No Filter | PJM

ᢰJung Minjiᢱ

Friday morning. Office of Mrs. Joeng , school counselor, who has small, kind eyes and a smile too big for her face. According to the certificate on the wall above her head, she's been at Busa High for fifteen years. This is our twelfth meeting.

My heart is still racing and my hands are still shaking from being up on that ledge. I have gone cold all over, and what I want to lie down.

But we start as we always do.

"How are you, Minji?"

"I'm fine, and you?" I sit on my hands.

"I'm fine. Let's talk about you. I want to know how you'refeeling."

"I'm good." Just because she hasn't brought it up does not mean she doesn't know. She almost never asks anything directly.

"How are you sleeping?"

The nightmares started a month after the accident. She asks about them every time I see her, because I made the mistake of mentioning them to my mom, who mentioned them to her. This is one of the main reasons why I'm here and why I've stopped telling my mom anything.

"I'm sleeping fine."

The thing about Mrs. Jeong is that she always, always smiles, no matter what. I like this about her.

"Any bad dreams?"
"No."

I used to write them down, but I don't anymore. I can remember every detail. Like this one I had four weeks ago where I was literally melting away. In the dream, my Grandmother said, "You've come to the end, Minji You've reached your limit. We all have them, and yours is now."

But I don't want it to be. I watched as my feet turned into puddles and disappeared. Next were my hands. It didn't hurt, and I remember thinking: I shouldn't mind this because there isn't any pain. It's just a slipping away. But I did mind as, limb by limb, the rest of me went invisible before I woke up.

Mrs. Jeong shifts in her chair, her smile fixed on her face. I wonder if she smiles in her sleep.

"Can we talk about the incidencent?"

"Not yet"

I say and break off the eye contact, i wanted to hide, i wanted someone to burst through the door and take me away or the ground to eat me up. I wasn't ready for that conversation yet.

"Lets talk about collage. Did you apply for NYU?"

My plan was to apply for early admission in October. But then the accident happened and I changed my mind.

"I missed the application deadline."

The deadline for regular admission was one week ago today. I filled everything out, even wrote my essay, but didn't send it in.

"I believe your mother is an author. She must be very helpful in giving advice."

"Jessamyn West said, "Writing is so difficult that writers, having had their hell on earth, will escape all punishment here after"

She lights up at this. "Do you feel you're being punished?" She is talking about the accident. Or maybe she is referring to being here in this office, this school, this town.

"No." Do I feel I should be punished? Yes. Why else would I have given myself bangs?

"Do you believe you're responsible for what happened?" I tug on the bangs now. They are lopsided. "No."

She sits back. Her smile slips a fraction of an inch. We both know I'm lying.

By now, I'm pretty sure she knows.