
Lauder lipstick, while the seeds, round and centered, reminded me of an anemone
where clownfish live.

  My stomach begins to flutter when I look into the boy’s buoyant, dark brown
eyes.

  Finally, the bus pulls up in front of the Hamjigol Youth Center, and suddenly
heavy rain batters hard against the metal roof. I look out the window. I expected to
see dark, stormy clouds, but – no clouds?

  I safely tuck the red flower in my swim bag and walk down the aisle of the bus,
following close behind the boy.

  I do not have an umbrella, I motion to the boy without speaking. Do you?

  He shakes his head as well. But we watch the other kids in front of us bolt into
the sunny showers and silently decide to do the same.

  “Ready?” he says to me in Korean. I nod with a nervous smile.

  We sprint. The rain soaks us right away. We reach the overhang of the center. I
shiver, my skin prickling, as the boy’s teeth chatter beside me.

  I look at him. He looks back. Just like that, we burst into laughter.

  His face quickly turns dark. “What happened to your bag?”

  I do not know what he means, and then I look down.

  My hands are empty.

  Horrified, I stare at my free hands. The bus. It must have stayed on the bus. I
remember feeling lighter when I stood up.

  Suddenly, I hear the sound of the bus leaving.

  “No! Come back!” I cry out and run after it until a single raindrop touches my
face. I come to an immediate halt right under the edge of the overhang, then sink to
the dry cement ground, defeated. The boy walks up to me.

​

How could I be so stupid?

  Some of my favorite things were in that bag, including the red flower. Not only
would I have to explain to my parents how reckless I was for losing my belongings,
but I also could not even look at the boy. As I breathe in the earthy smell from the
falling rain, the boy, to my surprise, hurtles into the sun showers and disappears.

  After an hour of waiting, the rain finally stops. Before the boy ran after the bus,
he had left a towel beside me. It was on top of his tiger drawstring bag. Though a
little damp, it was better than freezing. After the rain stopped, a pair of seagulls let
out a loud cry before gliding freely across the blue, cloudless sky.

  Finally, the boy makes his appearance.

  The sun shines on him as he slowly makes his way over. I jump with joy from
the ground and run down to him, meeting him at the center. A small smile spreads on
his face upon seeing me, and he proudly lifts up my bag. But when I looked at his
sickly pale face, I could only gasp.

​

  I do not see the boy the next day.

  Or the day after that.

  Two weeks pass, and it is like he never existed.

​

  It rains once more in Yeong-do while the sun is out. I am inside my
grandmother’s apartment, packing my things before I leave Busan. In the dimly lit
kitchen, I stop by the trash can.

  Resting on top of broken egg shells is the red flower. The petals are no longer
waxy or bright. They are brown at the edges, smelling of rot with the rest of the
spoiled food. Someone in my family must have thrown it away, thinking there was no
sentimental memory attached to it. After all, it has withered for some time now, even
though it was only for a short while. I place the lid over the trash can, and the rain
from outside the kitchen window stops. Then, I turn around and continue packing as
it is time to move to my new home in Pohang.