I stood in the driveway with my suitcase in my right hand and her keys in the left. My mother and father stood on the porch not wanting to create a spectacle in the yard. Hugging them goodbye took place in the kitchen, standing beside a sink full of soapy water. We had all known college was coming and somehow it still seemed to hold the sting of an unpleasant surprise.
The night before my father had paced the floor. His posture stiff and straight, hands cupped together on his head staying in the center of the house where he found his own place of safety. Through the thin eggshell colored walls I heard him muttering. Saying prayers of safety and guidance. Calling on thousands of ancestors who he believed had led him to America and guided his family to prosperity and comfort.
That night I placed a pillow on my head and cried. Salty tears that had been held at bay for months by the planning and excitement of college. I cried for my parents who had placed all their hopes on me, and my her friends who dreamed of getting ahead and finding their way in the clogged pipe of American dreams. And most of all, I cried for myself, for reaching a point where my dreams were finally coming true and I could reach the end of the path where my life that is, and the life that could, be converged.
I slept in spurts dreaming of musicals and romcoms. People loving and leaving and finding happy endings. The next morning I sat at the table with father; with every intent to enjoy my goodbye breakfast of eggs and sweet bread with jam, but every bite was like swallowing rocks, weighted and heavy. My father told jokes, laughing too loud and forced which made it all too evident he was trying to leave me with happy feelings. I did feel happy, adventurous, and scared. When he had told me again about representing her family and being a pioneer I worked hard not to roll my eyes. It was his journey too, I realized. And my mother's, who busied herself with dishes and scrubbing forks for far too long instead of sitting for breakfast.
Finally ready, I sat in the comfort of my car. Seatbelt on and keys in the ignition. Despite it being a spectacle, I waved as I pulled out of the driveway. A Miss America type wave, but never once did I look back. There would be no waving from them, I knew this. They would be staunch. Her father would talk to the koi, her mother would be busy all day until her body was too tired to move. And I would be chasing the dream of a new life straight into the sun.
Clicking on the radio, I put on my sunglasses and laughed. It was today. Rose and me versus the world, and we were ready. When we got one town over I stopped at a drugstore and bought my first item as an independent adult. A notebook for journaling I hadn't wanted to buy it in front of my parents. It was my own story now, and I wanted to map it. I picked a spiral bound with pink flowers and crawling vines that reminded me of that first day with Rose and the postcards.
The first entry was easy and I filled it out right in the parking lot.
1. Settle in.
2. Join a club
3. Be daring
4. Get a best friend (not Korean)
5. Kiss a guy
6. Learn to make pizza
The list was haphazard and not in order of importance. Doing it all was vital though. Taking off my sensible keds in exchange for some brown leather cowboy boots, a purchase indulged despite a tsk and frown from my mother, it was time to be who I wanted to be. Nothing has ever felt more terrifying or more exhilarating. Five hours to go and I would be grabbing life by the horns.
As Rose clicked down the highway with the music just loud enough to muffle the sounds of the outside, I thought back to aunt Rose and the postcards. It had taken that whole summer to learn of Rose and Eddie. And another five months to finally talk to her older cousin Jade about what happened.
When Eddie didn't return from his service stint and the letters stopped, aunt Rose had waited. While the girls in the village married and had children and scoffed at her for waiting for a ghost, she remained single. When Kim's father planned to go to America and invited Rose she declined, waiting for Eddie to return had become her life goal. And her vigil was soon seen as oddly extravagant.
One day Rose just withered. True to her name she developed a thorn like exterior and darkness swallowed her joy like a virus taking out the very flowering ability of a rose. When Rose began getting smaller and sickly her mother began to stress and worry and ended up sick herself. When her mother couldn't take the stress anymore she took ill and died, leaving Rose alone with her father. Rose's father blamed Her for shaming the family, for being responsible for his wife's death, and for being weak and forced her to come to America.
She wasn't chasing an American dream, she was banished from her father's house and blamed for her mother's death. Banished from all she found comforting and all she had ever known. I cried the day Jade shared the family 'gossip', and wished to have a single minute more with aunt Rose to see her with the vision she had then. I wished I had understood why Rose fought so hard to keep customs and fight the American way of life. Instead of eye rolling and resentment, my wish was that I could have just offered understanding and kindness.
The postcards were now safely tucked between the linen, where I would someday look up Eddie's name, and finally be able to tell my aunt's spirit what had happened to him, maybe that kindness could give her peace. It was not on the list, but I had promised myself I would do it. Aunt Rose had given me freedom, and it seemed like a small payment for handing me a new life.
As I pulled onto the campus my heart raced. Unlike Aunt Rose I wasn't waiting for something to come my way. I was about to live out the American Dream. Episodes of Sitcoms raced through my mind as I gathered suitcases and headed for the dorms. With a plastered smile and aching arms I climbed the steps into the dorm.
Fighting for space down the hall I elbowed myself through until room 5B came into view. The door was ajar and the room was littered with bags and boxes spread across both beds. I dropped the suitcases on the floor and surveyed the chaos in the hallway. It reminded me of the koi. People moving one way and another trapped in the small hall. Mouths in the shapes of O's with shocked like expressions.
Somehow, in the middle of the noise and tearful goodbyes between teens and parents it felt like home. Taking the bed on the left, closest to the window, I shoved bags and boxes to the other side of the room and sat down on the empty bed. It was soft and lumpy and smelled like sour damp clothes left in the dryer too long. And it seemed perfect!
********************************************
I love that Kim is totally embracing life. She's bound to win with an attitude like that. Right? I'll be the first to admit I sweat over these chapters. This book gives me the feels. Kim is about to find out the American Dream doesn't have a recipe, and usually takes a lot of broken eggs before you get a slice of perfect pie. Pie? Hmm, I'm hungry.
YOU ARE READING
Miles & Memories
General FictionA journey through time measured in miles and memories all connected to a treasured pink Cadillac
