« Chapter Four »

“I made it for my mom.”

I remained staring at the keys, my hands slowly pulling away from it. I looked at him. “She died when I was seven and I made the song when I was nine, when I finally realized that she wasn’t coming back because my dad already replaced her with someone else.” Maybe I sounded bitter and maybe he doesn’t care about the things I said, but I wanted to say them because I can say them. Because they have been left unsaid for the longest time and because I knew it wouldn’t matter to him. My words, they end, they will be forgotten and they will perish. At my death, he wouldn’t remember them and that was enough, more than enough. “When you die, it ends there. That’s it.” I pushed myself up and walked t he bar and asked for a bottle of a scotch. I sat on our table, placing the bottle of scotch on it and an empty glass that has cubes of ice. He followed, this time instead of sitting in front of me, he sat next to me, where his warmth was tingling my skin, where his presence made my small world smaller.

“You’re mom still lives.” He said looking at me as I twist the bottle’s cap. Its strong scent quickly blended to the air, to my nose and I felt like I asking myself of what am I thinking of. “You remember her, your father, though he was not saying it, he remembers her. Death isn’t the absence of your physical body, death doesn’t mean cold, breathless and motionless corpse. Death means oblivion, once you are forgotten that’s when you truly die.” How could he do this to me with simple words, simple musings. It was like he was saying his realization aloud instead of keeping them to himself, to further indulge and make sense of it. I was silent for a moment, placing the scotch back to the table. I felt weak. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t and that was the part that made it worst. You feel like you’re slowly reaching your limit and on the last tick you’ll just explode, guts and blood, brains and intestines scattered.

“I will die.” I chuckled. “I will die, Jiyong… I’m getting there, I’m almost there.” He didn’t say anything, he just looked at me and let silence do its thing. He inhaled deeply, and clasped his hands together, fingers weaving. “What are you planning to do?” I looked at him. I said that I was so close to dying and yet here he was asking of what my plans were. Sometimes, he was so weird that there was no way that someone can understand him. I shrugged, “Buy a lot in Hojin, buy a beautiful black funeral dress with lace and ruffles, ribbons and studs, have a beautiful black casket, set a funeral parlor appointment, choose songs for my funeral playlist, choose a chapel where my casket stays for three days, talk to a reverend, send invitations… there were too many to do, Jiyong.”

He looked at me, his eyes were glistening with screaming disappointment of reasons unknown to me and I knew, I went overboard. “Sorry.” I whispered, fumbling with my fingers on my lap. “I’m not asking about that, Sandara. What I wanted to know is what are you planning to do after this?” he tried to sound, calm and disinterested, like I have never said all the rants I said awhile ago. I inhaled deeply and looked at him. “I will try drinking beyond my limit and just pass out in the road on my way home, buy different cigarettes and try them all and blog about their difference, I will do drugs—heroin, , ecstasy, and all and blog their difference too. I will party and try learning few skateboard tricks and shoot basketballs. I will dance in the rain and sing in the middle of the huge crowd in the mall. I will stand at Seoul’s tower and as the sun set  I will shout at it and tell it: you! Extend my day. Then I will find a guy and fall in love and get heartbroken and we will have . Tons of .” I have thought of it, the night after knowing about my cancer. There were so much more, I know, but that were the things I would love to do before I bit the dust.

“ is deadly.” I looked at him, flushing bright crimson yet curious about it than I ought to. I have said all these things like drinking and smoking and stoning and yet he only response with that sentence that left me not knowing how to fish myself to him. “Pupils dilate, s swell, your heartbeat raise, your veins contracts more, your breathing will be heavy, your pores open wildly, I can go on and say more of it but then as far as I am concern it is the most dangerous human activity.” I turned to him and looked at him for a moment, he has this straight expression when he was explaining it. He looked and sounded doctor to me at the same time. “Dr. Kwon Jiyong,” I called him and he looked at me. I poured a scotch on my glass of melting ice cube and drank it in one go and winced at the burning trail of alcohol down to my throat.

“Are you open to the idea of having with this thirty year old that was diagnosed by you of having brain cancer and will be dying sooner or later?”

 I feel like puking. The scotch was setting my stomach into wild fire. I waited for his answer, my stomach twisting and turning of nervousness and anticipation. I watched him leaned down on me and gently pressing his lips on mine. It was soft and warmth and I feel my skin heating. He kept it pressed, not moving. I stared at him, his eyes were closed and he was so close. His lip and my lip. In seconds, he started moving, claiming my lips and I was caught off guard, frozen at his sudden movements. I don’t know anything about kissing or any physical intimacy. This was the first and I was feeling jelly. There were too much to process, his lips movement, his sweet taste, the coffee, the milk and his tongue sliding in my mouth, roaming and coating my insides. There were slurping, and lip eating lip.

My hands found its way to the back of his head, my fingers swimming at the weird hue of every strand. I felt myself leaning to the wooden wall of the still ever moving train and I can feel his weight trapping me on my position. His lips moved away from my wet swollen ones, crawling and brushing to my cheek, to my jaw line and to the back of my ear. “It would be such privilege to be in this intimacy with you, Sandara.” I opened my eyes and was welcomed by his intent ones. We were so close, huffing, inhaling each other’s warm breath.

“I will kiss your skin and make you know how much I needed you. I am yours, Park Sandara.”      

xxx

Four in the morning.

I sat, crossed legs, facing him on our cabin’s bed, still dressed and looking at him. “We can sleep,” he said it casual but I shook my head. “Sandara, don’t force yourself. If we are doing this, I don’t want to be the only one enjoying it or wanting it.” I shook my head again. “We will do this.” I said firm and almost breathless. I bit my lips and moved closer to him, lifting my trembling hands I started undoing his buttons. It took me an eternity to get one undone, I was just trembling too much, too panicky. He held my hands. “Relax,” I met his burning gaze and my stomach flipped more. I stood up and rushed to the bathroom and threw the scotch and spaghetti in my stomach. “Sandara,” he called and I quickly called back. “Don’t stand, I will be back.” I quickly gurgled with water and ended up brushing my teeth.

I was still wiping the foam when I went back to the bed. “Let’s do this my way,” he moved closer, hovering inches away from me. He gently pushed me to the bed and then popped open the buttons of my newly brought see through polo, courtesy of Forever 21, using his mouth. I looked at him and found him y in doing so. At the last button he bit it on its thread and pulled it. He grabbed the pearl looking button and slid it to his jean’s pocket. “Remembrance,” he had this goofy smile on making me laugh. He eased me off my polo and bit my soft spaghetti strap undergarment on its hem and pulled it up till my flat stomach was showing. “Hmmmm,” his eyes were looking at mine. God, he was so y.

Letting go of the silk, he playfully my skin and I flinch when his tongue met it. It slid down to a straight wet and glossy line to my navel where it dips inside it making me hot all over. He was moving his tongue in and out of my navel as his finger my denim shorts, he pushed it off me and my floral underwear was exposed for him to see. I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed at my underwear choice. Jiyong removed my hands away from my face. “Flowers are for all ages.” He smirked and I burned in red. “Hands up.” He whispered and I raised it up, feeling the silk of my clothes being pulled up and away from me. Leaving me in my mismatched underwear of black lace and floral . I bit my lips. This was not going as I thought it should be.

I, without as much as a word, ed his polo and slid it off his body. I was welcomed by his white smooth skin, toned muscle that you will not notice at his thin structure. Tattoos, he has tons of tattoos in his skin. It compliments him, and it was fascinating to finally see. “Hard habit.” He explained and I nodded. “I wanted one too.” I looked at his eyes. “I’ll draw you whatever you want.” His lips was touching my neck, my skin and I gasped. I nodded. My palms scanning his body down and finally reached its goal. With shaking fingers I ed it and slid it down to him leaving him on his boxer. Just two layers between us. My eyes were wide open and I can feel his heat looming  in his skin that was pressed against mine. His elbows leaning on my either side, sinking the mattress of the bed. His forehead against mine, the anticipation was deliciously painful. “I’m giving you a chance to back out.” He was breathless. He was beautiful and almost . I looked at him. “You will get hurt, you might die.” I smiled.

“I am dying, Jiyong.”     

He kissed me, soft and gentle, deep and shallow. His hand roamed my body, leaving not a single spot untouched. He kissed my skin, wet and . My breathe was heavy and gasping, my voice decreased to moans, and his name. As the last layers were removed, I met him, the Kwon Jiyong. Flesh to flesh. Heat to heat. He was making me crazy. His hand parted my legs, and he positioned himself ready for possession. I readied myself for him. He slid into me, slow and gentle, but the pain went like and electric current, shocking me to a whole new level. I was gasping and gritting, begging and trying to calm myself. “Jiyong…” I couldn’t even say his name anymore, overwhelmed at his possession. He was inside me. I could feel him moving. It was excruciating, pain and pleasure in the chaotic vortex of the sense of what was all about. He reached my core and I let out a long moan. “Pick me…” he grunted. My back arced at his withdrawal and invasion.  “Open your eyes and pick me,” I opened my eyes and stared at him. Pick him? Pick him to be what?

“Pick me as the guy to fall in love with…”

xxx

I woke up at the brightness of the afternoon sun. I was lying on my stomach. He was sitting on the couch writing on the table. He was scribbling something on the paper, using my pen and my notebook. I pushed myself up and looked at him. I covered myself in the white thin comforter.

Pick me as the guy to fall in love with…

He looked at me and smiled sweetly that you can’t help but smile back at him. He lifted the notebook and made me look at what he was doing. It was a sketch of me, sleeping. “Ms. Park Sandara,” he called to and I looked at him.

“Are you open to the idea of falling in love to this con-looking doctor of eccentric choice of clothes and say things way too much who just told you a week ago that you will die in brain cancer?”

xxx

 We reached Busan without me noticing it. There was too many things to do to notice. There were food to taste, coffee to drink, ice cream to indulge, music to play, stories to tell, silence to enjoy, his eyes to stares, his skin to feel, his kisses to answer and his beauty and weirdness to admire. I wasn’t sure if it was me or if it was time who seemed to be running out. We stepped out of the train together with the flow of the people. Some were welcomed, others have rejoiced for their return while the two of us, came here to enjoy the place’s Seafood Potluck. Hand in hand, we walked out of the station, down to the road. Welcomed by different establishments, of different people and their funny and cute accent. We went to my mother’s favorite restaurant.

I slide the door opened. “Dara!” Hyunsuk greeted me in full bloomed smile as he was serving a tray of soju. Since the first time I went here, his restaurant never ran out of people. “Hyunsuk,” I moved and hugged him. Jiyong trailed behind me. “This is my mom’s first love, Hyunsuk.” I looked at Jiyong. He proffered his hand for the old man, which Hyunsuk shook, glaring at him with intent judgment. “You dating my daughter?” Hyunsuk said in his Busan accent. I chuckled. “He’s my doctor.” I turned to Hyunsuk. He was impasse for seconds before he nodded and lead us to our table.

“Your mom’s first love?” Jiyong sat in front of me. I nodded and stared at the wall of pictures. Pictures of me, of Hyunsuk, his family, the restaurant’s staffs and my mom. “They separated because my mom got accepted into a scholarship in Boston, where she met my dad got entangled with him and conceived me and has no choice but to get married.” I stated non-committal. Jiyong was silent for a moment. Hyunsuk came and served my favorite, he knew it. My mom always takes me here to eat, but in reality it was to see him. They continued their relationship, they thought, I don’t understand, I don’t know. But that was the thing with children, you think they were too young to know, to understand. “Enjoy, darling,” I smiled at him and he was back to the kitchen.

“When my mom was on her last days, the pain in her head gets worst. There were some point in which she doesn’t know what she was saying anymore, she doesn’t know whom she was talking to or what was real and not.” He remained quiet and watching as I started doing my things.

I remembered when I went to her room because she was screaming, having another pain attack that gets worst every time. I held her hand, singing the song she thought me when I feel pain. Pain, pain, go away. She looked at me, bewildered, she caressed my cheek. “Sandara, did you know what you did to me?” she asked and I shook my head. Come again another day. “You ruined my life, you made me fat, you stretched me all out. Because of you, Hyunsuk was hurt, because of you, I am suffering. Dear, it was all your fault why mommy is feeling all of this.” She ended with a loud scream, clutching her head. Little Dara wants to play. My dad came with the doctor and another fresh batch of experimental concoction of poison aiming to kill her cancer. But her cancer was her, it was made of her. I was crying because I was the reason why she was hurting, my dad picked me and brought me back to my room.

Pain, pain, go away.    

xxx

It was summer. It was forever summer in Busan. In my memory, it was summer.

We got out of the restaurant seven in the evening. We ate and talked, stared at each other and bond with Hyunsuk and his family and staffs. We walked in the street and I looked all over it. Trying to burn it to my memory, trying to remembered this day. Jiyong told me he made a reservation on one of the hotels. We walked to the streets clogged with people and street foods. I was trying everything I could, ignoring the pain in my head. “There are too many people living in the world.” I mused. “But there are much more who were dead and forgotten.” He looked at me, eating his fish cake, freshly out of the boiling water. He blew it for a moment before he took a small bite. “We all die.” I finished mine. I was trying to make sense of my numbered days, trying to reason out why I could never see this street again, feel his hand in me and see Hyunsuk, or feel the pain in my chest of the memories too painful to let go.

I let go of his hand. I walked into the crowd, swimming in the countless people. There was a festival, there were floats of different sizes and colors moving on the road, street dancers entertaining everyone. I stood on my spot and smiled at the bright lights of the float. Jiyong stood next to me and I looked at him. “This will be a good memory.” I smiled. It will. I was able to walk lightly and I wasn’t able to leave scars—or so I like to think. This Busan Seafood Potluck Adventure will be a good memory, the vintage train will be too, and the kissing, the touching and everything in between. It will be a memory that he will remember as good memories.

My tears fell. I wiped them and hated them for having no dignity. I laughed my eyes going back to the floats. I won’t see it anymore, nor stand in the midst of this much people. I will die. Everything ends. Everyone dies. Little girls die, little boys, wife, husband, student, teacher, the richest man, the president, no exception. We all die.

I can’t understand why I have to know that I will die before I will. I don’t know why I have to know that I won’t be here any longer than anyone should be.

“I’m tired, let’s go back.” I sniffed, wiped my tears. I inhaled deeply to let myself be glued into one piece in order to walk back to the hotel. I was walking, the streets glimmering above me, the cherry blossoms falling like confetti, raining down beautifully. I felt my wrist being pulled and soon I spun looking at him. He claimed my lips, his arm wrapping around my waist pulling me to him, pressing me to him. I closed my eyes and savored the kiss but he pulled away quicker than what I expected.

“You will go under chemo… you will live Sandara, you will have a long life, and you will fall to me over and over again. We will get married and we will have kids. I won’t take your no or any other , because you will live.”

  It was summer. In my memory, it was summer.