Landing in Your Inbox

64 - push and pull

January 24, 2021 1:01 PM
Lee Family Residence 

Jeong-hyeok arrived at his house with a box of Hallabong oranges that his mother had brought to the kitchen. These fruits were served peeled following their lunch. Jeong-hyeok's mother remarked how delicious they were and urged her husband to try but he declined with a wave of a hand, citing the beginnings of a scratchy throat. Over tea, Jeong-hyeok gave a briefing of his schedule for the coming month.

"I won't be here during Seollal and my brother's anniversary." Jeong-hyeok was saying. "I'll pay a visit on my own later."

Jeong-hyeok had been used to conveniently omitting mentions of his birthday, not after his brother's accident happened too close for comfort. What was the point of a celebration with a tragedy as inconceivable as that?

His mother noted the erasure with regret, if his father did, he didn't make it show.

Later he went back to his room to pack a few last minute things: socks, handkerchiefs and a book. As he pushed his drawers close, he paused by the picture frame of him and his brother almost 10 years ago. Their bright smiles did not have any inkling of what laid ahead of them. Not a single day did Jeong-hyeok not wish he flew home to see him one last time.

"It's okay, Jeong-hyeok!" His brother reassured him over the phone, his voice always brought him a warm blanket of security and peace of mind. When he nursed many doubts about pushing through his career path as a pianist, it was always his brother who cheered him on and told him to keep at it. He was his biggest supporter. "This is your dream and you are the greatest pianist in the world. Don't cancel that concert. We'll meet again soon after to celebrate."

I'm so proud of you.

Jeong-hyeok wiped away the tears that welled from the corners of his eyes with the back of his wrist. It had been years but the fountain of grief would never run out. He had a handkerchief in hand but he did not want to stain it. 

With the bag slung around his shoulders, he left his room. His mother awaited by the hallway.

"Are you ready to go back?" She asked.

He disappointed her when he said he was returning to duty. Somehow she hoped against hope that the accident would change his mind about flying, that he would take it as a warning of the dangers that were not only very real but very deeply felt, enough to leave him scarred for life. 

If the anxiety wasn't easy for him, it must be torture for his mother, day-by-day. She was crumpling a piece of paper again.

Jeong-hyeok nodded, "I'll be okay, mom." Seeing her on the verge of a panic attack had him pulling her into a one-armed embrace.

Those were the words of her eldest. That's what that press conference tried to tell her for a full hour, the message that they wouldn't let another accident happen again because they couldn't afford it.

But that was her son they put in a broken plane, just as surely as what had happened with her Mu-hyeok. That was what her husband and even her youngest couldn't understand. 

Jeong-hyeok still went down those stairs and told his father he was leaving. His mother remained upstairs with no real strength to bid him goodbye. Her eyes tarried at the door her fallen son used to live in.

His father stood up to clap him on his shoulder, wordlessly wishing him good luck. 

It was always a relief to be out of the house where the pain of loss was still thick, where memories of his brother still haunted them all. They might have moved his things to the attic but for as long as the house remained the same way as it looked 5 years ago, then the past would continue to remind them, where his brother once stayed, where he sat, how he made them all laugh so effortlessly.