𝗦𝗜𝗗𝗘 𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ⨾ vernon

05 | 𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗲𝗲

"Where were you?" The silent voice of my overworked mother stops me when I enter the house through the main door. You'd probably expect me to use the back door. Sorry, we don't have one. The window's too high to climb, so just expect normal stuff from me. That means you'll expect some scolding on the go.

"Jeon Sanghee, you know the SATs aren't that far. What are you doing not studying?" Mom and this question. They are best friends.

I hesitate before saying, "Wonwoo called me."

"Wonwoo? Why suddenly—"

"He had a... doubt in Maths." I sound very natural. I am the epitome of improvisation and I have never regretted that.

"Wonwoo... had a doubt in Maths and he asked you? Is that kid okay?" I set aside the indirect insult and nod my head.

Mom fears Wonwoo. He bit her nose when he was four. Well, not literally fears him. But she says You bit my nose, pay me back with a soju almost every time she meets him after he started living alone. Sometimes I feel like my mother is nothing more than a human-robot.

At his mention, Mom softens, but still keeps that you-didn't-study-for-yourself-and-I'm-disappointed gaze.

"You never wake up this early. It's good, start from tomorrow. Get up at four and start with your own studies. Give me a paper, I'll write down a time table for you. You'll study smooth, then." Mom smiles and I hate to let her down so I give her a paper and a pen.

She divides Biology, History, English, Korean and Maths into four hours each for Yaja. Except for school hours, there're few breaks.

Okay, such a basic Mom Time Table. No eating, no bathing, no rest, no nothing. Thanks, Mom. Obviously I am not not going to do them.

Mom is happy just by handing me the small piece of paper. Mom has created way more intense tables. One table for everyday of the week. This one's random, but it's still her table. I have to follow this for at least another week. Then she'll forget about it as much as I will.

The future existence of a new table probably plays in her mind.

For me, no table suits enough. I like to do stuff randomly. I don't set routines. It's sickening to think of routines. I don't oblige with myself. It's like giving myself orders. I hate orders. But since Mom smiles only when she sees me studying, I don't hesitate to fold the paper and put it inside my desk drawer and promise myself to try this out for a considerable amount of time.

Mom cooks breakfast and I stare at her. Her short height is getting shorter day by day, hair growing out grey, and there will be no time before they turn white. The stress that she lives with everyday breaks the threshold to age. Now Age knocks on the door, and Mom keeps putting it off. Her ears are tired of hearing the pounding, the sound reaches me too well.

Feeling bad for her is an understatement. I feel dead for her.

My gaze shifts to the picture I hang over my desk, of my Dad, Mom and me. We are smiling. The smiles look old. The kind of old that never returns.

I lock my door and get into the shower. I am tired and I need sleep, but I don't sleep. I can't sleep. Not since Dad was gone. Mom thinks I sleep throughout the night. That I stay inside the blankets and rest. That I am at peace. But I haven't been sleeping or under the blankets and resting, or at peace. I've been seeing nightmares without even sleeping.

I pick up my soap and carve out an I-hate-you and run it down over my body. Automatically, my whole body laughs. I'm crazy.

It's not easy being nice to people when all you do is be an asshole to yourself. It's even harder with that picture around. I think I've been deliberately upsetting myself. Thinking about Yeonhee makes things worse.