Byulyi had a fairly unique life growing up. When she was about seven years old, family had immigrated from Bucheon, South Korea to Waxahachie, Texas, of all places. They were the only Korean family in the entire town, and one of only three other Asian families in Waxahachie. Her parents never really explained the decisions to her; both the reason why they left Korea in the first place, and why they chose bum- Waxahachie to build their new life. They started to build a living working in a chicken farm, the same one that hires about 15% of all the employees in town. Once they’d saved enough to buy an acre of arable land, their living would transition to farming Asian crops and vegetables to wholesale to various Korean grocery stores in the Koreatown of Dallas, about an hour’s drive from where they lived.

Byulyi started to work on the farm as soon as she turned fourteen when her parents had always promised her they wouldn’t pester her about it until she was sixteen. But her two sisters were still way too young at that point, and her dad’s leg was beginning to ache after wading through the soil all day. They had just gotten a horse then, to aid in the venture across the acre, unbroken because it was cheaper, and the patriarch of the neighboring family of rednecks they knew through church was very enthusiastic to teach her and her father how to break in the wild animal. Byulyi paid attention to every word coming out of his southern drawl, to every micro gestures of his body language as he approaches the horse. She hadn’t expected to be so immediately drawn to the prospect of taming this unruly brute, of drawing a connection to an animal so that it can trust her, and her family, enough to be obedient. She knocked on the neighbor’s door the next day, repeating back everything he had taught her just yesterday as his eyes bulged wide, before asking him to teach her more about horse taming. Within a year, her family’s farming business grew into another half an acre, and with that another horse. Her father stood from afar as Byulyi talked the the unbroken animal down from kicking and screaming to a gentle neigh.

If she was honest, she had more of a connection to the animals on the farm — which by the time she’d turn sixteen, consisted of the two horses, three corgis, two cows, and a chicken coop — than the people at her school. Once she really started to be good with horses, she began to think she was somehow invincible. The boys at school would dare her to jump on the unbroken horses and ride them around, almost like a form of bull riding, with even less of a safety measure. She did it to massive success on her first try, and then on her second try, and then she started doing it just for the of it. She was small and agile, and that made it much easier to land and scramble away from the furious horses after she had been flung from their backs, something the huge, ungainly American boys would always envy her for. 

It endeared her to the high school boys, and then to the girls. On her dozenth time she had grown too cocky, jumped on a particularly wild one with too much precarity, and had gotten flung across the pen, landing awkwardly on her hip. She spent the next two weeks sitting on the edge of her seat at school, wincing every time she made a slight movement, before finally telling her mom and going to the doctor with a broken tailbone. But the cheerleader that had knelt next to her, after the boys had dragged her out of the pen, who had gingerly brushed the dirt off her cheek with the gentleness of a leaf, and had checked on her every few days after she’d gone to the doctor — perhaps it was her that made the experience a whole of a lot more tolerable, even if by the end of it had made Byulyi promise to never ride untamed horses again. They promised to keep in touch at the high school graduation, and she had kissed Byulyi that in a spare bedroom at the graduation party, and then again right before she headed to college all the way in Austin. They went on their separate ways, and would never speak to each other again.

When Byulyi was twenty-one, she left her home and the farm behind, with only a high school diploma to her name as her second-youngest sister begins attending the local college in pursuit of a pre-med degree, with intentions of going to medical school after. She traveled around Texas in the old ‘91 Toyota pickup truck that her father had given her when she turned nineteen — a compensation for the last five years of hard work on the farm — getting odd jobs at rodeos and ranches while living out of a suitcase and rented rooms. The only form of permanence she had was a winter ranch job she got in Amarillo, feeding the cows and horses through the cold seasons, while the family that owned the ranch moved to their second house closer to Houston, where it’s warmer and their kids could go to a school with more than 100 students. The family had, of course, hesitated at first when the “Byulyi Moon” that applied to look over the entire six-acre ranch for the five winter months turned out to be a barely five-foot-four, scrawny woman. But they had endeared to Byulyi quite quickly, after she charmed the animals to her within minutes and helped the father haul bales of hay that were over a quarter of her weight across the farmhouse. After that it was just introducing her to the ranch’s layout and the feed schedules, then the job was hers. They were so thoroughly impressed with her work by the time March rolled around that they offered to make this a yearly gig, which Byulyi accepted with no hesitation. 

She quite liked the pay, and the family had grown to like her so much that they would sometimes randomly mail her a couple $20 bills extra along with the contracted money for food and pay, with a note telling her to drive into town and get something she liked with the money. There were plenty of food, a surprisingly comfy twin-sized bed, a box TV that worked alright, although the cell reception was so that the only phone reception that really works is the landline in the house. Sometimes, she can earn a little bit extra if one of the neighboring houses had called her over to tame some new horses. The family began allowing Byulyi to keep the majority of her belongings in the spare room when she’s gone for the warmer months two winters ago, the only form of permanence she had in her life at that moment.

_____

Her day began at six in the morning, the ranch owner had told her that the animals had only known a single feed schedule for the vast majority of their lives, and stressed how imperative it was that she stuck to it everyday. She started with pouring Kibbles into the bowl for the white barn dog as she brushes her teeth, and then wet food for the black cat that had gotten used to sleeping on her chest every night and a mixture of wet and dry for the orange tabby as she waits for the coffee in the percolator pot to boil on the stove. 

She puts on a winter jacket that she’d gotten with her first paycheck and the brown felt wide-brimmed hat that she’d gotten custom-made with her second paycheck when she’s finished with her coffee, heading for the cow shed on the old UTV with bales of hay on the bed as the dog trails behind her in a sprint, barking wildly at his own footprints in the dust of snow. She fed the cows hay, checked for sick ones, and hopped back onto the UTV to do the same for the horse stable and chicken coop. 

Afterwards, she made lunch for the cats and dog and then for herself, which was usually just Krafts’ boxed Mac-and-cheese, spent the rest of the afternoon bucking bales of hay, and then went for a second feed for the rest of the animals. Her day usually ends at seven or eight, depending on how long she wants to spend that day. And then, for the rest of her time until she falls asleep, Byulyi would spend it rolling her own cigarettes from a bag of loose tobacco she had bought from a Native reservation in Oklahoma, the box TV playing replays of sitcoms in the background.

The ranch itself was six acres, but the land beyond that stretched much, much further. Having traveled all throughout Texas, she was no stranger to how big the state truly was, but it was times like these where she really, really felt the vast emptiness that went on for miles. She quite liked the gig, but sometimes she began to grow a bit afraid of the hollow silence that screams back at her, of the nothingness for miles and miles. She was much of a loner in her teenage years, but nothing could’ve prepared her for loneliness like this, like only having the barn animals to talk to, like falling asleep to the sounds of the horses moving in their stable, to the purrs of the unnamed black cat on her chest.  She had just turned twenty-six years old, and yet the monotony of this work has left her feeling like hundreds and hundreds. It all made her feel like wanting to be invincible and reckless again.

Her mother had called a couple of nights ago, the calls used to be almost daily when she first left home, then it become weekly, and now, monthly. She told Byulyi that her second-youngest sister had gotten accepted into medical school, and also that her youngest sister is moving to Dallas to go to beauty school, to become a hairdresser. Byulyi pretended to be happy for them, and noted how rusty her Korean has become throughout the years. Her mother— as if she had read her mind— commented on her Korean, and compared it to her second-youngest’s, who was still living with them as she maneuvers college, whose tongue was still perfect from speaking it with her parents daily. Byulyi merely hummed a response, before thanking her for calling and then hanging up without a goodbye. 

Oftentimes, Byulyi would drive into town just to see the sight of people in their daily lives, and to hear the sounds of anything other than farm animals. Tonight, she does just the same, gearing up in her winter coat and brown felt hat, and laced up the mahogany-colored boots she had bought just last month, struggling with the strings through her bandaged right hand. The orange ‘91 pickup coughed and sputtered before shaking to a start when she turned it on, as if it, too, had been shivering from the cold. She drove into town, watching as swarms of people walk in and out of storefronts. Byulyi wondered where she would hang out for the night. Much of the businesses were closed, even though it was barely eight o’clock. There was the diner, the only one in town that opened from 6am to 11 pm, which might as well make it a 24 hour diner here, but she wasn’t hungry. She drove past a school, the one high school in town, with a grand total of ten classrooms and a gymnasium. Curiously, one of the classrooms still had its lights on, and a group of six or seven were beginning to leave their cars to amble inside the metal double doors.

She picked at the threads that were coming apart on the worn steering wheel. It couldn’t hurt to go check it out. But she wasn’t ready to admit that she was lonely enough to go inside a random classroom at night just to see what they’re teaching in the adult gen. ed. classes, and to hear the sounds of people. But she was genuinely curious, so she parked a few spaces further away from the rest of the cars, took a long deep breath, and headed inside. 

She hadn’t been inside a school since she graduated, a whole eight years ago, and walking down the hall of this one, she’s beginning to think that they really were all the same. Only one classroom had its lights on, and inside, were seven older individuals, all with the same salt-and-pepper colored hair, sitting in tiny chairs that connected to tiny desks, having to crouch in on themselves just to fit. They all sat in one clutter near the chalkboard, chattering amongst themselves as if they all knew each other. They probably do. It would be harder to not know the vast majority of people in that town. Byulyi didn’t know any of them.

She shuffled to the very last row as they all stared, not bothering to take her brimmed-hat off, the chatters died down as she pushed some of the desks out of her way. Looking around the classroom awkwardly as the conversations started up again, she quietly judged the posters littered all over the walls of the room. She thought they were a little infantile to belong inside a high school classroom.

The wooden door opened again. This time, a woman in a cream wool sweater much closer to Byulyi in age stepped in. She had straight, black hair that grew a little beyond her shoulders. The woman looked a mixture of tired, cold, and miserable.

“Hi, um,” The woman spoke as she plopped the tote bag that was slung over her shoulder into the chair. Her cheeks were rosy, either from the cold or from nervousness. She took a piece of chalk on the desk, and began to write on the board in writing that was way too small. It took Byulyi a moment to realize she was writing her name. 

“You can call me Solar. Or Kim. Whichever one you prefer. Um, I guess we can get started.”

Ms. Solar Kim took out a stack of papers from her tote bag and began to pass it out. She smiled slightly when she got to Byulyi’s desk, who gave her a nod and a smile just as subtle. Then, she reached inside the bag for some postcards, and began to flip through them in a stumble, as if they had gotten out of order in the mess of her bag. She began to talk about the most fundamental basics of computer literacy as the group of older folks listened tentatively and began to take notes.

Byulyi reached for the neighboring table with a loose pencil and started to take notes as well, if only to fit in with the rest. It was hard to make out any eligible words with her clumsy bandaged hand. She was never a strong student, just did alright in school, turned up to all the classes that mattered, and did just enough to not flunk every exam. Her two sisters were obviously the more educationally-adept ones, although it wasn’t what her parents had asked of her. They needed her to help with the farm, until it was successful enough to hire more helping hands, so that her sisters could do well enough to go to medical school and beauty school. Byulyi remembered spending the majority of one English class drumming up a note to give to the cute cheerleader, who sat two rows up and would sometimes look back at her. 

By nine o’clock, Ms. Kim thanked everybody for attending the class and started packing up. The rest of the class stood up all at once and began to chatter again about heading to the bar near by, walking out of the class together as if they always needed to travel in a pack, leaving just the two of them behind. Byulyi was still sat at her desk.

“You staying for the next class?”

Byulyi figured she should leave now, too. “No, I didn’t even know there was another class after.”

“Are you registered for this class?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not.” She didn’t even have a computer, haven’t touched one in about two years, she wanted to say to Ms. Kim. “I just saw people coming in and got curious.”

They walked to the big double doors together. And then, Ms. Kim asked, “Do you know where I could get some food near here? I’m on a bit of a time crunch. Need to head back to San Antonio.”

“There’s a diner five minutes away. I can show you where it is, if you just follow me.”

Solar looked at her, skeptical, as if she was still deciding whether she should trust Byulyi. But there isn’t a lot to be distrustful of a barely five-foot-four, scrawny Korean woman, with a feeble bandaged hand, so she just nodded as they both headed for their own vehicles. 

On the drive to the diner, Byulyi occasionally glanced at the rearview, making sure she could still see the lights from Solar’s tiny yellow Ford Focus. She thought about how she could’ve just given Solar the name of the diner, and the woman could’ve easily looked it up on her phone. She forgot that the cell service isn’t as nonexistent here. She wondered if she had come off strange or off putting, but she really would just liked to spend some more time with Solar. 

Inside the diner, after Solar had ordered a black coffee and a turkey sandwich that she specifically requested to be cut in half, which the cook most definitely won’t remember, Byulyi asked, “You said you were driving back to San Antonio? That’s—“

“Six hours away, I know.” Solar said, rubbing circles into her eyes in defeat at the fact. She had looked a little embarrassed when she continued. “I was… a little desperate when I graduated. Thought I needed the first job I could find, no matter how ty, even with my masters done. I had just moved to Texas from California, had no ing clue where or what Amarillo was. Thought I had set the filter to only find jobs within 50 miles. Guess I didn’t. Well, I had just gotten a real job programming at a software design firm, but they’re letting me do this because they think it’s funny. Can’t believe how stupid I am.”

She put her head down on the table, and let in a deep inhale to sigh it out before looking up at Byulyi. “Be honest. I made a fool of myself in that classroom, didn’t I.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t think you did.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you. But stop calling me ‘ma’am’. I’m only twenty-eight, and you’re aging me more than this drive already is.”

“Sorry.” Byulyi cut herself off before another ma’am comes out. But it was how she was raised, just typical southern politeness. She didn’t mean any harm.

“I just realized, I never got your name.”

“It’s, uh, Byulyi Moon. But most people here don’t bother saying ‘Byulyi’, so they just call me Moon.”

Something about her answer seemed to make Solar chuckle. “I’m sorry.” She said, “It’s just, you have the slightest bit of a southern accent when you talk. I noticed it when you first spoke to me. Well, you were the first thing I noticed when I walked inside that classroom anyway, sitting in the back with your cowboy hat on. I couldn’t even see half of your face. I remember thinking, who’s that cowboy in the back?” The food was starting to come out, and they both took their elbows off the table to make some space, even though Byulyi didn’t get anything. “So the shy, overtly polite cowboy who attends computer literacy class is named Byulyi. Texas really does have it all.”

Byulyi squirmed a bit and blushed despite herself. “I’m no cowboy.” She was just a ranch hand. Cowboy was a title to be earned. And she had done nothing to earn that.

“Right. Sorry.” Solar apologized before cutting her sandwich in half with a butter knife. The cook had clearly forgotten again. “So, what do you do?”

“I work on a ranch right outside of town. Taking care of the animals. It’s just for the winter. Then I’ll have to find something else when the weather gets warmer.”

“That’s really cool. Do you have anything in mind?”

Byulyi thought for a moment. “I could always find a country club to teach horseback riding lessons at. I’ve been all over Texas, the