In Real Life

by Lawrence Tabak

  Mom, I talk through. They’ve got a high school at the Institute. So they’ve got counselors who can answer the questions. Help her fill it out. I know she’s making just enough to pay her expenses, so that’s good for my prospects.

  Dad, on the other hand, is paranoid. He thinks I’m going to hit him up with some enormous college bill.

  “Just so you know,” he writes. “With the divorce and the problems at work and the economy. I wish it wasn’t so. But I don’t have anything saved for college. And this year was probably my worst in a decade.”

  I try to calm him down. Explain that I’m not asking for money. Tell him that I’m saving some money. And I still have my account in Kansas City, with the $2,000 from Nationals. That he just needs to fill out the forms. I even give him the name of my old counselor at North, in case he has questions.

  So that night I complete Hannah’s model release. Scan it on the team’s copier and email it back. Think about the picture of the two of us. Hanging in some fancy gallery in the Plaza. How totally weird it would be to walk in there and see it. Me and Hannah.

  Wondering if that’s what we are. A photo in an album. A little snippet of ancient history. Hannah thumbing though her work years from now. The tall guy from the environmental club sitting next to her, arm around her. I imagine him going bald.

  “And who’s that in the picture?” he will ask.

  “Just a guy I knew for a while when I first moved to Kansas. We worked together in that pizza place that used to be in the strip mall. Around the corner from KenTacoHut.”

  And then they turn the page.

  37.

  As we get into summer Yeong seems to be getting better at how to use me. I sit out the close ones, play when we win 6-1 or 5-2. If I had any time outside I’d probably admit that I like Korea better in the summer than the winter. It was certainly more pleasant to run out for Tost-us. When I can, I sneak outside during breaks. I like to look at the Korean girls. As the weather warmed they shifted to short skirts, leather boots. Sometimes a small group of them will stop and cover their mouths and laugh in my direction. I’ve never said a word to any of them.

  If I forget to put something over my Anaconda team shirt, everyone seems to recognize me. Take pictures with their cell phones. Occasionally ask for an autograph. Young guys in business suits will try to corner me to practice their English. It’s actually pretty annoying.

  By the end of June Anaconda is right at the top of the standings and the players are basically leaving me alone. Over the past few weeks I actually had won a few matches, surprising everyone. But even when I lost it wasn’t affecting the outcome. So I guess they were resigned to putting up with me.

  We’re about two thirds of the way through the season when Choi hands me a package at breakfast. It’s a big white envelope with Brown University stamped on the top. I don’t want to open it there, so I slip out and take it back to my room.

  My heart’s racing as I rip it open.

  I read the first line, “We are pleased…” and then skim, looking for anything on the scholarship. Because getting in was not the same as going. Not at $60k a year.

  It’s in the second paragraph. “The Hershman Fellowship is intended to cover all of your tuition, living and academic costs for your entire undergraduate program, assuming that you maintain the standards itemized in the attached…”

  I have to shake my head and read it again. Which I do. And then I just have to tell someone.

  So I sit down at the laptop and send off IMs to DT and Garrett. Write a quick email to Mom and Dad. Send a text to Hannah. Then I send a note to Song, thanking him for all the help and the recommendation. And one to Annie and Kim, telling them the news.

  Then I open the drawer with the airline ticket. Go to the American Airlines site and begin looking at schedules. I’m deep into this when someone bangs at the door.

  “Not feeling well,” I yell.

  They bang again.

  “I’m sick. Leave me alone.”

  That seems to do it.

  So I book a flight out Monday morning. Send out my itinerary to everyone back in the States. Then I sneak out of my apartment and take the elevator to the lowest level. Walk out the back through the loading dock so the doorman doesn’t see me.

  I know there’s a Woori Bank branch down the street. I go in, cash out my entire account in won. Take it down another block to a Citigroup branch. Just in case Yeong or someone tries to muck with my earnings. Sit for about ten minutes until an English-speaking banker is available. Set up a new account, which I’m told I can wire out to a bank back home without any complications.

  I hold out enough money to cover a few special expenses. From the lobby I call Sarah and we have lunch.

  When I show her the letter from Brown, she says, “Omigod. This is fantastic!”

  I nod. Thank her for the help. When I walk her back to work we stop in front. She reaches out with both hands and holds my face and plants a sharp kiss on my lips.

  “You are just so adorable,” still holding me. “And smart too. I wish they made you in my age!” We say goodbye and she makes me promise to write.

  When I get back to my apartment I check my messages. Kim and Annie and Song have sent notes of congrats. I’ll have one more Sunday dinner with them and Song will come too. My emails arrived late back in the U.S. and I’m betting no one has picked them up.

  I hang around until team lunch. This will be the fun part.

  38.

  When I walk into lunch no one pays any attention. Most of the guys have their trays of food. They don’t even look up. When Yeong sees me he walks over.

  “You feel better?”

  “I’m OK,” I say. Now that I’m getting ready to announce my resignation, it no longer feels like such a great moment.

  “Look,” I say. “I’m not very good at these things. So I’ll just tell you straight out.”

  Yeong is looking at me in the eyes, puzzled.

  “I need to resign from the team.”

  Yeong shakes his head. “No, this is not possible,” he says. I imagine he’s thinking about the endorsements and the publicity I’ve been getting the team.

  “I have a flight out on Monday,” I say. “It’s been a great experience. But it’s not going to work out.”

  “Yes, yes. We are working out good!” Yeong seems totally unwound. “Season playoffs soon. Players get big bonus. No one leaves teams now. No one.” His voice is raised and the players are now looking up from their food. Trying to follow the English.

  “Well, I am. I’m starting school at the end of August. I’ve got to get back home and get prepared. I think I should say something to the other players.”

  Then I walk up to the front of the room.

  “Can I have your attention please!” I say loudly. “I just want to tell all of you that I am leaving the team. As of today.”

  There is an immediate buzz as the players collectively try to translate. I look over to Yeong, to see if he is going to translate. But he looks stricken. I try to keep it simple.

  “So this is goodbye. I learned a lot from you. Thank you for putting up with me. Good luck with the rest of the season. I know you will do well.”

  Then I turn and walk out the door, into the hall. As I head to my room I feel so much lighter that its like floating.

  39.

  The next few days are a whirlwind. I spend Saturday morning with the crowds in the Myeong-dong shopping district. Wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses, which seems like a pretty lame disguise. But I’m amazed that it seems to work—no one bothers me. I’m trying to find presents for people back home. But mostly something for Hannah. You would think that with hundreds of shops it would be easy, but it’s just about impossible.

  Finally I decide I need help and I call Annie and Kim’
s home number. Annie picks up. I explain that I’ve trying to find presents for my mom and dad and brother. And this special girl from back home. Who I haven’t seen in more than six months.

  “Hang on,” Annie says. I wait for a couple of minutes.

  “You say you’re in Myeong-dong? Kim’s got Alex for a few hours. I can meet you at one o’clock.”

  I protest. Say that I was just looking for a couple of ideas.

  “Are you kidding?” Annie says. “I love to shop. Especially in Myeong-dong. And I’m very good at it, thank you.”

  She tells me to meet her in the coffee shop at the Ibis Hotel. “It’s right in the center of the district. If you need help finding it, just ask anyone.”

  I figure I’ve got well over an hour. That gives me time to get something for the Kims and Song. I still beat Annie to the hotel, sit at a booth and order a Coke.

  After about ten minutes Annie bustles in. Just about everyone in the café turns to look at her and I realize that I’ve only seen her at her apartment. I can see why they’re staring. Not just because she’s tall and blond. But I’ve never really thought about how pretty she is.

  She sits down and starts talking a mile a minute. Pulls out a little notebook and starts asking me questions about everyone on my gift list.

  A couple hours later I’m carrying about twenty pounds of gifts in a half-dozen shopping bags. Shopping with Annie was like watching Anaconda’s top player in a Starfare groove. We share a cab back and she gets dropped first. She makes me promise to come over early Sunday afternoon. For Alex’s sake.

  When I get back I throw the shopping bags on the couch and get on the computer. Everyone has gotten back to me. Mom wants me to book a trip to California “for at least three weeks.” Garrett says he’s working basketball camps for the summer while he’s waiting to hear from the European teams. Dad says he’ll stock the refrigerator but that he’s going to be at a show all week and can’t get out of it. So I’ll have to take a cab from the airport. Hannah has left me this message, “Congrats on Brown! Call me when you get back!”

  So she can tell me about her new boyfriend? An environmental artist who just won a MacArthur genius award for his multi-media performance art?

  After starting and stopping about ten times I finally send a short message, asking if she’d consider picking me up at the KC airport. I get in at 9 p.m. local time. Hoping she comes alone.

  I bought some wrapping paper before Annie arrived and I fold up one of my ActionSeth team shirts, wrap it up and write “Alex” on it. For the Kims I wrap up Hannah’s sailor photo. And a really cool small framed oil painting of the cherry blossom street I found in a gallery. For Song I wrap a small, polished box made of black stone filled with spiral-shaped fossils. I think it will make him think of the Bernoulli spirals we calculated for the optimal Starfare mineral harvests.

  For Garrett Annie suggested a goofy K-pop outfit, so he could dress up like Psy. When I cab over to Kim’s house on Sunday, the whole way I’m trying to figure out what to tell them. Like how much I appreciated Annie’s shopping help. I have this whole little speech worked out but when I get there and begin she just laughs it off. I have my presents in my backpack, for later.

  I hang out, play some games with Alex. When Song arrives we all head to the parking garage and cram into Kim’s car. I’m relieved when we end up at a place that serves Korean-style barbeque. Kimchi optional. I fill up on these sticks of meat which are spicy but not so hot that they make you choke, like some Korean food.

  Back at Kim’s I explain I have to head back to pack. I’m really bad at these kinds of things. I never know what to say and whether to hug people or shake hands. But I do try to tell them all how much they helped me. And how much I’ll miss them. I get out my presents and everyone opens them. At first the Kims seems kind of puzzled by Hannah’s photo, so I have to give them the background. And they seem to like the cherry blossom painting. Song smiles as he holds up the spiral-encrusted box and I know he gets it. Everyone is kind of emotional but when Alex pulls out his shirt and starts crying it somehow breaks the ice. We all hug again. Kim insists on driving me home, but we don’t say much.

  Back at my apartment I pick up a message from Hannah. Saying she’d be able to get the van and pick me up at the airport. Not that’s she excited or delighted to pick me up. Just that she will. I’m thinking she’ll want that nice, quiet, forty-minute drive to explain where things stood.

  Still, I’m not without hope. So I Skype a call to Garrett, who thankfully picks right up.

  “Christ,” he says. “What the hell time is it over there?”

  I tell him it’s 9 p.m. on Sunday.

  “Sunday? This is frickin’ confusing as hell. Anyway. Sorry to hear your pro career is coming to a premature end.”

  “Yeah. No tears. I gave it an honest shot. How ‘bout you?”

  “I’ve got a maybe offer from a Greek team. Pay is OK. I just don’t know if I want to play overseas.”

  “Yeah, I can relate to that.”

  “So are you going to come up and visit me when you get home?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Why not? Unless you’ve still got snow on the ground.”

  “Up yours, it’s summer here.”

  We chat for a bit more before I drop my real reason for calling. I explain the situation with Hannah. How I’m pretty sure she’s in some sort of relationship.

  “But you’re still hot on her right?”

  I sort of mumble something, and he says, “I’m taking that as a yes. And you want to know what you should do.”

  “Sort of,” I admit.

  “Sort of my ass,” he says. “OK, here’s my advice. Do not, whatever you do. Do not give her any indication of your interest.”

  “Huh?”

  “You get off that plane and say you’ve been pining over her for months you’re just going to look pathetic.”

  “But I thought girls like that romantic stuff.”

  “Are you looking for advice or do you want to just totally fail?”

  I say advice.

  “Then trust me. If you come on like a love-lost puppy you’re going to panic this girl. You’re not just some dorky kid who she used to neck with. You’re a celebrity. You’ve been worshipped abroad. You’re now a man of the world. You have no interest in juvenile romances from your past.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And if she wants to confess that she’s fallen in love with some college guy, she’ll tell you. At least you’ll know where you stand.”

  “OK,” I say, even though I’m skeptical. “Thanks for the tip.”

  He makes me promise again to fly up to Fargo. That Dad has plenty of mileage points.

  But even though I left the Kims’ promptly I’m still up at 1 a.m. getting everything crammed into my suitcase. I leave behind a couple of beat-up T-shirts and all but one Team Anaconda shirt.

  Who knows, I might go to a costume party some day.

  40.

  I don’t realize how exhausting the whole process has been until I finally settle into my Korean Air seat. I feel like I’m sinking into the softest sofa in the world. I have some vague sense of a flight attendant making her rounds. When I wake up for a moment, groggy, we’re already in the air and there is a pillow and blanket in my lap.

  So the first ten hours of the trip is just a thankful blur. I finally wake up to activity in the cabin and get to the bathroom before the meal arrives. It’s breakfast, I think, although the time is so screwed up who knows for sure.

  When I stumble out of the plane in Los Angeles I feel like a zombie. But even zombies can walk and I find my way through customs and to the connecting flight. Watch an animated movie with hot-air balloons and talking dogs. Think about meeting Hannah at the airport. And what Garrett said.

  The last leg of the
trip is endless.

  We’re only a half-hour late arriving and I see her as soon as a crowd of us walk past the security gate. She’s standing off to the side. Hasn’t spotted me yet. Which is good. Because I’m literally short of breath, seeing her. She’s cut her hair. Looks worried, kind of shifting from foot to foot. Like maybe I’m not on the flight? Or that maybe I am? I try to pull myself together. Step out from the crowd and she sees me. I head right towards her, drop my carry-on bag just short of her toes. I was thinking a Korean bow would impress her, but I just wrap my arms around her and give her a deep hug. Her hair smells like flowers, like cherry blossoms.

  I step back, her hands still on my shoulders.

  “Oh my God,” she says. “I can’t believe it!”

  “Me either,” I say. Thinking how I could have forgotten how amazing her eyes are, deep amber in this light. Wondering if she means, “thank God you’re back” or “was I ever an idiot to agree to do this” or “Oh my God he looks like he’s just spent the better part of a day crammed into an airline seat.”

  She’s staring at me so hard that I want to turn away.

  “I think you got taller,” she says.

  “Korean food,” I say. “It’s very nutritious.”

  We just look at either for another moment before she says, “So, how does it feel to be back in the U.S.?”

  “Han gaji jim mun mot hae,” I say, and then bend over to pick up my backpack. It’s one of the totally useless phrases my Korean teacher had me memorize. Translation: “one language is never enough.”

  “Wow,” says Hannah. “What does that mean?”

  “It means, ‘there’s no place like home.’”

  “Well, that may be true. But you’re not in Kansas.”

  “Missouri,” I say. “Close enough. Come on, let’s get my bag and get out of here. The farther I get from airports, the better I’ll feel.”