FBF chapter 20 part 2

As if recalling that moment, my mother looked at a corner of the table covered with plastic wrap and smiled bitterly.

“Do you know what your grandfather said back then?”

For a moment, I thought I saw my mother getting choked up. It was very brief. After swallowing hard and brushing back some fallen hair, she quickly concealed any trace of her agitation and appeared unfazed.

“He said he was relieved. At least he saw you as someone who would take responsibility for you. Then he told me to make sure to take good care of you. He said that he couldn’t, and that your father, who grew up seeing that, might not be able to either, so it should be me.”

“…….”

“Every time I fought with your father, I thought of those words. Your father was a man so caught up in just looking after himself. I regretted it each time I felt that differently. I wondered if I had thought more deeply about your grandfather’s words, would things have changed somehow?”

My mother looked up. In her eyes, I saw my own expressionless reflection. She spoke in a tone unwavering enough that I questioned if her earlier hesitation had been a mere illusion. The face of her gazing at me was calm.

“Therefore, when your grandfather said he would take responsibility for you… I had nothing to say.”

“…….”

“Someone who understands the weight of responsibility shouldn’t have that kind of confidence. Besides, I was a mother who couldn’t even answer a question about whether my son, who had never experienced that weight, was happy, so I felt powerless.”

Finally, my eyes fell upon my mother’s plastic spoon which was just starting to collect some food. With just one dip into the spicy beef soup, the red hue transferred onto the spoon. The window behind my mother had blinds drawn. Perhaps the window was slightly ajar, as I could hear raindrops lightly tapping against it. I noticed that there were still raindrops on the collar of my mother’s jacket that she hadn’t shaken off yet.

“You might not think so, but I believe it was the right decision.”

“…I think so too.”

I made eye contact with my mother. While I had sat across from her at the table before, it was the first time we had gazed deeply into each other’s eyes like this. For the first time, I was seeing my grandfather in my mother. Regardless of the differences, I realized that both my mother and grandfather loved me in their best ways.

“You made that decision for me.”

“…….”

“I believe that.”

“…….”

“Thank you for doing that, back then.”

My voice was so hoarse that I wondered if it could even scrape the inside of my throat. I wasn’t crying. I hadn’t cried enough for people to think it odd. It felt as if all the water inside me had dried up.

Slowly, amidst the sound of the rain, my mother smiled faintly. It reminded me of that night long ago when it had rained like this and she had stood by the wall, as we had separated. I realized there was a bond, something that neither of us could easily replicate; my mother, who was younger then, and I, who was just a child.

I could tell she felt something similar without her needing to say it. Just like when she had stared longingly at my grandfather’s portrait, my mother lifted her spoon and loaded it with cold beef soup. Then she started eating silently.

I stayed by her side without saying a word as she finished the bowl of soup, walking towards the car parked at the back of the funeral home. I tilted the large black umbrella slightly closer to her. My mother, who quietly let me cover her without acknowledging it, only turned her body when she opened the driver’s door.

“I’ve heard some talk… sometimes it’s good to not get too involved.”

My mother spoke to me without looking at me, doing something she had never done in life. I realized anew that the villa incident had intertwined itself with Choi Jeong-ho and had blown up. Even my mother, who had never commented on what I was involved in, was just as cautious to speak this way. I weighed my words and finally opened my mouth.

“…I will be careful.”

“You’re not saying you won’t, though.”

“…….”

“It would be contradictory to say you like that you’re not like your father, but dislike this.”

My mother, furrowing her brows, didn’t seem upset. I watched as she placed her foot into the driver’s seat, and then I grabbed the closing door. Surprised, I met her eyes, and suppressed the words that had swelled to the tip of my chin.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell my mother that, like my grandfather, I too had a tumor in my head, and that I might need surgery. I was afraid I might collapse like my grandfather and never get up again.

I stepped back from the door.

“Drive safely. It’s raining heavily.”

My mother looked at me in puzzlement, surprised by the unusual farewells. Still, she nodded. I retreated fully, watching the black sedan leave the parking lot. The sound of raindrops hitting the gravel of the outdoor parking area was especially loud. I stood there until my mother’s car appeared as a small dot in the distance before turning my body towards the funeral home.

It was nearing midnight. The townspeople who had kept vigil with me in the funeral home for the past two days had nearly all gone home, leaving the parking lot empty. The light from the streetlamp shimmered in the puddles that had formed. One, two, three. I stared at the diffusing lights as I passed the sporadically placed streetlights, thinking they looked like the eyes of a person shedding tears.

Maybe it was because I had seen those tearful eyes for two days straight. I was the only one at the funeral home who hadn’t cried. Initially, people were too busy gathering their emotions to notice me, but they gradually began to find it strange. Someone from out of town, who claimed to be a classmate of my grandfather’s, even openly asked me, “Aren’t you sad?” It was a simple question that could hardly be regarded as a rebuke. The son assisting the elderly man with a cane hurriedly stopped him.

But I knew that everyone in that space was probably thinking the same thing.

“I heard you weren’t really close, but I guess that’s not true. How can you not shed a single tear when your grandfather has died? Cold-hearted, aren’t you? Aren’t you sad?”

“Hey, stop it.”

“Why, am I saying something I shouldn’t? It’s just surprising, that’s all.”

I recalled the conversation I had overheard near the restroom. I didn’t get angry at their words, which clearly indicated they had followed someone in. Part of me could relate. Just looking at Kang Youngsoo was enough. The moment he saw me sitting alone in the family hall, he had burst into tears. He cried every time he looked at my grandfather’s portrait. Nevertheless, whenever he found a moment, he would come over to me, rub my shoulders, and tell me, “Seon-uk, you’re too sad to cry right now.” I thought about his swollen eyes.

Could it be that being unable to cry was the right response? Did I not know how to grieve?

I felt strange even to myself. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t cry; it felt like a part of me had been completely hollowed out, no longer having a presence. It felt like a space whose size I could not gauge had become entirely empty. Some would call it sadness or a sense of loss, but I couldn’t bring myself to label it that way. I had no way of convincing myself. Perhaps those who called me cold-hearted were right. I was someone who didn’t know how to grieve in a circumstance where I should have been sad.

Tomorrow would be my grandfather’s funeral. Despite the talk of dying, he had sneakily let someone other than me know that he wished to be cremated. Just as Lee Jihoon’s father was finishing relaying that fact, I nodded before he could complete.

“Okay, I’ll make sure that happens.”

Since the protective wall had crumbled, I could hear my own voice clearly. It sounded no different from when I was working. I remembered my voice not sounding like that of a grandson who had just lost his grandfather. I was puzzled if that was even allowed.

“…….”

I paused just before the entrance to the funeral home, touching my eyelids. My icy hands grazed my dry eyes, and I felt nothing even as I looked at my reflection. Tomorrow, I would still be like this. Standing amidst the various people grieving in their own ways, I’d silently watch my grandfather leaving, without even a single tear to pitifully blink.

The intensity of the falling rain grew thicker. Puddles of water began to swell. It wasn’t until new light mingled with the widening pool of water that I raised my gaze. I saw a taxi approaching rapidly. The sound of tires hitting the puddles splashed around it.

The taxi stopped at the entrance of the funeral home. I stared blankly at a person who jumped out as soon as the car halted. My hand, which had been tracing the contours of my eyes, hesitated in midair.

With rain thundering in my ears, I blinked and called out the name of someone.

“…Lee Jihoon?”

Even though it was a faint call, the figure running abruptly halted. Before he had even stepped on the stairs, the black silhouette turned directly towards me.

“…….”

“…….”

Without even looking around, Lee Jihoon found me immediately, wearing an expression as if the world had collapsed. His hair and clothes were wet. Everything that had once been perfectly aligned was now a mess. I saw in Lee Jihoon’s face, in the attire of someone who hadn’t even found time to change before rushing over, things I could understand without need for words. It was easy to guess that Lee Jihoon had dropped everything and rushed to me as soon as he heard the news about my grandfather.

Thinking back, it had always been like this. Whenever I found myself close to tears, you were always there right next to me. Through you, I learned it was okay to cry. You taught me how to grieve. Because of you. Because you were there.

So, I…

“…Jihoon.”

I needed you to cry. It was because you weren’t here that I could not weep until now.

I couldn’t bear to believe that, in my world without my grandfather, you were also gone. In a world stripped of my grandfather, it was only you left. Without you, I had no reason to live anymore.

The umbrella, which had fallen from my weakened grip, now lay uselessly on the ground. In the pitch-black rain, I dragged my feet towards Lee Jihoon, realizing that the drops rolling down my cheeks were definitely not just rain.

“Jihoon, my grandfather… my grandfather…”

Instead of calling his name, my sobs erupted uncontrollably. Having taken just five steps, my heart swelled as if I had been running the entire time, my whole body trembling with emotion. Struggling to catch my breath, I reached out my hand. Whenever I tried to breathe, only choked sounds would escape.

In the rain, Lee Jihoon’s face distorted. Approaching me with an expression that could shatter into tears at any moment, he took his time to close the distance. I wobbled unsteadily before he caught me. Only when I was enveloped in his soaking arms, reeking of the outside air I had endured to come this far, did I realize I had not truly been breathing before. I discovered that the only place I could weep was before him.

“I know. I’m late… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ji Seon-uk.”

As I buried my head into his shoulder, trying to pull him in even closer, I could finally unleash the emptiness I had thought I carried inside me. The long-hidden tears burst forth. What was stacked there within me, accumulated for an indeterminate time, overflowed without even the thought of hiding.

The truth is, I had wanted to say it all along.

I recalled you. In the house where you were absent, in the hospital room of my grandfather, at the funeral home. The words you had said to me came flooding back. And through those words, I realized that was how I had managed to live until now. But still, I couldn’t bring myself to speak your name. I couldn’t push you away and then wish you’d still be right there by my side.

I had to be this way, unlike others. When I decided to hurt you, I had to be prepared to lose you forever. If I didn’t want that, I should never have hurt you in the first place.

“I… I, Jihoon. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

I thought I could take that much responsibility. As much as I liked Lee Jihoon, all I had done was prepare for the day I’d be pushed out from that world. But that wasn’t it. Even if I were to be ousted from Lee Jihoon’s world, he would still be very much a part of mine. I realized it was a world that I couldn’t live in without him.

But there you were, right in front of me. You came this far for me. Despite how I rejected you, even after I had hurt you with those words, you came here and held me.

How can you do this, Jihoon? How can you go this far for me?

Then I cannot let you go. Now that I understand what a life without you means, I really can’t dare to imagine it.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Lee Jihoon. I… I was wrong. Don’t leave.”

Desperately clinging to his arms, shoulders, neck, anywhere within my reach, I pleaded for him not to go. Whether it was the raindrops falling on my face or my own tears, I wasn’t sure, but Lee Jihoon’s face grew blurred before me. The more I strained to focus, the more he appeared to multiply. The drumbeat of the rain became faint.

The hand that held my waist tightened. I closed my eyes, feeling the familiar darkness swallowing me whole.

0x5

We didn’t say a single word on the way home. Lee Jihoon’s father, who had come to pick us up saying he had some business near the hospital, looked at the atmosphere with concern. My grandfather and I had always kept to ourselves, but I turned my head towards the window as soon as I got in, not glancing back even once, which must have alerted the uncle to some trouble.

As soon as the car stopped at the entrance of the village, I jumped out of the truck. The reason I had stared outside the entire time was to find a good moment to escape. Timing it perfectly, I threw a parting remark at my grandfather while avoiding looking at him.

“I’ll be late, so don’t wait for me.”

“Uh, alright. Seon-uk, you’re busy, right? Don’t worry. I’ll be with the chief, so just go have some air and come back slowly.”

The answer came in place of my grandfather. I could almost picture him keeping his mouth tightly shut next to my uncle, who was scrambling to lighten the atmosphere. I didn’t need to see it to know he would be staring at my back as I dashed down the alley leading to the sea. Even knowing that, I never turned back.

I was stricken with an anger I couldn’t contain. I was furious at my grandfather for declaring he wouldn’t receive the surgery the hospital recommended, for abruptly running out of the consultation room before ever talking to the doctors, and for leading me to discover him in the lobby without any explanation before heading straight to the parking lot.

But I didn’t know how to express that rage towards him. I had never been angry at an adult; I had always absorbed the emotions they conveyed towards me. Feelings like this were not something any adult had taught me. I had to make sense of it on my own.

While gazing at the sea for a long time, I concluded my method of coping was to simply swallow that anger. I seated myself on a lonely bench and wasted an hour before deciding to head back up the alley I had just descended. I flagged down a passing taxi and gave my destination.

“Taean National Hospital.”

The doctor wasn’t surprised to see me return within a couple of hours. Instead of looking at the doctor who continued his explanation that had been interrupted by my grandfather’s sudden departure, I just stared unblinkingly at the images of my grandfather’s brain. If my grandfather thought to ignore this trouble, I had to understand it instead. I stayed absolutely still, only turning my head to look up when the doctor ceased talking. His eyes peering over his glasses looked at me with concern, speaking in a tone as if comforting a child.

“You must have been startled when your grandfather ran out like that.”

“…….”

“You may have been shocked, but it’s a common reaction among the elderly. They often want to deny the fact that they are sick, especially since your grandfather always seemed uncomfortable with hospital life.”

“That doesn’t change anything, does it?”

“…….”

“Besides, if surgery can improve his condition, then not doing it means….”

“Actually….”

The doctor hesitated with a slight smile that conveyed how awkward he felt. Even though he seemed reluctant to say it, he had words he needed to share.

“Surgery can’t guarantee a 100% success rate. Even if you say there is a 97% success rate, the patient must understand that they may become part of the rare 3%.”

“…….”

“Which is why it’s important to be cautious. For the patient to decide to undergo surgery while being aware of the risks is key. We can only advise you on the method that has the best odds, but we cannot force the patient to make a specific choice.”

There might have been reasons for him to say those things, but for me, they felt like mere wordplay. The thought of becoming part of that 3% felt much less terrifying than the inevitable conclusion of leaving that tumor untreated. The doctor seemed to have recognized my stubborn silence, as he remained silent until I stood up.

“This is a program we’re currently implementing for caregivers. It’s a light psychological consultation, so please don’t hesitate to join if you need help.”

He handed me a three-fold pamphlet decorated in blue.

– Caregiver Mental Health Program

: 1:1 consultations available at the makeshift counselling room next to the lobby on the 1st floor

He seemed to have discerned quite a lot from the expression I wore while watching my grandfather leave and the actions I had taken upon returning. As I mulled over his words, I silently nodded my head. I couldn’t dismiss his offer of kindness, so I folded the pamphlet in half and stuffed it into my pocket.

When I arrived at the hospital, the weather had been decent, but while I had been holed up in that consultation room memorizing my grandfather’s tumor images, the roads were drenched. It could have just been a passing drizzle, but somehow it felt like it would never stop. Whether it was instinct or a baseless belief, I didn’t want to wait for the rain to stop. Instead, I decided to move. Next to the bus stop, a few weathered public phone booths seemed to exist solely for their own sake. I stepped inside that small space.

In the short walk to the station, my hair and clothes got soaked. I shook off the excess water and took out my wallet and phone from my pocket, placing them next to the telephone. The bus showed no signs of arriving. Thinking about calling for a taxi, I held my phone but found my gaze fixated not on the unfamiliar call taxi number but on one I knew all too well.

Since it was 2 PM in Korea, it would be 1 AM in New York with its 13-hour time difference. After a brief hesitation, I ultimately sent a message.

1 PM 2:03 What are you doing?

I mimicked messages I often sent to Lee Jihoon. If he wasn’t asleep, there would likely be a response. And if luck was on my side, there was a possibility of a call.

The last time I had spoken with Lee Jihoon was two weeks ago. Over the past three years, he had roughly grasped our school’s academic schedule, so he wouldn’t bother calling during exam periods. I didn’t either. Yet, we still kept in touch at a frequency where it was clear we hadn’t completely forgotten each other. Each of our texts or calls would always start with a casual “What are you doing?” and wrap up with a mundane “Oh, I’m hanging up now.”

The rain still showed no signs of calming down. I found myself contemplating whether I should call for a taxi but didn’t budge. Then in that moment, my phone, which I had left on the public phone, vibrated.

[Lee Jihoon]

The vibration indicated it was a call, not a message. Before I had time to be surprised, I hastily picked up the phone and brought it to my ear.

“Hello?”

Lee Jihoon, who had been quiet despite being the one to call, finally responded the moment I spoke.

-…Are you outside?

He must have heard the rain. It was not the first time, but I always found it amazing when he sensed where I was through the call. Especially now, alone in the public booth, there wouldn’t have been much around that could hint at my location.

“Can you hear it?”

-That sound of rain?

“Yeah.”

-A little.

“Ah….”

-Where are you? At home?

In regular semesters, there was no need for him to ask where I was, but knowing I had come down to Taean after finishing my final exams, he naturally inquired. It was a simple question, but given the events I had experienced today, I found myself hesitating to answer. Following a walk, I’d ached to disregard my surroundings, and upon checking the white building again, I found myself at a loss.

“I’m… I’m here.”