Crossing Lake Callahan

1

“It’s actually my first time riding a plane.”

2

Richard stood significantly taller than the lanky boy who constantly lingered to his left. But it wasn’t his height, but his girth that made him truly stand out. His thick body insulation dulled his every movement. He existed in slow motion, as if covered in a thick coat of invisible maple syrup. Even his laugh was sluggish–a lazy chuckle that gradually rippled through his triple chin.

Despite his generous presence, Richard’s key position on the rugby team secured his place at the team’s lunch table. Each day, he lumbered forward while his teammates slid towards either ends of the bench. Two to three people were always forced to stand after Richard made his appearance.

The spoon seemed to melt into his swollen hands as he shoveled gravy into his mouth.

“Slow down Richard, you’re making me sick,” laughed a teammate sitting across the table.

Richard picked up another spoon in his left hand and kicked up the tempo. The hysteria quickly caught on and soon the entire table was rattling with the fists of teammates and roars of encouragement. “Rich-ard! Rich-ard!” He gobbled up the spotlight, greedily forcing the food into his mouth, bulging his cheeks well past his jaw bones.

He finally swallowed after two hardy slaps on the back, and let out a bellowing victory roar. I shuddered and lowered my eyes back to the untouched curry that sat before me. The image of old gravy dripping off Richard’s thick lips dispelled any feelings of hunger. I took out my book and opened to where I had left off. Holding it in both hands and resting my elbows on the table, I created a shield between me and the greasy mess.

After half a page of liberation, a pair of slimy fingers slid down the spine of my book. I brought my eyes up from the text to a snicker that curled across Richard’s face. “Not hungry, are we Sean?”

My stomach twisted into a tight knot. I timidly replied, “Not really.”

“Why?” Richard said invitingly. “Because there’s no sushi in the cafeteria?”

The flirty couple sitting to my left quickly became silent, picked up their lunch trays, and made for the trash cans.

“No.” I said quietly. “Sushi isn’t Korean though.”

Richard turned his lanky apprentice to confirm, “Same thing right?”

Like a parrot, he mimicked perfectly. “Same thing Richard, same thing.”

Our English teacher, Ms. Lawson, appeared from the corner of the cafeteria.

I tried to speak up, but tripped over my lack of confidence and stuttered out a string of indiscernible sounds.

“It’s not that I don’t care about you Sean,” He said with a wiry smile. “It’s that no one cares about you or your fetish.”  Noticing Ms. Lawson, he put a quick end to our session, tearing the book from my hands and tossing it towards the far end of the table. “See you later Sean.”

I breezed past rows of chattery students towards the unoccupied seat in the middle-left side of the bus. I managed to secure my place several minutes before the surrounding seats were filled. Before taking out my CD player, I quietly watched the other students getting on. Richard, fortunately, wasn’t on my route, but his parrot was, and so was the left offensive tackle. Because they were typically last to ride the bus, I got on early, sat down, and put my backpack in the unoccupied seat. If I saw the two coming towards the bus, I left my backpack in the isle seat. Sometimes they’d notice and remove my bag, other days testosterone pushed them right past me.

The swaggering couple approached the bus at the end of a twenty student line. I put my bag in my lap, leaving the seat open for whoever was willing to ignore me for an hour. Jeff Jones, a junior from my advanced algebra class, stopped and leaned in towards me. “This open?”

“Yea,” I said quickly, my eyes darting between Jeff and out the bus window. He sat down, turned his back to me, and began talking to the boy across the aisle. I finally drew my CD player and clapped the plastic headphones around my head. I clicked the play button, closed my eyes, and let my head fall against the window. I made it halfway home before the batteries died, but left my headphones on until after stepping off the bus.

3

I looked disappointedly at the stain that blotched the center of my book. The grease had seeped through almost every page; only the table of contents and grammar index were still clean. Every other lesson had a dark, oily stain–the same stain that had decorated Richard’s bursting face at lunch. The pages were still a bit wet, so I grabbed a tissue from my desk and began wiping down the damp section. The tissue began to fall apart in the grease and work its way into the pages. Aggravated, I began to scratch at book, unfortunately only resulting in me tearing through the thin, saturated pages.

I slammed the book closed, trying to release Richard’s words from my mind. ‘Fetish’ was the only word I cared about. If nobody cared, fine, but I hated when people called it a fetish. It’s not a fetish to be interested in something. It’s not a fetish to be interested in a foreign culture. It’s interesting just because of that, because it’s foreign.

To be honest, that was the best explanation I could come up with. After stumbling across H.O.T., a Korean band from the 90s, on internet radio, I became captivated by anything and everything Korean. It was H.O.T.’s CD that spun relentlessly in my player everyday to and from school, and the same music that lulled me to sleep every night.

Dad told me it was a self-fullfilling prophecy. “You know what that is Sean?” He asked me while swallowing a mouthful of Mom’s undercooked spaghetti. “It’s when you become obsessed to the point where you refuse to accept the opinion of others. Basically, your dream becomes a dream.”

“Yea?” I replied.

“Yea,” he said firmly. “You’re going to have to listen to what you’re saying and think about the opinions of others before you realize why you get that treatment at school.”

“You know,” mom chirped in, “Buddha, and Zen, all of that is essentially the same as Jesus and the Lord. We believe in God and they believe in Buddha.”

I struggled not to palm my face in frustration. Anything I said would come across sharp, so I stuffed myself with another bite of spaghetti and let the conversation’s momentum slowly abate.

“Can I use the computer after dinner?” I asked Dad after a minute of silence.

“For what?” He asked with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“It’s fine.” I said. “Thanks for dinner.”

I retreated to my room and began reading, doing my best to ignore the smudge in the middle of every page.

4

The next morning, I woke up to a 7:00 alarm and walked into Dad’s office. Saturday golf started at 7:30 and usually lasted until around noon, so I’d have at least four hours to myself. I pulled the rickety chair up to the computer and flicked on the outdated, blocky screen. Our PC was significantly slowler than the school’s models, but the only computer I could use in private. Not that looking at Korean music videos was something I should have to do in private, I thought and released a shallow sigh.

Remembering the web adress I noticed last night on my book, I opened a new tab and began reading through the publisher’s website. There was a list of Korean language resources, including an online dictionary, several iPhone applications, and dozens of videos. My nearly antique plastic CD player couldn’t use any of the applications, or access the internet. I continued to scroll through the page until I found a link that particularly caught my eyes: “Pen-friend service.”

What opened was not a Korean pen pal service, but a myspace-like page with the heading ‘World Friends’ stretched across the top. On the left navigation bar were search criteria: location, country, gender, age, language, occupation, and interests. I casually glanced over my left shoulder to confirm my privacy, then turned back to the dusty computer screen. Korea, Female, Age 15-16, English–search.

The corresponding personal ads slowly loaded, one by one. The scroll bar on the right section of the page continued to shrink as more ads continued to load, systematically popping into existence. Expecting it would take some time, I went to the kitchen and prepared a cup of breakfast tea. I cupped the warm glass in both hands and stared off into space, trying to the suppress the butterflies that began multiplying in my stomach.

When I returned to the office, I was shocked at the overwhelming number of results. Page 1 of 97: Results 1-25 of 2,425. I slowly scrolled down the first page, skipping everything written in Korean, but carefully reading the everything in cute, broken English.

Hi there, I’m Ji-hyun living in Seoul.

I am a hs student who likes travelig, watching movies, hanging out with my friends, chatting… and so on! I really like to learn new things as well as teaching my own culture or language. well, if you are interested in me, feel free to send me a message!!! I’m really looking forward to hear from you! thanks!!

My name is Grace. I live in Pusan. My hobby is reading and Movie photograph music and shopping.I often hear the rock.And I love imported goods!!I am study English. I am interested also in the culture of the foreign country. I am looking for the person who corresponds with. Through it,I want to exchange photographs etc.I want you to teach English(-_-;) The age is not asked. Both of sex are good. The person whom can correspond with must feel free to send of the e-mail.

I am looking forward to the e-mail from you! bye!

My eyes jumped from ad to ad, page after page. I couldn’t stop myself; I was more anxious to read the next ad than stick with one. Eventually, a lack of power to choose between 2,425 different possibilities drove me to create an ad of my own.

Hi,

My name is Sean O’Conner. I live by a town called Armagh, Ireland. I’m seventeen years old and in my second year of high school. I enjoy listening to music, reading, and learning about Korea. I’ve been interested in Korea for about three years now, and recently I’ve been studying Korea by myself. I’ve never been outside of Ireland or met a Korean, but I want to visit Korea someday in the future.

I hope we can be friends.

After seven revisions, this is the ad I eventually submitted. Even after submission, my nerves got the best of me and I ended up double checking it, despite the three day no-revisal period. Finishing my tea, I closed the virtual window and retreated back to the kitchen. Absentmindedly running frigid water over my hands, I imagined opening my inbox tomorrow and seeing a page of mails from Korea. At that moment, Dad walked in the back door.

“Hey Sean, how you doing?”

“Good,” I said to him, “not bad.”

“Good,” he repeated after me as if the words were foreign. “What did you do this morning?”

“Not much, just studied a bit and made some tea.”

He walked down the hall towards his office to hang his cap and gloves. “Computer’s on, you use it for something this morning?”

“Just checking my e-mail,” I replied.

“Really? Who’s sending you mails?”

“Nobody yet.” I replied.

5

I jumped off the bus and began running. My pack bounced angrily against my back, demanding a slower pace. I suppressed it with both hands and began an akward, armless sprint.

The suspense had been driving me mad all day; Richard’s antics were left completely unnoticed. He was left puzzled and forced to allocate anger towards the parrot. I was the third student on the bus and sat down in a half occupied seat without hesitation. Immediately throwing on my headphones, I nervously pumped my calves the whole ride home.

No cars. Mom must be at bread class. I unlocked the door, threw off my shoes and bolted into the office without losing any momentum. I flipped on the monitor, switched on the PC, and clicked on the small desk lamp. Quickly signing in to my mom’s account, I was suddenly forced to wait through screens of blue loading bars and pixelated hour glasses. My foot anxiously tapped against the thin carpet as anti-spyware warnings flashed. I navigated through hotmail, scrambling to type my username and password. Login failed, your password is incorrect. I frantically wiped my fingers across the keys one more time. Login failed, there is no account with that name. One more time. Welcome to Hotmail! I read the words with my stomach nearly falling out of my mouth.

Nothing. No e-mails from no Korean pop singers, models, or high school students. I should have sent a message of my own after all. Everybody must have been thinking the same thing–fine to make an ad, but too nervous to send a mail. My tension now immediately reduced to nothing, I began mentally fabricating an introductory e-mail and while drudging towards the bathroom. Hi, I’m Sean, I’m trying to make Korean friends. Have you ever been to Ireland?

Boring, I thought while flicking the water off my hands to the towel hanging to the right side of the sink. I returned to the office, sat down at the computer one more time, and brought my eyes to the screen.

From: Kim – Subject: Hi! Sean! At first I didn’t realize what had happened. I continued to stare and wipe my hands against my coarse jeans before it hit me. I exploded up from the chair like the subject of a freak emergency ejection test–opening the e-mail in a standing state of shock. I quickly read it while slowly lowering myself back into the seat. My anxious eyes bounced back and forth in the reflection of the old monitor.

Hi! Sean!

My name is Kim. I am 15 years old Korean girl. I live in Seoul Korea. Do you know Seoul? You say you never been outside Ireland? I have never been outside Korea!! I want Korean be bigger! Anyway, i hope we can enjoy the time e-mailing! From, Kim^^ in Korea!

I immediately began typing a reply, delicately weighing words and balancing the line between friendly and desperate. Hi Kim, thanks so much for your e-mail! I think we can become good friends. I have never been to Korea, but would really like to go some day. What do you like to do for fun? Talk to you soon! Sean.

Hovering the mouse above ‘Send’ for a moment, I double checked the e-mail before clicking. I turned off the computer, switched off the monitor, and flicked off the lamp. Floating down the hardwood hallway on cotton socks, I slid into my room and began reading, anxious to pass the time.

6

“It’ll be at least eighteen more months,” Dr. Silver said through a face mask as he leaned over me and continued to twist. Eighteen was the number I had come to accept since he first told me twelve months ago. I might always have braces. It had been five years already, since the fifth grade. No one, not even myself, could imagine or remember Sean without a metallic smile. “But today,” he said, “I think we’re finally ready to move into phase two.”

His words held hope for the first time in half a decade. “Phase two?” I asked.

“Headgear,” He responded with enthusiasm. “No more rubber ba–”

“How often do I have to wear it?” The words burst from my mouth before Dr. Silver finished his sentence.

“Technically it’s a twenty four hour thing, but you’ll be fine if you get around fifteen or twenty hours a day. The most important thing is to never go more than four hours without wearing it.”

“How come?” I asked, fully knowing there was no excuse to be found.

“The longer you go without the headgear, the more your jaw will slip back into its original place. This is important, if you want to be out of braces in,”

I saw the words coming clearly.

“eighteen months.”

Dr. Silver then revealed the warped, magnesium monster. I immediately thought of the movie SAW, and the unlucky young woman whose face is nearly ripped in half by a massive reverse bear trap like device. My jaws clenched.

The doctor showed me how to put it on. “There are two prongs, you see, that will fit through the sockets on your molar brackets. Then, to hold it in place, you’ll wrap this rubber band around the back of your head and attach it to the other side. There are different tightness levels, but always hook the strap into the third hole. Any more than this can hurt your jaw, but any less won’t have any affect. By the way, what color do you want?”

If I’m going to be wearing headgear at school, you might as well give me pink. “Black is fine.”

I received a carrying case that looked older than my CD player, walked back to Mom, and scheduled another appointment thirty days later. On the car ride home, I thought about Kim, and what she might think of an Irish boy with a bear trap clamped to his face. I tried not to imagine the next day at school.

Having a metal exoskeleton made it difficult to sleep. When I closed my eyes though, I forgot the alloy exploding from my mouth, and imagined what Kim might look like. I thought of all the Korean actresses from TV shows and commercials I had seen on youtube and made a collage of their best attributes. When my achievement was finished, I was far enough into my own self fulfilling prophecy to feel any pain, and finally fell asleep.

A sharp pain stretching across my face woke me half an hour before my six o’clock alarm. I threw off my sheets and walked briskly to the bathroom. I flipped on the light, flinching at the sudden brightness. When my eyes adjusted, I dishearteningly confirmed the source of my pain. Abrasions from the headgear had triggered an acne breakout clearly traceable along the metal. The swollen pimples were symmetrical across my face, running from each corner of my mouth to their respective ear lobes.

I removed the bear trap and wet a washcloth with steamy water. I leaned towards the sink and lightly pressed the warm cloth into my face. To keep from screaming in frustration, I pulled three long, steamy breaths into the depths of my lungs. I left the wash cloth on my face for about a minute before removing and warming it again. I repeated the process three times, gradually encouraging the cooperation of my pores. After my face had sufficiently softened, I removed a needle from my drawer, doused it in the stream of water and brought it to my face. Holding my breath, I leaned towards the mirror and gently pierced the pimples, one by one. The white puss came out smoothly.

My acne wasn’t the worst if I kept an eye on it, but one day without treatment would guarantee a volcanic like peak somewhere below my nose. To take care of those particular nuisances, I used the needle method, a strategy I discovered in SEVENTEEN magazine while waiting in the lobby of Dr. Silver’s office years ago. It worked surprising well against surface pimples, but did nothing for those that lurked just under the skin.

After two dozen pricks my face’s normal topography began to resurface. The pimples were mostly gone, but they left a series of red dots, as if a tiny troll with burning shoes had walked across my face. I left the bathroom at 6:30 after applying a generous mask of benzoyl peroxide and grabbed a biscuit from the kitchen, wondering what Kim had for breakfast. I returned to the bathroom, skimmed over my metal grin with a tooth brush, and reengaged my headgear. I left at 7:00 for the bus stop. Hearing the under lubricated brakes of the approaching bus, I again removed the headgear, threw it in its case, and pushed it to the bottom of my backpack.

Before class started, I made a quick trip to the library. I’d been anxious to return Kim’s message since last night. She wrote e-mails on her cell phone and was usually very prompt with her replies, typically responding within  twelve hours. Last night, Dad had fallen asleep sprawled across the office desk with a bottle of wine, effectively eliminating all possibility to use the computer. Today, I broke my typical pattern and I sat down at a library computer.

Hi Kim, how was your quiz? I’ll have big test today in algebra, hope I’ll do alright! Do you have any plans? I think I’m going to spend most of my time reading after school. I bought a new Korean book and want to finish reading it : ) Sorry that I couldn’t respond to your mail last night, my parents were home again so I couldn’t use the computer! Anyway, have a great day, and I’ll talk to you soon!! From, Sean.

Classes passed quickly. The noon lunch bell caught me off guard, abruptly reminding me of the headgear time restraints. I walked towards the bathroom, my eyes fallen to the floor. Pushing the door open, I was blasted with the thick stench of sitting urine. Before taking out the carrying case, I ducked down to check the stalls. No shoes, socks, or rolled down pant legs in sight. Standing in front of the mirror in the corner furtherest from the door, I took out the bear trap and began cranking it into place. Fear that someone could come in at any moment palpitated my heart and forced my hands to tremble. The small prongs in my shaking hands repeatedly stabbed into my gums before finding their place in my metal affixed molars. Looking at myself the mirror, I was reminded of the scene in X-men when Wolverine is injected with a metallic skeleton. I wonder if Wolverine ever had braces.

I retreated into the open stall and pulled the brown paper bag from my backpack. Last night I had prepared soft foods: yogurt, applesauce, a sliced up banana, and pieces of deli meat cut into small, square, bite sized pieces. The applesauce and yogurt was easy enough to finish; I brought the small tupperware cups to my lips, plugging my nose with my thumb and index finger as the viscous liquids crawled down the cup, over the metal, past my lips, through more metal, and finally into my mouth. The banana and deli meat were more difficult. The obstructing headgear made it akward to use a fork, so I gradually transfered bits of banana and meat with my fingertips through the available space, occasionally wiping my hands on the thin toilet paper to restore friction.

A small square of ham slipped from my hands landed with a light slap against the damp, yellow stained bathroom floor. My stomach turned and I averted my eyes towards the ceiling, drawing in a long, deep breath. The fumes of un-flushed feces and sour urine filled my lungs. Above me, a pair of flies circled, jumping in an out of my bathroom stall. I looked down at my plastic Timex watch: 12:05. I rewrapped the remaining food, buried my face in my hands, and quietly recited Kim’s mails, line by line.

At 12:27 the bathroom door opened for the fourth time and a slow, thick laugh filled the room. I lifted my face from my hands and listened carefully. A frenzy of footsteps told me he wasn’t alone. I immediately raised my feet to create an invisible stall. I sat silently on the toilet, cradling my knees, praying with tears in my eyes.

The sound of a zipper followed by piss against porcelain confirmed my safety. He re-zipped and exploded through the door without washing his hands or waiting for the parrot, who continued to fill the urinal while cursing his water consumption.

Between 12:29 and 12:50, only two people came into the bathroom. At 12:55 I removed my headgear. In between thoughts of flushing it down the toilet, I returned it to its case and once again pushed it to the bottom of my bag. With bloody gums and a half empty stomach, I left the bathroom at 12:57 and headed for English.

7

Saturday morning. I pulled myself up to the computer and began to write, periodically bringing a bag of frozen corn to my face.

Hi Kim,

How are you? I’m not doing well. I want to talk with you honestly today, because you’re the only person I have to talk to.

My closest friend Grant moved to Dublin when I was thirteen, and ever since then, my life has been very hard. I have no real friends at school, no siblings, and nothing to talk with my parents about. I am not a cool guy. I have braces and my skin is terrible. I am the skinniest guy in our school and the only one who doesn’t care about rugby. People make fun of me of me because I listen to Korean music. People make fun of me because I have no friends. People make fun of me because I am me. I know I’m not cool. Yesterday, Richard, a guy from the Rugby team, hit me after school. When I got home, my parents were out, and I still haven’t seen them. I feel alone, and I want to talk with you.

I know this is a very strange mail, but I wanted to tell you my real feeling. I don’t want to disappoint you like I have everyone else.

From, Sean.

I clicked the mouse button and let the tears flow freely down my purple cheeks. When I stopped crying, I reached for my morning tea and slowly brought it to my lips. Before taking a sip, I glimpsed my distorted, metal wrapped face in the reflection and began sobbing. I stood, ripped out the headgear and flung it across the room with a desperate cry. It collided against Dad’s bookshelf decorated with unread classics and fell to the thin carpet. It landed without making a noise, as if denying the anguish it caused me. I collapsed back into the chair and brought the cold corn to my eyes. I wept into the frozen bag until it lost it’s chill.

After restoring the corn to the freezer and making another cup of tea, I returned to the office to retrieve my headgear. Before crossing the room, I glanced at the monitor and noticed a mail in my inbox. I walked towards the screen.

Sean,

Thanks your mail. Are you ok? I’m sorry about your bullies and your get hit. I think Richard doesn’t really know you.

Actually, I am not cool. I go to a nice school with many cute girls. It’s expensive and my parents pay. And they want to pay for surgery too. But I don’t want surgery. Do you know Korean surgery? It’s so popular in Korea now. Every Korean girl gets eye surgery to be cute, but I don’t want. So, I am bully too at my school. Many girls push me in a hallway and say “line eye Kim.” It makes me so mad, and my friend too, but my friend got surgery so I don’t think she knows my feeling.

But I think you are nice guy. You always told to me about your feeling honestly. Many guys in Korea never tell their honesty. So, I think you’re not bad guy. Braces and face don’t matter so much, and I am not cute. I actually do have digital camera and many pic of myself, but I can’t send to you because I am afraid. But I think I know your feeling now. Next time I will send the picture of me. So please send the picture of you too. I don’t care about face. I just want to see.

Thank you for telling me your feeling honestly. I want to talk with you again soon.

From, Kim.

8

I started part time work at the post office Friday at 7:00 PM. Sorting envelopes wasn’t hard, and it gave me a place to earn money without having to interact face to metal-face. The only downside was the thirty five minute, two pound bus ride to and from work, which meant spending half an hour’s work to commute. It made it difficult to save money, but it was the only part time job I could find working with a bear trap strapped to my face. I worked in six hour shifts and caught the always deserted last bus home. Mom and Dad, initially suspicious about my sudden urge to work, in time came to accept their son would be working past their bed time.

I spent my breaks of solitude on a backless stool, staring out a shoebox-sized window in the northwest corner of the room. I caught glimpses of fluttering autumn leaves, and thought about my next lunch in the bathroom stall-cafeteria. I saw the winter snow slowly build, and imagined Kim sitting with me, watching the snowflakes, one by one, collect into a thin, opaque sheet. The setting spring sun penetrated the window and cast a small, glowing rectangle that gradually climbed the southeast wall through shades of yellow, orange, and pink.

I got home at 1:00 am. Trying to stay silent, I slowly pulled open the front door, leaving my shoes softly on the dry, faded welcome mat. Carefully sliding down the dark hall towards the office, I wondered if Dad was passed out at his desk. I leaned my head through the door frame, looking for a slumped figure resting in the darkness. My eyes focused in on an empty room. Mindful of the plastic CD player, I delicately lowered my bag to the floor, removed my headgear, and turned on the computer. The dusty monitor bathed the dark room with a soft, white glow.

As expected, there was a new message from Kim patiently waiting. I smiled silently in dark room and opened the mail.

Sean,

How are you? I want to tell you something today.

I think about you all the time. I think about you when I wake up and when I go to school and when I dream. You e-mailed me everyday for one year and never missed a day. You always support me. You work to save money and meet me. When I get bullied at school, I think about you Sean. I think, “I can talk to Sean later, so it’s OK.” I think, “someday I can meet Sean, so it’s ok.” But recently, I don’t want to think “someday.” I want to see you soon. I want to meet you soon! I know you have saved money but need more time. I know you are working so hard to come to Korea, but I don’t want to wait another year to see you. So, I wanted to tell you my feelings now. I know Im selfish, but I want to tell you. There’s is nothing more important to me than you.

Love, Kim.

It was the first time Kim had ever used the word love, and the first time someone had said it directly to me. It impaled me like a lance. I spent a minute in silence looking at the word, as if it might suddenly disappear from the dusty screen.

9

Saturday morning I left the house at 7:00 and slowly walked to Lake Callahan. I spent most of the day looking over the calm, green water, thinking about the last two words of Kim’s mail. Across the lake a family of four enjoyed themselves on the fresh cut spring grass. The father was showing his son how to attach and cast a lure. Mother shared a picnic blanket and hand picked blackberries with her daughter. A jealous sigh slipped through my lips, queuing a slideshow of my shattered life.

Dad golfing with his coworkers, mumbling about prophecies through his stiff practice swing. Mom baking with the neighbors, laughing over nothing. Richard plowing through a pyramid of lanky teens with me at the head. Dr. Silver leaning over me, grinning through his face-mask, and the never ending eighteen months. One more year of solitude at school and more small, square slices of ham slapping against the yellow bathroom floor. Kim, the closest, and furthest person from me. The images tediously clicked through my clouded mind. A cool, inviting breeze blew in from the still water, carving a gentle wake. I closed my eyes, embraced the wind, and flew across the lake.

Kim approached my blanket with a bashful grin and wicker basket full of korean delicacies. Her shy smile inched out across her face as she came closer, eventually bubbling into a giggle she timidly hid with her left hand. Mom casually waved from a little red canoe gently rocking in the middle of the lake. Dad sat on the opposite end, eagerly battling with a catfish through sincere laughs of excitement. As the fish continued to jerk the line, he turned back to the shore with a brilliant smile and waved. Kim nestled her chin into my chest as I lay down on the soft grass and gazed up towards the wide sky. She lightly lay a soft kiss on my heart, and like a puppy pacing around bed in search of the best position, carefully aligned herself and seamlessly fell into the folds of my figure. I closed my eyes and bathed in the overflowing warmth of my self fulfilling prophecy.

An unforgiving, cold gust blew in from the water and enveloped our small bodies. Kim began shivering beside me. Her tiny arm crawled up my chest, over my shoulder, and wrapped tightly around my neck. I shifted to embrace her, but felt as though my bones and blood canals had been filled with lead. Struggling to lift my arm, tremors from Kim’s rattling body ran down my stiff spine. Driving her toes into my bony legs, she desperately climbed towards my ear. The pressure of her trembling fingertips increased as she clambered up my shoulder. Her sweat soaked and spread through my faded polo, creating a dark, oily stain in the center of my chest. Kim clawed into my body, squirming, voicelessly whimpering into my ear. I lay beside her, unable to do anything. The wind suddenly stopped and my eyes snapped open.

I sat alone on the far side of Lake Callahan.

10

Mom called for dinner as the pencil fell from my tender, pink hand.

I mechanically stood from the chair and stared down at my cluttered desk. Several minutes passed.

“Sean?” My mom called again.

I picked up the stack of papers and headed towards the door. “Coming,” I replied.

Mom and Dad were both waiting at the dinner table and immediately noticed the papers in my white knuckled hands. “What’s that Sean?” asked Mom.

Without replying, I sat down at the table and removed my headgear. Dad’s face was frozen in tension. I took a sip of water from the glass in my quivering hand, swallowed slowly, and finally began to read. I made it seven pages before tears began streaming down my face, and eight before Mom joined me. At the last paragraph of the autobiographical, emotional collage, Dad ‘s face fell into his hands and Mom jumped from her chair and ran around the table. “There is nothing else for me to hide. She is my strength and the reason I’ve been able to make it through this year.” The words came out in spurts between sniffles and cries.

“Sean,” My Mom said, wiping her eyes. “Thank you so much sweetie! I’m so glad you told us! Of course we will help you buy a ticket!” She said with watery eyes while looking across the table at Dad, who rested his elbow on the table and his forehead in his hand. His eyes were fixed on the cold spaghetti in the middle of the table.

“Sean,” He said with a shudder in his voice. “I’m so sorry for not being here for you.”

I looked across the table at him, waiting.

“I had no idea how hard this past year has been on you.” He said, struggling not to wipe his face. “This completely my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, searching for his eyes.

“It is.” He said, lifting his face. “I’m so sorry–of course we will help you pay for a ticket to meet Kim. I’m just so glad you had the courage to tell me, because this has opened my eyes, and told me how much more time I need to spend being a father. From now on, I’ll be here for you–I promise.”

“Thank you” was the only thing I could say, for my eyes quickly welled over once again and for the first time in a long while, I threw myself into my mother’s arms.

11

I was about to shock everyone.

“You know what, Sean.” Dad said, leaning over the table towards me. “There isn’t a single person who wouldn’t be moved by everything you told me and your mother. Even this Richard might find a change of heart. I don’t want to tell you what to do, but I think you should follow your gut.”

That was Sunday night and this was Friday morning thirty seconds before our last day of English. Mr. Lawson, nonchalantly glancing up from his notebook, asked, “Alright Sean, is there anything else you need for your presentation? Or is it just those wrinkled papers?”

“Actually there’s one thing,” I answered, reaching into my backpack. My hands slid past the foam headphone sleeves and brittle, plastic CD player, eventually arriving at the antique carrying case. I clasped the outer edges and cautiously pulled it out. Curious classmates speculated at the contents under their breath. I placed the case in open sight, directly on top of the podium. Richard made his best guess.

“Sean, you didn’t have to bring your Mom’s jewelry box.”

The parrot mimicked between cackles. “Jewelry box!”

Snapping the case open like an old suitcase, I pulled the trap from its cave.

“What is that thing?” asked a puzzled girl sitting front and center.

Without hesitation, I brought the device to my face and gracefully slid it into place. The jaws of half the class collided with the desks; Richard began fidgeting in his seat. Mr. Lawson snapped upright and tore off his glasses.

“What is that Sean?” he asked, completely flabbergasted.

“It’s a bear trap.” I answered.

Drawing in a long, deep breath, and letting the familiar magnesium flavored air fill my lungs, I brought the papers up to my chest, looked directly at Richard, and began reading.

“This summer, I am going to Korea.”

12

“It’s actually my first time riding a plane,” I said nervously in broken Korean to the wrinkled, smiling man sitting beside me. Lightly clapping his leathered hand against my rattling thigh, he smiled and replied. The only words I could catch were “safe” and “land.” Not knowing how to respond, I smiled and laughed back him. Then, what must have been the sound of wheels descending from the plane shot sleeves of goosebumps down my arms. I braced myself for impact. This is it.

A cloud of self conscious body odor followed me off the plane into the thick humidity of Seoul International Airport. Every step triggered a new stream of sweat down my back. In between the plane and customs, I stopped by a bathroom to feverishly wipe the sweat from my armpits and reapply a thick layer of deodorant. Too giddy to wait on leisurely escalators, I propelled myself three stairs a step up four flights of stairs between the gate and customs. The surroundings transformed as I cruised through the airport: creaky aluminum tunnels, patchy gray carpets, polished concrete hallways, long, segmented, steel treadmills. Each time I entered a new area, the thought of Kim just around the corner hit my stomach like full force liver blow.

Another restroom came into my eyes. I rushed in past a group of sharply dressed men and frantically began readjusting my hair. In the reflection of the mirror, a younger boy emerged from the corner bathroom stall and approached the sinks, constantly watching me groom myself. Trying not to notice him, I leaned towards the sink and splashed a cool handful of water against my fevered face. I rested my hands on the edge of the sink, faced the floor, and let the water run down my cheeks and off my lips.

Just before reaching baggage claim, I stopped by a vending machine to grab a drink. The chilled apple juice evaporated down my parched throat. Baggage claim machines began popping up everywhere. After spotting my suitcase emerge around the corner, I slipped into the waiting line and waited, my foot relentlessly tapping against the linoleum floor.

The bag was less than five meters from me. Suddenly, a freeze in the conveyor. I released the pressure from my lungs and cut the line. Finally grabbing my luggage, I drew in several deep breaths and made my way towards the bright red letters. The sliding doors opened with blast of cool air.

Kim stood out like a sore thumb as she dashed forward and into my arms. Embracing her, I closed my eyes and bathed in the overflowing warmth of my self fulfilled prophecy.