3: A GOOD HOME FOR STRAY CATS

"우결," by Giriboy (feat. From)

                “Good job, Hyejin-ah,” said Naeil, handing the girl her piano books. “You’re all done now. Try to practice at least five times this week, okay?”

                The girl nodded wordlessly and hopped off the piano bench, scampering past the church alter and out the door. The sound of that door slamming shut echoed through the sanctuary, now empty except for Naeil. It might seem sad to someone else—the ugly gray rugs on the floor, the faded pews, the cinderblock walls, the pale light sifting through opaque windows—but to Naeil, it felt a lot like home.

                Throughout high school, Naeil taught kids from her little church how to play piano. There were a lot of parents there that loved music, but not many that could afford a professional. It was a good job for Naeil. Decent pay, teaching something she loved. The hardest part was remembering to smile.

                Piano classes came right after school. For the rest of the night, it was study time. Usually, she stayed at the church and worked on one of the couches or desks there. It was more spacious than her mom’s tiny apartment, anyway.

                Hungry for a snack, Naeil wandered into the kitchen, surprised to find the tall, gangly form of Lee Myeonruk hunched over a pan of vegetables on the stovetop. It was rare to see the old pastor cooking in the church kitchen. All he ever seemed to eat was salad.

                “Are you expecting people at the church tonight, abeonim?” asked Naeil. [Abeonim=polite way to say father]

                He looked up at the sound of her voice, smiling. “Oh, hello Naeil-ah, how are your studies going?”

                Naeil told him about her latest projects while coming over to help him stir the noodles he had forgotten on the stove. She would have preferred not to talk about school, but if it was with Pastor Lee, it didn’t matter. She had been calling him ‘abeonim’ for as long as she could remember, because he was the closest thing she had to a real father. The only thing her mother ever mentioned about her biological father was that he had run away, and that they were better off because of it.

                There had been a lot of hard times for Naeil and her mom; Pastor Lee had been there for all of them. When they couldn’t afford Naeil’s piano lessons anymore, Pastor Lee paid for them himself. Not to mention everything he had done for Naeil’s mom all those years ago…

                “Naeil-ah,” said the pastor, pulling a plate out of the cupboards, “I’ve forgotten to feed the cats again.”

                “You mean the cats that you said aren’t your cats?”

                “They just like to play around the church. That doesn’t mean I own them.”

                A smile formed on Naeil’s lips as she grabbed the bag of cat food from the pantry and headed outside. Various colored felines began appearing all over the place—from boxes, under cars, behind trashcans. They crowded around the pile of food Naeil poured in their big bowls.

                “One, two…three…four…five? You’re new, aren’t you? Rascal. Did he take you in too?”

                Pastor Lee could never resist taking in anyone or anything that was broken and abandoned. Naeil found it quite humorous that, in some ways, she and the cats had that in common.

                “At his age,” she mumbled, heading back inside, “He should be thinking less about taking care of others and more about retiring.”

                She was headed back to the kitchen when her ears caught a loud thump from somewhere in the ceiling. Was it just another piece of the ill-constructed old church falling apart? No, now there were more sounds, but quieter, as if someone didn’t want to be heard.

                Time to check things out.

                Technically, the church didn’t have a real second floor, because the sanctuary was so tall. But the annex behind the sanctuary had lower ceilings, enough to make room for a sizable attic. Naeil climbed up the stairs on tip-toe, holding her breath with every step. The little attic door was just above her. Light beamed through the crack. Was someone…?

                A grunt.

                Naeil pulled out her phone, ready to dial 119 if necessary. [Korean emergency number]

                She pushed the door open—and beheld a wide-eyed, shirtless Jimin, hanging from one of the low ceiling beams mid-pullup.

                Naeil’s jaw dropped. “What the heck are you doing up here, you little cockroach?!”

                Jimin fell down on his face ungracefully, scrambling up and stammering for an answer while Naeil climbed into the attic.

                “Well, I—I didn’t sneak in—mostly, I—sometimes go…here—or not really, but—wait, cockroach?”

                They both turned, hearing footsteps on the stairway.

                “Ah, Naeil-ah! You found Jimin-ah, did you?” Pastor Lee beamed. “I need you to keep quiet about this, alright?”

                “Why on earth is this kid hiding in your attic, abeonim?!”

                “‘Abeonim…?’” wondered Jimin.

                “Calm down, Naeil-ah, calm down,” he said, placing the tray on the attic floor. “He needed a safe place to stay, and I’m no one to deny him.”

                “But abeonim! A random guy? Like him? You’re all by yourself with this guy, aren’t you?”

                “I’m not dangerous!”

                “I’m not talking to you!”

                “Naeil-ah,” said Pastor Lee gently, “You’re not being very gracious right now.”

                Naeil sighed in frustration.

                “Fine. Fine. Just…please be careful. Why is he even here?”

                “You know,” said Jimin, “It’s rude to talk about someone else when they’re right in front of you.”

                “Abeonim?”

                “He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask. All he said was he needed a place to hide, and I said as long as he wasn’t running from the police, he was welcome to seek refuge here.”

                “And he’s not running from the police?”

                “No, I’m not!”

                Pastor Lee leaned forward and pat Naeil on the arm. “All will be well. Don’t worry about me, Naeil-ah. God has protected me this long.”

                Naeil pursed her lips and looked away, listening to the sound of the man’s retreating steps. It was hard to argue with him on that. Pastor Lee and his tiny little church had survived in one of the ugliest, poorest neighborhoods in Seoul for almost forty years now. The neighborhood was downright sparkly these days, compared to years past when crime rates were high and poverty was a national epidemic.

                But Naeil couldn’t help but worry. Something didn’t feel right. Not at all.

                As soon as Pastor Lee was gone, Naeil spun around and glared at Jimin.

                “Okay, now tell me what’s really going on. Why are you hiding here?”

                “I...uh…”

                Naeil took slow steps toward him.

                “You better not cause any trouble, got it?”

                “I wasn’t—”

                In one movement, Naeil swooped down to snatch Jimin’s shirt off the floor and shoved it forcefully into his chest. She leaned closer.

                “If he gets hurt, if he gets hurt at all, because of your mess, I swear I will kill you. Believe me. I know how.”

                Jimin gulped.

                With one last glare, she turned back around and hopped out of the attic.

                “By the way, Hoseok is going crazy trying to find you.”

                “Don’t tell h—”

                “I’m not telling anyone yet, but only because Pastor Lee asked me.”

Author’s Note

Now what would you be doing up in an attic, Jimin? Besides pull-ups, I mean.

I felt very nostalgic while writing this chapter. Pastor Lee is based off someone I know in real life who ran a shelter for the homeless in my town for years and years. He’s 96 now but only a few years ago he still went running every day because he’s just that hardcore.