▲ ONE
Recalling the Past
SET THE SCENE: the sound of packed traffic, cars racing by, people laughing, crying, and talking—all combined in the busy streets of night time Gangnam. The camera zooms in, closer, no longer showing the cityscape of tall buildings and traffic packed streets. Rather, the back side of a woman nearing thirty. She walks down a crowded sidewalk. Bumping into various people, whom don’t seem happy about it. The camera shifts to catch the people’s mumbles, and nonchalant whispers; before it twists around to get a close up of the woman’s face. She looks normal, except for a small scar on the upper left-hand corner of her forehead. She stops walking, the camera stops too. And, after huffing—blowing particles of her hair upward—the story begins.
Boyoung’s left eye twitches as she slams down the piece of paper in her hand. Her nervous, and young, assistant stands beside her—glancing between her, and the man sitting idly in front of them. Boyoung moves pieces of her auburn hair out of her face. Her hazel eyes snap up toward the man with a scowl on her face. “What is this?” She mutters in a calm voice. Using her pointer finger, she slides the paper across the desk toward the slim man in disgust. Confused, the blonde man looks at it then back at Boyoung. His mouth opens, as if to say something; but, she silences him by slamming her hand on the desk. "This!" She points towards the paper with her painted fingernails. "This is novice writing." The man blanches as the woman shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair once more. “What do you expect me to do with this?" She asks to which the man only drops his head. "I can’t do anything with this. This, this is trash. Something that has no redeeming qualities. And what do you do with something that has no redeeming qualities?” Filled with anger, her wide eyes narrowing in on the man who cowers in his seat.
“You flush it down the toilet.”
Boyoung snatches the paper. Her lip snarls in disgust as she crumbles it within her figures, and throws it at the blonde man in front of her. It hits him directly in the forehead. Her pale assistant, freaks. The man before her, keeps his eyes closed tightly. She watches as pain wafts through his features. It slightly pleases her. After a second, he takes a deep breath, as he stands up. His hands grip tightly onto the edge of her dark plaster desk (eyes still shut). “I asked for advice,” He whispers in a weak voice. She wonders why he sounds weak. It can't possibly be for writing that trash. It probably only took a few minutes to write. Not a whole night like a good writer.
The man's eyes shoot open. Daggers puncture Boyoung as she sends them right back at him "Not for you to attack me, you callous nightmare!" His voice booms around her medium sized office—sounding as if it resonated in his stomach. His chest heaves up and down as he slides a hand down his stressed out features.
Offended, Boyoung rises to her feet. Her hands smacking against her desk. The man flinches at the loud sound and aggressive moment. "Don't come to me for advice, if you can't take constructive criticism! You coward!" Frustrated, the man ruffle's his hair and drops his head toward his chest. Boyoung, on the other hand, casually takes a seat once more. Crossing her legs and placing her hands in her lap like a mannered lady. "Whho taught you to write this atrociously?"
The man screams. Literally. From the bottom of his stomach, screeches. Boyoung's pale assistant covers his ears as he backs into the corner (scared). She, on the other hand, sits up straight appalled at the outburst. "Who taught you how to be a vicious witch? No wonder people can't stand you!" Instead of screaming like an adolescent, Boyoung reaches for the nearest object. It happens to be a heavy weight stapler. With no warning, she throws it—straight at the man's head. He dodges just in time to avoid the stapler. Thus causing it to slam into the door, and create a small hole.
With his mouth agape, the man glances between the hole in the door and Boyoung. "What the hell is wrong with you?" His eyes widen even more as he adamently shakes his head at her. "Honestly, what is wrong with you?" Boyoung huffs, and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Get out!”
Tense and stressed, the man shakes his head with a sigh. "I can't believe we're related." Boyoung glares at the retreating figure of her younger cousin. Minwoo. After promptly slamming the door, she huffs and relaxes into the plushy feeling of her leather desk chair. Her assistant stares at her with wide eyes as she breathes in and out raggedly trying to calm herself down. Ever since she was a teenager, Minwoo has been the one person to constantly cause an uproar in her life. The only person to constantly get on her nerves. And the only person to constantly get her frazzled. What really gets on her nerves, is the mere fact that he believes a good writer. When he's barely above mediocre. If he drops his pride; maybe, just maybe, she'd feel like helping him. There's a golden rule that says only do what you know best: write. Don't give directions to the camera man, or anyone else for that matter.
Boyoung scoffs, "Can you believe him?" She swivels toward her assistant. Promptly ignoring his disheveled hair, and panic filled expression. "He's arrogant, and ignorant!" He only stays back at her. Not that she notices or even cares. Her mind seemingly focused on her cousin. "He can't believe we're related? I can't believe we're related! How does he expect to make it in this industry, if he can't even comprehend the basics of it?"
Jiwon, her assistant, takes a step to the side. Getting away from her angered insanity. "Miss Oh, don't you think you're being a bit...harsh?" He mumbles. Instantly, her eyes snap toward him. Scowling. Seemingly not able to believe that he's taking her cousin's side...not hers.
"I'm sorry, who do you assist exactly?" She bites, as she crosses her arms over her cream colored silk shirt, and crosses one leg over the other: ruffling the edges of her knee high navy skirt. She looks displeased, even a bite annoyed; definitely angry. Not at her assistant though. At Minwoo. Mainly because he's a moron that Boyoung can't stand.
Jiwon gulps as he nibbles on his bottom lip. Shakily, he brings a finger up and points it at her. "You, Miss Oh."
She nods, and stands up—brushing the ends of her skirt as she does so. "That's right," Boyoung grabs for a binder filled with papers, and heads for her door. "Go get me a coffee," She flicks her wrist, glancing down at her watch as her feet gradually take her out of the office. Jiwon scurries after her. "If it's not here in five minutes," She glances up at him and shakes her head. "Consider yourself fired." Like a queen, Boyoung strides off—ignoring Jiwon's incessant looks of panic. He shouldn't be that worried. Jiwon is Boyoung's fifteenth assistant in the last month. Her boss, an insufferable man, has told her there's no way Jiwon is allowed to be fired. Not unless there is a sufficient enough reason. Firing him over not bringing her coffee fast enough: not considered sufficient.
Boyoung gaits down the hallway, gaining looks from those sat cowering behind their cubicle walls and private offices. They stare at her because it's her in the flesh. Psycho Queen Oh. No longer confined to her cage she causes an office, or a jail house called a set. Seeing her outside of those two places, is nearly unheard of and a bit of a scary notion. People tend to overestimate Boyoung though. They think she's some high authority figure that's virtually the biggest jerk to live on the planet. They give her to much attention and fail to realize that she's not that bad. Yes, she has her moments; but, she doesn't wield a knife and scream like a banshee to anyone who crosses her path. Rumors will do that though. Boyoung is a stickler for rules, and doesn't like anyone who fails to follow them. Believing that if they make the same mistake twice, they should be fried.
"Ah, Producer Oh, there you are." A mousy man calls out once he spots the sophisticated brunette. She doesn't spare him a glance as she continues to click her Louis Vuitton's against the tiled floors of the SBS building. "I've been meaning to ask if you got—"The man abruptly cuts himself off when Boyoung comes to a complete stop. He crumbles a bit as she whips her hair over her shoulder and lets a hand come down to rest on her waist. Her eyes stare back at him with a firm gaze. One that taunts him, calling him a weasel.
Her head tilts to the side, as if she's wondering about something. "Chirp, chirp, chirp," She pauses as the bird noises echo and waft through the silent room of prying eyes. "Do I look like some sort of bird to you? One that's ready to whisper little details into your ear?"
"No, no ma'am." The man stutters—bowing his head and averting his gaze to the ground.
Boyoung crosses her arms over chest and shifts her weight from one leg to the other. "Then why do you insist on talking to me as if I'm one?" Her voice is ever so subtle, and if not for the context of the words, she actually sounds kind. Only a tinge of aggression nips at the ends of her words (like the bitter aftertaste of coffee.) "Half a minute late," Boyoung barks as Jiwon arrives next to her with his heart beating out of his chest. Forcefully, she drags it out of his hand, and glowers. "Be faster next time. I'm a busy woman, and I need my assistant to be quick on necessities; especially coffee." She takes her eyes off her measly assistant, to look back at the short thin man. "You are merely an assistant producer. Nothing more than an assistant. Who are you to ask me a question?" Her head tilts, and she sounds like a saint; but, her eyes hold the key to a ticking time bomb. "Do you know what I do?"
The man shakes nervously, "You're a field producer, ma'am."
Boyoung's nose flares as she hands the binder over to Jiwon, and sets her coffee a top the banister beside her. "Yes, I am a field producer. I'm the one who looks everywhere for a place to film outside of the studio. I'm the one that coordinates stories for production. I'm the one who forms bonds annd relationships with the cast so that we can get truthful interviews," With every sentence, her body takes a threatening step toward him. And with every sentence, the man takes a cowering step back. "I'm the production manager. I'm the coordinator. I'm the videographer. I'm everything and more." Her heels finally stop clicking when the man crumbles to the floor after tripping. Everyone watching gasps in shock. Everyone but Boyoung. "You're an assistant producer. All you do is assist. So, I'll ask you again, who are you to ask me a question?"
He sniffles, "Nobody, ma'am."
Boyoung nods, satisfied with the answer as she flips her hair back over her shoulder. "That's correct." She grabs her coffee of the banister, snatches the binder back, and signals Jiwon to follow her. They exit the glass French doors and round the corner where she comes to a complete stop. She pants. She shakes her head. And then she lightly screams. All the while, Jiwon stands there out of place and still panting from his coffee run. "What do I look like to you?" She questions after turning on her heel to face him.
Nervous, Jiwon shrugs. "A mess?"
"Shut your mouth!" She barks, as she turns away and begins fast walking down the hallway. Jiwon berates him as he tries to keep up with her. When they reach the elevators, she hits the button, and finally takes a sip of her coffee. Trying to cool herself down. If there's something Boyoung fails at, it's being calm. She has a tendency to blow after being calm and collected. If she was ever in a cartoon, she'd be the one who constantly has smoke coming out of their ears.
Boyoung begins to tap her foot idly against the ground in a familiar rhythm. Why are the elevators so slow today? This is just adding onto her annoyance. As if she doesn't have enough on her plate, the phone rings. Huffing, she passes the binder to Jiwon (nicely this time) and fishes her phone from her skirt pocket. The word mother flashes across the screen as it vibrates incessantly in the palm of her hand. Jiwon glances of her shoulder, and lightly smiles. "You should answer it. Mother's and daughter's should always have good relations." Boyoung rolls her eyes as she tightens her grip on her phone.
"Tread lightly. You know nothing about my mother."
"What's there to know?" He asks, as he tilts his head to the side in wonder. She glances at him, for a split second. Finally noticing that Jiwon is actually quite attractive. She's sure that girls fall all over him. He's the classic example of a flower boy. Wait till he gets on set, everyone will be all over him.
Boyoung bites her tongue, and witholds her snarky comment. Instead, she presses the talk button and brings her phone up to her ear. "What?"
Her mother gasps at her tone of voice, nearly flabbergasted. "Excuse you, young lady—is that anyway to speak to your mother?" Boyoung pinches the bridge of her nose as she continues to tap her foot. Only the familiar song is gone, and now replaced with animosity. Besides Minwoo, her mother has a fine way of getting on her nerves. There's a certain button that her mother has the means to click every time they speak. It's as if she has Boyoung mapped out from head to toe.
"Get to the point, mother. I'm busy." She would really like to hang up and then throw her phone clear across the room in act of defiance. But, that would only be a clear cut invitation for her mother to get into her trashy Honda Accord, and drive halfway across Seoul to Songpa-gu, park on the curb (yes, the curb) in front of Boyoung's 27 story apartment building, climb 26 stories of stairs (because the elevators aren't working), knock on Boyoung's bright blue door fifty times, before fetching the key underneath her brown welcome mat, invite herself in, begin cooking in the kitchen she doesn't use, clean the house, do her laundry, peak through her belongings, and then wait impatiently for Boyoung to come home...only to yell at her for hanging up.
Her mother sighs extravagantly huffing out whatever is left in her body. Mumbling something along the lines of that's not the way you speak to your mother. "Tomorrow, at noon," She begins, and Boyoung can already feel herself getting annoyed. Her mother's signed her up for something, again. "You're going on a date with your father's co-worker's brother's son. Apparently, he's a rich lawyer who donates a lot of his money to charity, and works part time at an animal shelter. He sounds like a lovely man, right?" Her mother sounds breathlessly excited by the proclamation of a lawyer being rich, not the added on charity work he does. Her mother wastes no time for Boyoung to reply, as she quickly continues. "It's set up at that coffee shop you like across from your work.
"Mom, I have work I have to finish." She mumbles as she runs a hand against her forehead--wiping the sweat off. She's sweating profoundly. Whenever she's annoyed, her bodily functions erupt. Including the act of sweating. Thankfully she put deodorant on today, because she feel the beads of sweat forming in her armpits. She just hopes her hair doesn't get sticky.
Boyoung can feel her mother's glare from across the line. "What's more important? Work, or lifelong happiness?" In Boyoung's mind, there's no time for lifelong happiness she has things to do. She doesn't have time to meet men, pretend to enjoy their company, act like a perfect lady, settle down, and have a few kids. No. Not her. Not now. She has work to do. A ladder to climb. And a future to walk to. "Sometimes, you're just like your father. Workaholics." Her mother lets out another sigh. "Look, Boyoung, my darling daughter—I didn't give birth to you just so you could work twenty-four-seven. I gave birth to you so that you could give me lots of grand babies, and you haven't even met a nice man. If you don't go on this date: I'll find you, and do what a mother does best...nag." Her mother pauses again, possibly thinking; but, Boyoung only hopes it's her way of saying goodbye because she's ready to hang-up. "And you know, you're not getting any younger. Men will only date women up to a certain age. You're half way to thirty, sweetie." Boyoung wants to rip her hair out in frustration. Her mother the button pusher: a professional annoyer, and nagger expert.
The elevator doors ding, as they slide open. Boyoung strides in with Jiwon on her heels. He looks a little concerned at her; not that she cares. "Isn't this a bit unfair, mother? I've gone on two blind dates already. Can't I have a break before you force me back at it?"
"The last date was three months ago," Her mother strains, sounding horrified at the prospect that it's been so long. At least, that's her opinion. Boyoung feels like it hasn't been long enough. "And I talked to Seungho's mother, and she said, that he said, that you only stayed for twenty minutes; before paying for your lunch and ditching because of some emergency." Now, now Boyoung just wants this over with.
"Fine, mother, I'll go." Defeated, she listens to her mothers squeals of triumph. "I'm hanging up." And she does, despite the woman telling her not to.
Jiwon smiles at her, "Was that so bad?"
Boyoung keeps quiet, and to herself. Breathing in. Then breathing out. She repeats the process. Her can be a bite much for her to handle. Her housewife mother incessantly forces her to go on dates, her useless cousin is always asking for favors, people at work despite her because they think she's a psycho, and the newest episode of her variety show is to be filmed in three hours. And she's yet to meet up with all the cast members to reaffirm that shooting is to go as planned and nothing will go bad like last time. Everyone is worried over that. When a guest—a famous idol—falls down a flight of stairs, and breaks a leg, fractures an arm, and receives a nasty concussion: it's enough to worry anyone.
"Check my schedule, make sure I'm booked up tomorrow at noon." She states, as she runs a hand through her hair in frustration. Jiwon nods a bit disappointed. If there's one thing he's learned in the past two days of working for Boyoung. It's that despite his personal opinion, he can't go against her wishes. Even though he feels as if her mother's right, he has to make the excuses so she doesn't have to go. Though, Jiwon tends to believe that if Boyoung begins dating she may be a fraction of a percentage nicer.
The two stand in dead silence. The only sound coming from the elevator shaft. Boyoung is grasping her coffee cup tightly, and soon enough the plastic top pops off. Simmering liquid spills over onto her hand. Jiwon freaks, as she keeps calm. The stinging sensation only stays for a few seconds before it dissipates. "How long before my first meeting?" She seethes.
"Five hours, why?" Jiwon questions as he grabs tissues from his bags and wipes at her wrist.
Boyoung shakes him off her as the elevator doors open. Revealing the modern taste of the SBS building's lobby. "We don't need the car; we can just walk." Boyoung had a big plan set for the next five hours before her meeting with the cast members of her stupid variety show; only now, she's dumping that and making new plans. The variety show Perfect Match is a wacky take on the wildly popular We Got Married. Seeing as MBC is their rival, SBS’s CEO, CFO, coordinating producers, and executive producers decided to create their own version of it. Five main hosts: all famous comedians; are like the guiding force for the idol and actor contestants who appear on the show for a series of episodes as they go through a bunch of quizzes, and interviews: until they’re paired with their ‘perfect match’. Once they’re paired (with the help of the producers who are an influential part of getting idols and actors together) the show splits off into two directions. One part is focused on the continuation of matching up of the idols and actors who still haven’t been paired, while the other part focuses on the road of perfection with the matches. And it stays that way until the matches decide to leave the show. Thus, the process starts over again. And, so far, the show has been a mega hit. The ratings are gradually rising as people come to realize that the show isn’t focused on ‘fake’ relationships; but, for idols to try and see if they can make it with someone who seems ‘perfect’ for them. Thus making the show seem more realistic and true. Specifically, thanks to Boyoung. Though, no one ever seems to give her credit.
All she's ever wanted is to achieve some notice within the show. A simple "Hey, you're doing a great job!" Some acknowledgment would go a long way for her. Instead, people fear her. And thus hate her. Now, Boyoung is aware she's full of flaws. She's known since she was seventeen, where her life got messy and difficult. But that doesn't mean she doesn't deserve some sort of love and respect for everything she's done for the show and SBS as a whole. There's a reason the cast members, idols, and actors trust her like a daughter, sister, or mother. There's a reason film sites are always booked three weeks in advanced. There's a reason that everything seems to be in place no matter what. And that reason is Boyoung.
What does she get in return? Nothing. It's like a slap in the face. By this point, it's not even about the money. It's about someone saying something nice to her. Something that'll make her want to continue working. Anything. She's desperate, and feels as if she's entitled to have it. This is why, she finds herself sitting inside an orange tent, on a blue plastic chair eating chicken feet and drinking rice wine. Everything is sprinkled with the colors of orange and brown; or maybe not, it's all blurry to her. And it smells like a nice vodka mixed with a tinge or orange citrus. She probably shouldn't be drinking (especially because she'll be heading to work) but it's the only thing that comforts her. It's what her father used to do when he was stressed. It's an assumption; but, she probably drinks because he used to (and still does).
"Miss Oh, are you sure you should be drinking? It's only four o'clock."
Boyoung lifts her head up and gazed at Jiwon in patent confusion. "Of course, I should be drinking. What else should I be doing?" He shifts uncomfortably as he fixes his tailored suit jacket, and tries to stop himself from wobbling on the red colored seat. Boyoung reaches up and ruffles her own hair (a lot of it ending up in her face). "We're off the clock now. Call me Boyoung." He seems shocked by what she's saying. Leaving him to only nod and mouth her name like it's a foreign language. "So, Jiwon, tell me about yourself." She slurs in a slow and rugged speech, as she waves her hand through the air. Being halfway through her second bottle of rice wine will do that.
Jiwon clears his through and straightens in his seat. "Well, I'm twenty, and this is my first actual job. And you're my first actual boss. I'm from Daegu; but, I moved to Seoul a few months ago to attend university." He pauses—getting comfortable. He swipes his tongue over his lower lip, loosens his tie, and slouches onto the table before he continues. "I've never dated once in my lie." His voice comes out a bit soft and as if he's embarrassed to talk about it. He presumes Boyoung won't even remember any of this anyway.
Boyoung runs a hand down the hair in front of her face. "I," She pauses to hiccup. "Hate dating. My mother—that witch—has forced me on a thousand-million-billion blind dates since I was nineteen. And I've hated every one of them." She sighs, as she grabs the bottle of rice wine. She places it underneath her mop of her hair and takes a quick swig before placing it back on the counter. "Every guy acts the same: arrogant. And I hate arrogance. My mom acts like they're national treasures because they're rich—it makes me want to puke!"
A few profanities leave as her forehead slams onto the table before them. Jiwon grimaces. That must've hurt. "Dating is so, so..." Boyoung springs back up. Her hair flying all over the face as she stares back at a nervous Jiwon. "Narcissistic," She her lips and snaps her fingers hurriedly. "People only because they're selfish! Because they want someone to please them. To love them, and boost their ego despite them already being egotistical!" Jiwon watches as she seemingly becomes more and more angry. Her eyes narrowing, nose flaring, lip curling; but, there's a sign of vulnerability there too. "You know who tops the last of these conceited, egotistical, self-absorbed, morons?"
Boyoung stops.
Jiwon waits patiently for her to continue; but, she just stays firmly quiet. He speaks up, when she doesn't continue. A bit nervous and a bit concerned; but, very interested. "Boyoung, are you okay?" He reaches a hand across the table, and pats her hand lightly (treading in unfamiliar territory). Boyoung just sits there. Her head leaning on her chest. Hair over her face. She just sits. Doing nothing.
"I hate him," She sniffles, sounding as if she's sobering up. "He ruined me."
The air around her seems tense to him. He almost feels like he should say something. But she beats him to it. She rises from her plastic blue chair, places money down on the table, and grabs the bottle of rice wine. Her eyes glance at it for a moment; before, she's placing it against her lips and chugging down the last of it. Jiwon stands there for a second and watches as she drops the bottle onto the table and leaves. Knocking the stool to the ground in a frenzy, Jiwon follows after her. She's only a few seconds head of him. Messily walking through a crowd of people on a busy sidewalk. She stumbles. Apologizes to people. Laughs, and then clings onto a side of a building as she continues to walk with misplaced steps.
He catches her after a minute, and tries to keep her steady. "Boyoung, this isn't right. You shouldn't be running around a busy sidewalk when you're drunk. You could get hurt, or you could hurt someone else." Forcefully, she pushes him away from her. Making both of them stumble backward in opposite directions. Jiwon gapes at her appalled. "What's wrong? I'm just trying to help."
Boyoung stops moving for a second, and Jiwon watches as she calculatedly thinks to herself. Through drunk, Boyoung can only focus on one thing. The past. Her past. Her thoughts aren't jumbled, not like the present, instead it's clear. Crystal clear. When I was young, I had five best friends, each unique with their own personality and style. People used to wonder why we were friends since we were all so different. They just didn’t understand that we were practically born into our friendship—and it stayed that way until our last year of high school. At this point, tears form in the corners of her eyes. Her lower lip begins to tremble and her hand shake. She's getting emotional.
Something bad happened then, and I haven’t seen any of them since. Now, here I am, twenty-five: crying, alone, and a drunken mess. A few chuckles leave as tears stain her pale cheeks. Jiwon watches her in a panic as the people around her gaze at her in question. I have no friends, my parents are too busy trying to get me married, and my co-workers are a bunch of nitwits. And in this moment, all I want, is to see those five losers again; but, we all hate each other. Or more like, they hate me. So what I do? I’m so drunk, that I miss them, and it makes me want to cry. What do I do?
"Help me."
Boyoung feels herself fall.
In the distance beyond Jiwon, is the ghostly look of the flapping wings of an owl. How peculiar.
Her legs give out, her heart gives out, her whole body gives out. And then it's all gone.
Nothing but a void of darkness and tiny yellow sparks.
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