The Korean Word For Butterfly

by James Zerndt

  “Of course I’m not okay,” I said and tossed a six-pack of what I guessed was tuna into the cart. “Please stop asking me that.”

  Or I’m going to kill you and every space girl in the place.

  *

  The next day there were people carrying in lights, grapples, and large cameras once we got to the school. Kim immediately introduced us to somebody who had one of those 80’s haircuts where they leave a tail in the back. A rattail, I think it’s called. Kim told us this guy was the director and that the film crew was from a local children’s television show.

  “Really?” Joe said, excited, probably hoping they were putting on some sort of production for the kids and that we’d get a break.

  “Yes. Really.” Kim seemed more annoyed than usual. “Why do you always say that word? Really? Do you think we are lying to you? I don’t understand.”

  I could tell Joe was almost going to say “Really?” again but caught himself just in time. I hadn’t realized before how much we say it. It is annoying.

  “It’s just a nothing word we use,” Joe tried to explain. “A conversation filler. Like Oh.”

  Kim nodded, but I’m pretty certain she still didn’t understand.

  “Are they planning on filming some of the classes?” I asked, still not sure what exactly was going on.

  “Yes, they video some of the teachers doing activities with the kids. Playing a game, this kind of thing. You and Joe will be going after Jean-Paul today.”

  In front of a camera was just about the last place I wanted to be. “You’re joking,” I blurted out.

  “Joking? Oh, no. What is so funny?”

  I can’t tell you how badly I wanted to tell them just how absurd and un-funny the whole damn situation was. But I couldn’t without telling her how I spent my weekend.

  “We just started a few weeks ago,” I said instead. “We don’t really know what we’re doing yet.”

  “What? No, no. You will be fine! Come on, it is easy. You will see. What, you are shy? I don’t think so.”

  With that Kim walked away, chuckling to herself.

  The three secretaries, too, were also shaking their heads at us. Who wouldn’t want to be in a children’s show?

  Silly Americans.

  *

  When I got to my classroom, Alicia ran up and started pointing at her shirt. “English-ee! English-ee!”

  “Yes, Sweetie. Let me see. What does it say?”

  I started to read the words out loud but stopped short.

  “Alicia, do you know what this says?”

  Alicia just shook her head and smiled. The shirt was yellow with bright-red lettering across the front. There was a picture of a garden along the bottom. A mushroom cloud above that.

  NUKE ALL THE JESUS LOVING COMMIE LESBIAN LETTUCE GROWERS!

  The shirt must have been made in Japan. It was by far the most extreme example I’d come across yet. A boy in another class had one on that read: You Know You’re A Good Friend When You Let Them Puke In The Front Seat! Most of the parents had no idea what the shirts actually said, but as long as they were in English, they were automatically hip.

  I gave Alicia the thumbs-up, and she ran off all smiles.

  Later, just as we were about to start story-time, the director came in and handed me some large pieces of cardboard. Body parts. For a clown. Without speaking, he began to demonstrate. The arm went where there wasn’t already an arm, and so on. He then gestured towards the children to indicate that they should try it now. When they didn’t move fast enough, Rattail barked something in Korean and they all jumped into action.

  They were absolutely petrified of him.

  Petrified of everybody, it seemed, but me.

  After we practiced putting the puzzle together, we were taken into a classroom that had been cleared for filming. In the back of the room I noticed Kim, Moon, and the three secretaries looking on. There seemed to be some talk concerning the shirt I was wearing. Rattail, too, started motioning up and down along my shirt front, saying, “Sweater? You sweater?”

  “No, I don’t have a sweater. Why?”

  Rattail then turned to Moon and began gesturing up and down Moon’s shirt front. I don’t know what he was saying, but I could tell Moon wasn’t liking it. Rattail finally threw up his hands in what was obviously the Korean version of How-do-you-expect-me-to-work-under-these-conditions and stalked out of the room.

  It was Friday, so I had worn a t-shirt. Something the other teachers and staff sometimes did. Sure, it was a little tight but nothing excessive. And I was wearing a bra for crissakes.

  What the hell was the big deal?

  Then I realized the obvious.

  The short sleeves. My tattoo.

  I walked over to Moon.

  “Okay,” he said and smiled down at me. “All okay now. No worry.”

  I must have looked doubtful because he smiled at me again.

  He’s such a good smiler.

  I let it go.

  Besides, the kids were getting fidgety and starting to whine about all the hot lights. While the camera men were busy trying to find the best angle, I sat the kids down in a circle, placing Alicia by my side, making sure her yellow shirt was in full view of the camera. Kim then came over and distracted the kids with a quick game of Simon Says. She made it known to me, by the arching of an eyebrow, that this was something I should have already been doing.

  When Rattail eventually came back, he said something to the kids which made them all sit up straight. He then pointed to me and said, “Go!”

  Go what? Did I introduce myself to the TV audience or just go straight into another game of Simon Says? I decided on Simon. I’d barely even started the game when Kim came rushing over.

  “Oh, no, no, no! You have to talk louder and smile more often. Like THIS! You know, be more expensive!”

  “Expensive?”

  “Yes. More talkative”

  “Oh. Expansive.”

  “Yes. Expensive.”

  I kept my mouth shut, deciding I’d to try to be both expansive and expensive, and somehow made it through an entire Simon Says. I was proud of myself. I’d spoken in my loudest voice throughout the game and even made pouty faces for the losers.

  I was on the superhighway to Korean stardom.

  I was the goddamn Korean version of Howdy Doody.

  But when I looked up the whole room was frowning.

  “We do again,” said Rattail, obviously disgusted.

  I was beginning to feel like some exotic monkey they’d ordered out of a catalogue. And this catalog promised I could perform wondrous tricks. Only now I wasn’t delivering the goods.

  Kim, too, was frowning away in the back of the room.

  She wanted to return me.

  I wanted to return me.

  We did another take which I thought was even more lifeless, but the room erupted in applause afterwards for some reason.

  Go figure.

  Anyway, we finally got the go ahead to move on to the all-important clown puzzle. The kids by this point were starting to feel bold, hamming it for the cameras more, starting to understand that they were the real stars of the show.

  So Richard put a clown-arm into the clown—crotch.

  This was a huge hit with the other kids, and soon everything was being crammed into the clown-butt.

  Kim once again came over looking very concerned.

  “Didn’t you teach them body parts?”

  “Yes, I taught them body parts.”

  “You taught them today?”

  “Yes Kim, I--”

  “Then what’s wrong with them?”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer because Kim turned to the kids and said something in Korean which caused them to all nod their heads gravely. She then turned back to me and said, “So you do a good English-ee job, okay?”

  I was beginning to notice that her English got fuzzier and fuzzier the more upset she was. Luckily, or because of whatever Kim threatened them with, the kids pe
rformed their task wholesomely on the next take.

  For the finale we were instructed to look into the camera and cheer.

  No problem.

  I pointed both Alicia and her shirt squarely at the camera, and, when Rattail pointed his finger at me, we all cheered, “Goodbye from Kids Inc!”

  It was a small victory.

  But a victory nonetheless.

  Moon

  Moon is in the men’s bathroom helping Richard change his pants. He’s peed himself. Something not all that uncommon among the kindergartners. They keep extra sets of clothes in the office for such occasions. While he’s changing him, Moon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He lets it go to voicemail.

  The boy is sniffling, but he’s not upset because he’s peed himself. He’s upset because he’ll have to go home later and explain why he’s wearing different pants. He’s crying because his father is an asshole.

  Richard doesn’t have to tell Moon this.

  Moon just knows.

  He’s met men like him before.

  Moon can’t help but think of Hyo and changing his diaper as a baby, how difficult a thing it was when Hyo was throwing a fit, red in the face, his tongue curled up like a baby bird’s. Moon’s hands would shake when trying to get the tiny flaps open. Every little task turned into something monumental when Hyo was like that. Like getting his little feet to slide through the pajama legs and into the footsies. Hyo would always arch his foot so that Moon couldn’t get them to go in any further. It was such an innocent thing to do, but it used to drive him crazy.

  Moon buttons Richard’s pants up, tussles his hair, and sends him back to class. His other clothes will stay in a plastic bag until the end of the day. Moon will be sure to tuck them into the boy’s backpack come the end of the day so only his mother will notice.

  Moon goes to the sink, washes his hands. On his forearm is a streak of blue marker. He got it while helping Billie during Arts and Crafts. Kim had wanted Moon to show her how to color the Korean flag correctly. Like it might have been too difficult for Billie. Moon shakes his head, scrubs the soap up and down his arms. The marks reminds him of Billie’s tattoo, of the incident the other day with the film crew. The whole thing had been Moon’s idea. The children’s show got to use the teachers and kids at no expense, and the school got free advertising.

  We’re supposed to have this American... this American woman around our children? Tell her to at least cover herself!

  Moon knew the word the film director was thinking of but wouldn’t say in front of the children. Billie wasn’t a chang nyeon. She was a good person. And so what if she had a tattoo? Didn’t all Americans have tattoos?

  Moon dries his hands, smiles to himself.

  He knows it’s a cliché.

  Like all Americans have guns.

  But it didn’t take much for Moon to shut the man up.

  Do you like your job?

  That’s all he’d needed to say.

  The director knew who Moon was.

  Who he used to be.

  There weren’t any problems after that.

  His phone. Moon almost forgot. There’s a message from his wife. He can’t remember the last time he got a call from her. The message is short, but it’s enough to set Moon’s heart pounding.

  Something’s wrong with Hyo. We don’t know what exactly yet, but you should come to the hospital. If you’re okay to, that is.

  Click.

  If he’s okay to? What was that supposed to mean? Did she think he was drunk? Would it never end? How long would she...?

  Never mind, Moon tells himself.

  Hyo needs you right now.

  Nothing else matters.

  Yun-ji

  “With child” was defined as a formal way of announcing a person was pregnant. Maybe that was what she should tell Shaun. That she was “with child.” It sounded nice. Like the baby was already born, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

  Normally Yun-ji would be annoyed at having to clean the glass doors of the playroom, but today she didn’t mind. She felt like she’d been given a second chance. She even made a doctor’s appointment that morning to make sure everything was okay. And she’d already checked for spotting three times that morning. Nothing. And no cramps either. Everything was going to be okay.

  Her boy was going to be okay. She was certain it was a boy. She didn’t know how she knew this, but she knew it nonetheless.

  Would she ever tell him what she’d done?

  No. Never.

  That was a secret, a covenant, between her and God.

  The glass doors were covered in little smudges made by little hands. Eunice wanted it cleaned every day since sometimes the parents sat in the waiting area and watched their children on the classroom monitors. Yun-ji kneeled and sprayed the glass with cleaner, all the while imagining her son and all the smudges he’d someday make. To think she almost wiped them away before he’d even got a chance to get the world dirty.

  When she finished, she stood and stretched, her back still aching from the jump, from the pull and strain of the harness. The school was in-between class periods, so most of the teachers were in the teacher’s lounge. Which is why it was a little strange to see Billie still in her room. Yun-ji took a step closer to the monitor. Billie was hunched over her desk, her head in her hands. Maybe she was tired. Or still sick. She knew Billie had missed a day of work because it had meant more work for Yun-ji.

  Yun-ji shrugged. It was probably nothing. She was about to walk away when suddenly Billie lifted her head, grabbed a can full of crayons from her desk, and threw them violently across the room.

  Then she just sat there.

  Still.

  Staring off into space.

  It all happened so fast, Yun-ji wasn’t sure now if she’d actually seen it at all. But then Billie stood up and walked to her classroom door, where she stood, staring at the floor, at the mess she’d just made.

  Then, just as Yun-ji was wondering if Eunice was watching too-- she had TV monitors in her office so she could observe the classrooms in private-- Billie looked up into the camera, her face streaked with tears.

  It was like she was staring right at Yun-ji.

  Like she was trying to tell her something.

  Billie

  I fucked up.

  Bad.

  I went to Seoul last night with Jean Paul to watch Korea play for third place and never made it back home. I got drunk. Really drunk. Which is no excuse, I know, but I just didn’t want to go back home. I can’t even look at Joe these days. And he kept calling and calling until finally I had to turn my phone off.

  And Korea lost. Which was kind of a bummer, but there were still a lot of people downtown celebrating. Jean Paul was in his element, I guess you could say. And fun. He took me to like ten different bars. My camera is loaded with pictures of us partying with people from all over the world. Not to mention random Koreans hugging us, wanting to take our pictures like we were rock stars or something. (Before they lost the match of course.) I probably have twenty photos of me with smiling Koreans flashing the peace sign.

  It was truly awesome. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  And, chances are, I never will again.

  So why wasn’t Joe there?

  Joe wanted to stay in. He didn’t feel like going out.

  He was tired. Worried about me. About us.

  About it.

  When the bars closed, Jean Paul and I took a cab back to Bundang-gu. After that, things start to get a little cloudy. We were going to go back to his place, but he couldn’t find his key. I remember we tried breaking in through a window, but he slipped and fell and broke some potted plants which made a bunch of noise. Then a light went on next door, so we ran. He said he knew a cool spot where we could hang until it got light out.

  The moon was out. And bright. I remember that because it made it feel like it wasn’t all that late. We walked to a small park I’d passed on the way to school before but had never stopped at.
There was a hill, a trail, trees. Jean Paul led us to a small clearing at the top. He said it was an exercise area that some of the locals used.

  There was a clock hanging on a tree.

  I remember that, too.

  Because it kept reminding me how late it was.

  There was a wooden platform on the ground. Something people used for sit-ups, I think. There was even a bar between two trees you could do chin-ups on. Which, of course, Jean Paul had to do.

  2:30 a.m.

  3 a.m.

  4 a.m.

  We talked. And talked. And talked.

  I even told Jean-Paul what my tattoo meant.

  Something I’ve never even told Joe.

  And then we fooled around.

  When we woke up around 8, we laughed at how our clothes were covered in dirt and twigs. He asked what I was going to tell Joe. I told him I didn’t know. And I didn’t. I had no idea.

  We kissed goodbye.

  It was awkward. His breath stunk.

  I kept smiling and laughing, though, as we stumbled our way down the hill toward the street.

  Then Jean Paul went his way and I went mine.

  When I got home, Joe was waiting for me. He hadn’t slept. He was worried, thought maybe something bad had happened to me. I was so tired. And still a little drunk. I told him I was fine, that everything was fine, that I fell asleep in the park, but that I was fine and I’d tell him about it later.

  Then I laid down on our mattress and found a slip of paper in my pocket. It was the beginning of another poem. I didn’t remember writing it. I crammed it back into my pocket and seconds later I was asleep.

  I didn’t mention that I was with Jean Paul.

  And just like that, I lied to Joe for the first time.

  It wouldn’t be the last...

  When I walk

  I have three shadows now