by An Na
What did I just tell you! Apa shouts. Woman, were you listening? Did you hear anything I said? I do not want to grovel anymore like some bitch. What is saving more money going to do? What? Get you a fancy house? Is that what you want? I cannot provide you with enough?
No, I do not mean that, Uhmma says quietly. She keeps her hands on her stomach. Round and round.
Tap, tap. Apa puts the cigarette in his mouth. Takes a sip and then blows out smoke. He faces out to the house and growls, You always want more. Better.
Apa’s voice changes. Write to your sister, he says in a squeaky-mouse voice. Let us move to Mi Gook. We will have a better life.
Apa turns and faces Uhmma. He points to her stomach. Look at us now. This is all your fault. You hear me? Your fault I had to take a second job picking up those lawyers’ trash like some beggar. In Korea at least I had my own boat. What was so bad about that life?
Yuhboh, Yuhboh, Uhmma says. She uses her special husband word to make him stop. Try to make him be nice. I crawl up into the corner of the back seat. I keep my eyes on Uhmma’s perfect half-moon face.
I told you it is not forever, Apa says. Smoke fills the car and then floats away with the wind.
Yuhboh, I understand, Uhmma says. You must do what is best.
Apa leans his arm on the car door, his elbow sticking out the window. He says quietly, We will pay rent for now and try to save slowly for our own house.
Uhmma rolls down her window and sighs.
Apa’s head, snap, turns to her. Yah, he says. What are you sighing about? What? I told you it is not forever.
Uhmma keeps her face looking out the window. Rubs her stomach. Round and round. She does not answer.
Apa sticks his cigarette out the window. Tap, tap. He says again, We will save slowly.
But, Uhmma says to her stomach and then stops. She reaches up and pats her cheek with one hand. Uhmma starts again, If we stayed with Gomo we could save more quickly. If I worked two jobs and we did not have to pay rent, we could save enough money for a down payment in no time.
I do not see Apa’s hand. It is too fast. I only hear the slap, loud as breaking glass.
I bite my bottom lip. Hard. I cannot cry. It will only make it worse. I close my eyes and start to pray, Please, God, please make everything better.
What did I say, Apa yells. Slap.
I open my eyes and look at Uhmma. She covers her lip with her hand. A little blood comes out from between her fingers. My tears are falling onto my knees. I hold my breath so I will not cry out. Say letters in my head, A B C D E F G.
What did I say? Apa asks Uhmma.
Uhmma looks straight at the house, her hand covering her lip. She does not answer. Apa leans close to Uhmma. Face to face. His eyes squint thin as paper. He takes the used-up cigarette from his lips and holds it between his thumb and finger.
Please, Uhmma, I say in my head. Please say it. Please. Please. Please.
Uhmma takes away her hand. Blood drips down her chin. Her lips are broken grapes. She says with her eyes closed, It is not forever.
Park Joon Ho
Gomo said she would play with me when she came over to our new house that is not really our house, just the one we are borrowing for now, but Gomo only wants to look at baby things. Gomo holds all the baby things in her hands and sits down on the yellow blanket that covers the couch. I peek and make sure the blanket did not get messed up. Uhmma said it is my job to make sure the blanket always covers the cushions so no one will see the burn holes the old owner made.
I sit on the couch next to Gomo and kick out my feet. I am tired of waiting. I am tired of naps in the afternoon because it is too hot to play outside. I wish school would start so I can be in the second grade. In the second grade, you can buy your lunch if you bring money to school. John Chuchurelli told me. He knows because he has a big sister in third grade. I kick out my feet and stare at the white bows on my shoes. I want to rip them off, stupid baby feet, but Uhmma said Gomo would be sad if I messed up the special birthday shoes that Gomo and Uncle Tim picked out just for me. Where are Apa and Uncle Tim? They said they would be back soon with Uhmma and the new baby.
Gomo picks up a blue shirt and holds it up. Young Ju, Gomo says and turns to me. Did you know that when you were born you had a blue spot right above your little butt? Gomo leans forward and points behind her back at the spot.
No, I did not know, Gomo, I say and kick out my feet again. Stupid baby bows.
Gomo keeps talking. She says, Naturally, you do not have the spot now. It disappears as you get older. But when you were first born, it was there. Every Han Gook baby has that spot. It is the mark of our blood. Our heritage. A long, long time ago, all Han Gook people came from Mongolia.
If I did not have the bows, my shoes would look just like the ones the dancers have on TV.
Did you know, Young Ju, Gomo says and folds the baby shirt in a square, Genghis Khan—
Outside, a car door slams. Gomo and I turn to the door. They are here. I jump off the couch and run to the front door. Apa opens the door and walks inside, carefully holding a blanket. I stand on my toes to see what is in the blanket, but Apa is too tall. Uhmma comes from behind me and pats my head.
Young Ju, were you a good girl while I was away? Uhmma asks. Her eyes are sleepy and there is no more balloon stomach. I jump up and try to make her pick me up.
Apa calls out, Young Ju, do not worry your Uhmma. She is too tired to carry you. Besides, you are not a baby anymore.
Uncle Tim comes inside with a bag in each of his hands. He puts one bag by the couch and then takes the other bag to Uhmma.
What is this? Uhmma asks.
A surprise, Uncle Tim says. Here, sit down and open it.
Before Uhmma sits down, she calls out to Apa, Let Young Ju look at the baby.
Apa nods and then bends down. Look, Young Ju, Apa says. This is your new brother, Park Joon Ho. Is he not beautiful?
Inside there is a wiggly worm with no hair. I touch his head and feel only a little fur. I ask Apa, Where is his hair?
It will grow in later, Apa says.
I look back at the worm. Maybe his hair will be curly because he was born in Mi Gook.
Uhmma is calling out to Uncle Tim, “Tank uh, Theem.” Uhmma holds a big bottle in her hands.
Champagne is for a celebration, Uncle Tim says. For important times.
Apa says, Yes, there is much to celebrate. “Tank you, Tim.”
Gomo walks over to Apa and says, Let me hold the baby now.
Apa gives her the blanket with the worm. Gomo makes animal noises. Cluck cluck like a chicken. Woo woo like an owl. Apa stands next to Gomo and makes his finger into a baby snake saying hello. The snake tickles the worm’s head.
Look, Apa says, pointing. Look at my son yawning. Only one day old and he yawns with the concentration of a wise man.
Uhmma stands up and walks over to the other side of Gomo. She puts her face close to the worm. Closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Uhmma looks up at Apa and says, Someday he could be a doctor or a lawyer.
Gomo adds, Someday he could be president.
Apa’s eyes find the window by the front door. They stare past the old brown grass, past the crisscross metal fence. They travel far, far away. Someday, Apa says, my son will make me proud.
I can be president, Apa, I call out.
Apa’s eyes are back home. Pointing at me. He laughs. You are a girl, Young Ju.
Yuhboh, Uhmma says. Leave her to dream. Do not be so harsh.
Uncle Tim picks me up. “Young Ju,” he whispers into my hair, “in America, women can do almost anything men can do.”
His words do not make the hurt in my heart go away. The cut of Apa’s laugh is still open. Uncle Tim bounces me in his arms. Look, he says to Apa and Uhmma. Two beautiful children.
One of the beautiful children, Uhmma says, needs to be changed. Uhmma picks up the bag by the couch and takes out a white square.
I will change him, Apa says and takes t
he worm from Gomo.
Uhmma’s eyes open wide. She asks, Do you know how to do it?
I can learn, Apa says.
Uhmma laughs and turns to Gomo. With Young Ju, Uhmma says, he could not even hold her.
Everyone laughs. I stare down at my bows. Apa did not even want to hold me.
Am I doing this right? Apa calls out from the couch.
I will get some glasses for the champagne, Uncle Tim says. Wait here.
Go help him, Apa tells Uhmma.
Uhmma hurries after Uncle Tim to the kitchen. Gomo and Apa are busy with the worm.
I wander over to the couch and start to tuck in the corners of the yellow blanket. Gomo says, What a good housekeeper you are. Here, sit down and watch what we are doing. You will have to learn how to be a good older Uhn-nee. It is your responsibility to help your Uhmma take care of him.
I stand next to Gomo. The worm’s eyes are shut tight. Why does he get to be president? I am the one who is stronger and bigger.
Apa takes off the diaper. My nose wrinkles iee! This worm stinks. Apa laughs. He even smells like me, Apa says.
I turn my head away. Did I smell like Apa when I was a baby? Why did Apa not hold me? Then I remember Gomo’s words. All Han Gook babies have a blue spot. I had a blue spot. Maybe this worm does not have a blue spot because he was born in Mi Gook. Maybe he cannot be a real Park and I will be the only one who can make Apa proud. I lean over Gomo’s shoulder to watch Apa change the worm.
Most times Apa’s hands are dark and hard with dirt from his gardening job. Other times they are rough and peeling from his cleaning job. Today Apa’s hands are soft and clean. Praying hands. For the baby. Apa carefully lifts the baby’s legs and cleans his bottom. I check for the spot. There, in the place Gomo said it would be, is the blue. Faint as an old bruise. The baby opens his eyes and looks right at me.
Apa finishes with the diaper just as Uncle Tim and Uhmma come out of the kitchen with glasses. Uncle Tim calls out and waves everyone over to him like he is starting Sharing Circle.
Here, Young Ju, Gomo says. Make sure the baby does not roll off the couch. Stand here so you can protect him. Gomo moves me in front of the baby. I stand straight as a door.
Behind me, there is a loud pong! I turn my head and see Uncle Tim holding the big bottle with white sea foam spilling out. Apa, Uhmma, and Gomo hold out their glasses.
A toast, Uncle Tim says, raising his glass. A toast for the new baby.
To my son, Park Joon Ho, Apa calls out.
Park Joon Ho, everyone cheers.
I reach down and pull a bow off my shoe. I am not a baby anymore.
Burying Lies
In second grade you have to do a lot of talking. Not as much coloring. Not as much play time. Just a lot of talking and listening and reading. So in Mrs. Sheldon’s class, if you do not have anything to show when it is your turn to share, you can talk about important news. I have nothing to show, but I want to say something important. Something I have been thinking about for a long time.
Finally, when it is my turn to share, I run up to the front of the classroom. I put my hands behind my back, cross my fingers, and tell everyone, “My brother. He die.”
“Oh, my. Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Sheldon says, then hurries over to hug me. She pulls me close. So close I can smell the sour-blossom stink under her arms and her long brown hair tickles my face. I pull away and look up at her.
“I the only Park now. I keep name like boy.”
Her forehead bunches up like crinkled paper and her eyes squeeze shut in the corners. She does not understand the English that sounds perfect in my head and then comes out messy as the can of spaghetti Uhmma lets me eat on Saturdays if I help with the laundry.
John Chuchurelli, who always has to sit on the Time-Out rug, raises his hand and asks, “How did he die?”
“John,” Mrs. Sheldon shouts, “what a thing to ask! Do you want to sit on the rug?”
John looks like he is thinking maybe this is a good idea. The rug is far from the blackboard and that means he does not have to pay attention. But then he shakes his head no. Mrs. Sheldon blows out her breath. I run back to my desk while Mrs. Sheldon stands in front of the class plucking at the skin of her neck. She always does that when she is thinking.
“You know what, class? I know it’s not a Friday, but I think this is a good time to make Young a warm fuzzy. Don’t you think that will make Young and her family feel better?”
“Yes!” everybody cheers because warm fuzzies are only for Fridays after the spelling test and today is Wednesday. Warm fuzzies take half a day to make and half a day to clean up. Yarn puddles all over the floor until all that is left are a few round, fuzzy balls with strange names like Pluto, Strawberry, and Bluebeard.
For the whole morning everyone makes fuzzies. Then one by one they bring their fuzzies over to my desk. They put the fuzzy down and tell me its name.
“Please take care of Sunshine.”
“I hope Melonhead makes you feel better.”
Soon I have a million fuzzies covering my desk. I circle them with my arms and rub my cheeks against their soft yarn fur.
For silent reading Mrs. Sheldon lets me be the first to pick out a book. I get the one with all the pictures of Laura and Mary in the Big Woods. When I grow up I want to be a pioneer girl and help Ma make Christmas pies. At lunch, Amanda says I can have her last Lifesaver because her grandma died last year and she knows what it is like to be sad. I eat the Lifesaver, but it turns sour on my tongue. I spit it out when Amanda turns around to yell at John Chuchurelli, who is making kissing noises behind her back. After P.E., Mrs. Sheldon gives me a special card with lots of the scratch-and-sniff stickers she hands out only for perfect papers in spelling. My spelling is never perfect. But today I am special. I play with my fuzzies, scratch and sniff my stickers, and think about how nice it is that my brother is dead.
When I get home from school, Gomo, who comes over to watch us during the day so Uhmma can sew clothes at the factory, is playing with Joon Ho. She tickles his chin until he laughs so hard he throws up some milk. If I throw up milk I get a head thump from Uhmma. But since it is Joon Ho, great first son, he only gets kisses for messing up the carpet. Gomo stands up for a towel and then points to the kitchen table.
Young Ju, look at those pretty flowers. Your school sent them, Gomo says.
My eyes blink twice. Hard. Like they cannot believe those white and yellow flowers are sitting on the table. I take off my shoes and try to walk to my room.
Come here, Gomo says. She goes over to the flowers. I am so scared my toes curl into the carpet.
What does this mean? Gomo asks, waving a small white card. Why are they sorry about our loss? Even though Gomo has been here for a long time, her English is not that good.
I look down at the orange carpet and stare at all the shaggy strands between my toes. Think. Think. I look up at Gomo and something flies out of my mouth. “I loss spelling contest my school. I come in second.”
Speak Korean, Gomo says. She likes to talk Korean at our house because in her house Uncle Tim wants only English. He wants Gomo to learn how to talk nice to his family. Gomo says speaking English all the time makes her head hurt.
I lost the spelling contest at school. I came in second, I say.
Second place. That is good news, not a loss. Your Uhmma and Apa will be so happy. Flowers for second place are very nice, Gomo says.
I hold my book bag with all the fuzzies and the special Mrs. Sheldon card close to my stomach and slowly back up toward the door. My feet feel around for my shoes. When I find them, I yell out to Gomo, I am going outside to play.
I do not want to answer any more questions. I have to hide the fuzzies and the card or else I will be in big trouble for lying.
Along the side of the house, where Mr. Owner keeps all the broken things like smashed windows and a tired chair with a missing seat, there is an old tree stump. The dirt around the stump is soft and crumbly. I pick up a stick and start t
o dig. Both hands work fast. Both ears listen for any Gomo footsteps. Soon a hole the size of a small pot grows down. I make sure no one is watching and open my school bag. I kiss each fuzzy good-bye.
“Sorry, Roly-Poly. Bye, Melonhead,” I say and drop them into the hole. I sniff Mrs. Sheldon’s pretty card with all the rainbow smells one more time and pat it down next to the fuzzies. I cover my lies with dirt.
I am in the bathroom washing my face and hands with soap three times when Uhmma gets home. Uhmma always says lies smell worse than dead fish. I can hear Gomo telling her about the flowers. I walk out of the bathroom. Uhmma stands by the kitchen table sniffing the flowers. Her eyes are closed.
Young Ju, come here, Gomo says, waving me to hurry up. I walk over to the couch and wonder if Uhmma can smell the lie in the flowers. Uhmma opens her eyes and holds out her arm for me. I take baby steps. Stop far away so she cannot smell me. But then Uhmma reaches out and pulls me close to her side. Her nose sinks into my hair, sniffing my head like Mi Shi used to do. I close my eyes and pray fast, Our Father who lives in heaven, I know I have not prayed every day like I am supposed to, but do not let Uhmma know about the lie and I will pray every night. I promise.
I am proud of you, Young Ju, Uhmma says, looking down into my eyes. You are a smart girl and someday you will be a smart woman. You just keep studying hard. I am going to put a flower in my prayer book. Uhmma picks out a perfect snowy blossom and snaps it off with her fingernail.
After Gomo leaves, Uhmma does not sit too tired to talk on the couch with Joon Ho sleeping in her arms. Tonight she makes me sit next to her and talk about what I would like to be someday. Maybe I can be a doctor or a lawyer, or maybe a professor like some other important Parks. Uhmma tells me stories about the great Parks of our past while Joon Ho sleeps. I listen to Uhmma and think, I cannot be the great son, but I can do important things. Then I will be the famous Park in the family. Maybe even better than first son.
Even though I am supposed to be sleeping, my eyes are still open when Apa comes home from his night job cleaning the lawyers’ offices. From my bed I can only hear Uhmma and Apa murr, murr, murr talking in the living room. Does Apa think I can be an important Park like our past grandfathers?
