Dream Me a Sonatine

18 - Crash and B#rn

It had started with a bite of an apple.

Every day, every hour, every aching minute of Sooyoung's life at the orphanage she was suffocating. She was surrounded by brick upon brick, grey upon grey, not permitted to cross the line separating 'inside' and 'outside.' As a child, she'd always thought it was cruel to have windows in the building. She could see the outside, press her nose against the glass centimetres away from the outside, but she could not go to the outside.

She could not leave the orphanage.

It was a stuffy, old-fashioned place. The kids had to wear a yellow and black checked uniform to mark them as unwanted. Unloved. Abandoned. For breakfast, they ate fruit. In the afternoon, they had dancing or gym lessons. In the evening, they answered maths questions.

They could not leave the orphanage.

Sooyoung despised the routine of it all. She was young, but somehow she knew that this wasn't life. Life was exciting, life was dangerous, life was new. At the orphanage, it was a stuttering cassette player, struggling desperately to get to the next song but skipping back to the beginning instead.

Her only solace was Hyejoo, a younger girl with jet-black hair and a wolfish grin. She was someone to care for, someone to impress and interest. She gave Sooyoung a purpose amongst the dullness. Her chest warmed when she'd made Hyejoo laugh or dried her tears, because she knew that in that moment, she was all the younger girl had. She was something to somebody.

As they grew older, their passions became one in the same: to see the outside. Sooyoung had once read The Northern Lights to Hyejoo, and the younger's eyes had shone at the description of the aurora.

'I want to see them one day,' she'd breathed. 'I'll go far, far north and see the lights and stars and I'll squint and imagine there's a city in the sky. Another world. Somewhere far away from here.'

Sooyoung had curled close to her, smiling, her own mind seeking different visions, like the cheer of a crowd amidst flashing lights and rolling drums, in a city spangled in a deep neon starlight. She imagined her own chest pounding as they clapped for her, screamed for her, and wept for her.

And one selfish, amazing morning, she decided Hyejoo wasn't enough.

It had been a day like any other day, except on that day, she'd hesitated before spooning the usual strawberries into her bowl. Instead, her hand found something smooth and red and solid. An apple. It was polished to utter, dull perfection like every damned wall and mantelpiece in the orphanage. In that moment, she hated the rosy fruit. Her teeth tore the skin like a knife through canvas and the perfection was crushed in her mouth.

On that same day, a family decided to foster her.

They took her to Paris, where she was wrapped in the city's bright lights and sweet perfumes. She befriended masses, cherry-picking those who shared her rich dreams. She started playing the deep, thrumming bass, writing to Hyejoo every week. Every month. Every two months.

A year passed explosively and took her with it. She burned bright across rinks of ice, plucked strings, and danced in the streets at night. Cheap cardigans became the blackest leather. Crowds screamed her name.

She had it all.

Then:

Dear Sooyoung, the letter began. She read it, momentarily confused as to who it could've been from. As she reached the last lines, memories she'd swept into a corner scattered around her mind. The brightness was permeated by ashy black spots and a sinking feeling.

...I'm happy for you. I couldn't be happier. I've heard Paris is beautiful, full of glittering shops and towers and history. I bet you're having the best time there.