The First Sign of Lucy the Caregiver In My Third Month in Korea 

It’s been two months since that night.

And I wish I could say Joon and I have been having crazy monkey and trying to conceal our love for one another.

But the truth is I’ve barely said six words to him.

Sunbae wasn’t joking when he said I would do nothing but work. Every day, I have dance practice. Every other day, I have voice class. On the days opposite of voice class, I have Korean culture studies.

So, even if I am fluent in Korean now, I wouldn’t know, because my vocabulary is limited to, “Ne,” “Aniyo,” “Jaebal,” and “Araso.”

Literally, I don’t think I’ve said anything other than that for sixty two days. Or 1488 hours, depending on how you like to look at it. Everything has become increments of hours for me: I have practice for ten hours, and then two hours of either/or vocal or Korean studies. I sleep for eight hours, and eat or am in the car for the other four.

But every day, when I get up, there is a new word, printed in English, taped to my toothbrush; I recognize Joon’s handwriting. First, it’s the word written in Hangeul, and then phonetical spelling, and then English translation. We’re learning together, it seems.

This morning it was “favorite”: 즐겨찾기,jeulgyeochajgi, favorite.

When I get into the practice room, 4AM, dark and early, Sunbae, who I haven’t seen in a few weeks, is leaning against the mirror, waiting. I bow.

He looks at me, and as he’s walking out, says in Korean, “You’ll be attending an interview with the boys—just to get a feel of it. You won’t be on camera; you’ll probably be in the audience.”

“Sunbae,”I call. He turns, expectant. “How much time do I have to practice?”

He smiles, the first in a long time. “I’ll send someone to come get you.”

And so, three hours later, when I’m covered in sweat and everything is good, G.O. opens the door with a hysterically laughing Seungho behind him.“Yah!”G.O. says, and then smiles when he hears the song (Rollling U). The boys are speaking more around me, aware that my Korean’s getting better. Not like I’ve gotten to talk, but I listen. “Let’s go!”

I smile, “Araso, Oppa.” I pause, “Wait! I have time to change right?”

G.O. turns to Seungho, who has finally calmed down from his laughter, and they converse for a few seconds. He turns back, “Hurry!”

I shut off the iPod, shove it in my duffel bag, and off to the dorm we are.

The walk is anything but quiet. It’s only G.O. and Seungho, but their running around and laughing and singing and dancing. I’m a little behind, but suddenly G.O. turns with a mischievous look about him. I stop walking. Seungho begins laughing, the kind of laughter that’s so bad it’s silent. Oh, no…

“I forgot to give this back to you.”

“YAH!”I yell, snatching the it of his hands. “Why are you giving it to me now?! In the middle of the road?!”

They are laughing, hysterically.

Over my freakin’ bra.

“Aish!”Agitated, I stomp over to Seungho, who is leaning against a wall, and rip is hat off of his head. And to replace said hat, I hook my bra around his head, making sure that it looks like he has another pair of ears.

G.O. is now snorting as he laughs, and Seungho stares at me with his dark circle lasers. “Aw,” I say sarcastically, patting the right pad,“aegyo!”

And then I kept walking, taking a prideful swing to my hips when I hear Seungho curse.

We dance our way back to the dorm, jumping off ledges and doing backflips off buildings (after barely clearing the first one, I was banned from such activites) until we get home. When I walk in, I am greeted by Joon and Mir sitting cross legged on the floor of the kitchen, staring at one another intently while Cheondung sits on the counter, staring intently at his iPod.

“What are you doing?” I hear Seungho ask them as I walk to my room.

“Staring contest,” Cheondung says, “whoever can make it for five minutes wins. Loser becomes winner’s slave.”

“How did this happen?” G.O. laughs.

“Don’t know,” he replies, “they just told me to keep time.”

“How much longer?” I ask before I go to my room.

Cheondung laughs, “Three minutes. Mir’s already crying.”

I meant until we leave, but okay.

I change into a pair of new jean shorts and a tank top, slipping a hoodie over it. And, just for good luck –as it has become my reason for pushing through so well recently—, I go to my sock drawer and pull out the piece of paper that fell out of Joon’s shorts so many moons ago. Hangeul is horribly difficult for me to learn, especially this Hangeul (the handwriting is really messy) so I still don’t know what it says.

I kind of don’t want to, I mean what if it says “We need milk” and I’ve been using it as a source of motivation.

Wouldn’t that ?

Shaking me from my thoughts is the ruckus of the boys; there’s a winner of the contest.

I leave the paper on my dresser and head out. Joon’s palms are pushed into his eyes, mouth opening and closing in distress. Mir is running around, making loud noises. Seungho and G.O. are eating something and Cheondung is laughing quietly at his friends. I walk over, leaning against the counter beside him, “So Mir won?”

He laughs, “No, Joon did.” I quirk and eyebrow; confused. To this, he shrugs.

“I’m going crazy!” Joon groans leaning against the wall, palms to his eyes.

“Stop being such a baby,” I say, going to my room and grabbing my eye drops. I’m not surprised to see him in the exact same position as before. I sigh, rip his hand from his eyes and tilt his head back.

“What are you doing?!” He yells.

“Hush,”I say. Damn, I‘m getting good at this whole Korean thing.

Like the good boy he is (HA!) he calms down, hissing when the droplets hit his poor eyes. “Babo,” I chastise, “what are you thinking doing stupid things like this? Having Mir for a slave isn’t going to do much for you—what are you going to make him do, hmm?”

I lean back when I finish, watching him squeeze his eyes. I wipe the tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Mir-ah!”I call, standing and walking to the living room, where he sits, pouting. His expression brightens a little when I call him, though. I chuck him the bottle, laughing, “Use these.”

I look back at Joon. I wink.

He smiles.

“Yah!” Manager hyung says, walking into the dorm. He moved out because I moved in, and I think he’s sort of holding a grudge against me for it. But, whatever. “Let’s go! We have makeup and hair and everything else before recording!”

As the boys bounce about, he turns to me, “Don’t talk to anyone, araso? As far as anyone should be concerned, you’re a new employee.”

Right. A foreigner as an employee?

You’re funny.