Swimming Through the Dawn

by R. P. Rioux

"How does this relate to me? That's what I don't understand."

  A look of dismay carried her father's face as he recalled events. "I was only 12 when she died, but I remember it clearly. After performances, she'd be hailed as a living treasure; accolades poured in from across the country. Yet she'd head straight to her bedroom to cry herself to sleep. Nobody could console her for days."

  A tear came to Heather's eye. She considered wiping it away, but let it run down her cheek.

  "How does that relate to you?" her father asked.

  Heather nodded and waited for his answer.

  "I see similarities. This concerns me greatly."

  "Appa, I'm not your mother. Why can't you understand? If I could sing, I'd be so happy."

  "Do you think she sang from despair? She loved it more than anything. Go ahead, sing. But don't make it your career. Nothing positive will come of it."

  Heather was incredulous. A hundred responses flooded her mind. "Do you expect me to sing into a mirror? I want to make others happy."

  "And what if you can't. What then?" Heather had no answer. She hadn't considered it before. "Once people take what they want, they'll spit you out like a sunflower shell. Can you handle that? I doubt it."

  "You got your wish when I left the agency. I'm playing by my own rules now."

  "Your day has just begun. You have no idea what's coming. I already lost a mother to singing; I don't want to lose a daughter too."

  "If music doesn't happen, I can get a regular job. I'm passing all my classes."

  His eyes protruded. Dae-hee spoke in a raised voice. "Whenever I try to talk sense, you react with defiance."

  "I'm not defying you, Appa. I'm making an adult choice. For myself."

  "But you're not an adult! You depend on us completely. And frankly, I've had it. I'll not support this behavior any longer." His face reddened. "You want to make choices?"

  Heather nodded meekly.

  "Here's one for you. Come next year, if you continue to pursue your music career, you can do so without my help. Understood? No tuition. No room and board. No books. Certainly, no music. You'll finally see what being an adult actually entails." Having finished his outburst, he relaxed.

  Heather's knee bobbed like a sewing machine. "Why would you keep me from what I want most? You like seeing me fail. Is that it?"

  "It's for your own good," he said.

  "And when do I get to determine what's best for my own good?"

  "You have until the end of your freshman year. I suggest you choose wisely."

  21

  Steve

  Steve sat before the non-linear work station, hoping it would respond. Its reaction time was sluggish. Every click of the mouse resulted in an interminable wait. The system must be overloaded by a last-minute crush of projects, he figured.

  Finals week at St. Ignatius was the most significant opportunity student filmmakers had to present the fruits of their labor from the previous semester. Everyone felt pressured to make the best possible impression on faculty and peers. Audience reaction played a significant role in determining final grades. The situation was a nerve-wracking pressure cooker, but Steve looked forward to it. He knew he had a strong project and was eager to present it. The theater was already packed in anticipation of the event.

  "It won't get done at this rate," he muttered to himself. He figured a system reboot would be preferable to dealing with the computer in its current state. As he initiated the process, he received a text message.

  5:33 P.M. Grace: We're here. This place is out of control.

  5:33 P.M. Steve: Told u. Did u find seats?

  5:34 P.M. Grace: No luck yet.

  5:34 P.M. Steve: I have a few minutes, where r u?

  5:34 P.M. Grace: Theater doors.

  5:34 P.M. Steve: BRT

  Steve looked at the monitor and estimated he had at least five minutes before the machine was even remotely usable. That would give him enough time to situate his guests and return to finish the deliverable in time for his 6:00 deadline. He left his backpack and the USB drive containing his edited video master on the console. It would mark his territory should anyone desire to claim the machine in his absence. The theater was located on the ground floor, one level above. Steve cleared steps two at a time. As he reached the main lobby, he saw his five cast members standing in a cluster amidst the chaos swirling around them.

  "Hey," he said as he approached them.

  "All the seats are taken, and people are sitting in the aisles along the walls," stated Grace.

  "Here, let me pass along some insider information." He motioned for Grace to follow him inside and escorted her to the near side aisle where they passed through two sets of curtains separating the inner theater lobby from the auditorium itself. As reported, it was packed with students. Grace stood next to Steve as he scanned the hall. "There," he said, pointing across the room. "Do you see the group sitting in the far aisle wearing blue t-shirts?"

  "Yes."

  "I know they don't plan to stick around for the whole evening, and their film runs before mine. If you stand near the curtains at the rear of the aisle and keep a lookout for their departure, you can jump in and claim those spots before anyone else notices. Got it?"

  "Yup."

  "I have to return to the editing suite to finish my project," said Steve hastily.

  "Wait, I thought you turned it in already."

  "I planned to, but the original mix is in stereo. Yesterday, I changed my mind and created a surround mix. Now I need to match it to the video."

  "You're cutting it close."

  "Yeah, but it'll be worth it. Gotta run."

  On his way down the stairs, he bumped into Phil, who was rounding the corner in haste.

  "It's packed," Steve said.

  "Don't worry, dude. I have a seat saved."

  "No time to chat." Returning to the editing suite, Steve was relieved to see it still unoccupied. The system had rebooted and was waiting for him. He lifted his backpack to grab the USB drive.

  It was not there.

  Steve checked the pack to see if it had gotten caught in the straps but found nothing. He ran his hands around the front, sides, and top of the console as if doing so would make the drive magically appear. This failed as well.

  He panicked.

  Desperate, Steve wondered if he had indeed left the USB behind. He searched his jean pockets. Nothing. He unzipped his pack, at first rifling through it, but then impatiently dumping its contents onto the floor. Nothing. The clock told him he had 12 minutes left to find the drive, match the audio, and turn in his project. He searched the corners of the room, even getting on his hands and knees. Using his phone light, he even explored crevices under the console to make doubly sure he wasn't missing anything.

  "Where could it be?" he asked frantically.

  The door to the suite opened. A freshman student, Cammie, entered. She was startled by Steve's frazzled appearance. "Hey, will you be finished soon?"

  "Have you seen anyone come in here recently?" he demanded.

  "No," she responded somewhat defensively, "I just arrived. What's wrong?"

  "Ugh, I failed my class."

  The time was four minutes to 6:00. Even if Steve found the USB immediately, there was no time left. Desperate, he abandoned the mess he made and ran upstairs to talk to his instructor. Harold Sharpe was sitting at a console near the auditorium's center, talking with two other professors. After Steve explained the predicament, his instructor declined to help him. "I'm sorry, you know the rules. A deadline's a deadline."

  "I can get the stereo mix from my dorm room and submit that instead."

  "That wouldn't be fair to those who complied, would it?" Professor Sharpe asked. "You shouldn't have withdrawn it. I warned you."

  "Everything was under control. I don't know what happened."

  "You'll get a grade for the class if you finish it, but it'll be marked late. I can't let you participate in the screenings tonight, though."

  "But
—"

  "I'm sorry, my decision's final."

  Dejected, Steve broke the bad news to his cast members. He found them waiting at the rear of the far aisle, as instructed. The look on his face must've betrayed his concern. They joined him in the main lobby, where he awkwardly explained the calamity and apologized.

  "At least you won't fail the class," said Sun-hee, cheerfully. The rest of the members offered condolences but were disappointed.

  22

  June

  June was exhausted after pulling double shifts. The wicker chair her aunt Ye-jin salvaged from a garage sale two weeks earlier, was uncomfortable. She avoided it whenever possible. A nest of blankets and pillows on the living room floor made her feel much more at ease. June opened the envelope of tips she received from waiting tables at Hapa's Hawaiian. After counting the day's haul and adding it to her weekly tally, she sighed deeply. Once her modeling portfolio bill was paid off, there'd hardly be anything left to contribute towards living expenses. She took her socks off to massage sore feet. Paid work was fine, but she wasn't making progress towards her preferred career.

  The stack of books nearby beckoned. Despite being dead tired, June knew the one way her English would improve was to continue working on lessons. The library was resuming its free morning ESL classes next week, and she wanted to be ready. Her Saturday course at the local Baptist church was in its third week. She had homework to finish.

  June was reading through an assignment when the rattling of house keys signaled Ye-jin's arrival. "Eemo, let me get that for you," she said, rushing to meet her.

  "It's too hot to walk. I should have waited."

  "I would have gone for you if I knew." She grabbed the groceries and carried them to the kitchen.

  "You're usually working. Anyway, how can I know what's on sale if I don't go myself."

  They made a simple dinner of gaeran mari, a rolled egg omelet with spinach, carrots, and onions.

  "Could you get me some water, Jeong?" asked her aunt, who still preferred using her Korean name. June grabbed the water pitcher from the kitchen counter, poured her aunt a glass, and set them both on the table.

  As they ate, June gathered the nerve to mention finances. "Eemo, I'm sorry I won't have much to give you this month."

  Ye-jin looked at her and smiled. "It's okay, Jeong. I understand you have expenses. We should be okay."

  "I want to help. You've done so much for me."

  "Have you been getting auditions?"

  "I did, but no callbacks. They say I'm too short."

  "But you're 171 centimeters."

  "Here, that's not too tall. Models need to be at least 5'8."

  "Let them know how hard you work."

  "I will, Eemo." June was hungry enough to take another piece of omelet, but seeing only one remained, left it for her aunt.

  "That music group that asked about you, they're willing to pay, right?"

  June, not wanting to appear disrespectful, restrained a laugh. "I'll ask, but they're new. It'll take time."

  "Well, don't let them take advantage of you. You can't work for free."

  "Yes, Eemo."

  Ye-jin took the omelet and ate it. "Be sure to research these agencies you audition for too. I keep hearing stories."

  "I do, Eemo."

  Ye-jin, on more than one occasion, had mentioned her coworker's nephew, who also pursued modeling. He was once duped into paying an agency thousands of dollars for unnecessary services without getting any work from it. When he returned to demand a refund, the office was abandoned.

  "I know it happens," said June. "I'm cautious."

  When she finished eating, Ye-jin stood, grabbed her plate, and moved towards the sink, knocking the water glass over. Shards scattered across the kitchen floor.

  "Eemo, be careful! Are you okay?" Her aunt set the plate on the table but was holding her foot. Despite applied pressure, large drops of blood dripped to the white tiled floor. June retrieved a towel, some alcohol, and bandages from the bathroom, then returned to dress the wound.

  "Didn't you see the glass?"

  "I don't know what's wrong with me, Jeong. My eyes lately. They never bothered me before."

  "How long has this been going on?"

  "A few months."

  "Have you seen a doctor?

  "We don't have money for that."

  "You have to go. I'll work an extra shift. My photographs can wait."

  "You shouldn't do that."

  "After what you've done for me, it's the least I can do. Promise me you'll go?"

  * * *

  Out of nowhere, an errant soccer ball bounced off the edge of the weather-beaten picnic table. Missing June's cherry pop by mere inches, the ball chucked splinters of wood in many directions before landing in a nearby bush. The incident reminded her of the shattered glass from earlier, but she pushed the image from her mind to focus on the interview. A seven-year-old boy approached and spoke to her in Spanish. Without hesitation, June reached over to the bush, retrieved the ball, and tossed it to him.

  As he gratefully scampered back to the playing field, Heather said in Korean, "I didn't know you spoke Spanish."

  "I don't, but after living here a while, you pick things up."

  The afternoon was breezy, but not cold. Unexpectedly, several members of the K-Pop group she auditioned for weeks ago had called to arrange a meeting. They even agreed to come to meet at her low-income housing complex in the Cypress Grove area of Los Angeles. June faced mobility issues with no car. That they offered to visit instead struck her as thoughtful. Heather, she remembered from the audition. Grace was unable to attend because of a prior commitment. Mindy, Sun-hee, and Erin were freshly introduced. Another group member was currently visiting family in Orange County.

  June's guests looked uncomfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings, but at least they had arrived. People tended to abruptly cancel after realizing where she lived. Regardless, when meeting strangers, she was painfully shy at first. She sat quietly, hoping they would speak. They, too, waited for her.

  The silence was broken when Heather asked, "You're obviously comfortable singing in Korean, can you dance in high heels?"

  June found the question odd, but there was still much she didn't understand about America. "Yes, that's okay."

  More silence.

  Mindy whispered to Heather, who nodded. "You don't dance hip hop, do you?" asked Mindy.

  "No, I'm sorry," she responded. The unexpected nature of the questions made her anxious. She kept her answers short as a result.

  That set the tone for the entire interview. Mindy and Erin spent much of the time watching videos on a shared smartphone, occasionally taking glances at June and smiling. When she realized the interview was not going well, June's shyness increased. Erin asked no questions. Her Korean did not seem sharp.

  After they departed, June returned to her room to replay the conversation in her head. Lamenting another lost opportunity, she vowed to learn lessons from the disappointing experience.

  Grace called later that evening. "Hi, June. Do you have a minute to talk?"

  "I already know what you'll say. It's okay. I understand."

  "Understand what?"

  "Your friends didn't like me."

  "Oh, no. You got it wrong. They loved you. You'll make a terrific addition."

  23

  Steve

  Perhaps it was overkill, but the three-wick candle usually worked wonders. Its mahogany and teakwood scent quickly filled the room, creating a relaxed environment for Steve's guest. Heather sat cross-legged on the floor of his dorm room, observing the surroundings. "Your style of décor is interesting," she said.

  "People often use the word interesting when they really mean embarrassing."

  "No, it is interesting. I mean, you have framed pictures arranged in a coherent theme. You put some actual thought into it."

  "It's cheap movie memorabilia I collected at garage sales."

  "Most guys rely on empty beer bottle
s and ripped alcohol ads to impress. This is clearly a step up."

  "Not my style." He wondered how many guys' rooms she'd been to, but banished the thought from his mind. "Then again, most people say I'm the weird one."

  Out of a sense of guilt for having disappointed the band at the student screenings, Steve invited Made in Heaven to his annual Christmas party. He promised to debut the music video there and offered them a slot during the open mic event. Now in its third year, the party featured a 60s-era cocktail lounge theme. Heather, aware of Steve's extensive music collection, sought his advice on songs that would fit the theme. The request prompted her first visit.