Mimic Me

Things Got Better, Just To Feel Worse

Now that things between Jihoon and I are resolved, I can stop pretending to hate him. 

Honestly, he’s not the worst to be around. 

He’s not very dreary around us, in fact, he smiles almost everyday now. 

But of course… He has his days.

This entire week he has seemed to be unsettled, somethings bothering him. I’m clueless as to what it could be. 

Nothing big, just a long period of drowsiness. His bruises have lessened, hardly any remain at all, but they’ve been replaced by heavy bags under his eyes.

In Language arts, the class I have with Jihoon, he jots down quick notes. He has to read the teacher's lips, hardly ever looking down at his written words, that are starting to curve downwards on the page. 

He writes multiple pages of words a day while the rest of us simplify the large statements our teacher makes into short sentences.

Every once in a while, he forgets the teacher's previous words, in his defense she does talk very fast. By the end of class his paper is filled with unfinished sentences, worded too complex to decipher a finish to them himself. He crumples up the page, tossing it into the recycling bin as he exits the class with the rest of us. 

That’s how it was Monday through Thursday anyways. Today is Friday and Jihoon has given up. He opened his computer to google docs, set it to speech to text and laid his head on the desk over his crossed arms. 

The computer copies down everything the teacher says, and Jihoon gets his rest. It’s a wonderful idea.

But of course, people just can’t leave him alone. 

“Mrs. Wanamaker, Jihoon’s asleep,” Sandra is always one to point things out, if someone asked for help on the homework, she'd be the first to see and the first to report to the teacher. 

Mrs. Wanamaker pauses, glassing at our table, and sighs. 

“Please wake up your friend, Soonyoung.”

I look over at Jihoon, still, silent as ever. He's probably grateful for the hour of rest he planned on having. 

“No.”

“Excuse me?” She folds her arms, a classic teacher pose 

“He hasn’t gotten much sleep lately,mI really think we should leave him be.”

Mrs. Wanamaker straightens up, analyzing. With a wave of her hand, unconcerned, she replies, “It’s none of our concern how Jihoon spends his class time.”  

She goes back to her lecture on strong adjectives and adverbs. 

Even with the teacher's understanding, it doesn’t stop.

On Monday of the next week, the boys in our class head over to the pencil sharpener, bumping into my table along the way. 

Jihoon stirs, shifting to the side.

His pencils roll from the collision, stopping at his arm but he remains asleep. 

“Be careful,” I warn, nudging the desk back in place.

“Chill out, it was an accident,” It’s one of those boys. The type to argue with the teacher and use every spare breath they have to insult the people around him. In other words. He’s a prick. 

His friends are a little less insensitive, but not enough to tell him to knock it off.

Beomseok’s tone is mocking, far from serious.