DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters. Their words, traits, etc in this story are purely fictional. Moreover, I do not wish that any of these events in the story would happen to them (or to anyone) in real life.

 

 

       Though Tiffany was more than seven years my senior, I was always the one gabbing endlessly as we struggled to maintain our balance while standing in the fast-moving bus to Incheon that we took every day. I would go on talking about how hot or cold the weather was, how difficult my upcoming tests would be, or how the people in the train were dressed. I would occasionally whisper to her about a good-looking passenger that always seemed to take the same bus that we did.

       Her response to all my talking was a ''Yeah, I agree'' or perhaps a giggle.

 

      We parted ways when we got off the bus. She went to the hospital where she worked as a nurse, and I walked to school which was just a few blocks away

 

      Whenever I got home from school, there would always be food, along with bowls and chopsticks, on the table ready for me. And she would always be by the table. She'd welcome me with a smile.

       ''Dongsaeng, let's eat.'' She'd usher me to the table, then we'd sit across each other. I would tell her about my day, and, though she only said a few words in response, I knew she was listening to me. I knew that she cared for me.

            She referred to me as her little sister, even though we weren't siblings – in fact, we weren't related at all. But, since our moms had been best friends, we lived together (away from our moms) in a two-bedroom apartment in Seoul because Seoul was much closer to my school and her hospital than where our moms were staying.

 

            I had always been so grateful that Tiffany was there for me, but I never voiced out or expressed my gratitude to her, even when she moved out of the apartment to live with her dad.

            The night before she moved out, she went up to me and gave me a hug. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but the words of gratitude didn't come out of my mouth. I wanted to beg her to stay, but I didn't.

            My heart was so full of regret. I felt so lonely without her. I desperately wished that I had said a simple “thank you” or “I’ll miss you.” Yet I let my silliness had stopped me from saying what I wanted to tell her. I stared at my cell phone and promised myself that I’d call her first thing in the morning. I’d tell her how thankful I was for all the love and care she has shown me.

 

           For some unexplainable reason, about three hours after Tiffany left, I started to feel really nervous. My hands were sweating, and I couldn’t stop pacing back and forth. My heart was beating abnormally fast.

 

          To calm myself, I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I held the glass to my mouth, it slipped from my fingers and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. I pulled out a broom and started cleaning up the mess I had made.

 

         “Rap! Rap! Rap!” I was startled by the sound of pounding on wood. Someone was knocking loudly on the door.

          It was a police officer.

         ''Good evening, ma’am. I’m Officer Choi Minho,” he said as he bowed as a sign of respect. I bowed too.

         “Are you Ms. Krystal Jung? '' he asked me.

          I nodded, ''Yes, I am.'' I asked what brought him here.

          He looked at me with a sad expression in his eyes. '''Your friend Tiffany Hwang…” he sighed, then inhaled deeply.

          I started to feel more nervous. “Is – is she alright?” I stammered. 

         “I’m sorry, but,” he paused for a moment, “her own father -- he was taking illegal drugs and -- he...had shot her on the head.”

 

          My legs wobbled as if they could no longer support my weight. I fell on my knees, and my body started to tremble.

 

          “She died two hours ago.”