by Kim Sagwa
“Fuck, how am I going to hide this CD?”
“Just erase it. Wipe it clean.”
“No—I want to back it up first!”
The boys check their stacks of CDs, their external hard drives, their cellphones. Girls gather their cigarettes to hide in the toilet tanks.
Amid the chaos of the classroom Crystal quietly flips through her textbook.
Someone puts a hand on her shoulder. “Anything you need to get rid of?”
“Nope.”
“Good for you.”
In no time the bell rings. Crystal takes the Band-Aid off her thumb and worries the tip with her teeth while tapping on her desk with her other hand. Blood oozes from the thumb. She wipes it on her skirt. Just as she’s rising from her seat, the teacher opens their classroom door. Crystal sits back down. She begins gnawing at her thumb again. Blood continues to ooze, slowly and steadily. With a wide smile the teacher announces the inspection. The students respond with grumbles. Crystal looks at her bleeding thumb, then rubs it with her forefinger until the thumb is covered in blood. Again she chews the thumb. She feels a bone-deep pain and trembles all over. She licks her bloody lips. She rests the thumb on her desk and watches the blood ooze from it until there’s a stream of red. Someone points to her thumb with a look of shock. Several kids turn toward Crystal. Crystal looks up, sees the other kids, looks down to check that the thumb is still bleeding, slowly raises her hand, and calls out to the teacher.
“Crystal, is something the matter?”
Crystal extends the thumb, blood now pouring from it. The teacher startles. By way of explanation Crystal mimics cutting paper with a knife.
“Get to the nurse’s office, now.”
There’s a buzz among the kids. Crystal gets up and walks toward the door at the rear of the classroom. Curious eyes follow her. She takes one step, two steps, and at the third she collapses, limp, to the floor. Students scream and Jina rushes to her side. The teacher comes over. Somebody calls out her name. Crystal opens her eyes, but for a moment they don’t move or react. The floor is slick with blood from her thumb. Jina shakes her shoulder, and Crystal slowly sits up. Her face betrays no emotion, but she’s making an effort to smile, nodding and waving her hand.
“I’m okay.” From her constricted throat it sounds like a nail scratching a steel plate. “I’m all right, ma’am. I’ll go to the nurse’s office.”
“Are you all right going by yourself?”
“Yes.”
Jina takes her arm.
“It’s okay. I can manage.”
“No, I’m going with you. You’re too pale.” Jina points to a mirror next to the lockers. “Just look at yourself.”
Leaning against Jina, Crystal lowers her head to avoid looking in the mirror.
The hallways are still. Jina keeps asking Crystal if she’s all right, and Crystal keeps shaking her head no. The nurse’s office comes into view, the bright white walls and the white cotton sheets visible through the half-open door. The air in the empty hallway smells of rubbing alcohol and medication. Crystal perches on a bed, nervously jiggling her leg. Jina looks around the office curiously. Crystal gets back up and begins pacing.
“Who’s there?” comes a voice.
“I cut my thumb. Can I have a Band-Aid, please?”
The nurse comes in. “Let’s have a look.”
Crystal extends her thumb. The nurse moves in close to examine it. She holds her breath; the man’s moisturizer has an overpowering smell.
He looks her in the eye. “It doesn’t look like a cut to me.”
Crystal puts the hand behind her back. He shakes his head.
“Let’s start with some disinfectant. You might feel a little sting, all right?” With a moistened cotton ball he carefully wipes the wound until the torn skin is clearly visible. “This isn’t a cut. Is it a dog bite? What happened?”
“No. No, it’s not.”
“Are you sure? If it’s a dog bite, then…”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Jina watches them, confused.
“It was a knife, really. Not a dog. Please. It’s an old knife and it’s pretty dull. I’m sorry but I need to get back to class, so could we hurry and…” She checks the clock on the wall. The nurse looks too.
“Oh well, all right.”
He takes a Band-Aid from a drawer and bandages her thumb, his eyes continuing to search her. Crystal tries to keep her expression calm. He gives her some extra Band-Aids.
“They’re waterproof, so don’t worry about water touching them. And they’ve got a little bit of disinfectant added. Fancy, see?”
She nods.
“Okay, let’s get you to class. When school’s over, come on back so we can disinfect it again. Got it?”
She nods.
“All right, run along then.”
The girls bow politely and leave. Crystal starts up the stairs.
“Hey, what are you doing? We need to go down.”
“I’m going to the teachers’ office.”
“Why? And why was the nurse saying your cut wasn’t from a knife? And why didn’t you tell him you fainted?”
Crystal stops and glares at her. Shaking her head in exasperation, she starts up the steps again. The next moment she’s stopped and leaning against the railing, holding her forehead and moaning.
Jina shouts, “Crystal, are you all right?”
Crystal rushes back downstairs. Jina watches, perplexed. Crystal grabs Jina’s wrist and then rushes back up the stairs—Jina is being hauled along before she knows it’s happening. Her shoes come off.
“Hey, my shoes!”
“Right, your shoes—not my shoes.”
Jina knocks Crystal’s hand away and stops. Crystal grabs her by the neck. Jina chokes and flails her hands at the air. Holding tight to her neck, Crystal climbs the remaining stairs. At the top she releases Jina, who breathes heavily, her panting echoing in the quiet hallway.
“Shut up. Don’t say anything. Wait here.” Crystal pulls one of Jina’s ears. Face stiff from fright, Jina pushes her away. A smile blossoms on Crystal’s face. “Wait here.”
Crystal walks through the teachers’ room, bowing to several teachers. Her homeroom teacher, chin propped up on her palm, is focused on a computer.
“May I leave early?”
The teacher breaks her gaze from the monitor and regards Crystal. She sees a student with a pale face holding tight to her thumb and trembling.
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well? Here, sit.”
“I think I have a cold,” says Crystal.
The teacher feels her forehead, “Well maybe you do. Feels like you have a touch of fever.”
“Yes.”
“Mmm…can you hang on a bit longer? Just till the end of morning classes?”
Silence.
“No? What happened to your thumb?”
“I cut it with a knife. I guess I was spacing out because of the fever.” She gives the teacher a feeble smile.
The teacher gazes at her, deep in thought. Silence. And then, with a pat on her shoulder, the teacher grins. “Well, if you’re sick you’re sick, not much we can do.” The teacher begins to fill out an early-dismissal pass, then pauses, looking at Crystal, “Didn’t you leave early last Monday?”
“No,” says Crystal, a slight edge to her tone.
“Guess I’m confusing you with someone else. This is your first early dismissal of the term?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Handing Crystal the pass, the teacher crosses her legs. “All right, you can go now. Get yourself some rest and see you tomorrow.”
Pass in hand, Crystal stands with a bright smile.
“By the way, how is the prep for the field trip going?”
“Oh gosh, how would I know? You should ask the class monitor…” Crystal bows to her, grinning.
The teacher fixes her with a stare as Crystal makes a show of hobbling to the door.
Carefully she opens the classroom door. All eyes t
urn to her. She sees Jina—I knew she wouldn’t actually wait! Head down, Jina is looking at her notebook. Crystal approaches and places a hand on her shoulder. Jina looks up. Crystal’s smiling from ear to ear. Her lips are tense and trembling, but she holds the smile. Jina turns away. With a sigh Crystal takes her hand off of Jina’s shoulder and walks over to the teacher.
“Sorry you’re not feeling well,” says the teacher, looking at Crystal’s pass.
Eyes down, Crystal goes to her desk and gathers her things. Then she goes to her locker, opens it, takes out her messenger bag, and puts it on the floor. Into the locker go her textbooks, into her bag go her pencil case and workbooks. She turns and glances at the teacher. She’s writing something on the whiteboard, the dry-erase marker squeaking. Closing her bag and locking her locker, Crystal quietly heads for the rear door. Before she gets there, her eyes meet Jina’s. Crystal isn’t smiling anymore. Jina watches her as Crystal walks the rest of the way to the door. Crystal, eyes still on Jina, bangs her head against the door. Jina bursts out laughing and the next moment turns back to the class. Crystal quietly opens and then shuts the door behind her. Through a window into the next classroom she sees that the inspection is nearly done. Off she runs.
AT MINA’S
“Oppa, where are you? Can you come over?
“No? Why not?
“Come to me, please.
“Somebody out there come to me.
“Somebody out there come to me.
“Somebody out there come to me.
“Or I’ll kill all of you.
“Or I’ll kill all of you.”
Crystal smiles.
“Or I’ll kill all of you.”
Pointing at the pedestrians outside the phone booth, she says, “You. Every last one of you. I’ll kill you.
“I’ll kill every last one of you.
“I haven’t figured out how just yet,” she shouts into the phone. “But I will.”
Suddenly she remembers the folded sheet of paper in her notebook. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I just don’t. Will someone please come to me? Please?
“I can’t call everybody. Someone just come. Then I’ll feel better.” She throws the receiver and squats, her face crinkling. Rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands, she heaves a faint sigh. When she removes her hands, her eyes moisten again. The morning sun is heating to a midsummer sizzle and the phone booth is suffocating. She looks out blankly and her eyes meet those of a man walking by. She stands and picks up the receiver.
“Come to me…I can’t do anything…but that doesn’t make me a failure.”
She emerges from the phone booth and walks away, wondering where to go. It’s still early and most of the shops aren’t open yet. She thinks of a few places to go, but she shrugs them off. She checks the time. She’s hungry. She decides she wants breakfast but keeps walking. She’s famished. Her legs are about to buckle. Her toes are stiff and hot and each leg feels like a thick phone book. She’s dizzy. And sweating. She enters a Starbucks. Drip coffee and tuna wrap in hand, she goes into the bathroom. She changes from her school uniform back into her street clothes, applies powder and lip gloss, and looks at herself in the mirror. She leaves the bathroom and goes into the smoking area. The people give her looks: that girl seems awfully young to be smoking. She stuffs the tuna wrap in her mouth and drinks her coffee. And then she lights up. She looks around. Checks the time. Gazes vacantly through the glass partition as she smokes. Stubs out her cigarette and rises. Her messenger bag drops to the floor. Eyes are on her. Shrugging, she shoulders the bag, and leaves to find another phone booth.
“Who is it?” she hears Minho shout. It’s impossible to hear with all the noise in the background.
Blocking her other ear, she shouts back, “Where are you? Are you at school?”
“Crystal? Is that you?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you? At school?”
“No.”
“You’re skipping?”
“No, I took an early dismissal.”
“How come? Are you sick?”
“What?”
“I said, are you sick!”
“No, I’m okay!”
“You don’t sound okay!”
“I’m just a little tired.”
“What? I can’t hear you!”
“I said I’m a bit tired!”
“Then go home and get some sleep.”
“No, I’m going to your place.”
“Really? I think Mina left for school.”
“But she’ll be home soon?”
“Huh?”
“Yeah!”
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Uh…sorry…hang on…can you hear me now?”
“Wow. How’d you do that?”
“I came outside.”
“Well, it worked.”
“So, why do you want to go to my place?”
“Just because.”
“You know, I didn’t tell Mina I saw you yesterday.”
“How come?”
“Should I have told her?”
“No, it’s good you didn’t. When are you getting home?”
“Not till late.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s try to meet up later.”
“I love you!” Crystal shouts.
No response.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“I’m listening.”
“I know you don’t love me, but I love you.”
“Crystal, you always talk like that…I like you too.”
“Look. It’s not like I’m asking you to commit, I know you better than that. Anyway, thanks. I don’t know…when I think about you, Minho…I get all weepy.”
“Are you crying? Hey, Crystal, don’t cry.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying… Why would I be crying? Minho, by the way…”
“What?”
“I’m out of money. Time’s up.”
“Okay. Call me later. Let’s try to meet up this evening.”
“All right, bye.”
“Okay, bye.”
The moment she hangs up her heart starts drumming; she’s getting angry. She thinks, her unfocused eyes boring holes in the distance. Smiling bashfully, she closes her eyes and then opens them. A short time later she does it again. No one notices her. No one knows what she’s thinking. That no one is thinking about Crystal right now is her responsibility. But what would responsibility or purpose have to do with anything? Regardless of responsibility, things will happen according to their fate. And they are happening now: fate has arrived. Now a bus arrives. Crystal gets on.
Under the rising heat, the scent of the lilac and black locust blossoms attacks Crystal with a different zing than at night. On this fragrance-smothered path she watches, helpless, as all of her thoughts drift away. Stripped of their shells, they take on a liquid form that flows and ebbs. And the thoughts all gradually ebb and break apart behind her. It’s alluring yet risky to try and follow them. Ultimately, she’s powerless in their presence, and drifts defenselessly among the flowing thoughts awaiting a respite that doesn’t come. She merely drifts, further and further off. Just when she feels like bursting into tears, Madonna’s “Vogue” comes through her headphones again. She feels excitement build and has an urge to run into the garden, grab hold of a lilac bush, and dance circles around it. But the garden is for Residents Only. That thought makes her a bit sad, but she concentrates on the music. She turns up the volume and the music comes a step closer. The intro to “Vogue” never fails to pump her up with anticipation, and then out comes Madonna’s dreamy, silky pink voice. She’s never seen Madonna perform in person but has gotten used to hearing the song everywhere; it has been famous since she was young, but she’s only recently been really listening to it, concentrating on it from beginning to end, and now every time she hears it she falls in love with it again. Crystal marvels at Madonna’s bravura voice. She also knows all about c
ontemporary Madonna. On the gossip channel she sees Madonna’s silky blond hair and porcelain white skin, her mastery of intricate dance steps even though she’s over fifty, her explicit allure to her teenage fans onstage. Crystal also knows all about her celebrated filmmaker husband, her infatuation with yoga and kabbalah, her strict ban on her children watching TV, the controversy over her adopting a child from Africa, her writing children’s books, her living in London. She knows that Madonna loves to wear long clinging coats but performs just as provocatively as the younger singers, and on MTV Crystal can see her practically anytime. And yet Madonna’s daughter doesn’t get to watch her perform on TV. She’s arrogant, but for Crystal, Madonna’s assortment of contradictions makes sense. They are precisely why Crystal likes her. Her contradictory attitudes come not from some personal defect—the assumption of an ignorant public—but from a core irony of all great people. That irony is a hallmark of a winner, and if you want to win you need to be illogical, powerful, and destructive, and the more of each the better. Crystal wishes to elevate her characteristic incoherency to the lofty plane of Madonna’s contradictions, and that’s why she admires her.
Everybody knows Madonna. She’s as much of a megastar now as she has ever been, but Crystal has never been one of her most devoted fans. Crystal is more familiar with alternative types, witches and outliers—PJ Harvey, Liz Phair, Fiona Apple, Björk. She knows them better, likes them more, and listens to them more often than Madonna. But that isn’t a choice of hers, but rather a matter of Mina’s influence. But where does one draw the line between her own choices and the influence of others? Don’t we all grow within a realm of others’ influence? Thin-skinned types fall into despair when they can’t escape that realm, but that merely shows us they’re short on critical thinking and they’ve missed the point—how can people like that contribute anything to the world? Can it be possible to make choices in an absence of influence from others? Can we break off from the preferences of those around us and make choices of our own? Is that possible? Is it then possible to act on our own? Of course, our time and space make us into people with different agendas. But that’s only a different mix within a fixed makeup. Freedom is nothing but the myth of a bygone romantic era. Crystal doesn’t believe that myth. The only freedom she believes in is a place where she can go but others can’t. In practice she doesn’t believe in such a thing as independence. Rather, hope lies in being fused and buried in a group—a core group. Her credo is that alternative schools, and alternatives in general, are consolation prizes for losers.
