June 4th, 1997

7:01 PM

Jongin as a small child

Wooden blocks lay in piles on the floor—they were all various colors: blue, red, green, yellow, purple, pink, orange, black, white, and brown. Small fingers reached for one, and as they grasped onto the hard material, they brought it back to the pile. Slowly, more blocks were retrieved, the pile grew in clumps, and soon enough, the desired amount was collected. Those blocks would build a tower, and that tower was going to be as tall and mighty as any of the structures outside of the window; they wouldn’t fall if stacked right. The process began, and the tower started to grow. One by one, the blocks were stacked upon each other, and as one block was left, the tower would be complete. With careful hands, the block was moved into place.

Footsteps walked past Jongin. The small boy looked up to see his mother striding by in a bright blue dress and towering shoes. Those shoes clacked past him and over to a mirror on the wall. She took out a tube of red lipstick and applied the color to her lips. She stood, looking in the mirror for a while, fixing her makeup and hair. Jongin thought she looked very pretty and watched her as she made herself up, neglecting to finish the tower. Finally, with her attire to perfection, his mother stepped away from the mirror and walked back towards Jongin. She strode along side of the tower and ended up knocking it over; her big shoes must have done it. Jongin watched the blocks fall back to the ground—his hard work was for nothing. A pout formed on his lips, and he gathered up the blocks again; he was just going to have to rebuild the tower.

“Don’t worry, I will be home, sometime... maybe tomorrow,” a loud voice came from the other end of the room. These words were said as if they were spoken to a child. Jongin’s mother seemed to have found another mirror to admire herself in as she talked to her husband, who was leaning up against a wall, watching with distant eyes. Jongin continued to build.

“Where are you going?” his father said. His voice compared to his spouse’s was belittling as hers held so much power and control, his was nothing more than a small breath. He stood with his shoulders slumped and arms loosely crossed, and his hairline was receding while his belly grew. He wore shabby clothes compared to his wife's graceful attire, nothing to be impressed by. But what really painted the picture of this man was his eyes: they were the same brown color as Jongin’s, but they held a different glimmer; they were sad eyes, eyes that looked upon nothing: lethargic and dull—they were dead.

The stacking continued.

“You know!” These words came out in a loud sigh that was signed with irritation, “I’m going out with some old friends, you wouldn’t know them. It wouldn’t be very fun for you to come. So, I’m sparing you the boredom and letting you stay with Jongin,” she said making her voice ring through the house. Her eyes continued to stay on her own, not bothering to look at her glum husband. They were laced with mischief; it was as if she was telling a lie to an unexpecting parent with manipulation fully on her voice.

Jongin’s father rubbed his hand over his face, wanting to plead with his wife to stay, but he was breathless. “Honey, you go out every night like this. Don’t go for on-”

“I want to go, and I will. You aren’t stopping me. I want to have some fun. Something different from you,” she cut her husband off with such force that was neither demanding nor harsh, but her words thrashed through her husband's. She didn’t want to hear his petty comment, and silence soon coated the room. The air was filled with a thick resentment, and as a result, Jongin looked up from his tower, holding a piece in his hand. The sudden change in environment caught the attention of the small boy.

Jongin’s father looked down to the floor, knowing he was fighting a useless war, “I know where you go on nights like these,” he said in a mumble, almost too ashamed to say it out loud. There was a dark cloud hanging over his head, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to look at his wife—he was humiliated to be in this situation where someone could step over him so easily.

“What did you just say?” Jongin’s mother spun around quickly to look at her husband, “Say that again. Louder, I can’t hear you when you grumble like that. I hate that the most. If you have something to say, then say it. Don’t act like the world is against you. Be a man.” Her words were spat back with vigor, and her voice was much louder. She was defending her actions by putting him down. “You have grown into a coward. I didn’t marry a man like that. Stop being a pushover,” she growled in disgust, looking her husband up and down with a sneer on her face. All of this was triggered by a few mumbles. Jongin started to build again, not liking the scene unfolding in front of him. His mother marched over to her husband, closing the distance. “How could I ever have loved a man like you. You have let yourself be run to the ground. Ugly. You’re not good looking, honey. I can’t let my beauty go to waste on someone like you. So, why not go share it with other men who would be happy to share their beauty with me? Don’t think that just because we are married you have some right over me.” Those words sounded like they came from a victim rather than an inflicter; with the art of manipulation, she was trying to turn the tables. Her words carried deep. She was in control.

Her husband kept his head low, taking the insults, and trying to find a way to get through to his stone wife. His eyes searched the ground for answers while his wife loomed above him, her eyes attacking him. “I am the father of your child. At least treat me like it. Love me… At least try too...” These words were only heard by the woman standing close to him, she heard it all: the defeated statement that trailed off into quiet. Her face twisted in repulsion, and thus she raised her hand to slap him. Jongin’s tower toppled to the floor again.

“You are not a father,” she said, turning on her heels. She walked straight towards Jongin, looking at him with forceful eyes—he could feel them peering down at him, even a small child could feel their presence. She bent down and placed her hand on his head, rubbing it roughly. This should have been a comforting action, but it felt more like a punishment. Jongin’s face went sour, but he continued to build the tower that had fallen over many times. He just wanted the hand to leave him quickly. That was the hand that took away his father's pride. “I love you, Jongin.” These words were said with ice. Was that love? “I’m going now,” his mother announced, leaving for the door. The blocks tumbled back down. She was gone.

Tears welled up in Jongin’s eyes, and he let out a loud wail. Why was his tower always falling over? He sat and cried; the tears came down, and his nose leaked. The struck man standing a few feet away watched his son with tears of his own. Slowly, he made his way over to Jongin. Kneeling down in front of him, he picked up one of the blocks, and without saying a word, he started to rebuild the tower. Jongin continued to cry, but watched, letting his tears slow. Dull eyes focused on a simple task, and calloused fingers struggled to hold the small wood, but they continued on. Soon, the tower was left with one block on the floor. His father picked it up and reached for Jongin’s hand, placing it in the small boys plam; the block was brown. Tears stopped falling, and a smile grew on Jongin’s lips. His eyes lit up, and he took the block, placing it on top of the others. He had finally done it, the tower was finally complete.

Two different sets of brown eyes looked upon those wooden blocks.  

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Comments:

Hello readers! There will be a new chapter released every Tuesday untill the conclusion of What If! This chapter holds a lot of significance, so be sure to read it intently! Thank you so much for all of your support! Please feel free to leave any comments and possible predictions on what will happen throughout the series!