Miles & Memories

Ch. 4 - Sixteen Candles

On the day of my sixteenth birthday a bright red tow-truck arrived to take my car. I stood in the driveway, tears rolling down my cheeks, as it was pulled upon the large flat bed of the truck and driven out of sight.

My parents laughed at my pain, and I scowled as a response to their scorn. The car, which I now called Rose, was being fixed up so that I could drive it safely on the road. It was a joyous moment, in theory. But Rose had become much more than just a future mode of transportation.  For four years I had sought my refuge in the shelter of it. I had strengthened my Korean, I had practiced being more American, I had dreamed and hoped and hid from the world.

When Lacey McLaughlin kissed Peter Mann, knowing I loved him and was working my way towards letting him know, I went to her soft leather seats for comfort.  She didn't care, my car Rose, if I was happy, sad, American, Korean, she accepted me and sheltered me through it all.  When my parents drove me insane with lectures of future goals, grades, scholarships, and needing to be better at everything, Rose was there, telling me to bide my time and reminding me that someday soon she would take me away.

There were sixteen candles on my white cake topped with strawberries and filled with a pudding like mousse. A small group of girls gathered around the patio table each smiling and laughing while holding a plate and a silver fork.  The sun was shining and we were wet from the pool, my jet black hair dripping down my brown shoulders and leaving tiny tracks that glistened in the sun.

My mother and father hid in the house, as promised, and only came out to fill bowls, pick up plates, and snap a picture of the cake cutting. The music played in the background, and cans of soda filled the coolers. It was completely American. I had read every magazine, and planned every detail. We squealed and danced, and swam, and talked about boys until the sun went down.

When the last girl, Ginny, finally clambered into her father's black SUV I breathed a sigh of relief that it was over. I had completed an entire day of pretending to be the perfect American teen. As I filled the large black garbage bag with discarded chips and shredded stained napkins I felt exhausted. Is this how it would be, tense and rigid inside while trying to appear relaxed and carefree on the outside? 

My mother appeared from the shadows. Silent like a cat, bending down to pick up a fat strawberry from the patio floor. She worked in silence, as she always did wiping the round sticky stain clinging to the warm cement. She had a gift of always letting me sort and wonder what her thoughts were. When she spoke, I jumped. Unaccustomed to her voice during a task.

"Did you have fun Kim?  Was your birthday perfect?"

My mind wanted to say 'of course' because I had gotten everything I wanted. My party, my friends, no parent interference, even my beloved car being readied for driving. And yet, my tongue refused me. I couldn't say yes, because it wasn't perfect. I held the bag tightly while she dumped bowls of candies and chips now soft and soggy from the hours exposed.

"It was a very good birthday mom. Thank you. And I did have fun. We all did I think."

My mother gave me the look she usually reserved for the winner of jeopardy, or the friend who passes her tips on how to do something easier.

"Ahhh, my daughter. You are truly a wise girl. And growing up. Go wash the chlorine off you in the shower. I can finish here."

I declined of course. Korean women always tell you what they don't want you to do, I know this. We cleaned the rest in silence, as is her way. Remnants of my celebration ending with a large black bag of trash waiting to be carried off to a landfill, erasing the proof that it ever happened at all.

As she got out the hose and sprayed down the cement, sending bits of strawberry gel deep into the grass where ants are acceptable, I crept into the house. My shoulders, a mix of browns  and reds from an entire day in the sun, just a little bit higher. I wasn't sure what had prompted my mother to compliment me, but somehow it happened, and despite the lack of shiny paper or a bow, it was the best gift I had received.

The hot shower water burned as it hit my sun baked skin. My lips pulled back into a grimace as I massaged circles of cool aloe gel in front of the bamboo mirror before sliding into my soft robe. My reddened feet slapped noisily against the cool flooring as I made my way toward the kitchen for leftover cake and a glass of cool water. There, my father sat bent over the table, his thick black glasses resting precariously atop of his head. His eyes squinting at the crossword puzzle laying open beside his empty bowl.

"Your party sounded fun Ddal. Lots of laughter. And it looks like lots of sun. Happy Birthday."  He took the glasses off the top of his head and used his smooth palms to rub his eyes. I sat beside him in our quiet kitchen. Never did our family adopt the need for endless noises from conversation or television.

I looked at him then, as my new older self. I could see from this close range the graying of his hair and the slight wrinkles building at the corner of his reddened eyes.  He was still the same man, more Korean than American. Still telling his dreams to koi by the moonlight. Still bowing to people instead of sticking out his hand in greeting. 

I watched him read the clues of the puzzle and wondered how he'd managed all these years to stay so much like he had always been. Since Aunt Rose's death he was almost exactly the same.  I gave up my dream of seeing him grill hot dogs and watch baseball. All those years of blaming Aunt Rose and her staunch belief in keeping tradition died. It was just who he was.

I wondered that night what he would think of me as I continued the path to my dream.  When my children ate McDonald's and wore shorts with tiny alligators while while playing soccer. Would he resent it, or understand that adapting is a means of fitting in? 

I thought these things while looking at him that night. Me, in my fuzzy Joe Boxer robe sitting next to him in his standard brown trousers and button up shirt. But I said nothing.  These were the thoughts I shared only in the confines of my car. With Rose, her secret love, and the spirits of those too quiet to answer me at all.

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Honestly I wanted to jump right into Kim chasing her American Dream down Route 66 in her pink Cadillac but it seemed too big a leap. I needed this chapter because let's face it, it's all about the journey isn't it?  Thanks for taking this one with me. It's got a special place in my heart and even though it feels way out of my league, I'm diving!