September 2008

The Southern California black tops were exceptionally hot this year. I remember hearing the weatherman say that this would be one of the hottest autumns on record. Great. I wouldn’t have cared that much if my mother agreed to use the air conditioner. But now that her hours had gotten cut at the grocery store, there would have to be cutbacks to our life as well. I just marked it down on the ever changing list of how much worse my life could get.

Let’s go through some of them shall we? I stare out the window of the car, watching the white lines blur into one solid mass as I take in my appearance in the side mirror. One. While I’m thankful I inherited my mother’s straight and smooth hair, It wasn’t a good thing for a Korean like me living in California when all you really wanted was to have blonde flowing locks.

Two. My teeth. Crooked and with a nasty overbite I was teased mercilessly as a kid. (Just imagine Jennie being like this at the beginning lol) When most teenagers got braces in junior high, I had to wait until high school. I’m grateful that my mother saved for years just to afford them but at this point I’m really questioning if the metal mouth is more attractive than a bunch of screwed up teeth. At least they are white. Maybe I could’ve gotten away with it.

Three. I got my mother’s plumpness. Of course, since dad died she’s gained some weight too, not as much as me though. While I wouldn’t call myself obese, I know that I could stand to lose a couple of pounds. It’s just so hard to eat healthy when mom doesn’t make a lot of money. Eating healthy means eating better foods which cost more to buy. Isn’t that how life works? Whatever is good for you means you better pay up for it? God, now these puffy cheeks of mine are starting to get a little more distinct.

Four. My eyes. Or the four of them to be precise. My vision is horrible with astigmatism in both eyes. I can’t even get contact lenses because they don’t make them yet for my prescription. And seeing as we couldn’t afford designer frames, I’m literally peering out of coke bottle lenses. The only thing I have going for me is their color and shape. I was able to get  the cat-like deep brown eyes from them. It’s the only interesting thing about me. My mom says that when I look at her without my glasses I look like my dad. She gives me a sad smile and it breaks my heart. How can she go through life looking into a spitting image of the person she loved and lost? That brings me to number five. The loss of my father. It’s only been five years and I still feel like I’ll wake up and see him sitting at the breakfast table, sipping his coffee and looking up with a great white smile.

Sometimes I imagine him saying “Good Morning, J,” and I would respond in kind. I’d ask him what kind of crazy cases he’s seen lately and he would make me laugh with some insane story of a looney hypochondriac, sure that he had the rarest disease because he looked up his symptoms online. And then the dream will fade because I’m looking at his chair and he’s not there. His office now belonging to an insurance agent. Where it had said Michael Kim, M.D. General Medicine, it now says “Save $20 on your home or auto!” It sickens me every time we pass it. He’s supposed to be there - not just in my memories and six feet under.

“If you keep making that face it will get stuck like that forever.” Mom makes a left and I hold onto the “oh ” handle as she speeds through the turn. The groceries in the back tumble out and she winces when the milk hits the bottom of the backseat. I know she’s in a hurry to get the spoilable items in the fridge. It’s not like we could afford another trip for a while.

“You know I’m going to be a junior this year, right?” I say in response to her statement. She looks at me with a teenage ‘duh’ expression and I smirk. “That means I’ve already learned that it’s an old wives tale about your face staying stuck. So I can do this,” I cross my eyes and stick out my tongue at her, “all day long.” And just like that what I set out to do works. I hear my mother laugh deep and I smile at the fact that I put that sound there.

I still remember the first laugh I heard from her after my father died. It seemed like mom was just going through the motions. There but not really there for the longest time. And then one day, out of the blue, mom starts laughing. And it wasn’t a small chuckle. It was a knee slapping, breathless laugh. The kind that makes you smile and laugh along just from hearing and watching it. And when I was finally able to find out why she was laughing, I realized that I had barbeque sauce all over my face from the ribs I was eating. At that moment I knew that making my mother laugh was one of the best feelings in the world. So now, I try to do it at least once a day.

“I still can’t believe you’re go