AAE -- For Better For Worse

Part 3 -- Chapter 16

by LoveCR2

edited by All-About-AAE

 

 

As the rear doors close, the bus accelerates off with a roar in a cloud of oily blue-gray diesel smoke, leaving behind a lone woman standing on the curb with her luggage.

 

Sun-Mi fans the noxious fumes away, grasps the handle of her rolling suitcase, tightens her grip on the strap of the heavy tote slung over her shoulder, and wearily starts off on the two-block trek to her apartment building.

 

The sun, low in the west, dips behind a cover of gray clouds, triggering on the street lamps as she trudges along. Skeletal tree branches overhead bud with new leaves, and scraggly beds of yellow daffodils harbinger the onset of Spring, if Sun-Mi had bothered to notice. But she is focused on one thought -- what will happen when she is face-to-face with Hyung-Chul, and confronts him with what she had learned from her aunt?

 

 

During the 15-hour flight to Heathrow Airport, in the quiet airliner cabin as others slept, Sun-Mi had reflected on her abrupt departure from Seoul. In a calmer state of mind, she began to rue the rash decision to leave her father before his full recovery, just to settle what might ultimately be an insignificant question...

 

Hadn't she just overreacted again, like always when her pride was offended?

 

What did it matter whether people had manipulated her relationship with Hyung-Chul instead of some cosmic power in the universe? Either way, the result was the same, and it was up to them to make that relationship work.

 

Sun-Dal's scheme to get her a job at MBS was a more serious matter. But whatever she did now, trying to right that wrong would and make herself feel better, will only hurt a man who had gained no career benefit from helping her. Wasn't it better to let sleeping dogs lie?

 

That left the question of what Hyung-Chul knew, and when, and whether she could trust him or not because of it. But she had been here before, and always made the same conclusion -- regardless of what he did, she loved him. So what was the big deal?

 

 

By the time Sun-Mi arrives at the stairway leading up to their flat, the tote strap is digging painfully into her shoulder, and her arm aches from wrestling the wheels of her balky luggage over the cracked and uneven pavement.

 

Stopping to catch her breath, she looks up at the apartment block, seeing it with a different perspective than before. In Seoul, it would be looked at as an eyesore to be demolished and replaced by a modern, attractive building. Her aunt was right. She WAS living like a vagrant in this dilapidated, dingy dump she now called home.

 

 

One step at a time, she drags the bulky suitcase up. At the top she has to rest again, exhausted. It is over 30 hours since she had called the airline to book her flight, and since then had not slept a wink. The thought of relaxing in a warm bath, and dozing off in her soft bed tempts her to put off any confrontation until morning.

 

Slowly, Sun-Mi trundles down the exterior walkway. Through the door, she can hear the television blaring. Before unlocking the latch, she mentally composes herself for the moment of truth, then turns the key and pushes the door open.

 

"Senior?" she calls loudly to be heard over the din, "I'm home."

 

Inside, the lights are out, but the fetid reek of cigarette smoke mingled with the stench of spoiled food warns that something is amiss.

 

"Senior?"

 

She flicks on the light and stops dead in her tracks, stunned.

 

Hyung-Chul is asleep, sprawled over the couch, a three-day stubble on his jaw. His white tee shirt and gray sweatpants are stained with pizza sauce. The open box had fallen off the couch, dumping the remaining slices onto the floor. A saucer next to him, used as an ashtray, holds dozens of cigarette butts. Empty beer cans and liquor bottles litter the coffee table and the floor between the couch and TV stand, their spilled dregs adding to the stink.

 

Sun-Mi turns to the kitchen. The sink, counter, and table are piled with unwashed dishes. Carryout containers overflow the waste bin. Above the table, the festive Seollal decorations are still taped on the wall where she had put them, but the string of lanterns had come down, lying amidst the clutter. One of the colorful paper lamps, fallen into a half-empty bowl of soggy ramen, was dissolved into shapeless mush.

 

 

Recovering from her shock, Sun-Mi pulls her suitcase inside and closes the door. Anger burning in her eyes, she shuts off the TV and shakes Hyung-Chul's shoulder, trying to roust him, but he doesn't respond.

 

Giving up the effort, she heads for the bedroom, picking her way between sticky spills, to escape the sordid scene. Passing the bathroom, the acrid odor of stale vomit assaults her nostrils. She doesn't need to push the door open to know what she will find inside.

 

In the bedroom, she looks with dismay at the discarded clothes that fill the laundry hamper and cover the floor, giving off the foul smell of rotting fish. Their bed is in disarray, the white sheets gray and stained, looking as if they had not been changed since she left.

 

Then Sun-Mi notices their wedding portrait lying among the clothes, its frame damaged on one corner where it had struck the floor. Picking up the picture, she sits on the bed, staring at it, mindful of the promise that day had held for their future and the nascent life she was carrying.

 

But the smiling faces of the handsome pair only serve to mock her. She is about to toss the offending image back onto the floor, as Hyung-Chul must have done in self-disgust. But instead she cradles it in her arms, holding it tightly against her body, crying bitter tears as she sobs out her frustration and sorrow.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

Hyung-Chul wakes to the sound of running water and the clatter of dishes. Opening his eyes, he squints into bright light pouring in the window. In the kitchen, he sees Sun-Mi at the sink, tackling the piles of dirty dishes, an apron tied over her shirt and jeans.

 

"Sun-Mi? You... you came back?" he stammers, flummoxed. "But..."

 

"I rang. No one answered," she replies curtly, not turning to look at him.

 

He sighs, knowing he is in the doghouse, and it won't be easy to appease her. But he still has to try...

 

 

Rising from the couch, Hyung-Chul approaches Sun-Mi, but she stops him cold.

 

"Don't touch me!" she snarls. "Not until you're sober and cleaned up!"

 

 

Rebuffed, he sinks down onto one of the kitchen chairs, lowering his throbbing head into his hands.

 

Sun-Mi takes off her dishwashing gloves and pours a cup of the hangover medicine steeping on the burner.

 

"Here, drink this." She holds out the cup.

 

"Thanks." He takes a big swallow. "Sorry for the mess. Sorry you had to see me like this."

 

"Sorry isn't enough," she dismisses his apology. Picking up a small spice tin she had used to hide the money left from selling her engagement ring, she thrusts it in front of his face.

 

"You knew this was for our next month's rent, but you drank it all, feeling sorry?" she admonishes him, her voice tinged with disappointment. Sitting down on the other chair, she faces him. "What's going on, Senior?"

 

 

Having anticipating a verbal thrashing, Hyung-Chul lowers his eyes, discomfited. "You're not angry?"

 

"I have every right to be! Last night, I was upset to tears. But I'm past that now. I'm too tired. What good is it, anyway?" she observes dully. "Nothing will change by yelling at you. Just tell me why."

 

"I was beside myself and didn't know what to do, because I thought you weren't coming back," he justifies his bender.

 

Sun-Mi's brow knits. "Why would you think that?"

 

"I rang your aunt's house, and spoke to her. She told me that your father would be discharged soon, but still needed help, so you would be staying on indefinitely," he relates what had happened. "Then she derided me, saying I'm a weak, useless bum who had ruined your life. That I didn't deserve you. That you had every reason to stay there with your family, and none to be here."

 

"You believed her? Without talking to me first? Why?"

 

"Because I felt, in my heart, a voice telling me that it was true. That being here is a burden, stifling to the point you can't breathe. That you belong in Seoul, not London, with me..."

 

He closes his eyes and sighs. "I remembered that you once told me, 'A bird can't breath underwater, and a fish can't breath out of the water. Out of it's natural order, eventually one of them will suffocate'..."

 

When he opens his eyes again, they are wet with tears. "I didn't blame you for not wanting to return. But I didn't know how I could continue living without you."

 

 

As Hyung-Chul talks, Sun-Mi is dumbstruck.

 

How could he know something she had only told to the priest? Had her thoughts carried telepathically halfway around the world? She recalls what she'd said once, when they had talked about the possibility...

 

'You know, they say telepathy only works if two people truly care for each other.'

 

Now guilt speaks, convicting her with painful pricks. She had seriously entertained living apart from him. Wanted to put her comfort before her promise. Let him face the difficulties alone. What did that say about her commitment to their marriage?

 

Shamed, she decides to take the expedient path, diverting the blame away from her transgressions rather than confess them.

 

"Stop talking nonsense! You worried yourself for no reason!" she blusters. "We have a mess to deal with, and there's no sense crying over spilt milk. What do you propose we do now, Senior?"

 

"I worked a few days part-time, cleaning vendor stalls at the fish market. Maybe they'll take me back," he grasps at the tenuous straw.

 

"Even if you did, we can't count on that pittance!" Sun-Mi squashes the idea. "Unless we come up with the money quickly, we'll be out on the street!"

 

 

She looks down at her left hand, then back up at him. "We'll sell our rings," she announces her decision dispassionately.

 

"Not our wedding rings!" Hyung-Chul protests, appalled. "How can you even think of doing that?"

 

"Do we have a choice? What else of any value do we have left?" she raises her voice, countering his resistance, "I could sell myself to other men. Would you rather I do that, instead?"

 

Chastened, Hyung-Chul has nothing left to argue. Reluctantly, he takes the plain gold band from his finger and hands it to her.

 

Sun-Mi stands up, unties her apron, and folds it over the chair back.

 

"I don't know when I'll be back," she states grimly. "Make your own lunch."