The Visit

I was sitting and staring on an endless field, though I don't know where I am. I was waiting, but still there was nothing, just grasses that tickled my bare feet every time I move.

I kept on waiting

"I knew you would be here," Dad's voice dragged me out of the scenery that was me out of the reality. I turned to face him. The light was touching half of his face, the other half was covered by his hand.

"Oh, hey dad, what brings you here?" I placed my brush down and laid my stained hands on my lap as I directed my attention to him. I was expecting that he would answer, but instead, he shook his head and moved closer towards me.

His eyes were piercing through something. I followed his gaze.

"Let me guess, is this a meadow?" he leaned in, observing the green canvas on the easel like it was a masterpiece you would see at the museum. Well, it didn't look anything like that.

I replied hesitantly, "It could be. It depends on you."

He gave me a half smile, quite unsure.

Although I've been here since this morning, I have not yet found the perfect image for this painting. May it be a meadow or just plain fields, I have no idea.

"Are you okay, dear?" there was a hint of confusion and uncertainty on his voice.

I tilted my head to see Dad's face despite of the sunlight blocking my vision. He had been giving me this kind of expression lately, like he was about to cry. It was uncomfortable. I don't want to see my father cry. If I did, I will blame myself for it and I don't want to keep blaming myself for everything.

I darted my gaze on the tip of my shoes, noticing that my shoelaces were left untied.

"Of course, I am," my voice cracked. I was choking with my own words. It wasn't a lie, but it felt like one.

I haven't told him yet what happened at the festival last night. Why I didn't went home with the boys, and why I have made an awkward attitude by locking myself on my room, avoiding his endless knocking.

I was thinking that it was the reason why I have this suffocating conversation with him now.

I was unaware. The whole time I was thinking about my encounter with Choi Gayoung (that I didn't tell him). What happened was the response of not seeing her after twelve years that I had contemplated before I went to sleep, that I was unprepared. Maybe the next time I'll see her, I will do better. But I had decided that I won't let that next time happen.

I felt bad for Dad, though. It was still a mystery for him why my friendship with Gayoung ended. I couldn't tell him. However, it wasn't a real one. I assumed.

"I miss your sister," he finally spoke, and he sounded like crying. I didn't bother looking up because I knew I would just regret it. I bent my head down towards my shoes, mentally tying the laces.

"Anyhow," he breathed in some air, which lessened the tension around us. He continued, "Mrs. Lu called me this morning. She said that she wants to see you, Hyeri.” he faced me, his eyes were damped.

"Sure. I will," I agreed, giving him a faint smile. The moment I told him this, I saw his face brightened.

"Great! I will tell her then," he gave my shoulder a little squeeze, and then wiped his face with his shirt. He then reminded me, "Oh, yeah, come at the shop before you leave. I have something to give you."

I nodded and watched him took a step down at the ladder.

Oddly, the lilacs were not in full bloom today.

I kept staring at them.

"I miss her, too, dad."

Chanyeol kept on ranting the whole time at the van. He scolded me like a father of a three-year old son who broke a vase on the neighbor's house.

No, I didn't speak. He didn't let me. Whenever I tried to, he will interrupt me, doing different hand gestures on his free hand while the other one on the stirring wheel.

"You sounded like an old person, Chan," Kyungsoo, who was dozing off, said to him in his monotone voice that he only uses when he was getting annoyed.

"He's right. Shut up, giant," Baekhyun, never leaving his eyes on the page of his book, said.

I bit my lip, holding back the small laughs escaping my mouth. I was trying my best to cough it all away, but I end up getting breathless. So, I wasn't the only one who felt annoyed with Grandpa Chan and his "words of advice"—as what he called it.

I glanced at Chanyeol's firm back and saw that he was turning into a light shade of pink.

"These flowers are lovely," I shifted my gaze at the posy of daisies laying on top of my lap, distracting myself to avoid looking at Chanyeol's red ear. I couldn't see his expression, but I bet it was something funny.

"I arranged that!" he stopped the car abruptly, making us lean forward without keeping our balance.

"Hey!" Baekhyun snapped at him for his book was thrown completely away from his grasp.

"This is Hyeri's destination," Chanyeol mockingly lifted his brow at him. The both of them exchanged glares, secretly cursing each other at the back of their minds. They wouldn't stop. It was like a situation where there was an imaginary electrical force between their gazes.

"Oh, geez, will you guys stop?" I held the basket and smacked them both on the top of their heads.

I heard their whines before I shut the door close. Although I knew that they would end up ignoring each other, I was worried about Kyungsoo more. With just a few hours, those two will be back as best friends but if Kyungsoo couldn't get enough sleep, the two guys will be dead meat. I watched them went and found Kyungsoo waving me good bye.

I held my hand up in response. Oh, he's awake.

Good luck with those two.

I waited for them to fade in a distance before taking my heels in front of Mrs. Lu's front door.

I was sixteen when the last ltime I saw her, and I know there were some changes in her. Does she have gray hair now, that as far as I could remember she could be in her 50’s? I wasn’t sure.

What I have remembered was that Mrs. Lu was a petite kind of woman. Her face was small, as well as her hands. I really like watching her hands. The way she swayed them gracefully like she was holding something so fragile, it reminded me of my mom.

I pressed the doorbell beside the white fiber glass door, listening to the echo it brought inside the house.

The door opened, revealing a wrinkled lady, eyes that squinted naturally and that same old unwavering smile.

She greeted me, “Hyeri!”

“Hi there, Mrs. Lu. It’s been--” without letting me finish my sentence, she pulled on a tight hug that she always do whenever we came to visit her.

I was grasping for air, but I couldn’t let her notice that.

“Come inside,” she guided the way on her living room after slamming the door behind us.

Her house was huge. It didn’t look like it was on the outside, but when you came to look on the inside, you would gasp in awe with the humongous space she had. The ceilings were high and the area was spacious enough to let ten people roam around the place.

“How have you been, Hyeri?” she sat across of me and asked.

“I’m doing great, Mrs. Lu. How about you?”

Her smile didn’t disappear and answered, “Oh, well, I’m fine. I’m not that young anymore, but still living.” She laughed dryly.

“That’s good to hear,” I returned her smile, but soon looked away towards the flowers beside me. I couldn't keep my gaze on her. They were telling me something.

“My dad would like to give you these,” I stretched my hand and the basket to her reach.

“These are lovely, Hyeri. Give your dad my thanks,” she smiled at me while sniffing the flowers.

She gave me a tour on the house before we went to her garden. She knew that I loved being at her garden. While we were walking, she told me about the things that I have missed when I wasn’t around. 

She mentioned about her son and their trip to China three years ago. About how she have forgotten the way to their house in Shanghai as she went shopping one day, or how her son scolded her for showing baby pictures of him to his girlfriend—those were some of the things.

Mrs. Lu originally lived in China. but my father said that she had been living here in our country way before I was even born. Sometimes, whenever I came to visit her, she would read to me a Chinese book and she would translate it until the time comes that I was reading the book all by myself. Some other times, she would recite poems and sing songs that we would never get tired to listen.

Maybe that’s the reason why I could distinguish the differences between the accents between Chinese and Korean.  But it was a long time ago. 

“Uh, how old is your son again, Mrs. Lu?” I asked. 

She wrinkled her nose. “Twenty-five? Can’t remember. But he has grown into a fine man,” she said proudly.

Mrs. Lu had only one child—a son. Although I was a constant visitor of hers before, I have never seen him ever since, not even in pictures. He was in China as what Mrs. Lu would explain. 

“Aren’t you getting lonely sometimes?” we walked our way to