Someone Like Yoo

XIII

Chapter XIII: Under A Birch Tree

I cannot feel anything anymore, except for Deokhwa's fingers intertwined with mine, his other hand hooked over my right hip. Most of my weight shifts onto him and he helps me walk from the taxi cab and into my house. I am then met by Auntie Samshin's petrified eyes, wrinkled in the November cold. Her dry mouth gapes open before she blinks and scurries herself to me, looping my other arm over her humped back.

I was sat at the dining table and Auntie quickly barreled into the kitchen, walking back with a tray in her hands. "Here, have this tea," she breathes, setting down the seat and pouring me a cup of hot, blue liquid. "It will help with the fatigue and you'll have your energy back in a second."

"That smells weird," Deokhwa suddenly added and I quietly agree. It did smell like a car's gasoline, like the insides of an engine maybe, like a corner of an auto repair shop with a hint of ginger. But I drink it anyway, my tongue burning from the quick gulp. It tasted like mint and bad liquor. Making a face, I put down the cup with a clang.

Auntie must have noticed my face scrunching in disgust because she spoke again within the awkward stillness of the room. "That will be alright, child. When you finally feel a little better, you go to bed and rest more. We'll talk about this first thing in the morning." She then turns to Deokhwa, who was playing with the buttons of his coat like a worried child. "You let's talk outside."

"Yes, halmeoni," he immediately replies.

Deokhwa shoots me a sad smile, his brows arching in concern. His eyes looked sweet and gentle and then, he turns, following Auntie outside to the front garden.

Just like that, I'm all alone again. Just like that, my thoughts are haunting me like a predator in the woods, expanding inside my head like echoes in a cave, like balloons getting blown by helium tanks. Just like that, I go back to that scene of black and white and to that colored businessman. Just like that, the bus exploded. There are now five or more victims killed by the disaster - just like that.

The television in the living room was left open and I could hear a lady reporting, her voice crisp and clear despite the disastrous scene happening. "Here I am on Jongno 5 Street, near the Gwangjang traditional market, where a Bus 370 was caught on fire after it was said to be exploded by a lorry bomb, causing seven innocent deaths. The cause of this explosion is still under investigation but authorities believe that a suicide bomber might be present and a terrorist could be involved. There will be-"

And now I'm holding myself, lifting both of my feet to the chair and hugging my knees. I rest my chin between them my tears flow like a waterfall down my two legs. Then they separate like shimmering streams down my now bare feet. Some tears drop like bombs over my chest, my navy blue sweater becoming an abstract painting. And some drop like little kisses on my skin.

I'm not entirely sure where the tears are exactly coming from but there is guilt and anger in my blood. I could have saved the other passengers - the two high school girls right beside us. I can recall them laughing and smiling and having fun just watching me and Deokhwa have a childish fight. There could have been a bright future ahead of them, they could have been successful professionals, they could have been alive now and laughing again if it weren't for my self-conceitedness. I should have thought of saving them instead.

But then again, I don't really know what's happening with things now - with me. All of a sudden, I'm seeing things, having clear visions, always feeling nauseous.

Euntak.

The unknown contact.

The woman in white.