Paperthin Hymn

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

He came to pick her up at exactly six o'clock. Looks were average, on the short side. His hair was combed to the side and I could smell the after shave from three feet away. He sat across from me, his back straight as a board, a bouquet of daisies in his lap. 

     "So what grade are you in?" he asked. His voice was too high. Like he'd been kicked in the balls. 

     "I'll be in eleventh." 

     "Ah." He adjusted his navy silk tie. "What's your favorite subject?" 

     "History." 

     He nodded, shifting nervously. "Make good grades?" 

     "Yes." 

     His eyes darted around the room, he having obviously run out of polite, impersonal questions. I was glad of it. I wanted him out. I didn't like his raspy voice or chubby fingers or his perfectly ironed pants. 

     "Sorry to make you wait, Il-Soon." Omma came down the stairs with her purse over her arm, trying to put on an earring. 

     Il-Soon? Even his name made me want to vomit. 

     Il-Soon stood quickly, smiling. His teeth were too white, obviously bleached. I heard that breaks down the enamel.  "Chae-young! Oh, it's fine. These are for you." He held out the daisies. 

     "Oh, thank you. They're so pretty!"  Omma took the bouquet and smelled it. She looked too nice. A silky black dress that went to her knees and high heels, her hair twisted and pinned up with a curl hanging down on each side of her face.

     "Seung-hyun, can you put these in some water please?" She gave me the flowers and brushed imaginary wrinkles out of her skirt. "I'll be back before midnight and I have my cell phone, alright? There's money for take out on the table. There should be plenty, just put the change in the jar on the fridge." 

     I nodded and then they were gone. I heard the car doors slam and saw the headlights shine through the living room window as they drove off. I glared down at the bouquet in my hands. One of the white petals is starting to wither. I had better get rid of it before it spreads. Having no idea if withering was even contagious, I pinched the flower off the stem. The beheaded stalk, now looking like a piece of grass, pleased me. Oh, this one has a brown spot too. And this one.

     I knew I shouldn't be angry, but I was. Omma shouldn't be going on dates. It was weird. Strange men shouldn't be in my house to take her out. I shouldn't be waiting for her to come home. What would they do? What did old people do on dates? Play bingo? But Omma wasn't that old. She went to the gym three days a week, she liked horror movies, and I always had to remind her not to eat too much junk food before dinner. She was like someone my age. So does that mean she would act like a teenager on her date? Batting her lashes, holding hands, kissing him goodnight? 

     I ended up destroying the bouquet. 

     I stuffed the sad remains into the garbage can, dropping an old newspaper on top so maybe Omma wouldn't notice. Not likely, but I didn't care all that much. After leaving the kitchen without a word last night and having avoided her all day she probably knew how I felt about all this. 

     My heart set on whatever revenge I could get, I called my favorite jjajangmyun place and ordered as many bowls of noodles as fifty thousand won could buy, then a sank to the couch and flipped through the TV channels in search of a distraction. Strange though how you can have 500 channels and nothing is on.