Ch. 6: Grasshopper

 

• Creme de Menthe
• Creme de Cacao
• Heavy Cream

 

            I stood outside of Tableau, my trumpet case open for tips. I could feel the sweat dripping out of my hair. I breathed.  Out.  In.  Out.  In.  Then, I picked up my trumpet, pressing the cool metal of the mouthpiece to my lips.

            Grandpere, this one’s for you, I thought.

            I began to play the first song he taught me. It was hard without someone to play my duet, but Dream a Little Dream of Me… It was his favorite song.

            As soon as I finished the song, the head waiter of the restaurant came out to chase me off. Technically, busking is legal in the French Quarter until sundown, but he hated me. As I ran away, I caught the eyes of one of the chefs. He stood out with his bubblegum pink hair.

***

            I found myself walking down to Decatur, then up toward Canal Street. I got to my apartment, only to find a note on the door.  It was an eviction notice.

            “Today just isn’t my day, is it Grandpere?” I asked, clutching the handle of my trumpet case.

            I turned around, heading down Magazine, looking for a safe place to spend the night. That wasn’t exactly easy in a city like New Orleans.

            About an hour later, I began to feel dizzy. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything in almost 12 hours. My water intake hadn’t been so great either.  I only got a couple of steps further before a pounding headache started. My vision began to swim as I stumbled through the door of a grey building. 

            I felt myself falling. I tried to turn so that my trumpet wouldn’t hit the floor. It wouldn’t sound right if it got dinged up.  I think someone caught me before I hit the floor.

***

            I came to on a sofa. My trumpet was on the floor next to me. On the table was a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice.

            As I stared at the oatmeal, a … a very tall and kind of noodly boy entered the room.

            “Don’t just stare at it,” he said. “Eat up.  Your blood sugar is dangerously low and you’re dehydrated.”

            I was staring at him now, instead of the oatmeal.

            “Unless you want to pass out again?” He raised one eyebrow.

            I looked back to the oatmeal and reached for the spoon.

            The oatmeal really hit the spot. The boy -- he introduced himself as Hyungwon while I was scarfing down the food -- had to tell me to slow down.

            Once I’d eaten most of the oatmeal, another man entered the room. Unlike Hyungwon, with his thin frame, this man was more muscular.  His facial features seemed more delicate though.

            “How are you feeling?” he asked. His face held concern, but his eyes had so much more.

            “Much better,” I replied. The man nodded then sat down next to me.

            “What’s your name?” he asked. “The name on the case says Satchmo Jr. but I don’t think that’s you.”

            I laughed. “No, I’m not Satchmo Jr. That’s Grandpere.  I’m Changkyun Im.”

            “So I’ve told you my name,” I said. “What’s yours?”

            The man gave Hyungwon a look before turning back to me. Hyungwon left the room. 

            “You can call me Wonho,” he said. “Come, we should move into the main area of the shop.”

            With that, we stood up. I picked up my trumpet, unwilling to leave it behind.

            “So how did you find my shop?” Wonho asked.

            The “shop” seemed to actually be a bar. The sign over the bar itself said Mon Astre in a cursive font. Hyungwon was cleaning behind the bar.

            “It was an accident,” I explained. “I got evicted from my apartment today, so I just kept walking down Magazine, looking for a place to stay, and I stumbled in here.”

            We sat down at a booth. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Hyungwon had started mixing something.

            “I don’t think it was an accident, Changkyun,” Wonho said. “I think it was inevitable.”

            Inevitable? I thought. I didn’t think I believed in fate, but maybe...

            “I think it was inevitable that you would find your way here. We were always going to meet.”

            He paused.

            “And I was always going to offer you a choice.”

            With that, Wonho stood up and got whatever it was that Hyungwon had made. The drink was a minty-green color with chocolate shavings on top.  Wonho set the drink in front of me, but I didn’t touch it.

            “What is this choice?” I asked. I had tingling all up and down my spine. Something was up.

            “I can grant your wish for happiness, but there will be a price,” he said.

            Happiness? I thought.

            “What price?” I asked. I still had yet to touch the drink.

            “That depends.” He smirked. “The universe must remain in balance.”

            “I… think I am happy, thanks.” I tried to use my usual sass, but the whole situation had me on my toes.

            “Changkyun Im, you came to us starving and dehydrated.” He sounded like Grandpere.

            “I just need to help myself up. If I audition at enough music schools and record companies, one of them has to take me eventually,” I fired back.

            “You know the chances of that are slim, Changkyun.” Wonho looked me straight in the eye.  “We can help you.”

            “I can’t pay for a wish though,” I muttered as I looked down. The green drink stared back up at me.  “I’d have to sell my trumpet, and even then -- “

            “Wishes are not paid for with money,” Wonho interrupted. “Though you still may not be able to bear the cost.”

            “What is the cost? I want to be able to live. My only skill is music but I want to live!” I was crying now. The sobs shook my whole body. Wonho had stripped me down to my rawest emotional level, brought all of my insecurities to the front.

            “The cost for that,” Wonho started, “would be your identity. This Changkyun Im before me would cease to exist.  All that would be left is IM, the street performer.”

            I glared at the drink in front of me. Could I do it?  Could I give up being me in order to be able to survive?

            I picked up the drink.

            “I’ll do it,” I muttered. “I’ll stop being Changkyun Im.”

            “Then we have a deal,” Wonho’s smile held sadness.

            I hesitated for a moment, then took a sip of the drink, It tasted like the peppermint patties I used to eat as a kid.

            “Changkyun Im, your name and identity now belong to me.” Wonho’s eyes almost seemed to glow.

            The change started slowly. I forgot what the drink reminded me of. Then I forgot my first sunset on the Mississippi. I gripped the table as more and more of my memories slipped away. 

            The room swam in front of my eyes.

            “I’m sorry, Grandpere,” I whispered as my memory of learning Dream a Little Dream of Me slipped away.

            The last thing I saw before I passed out was a familiar head of pink hair. Why do I know him? I thought as the room went black.