NINETEEN

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I'm reading the book Dr. Park gave me a few days ago.

He walks into my room and asks me if I want to take a ride.

I say yes.

So then he sets me in a wheelchair, pushing me along the hallways. The wheels are quite squeaky and make me cringe, so I ask him to stop and get me a new one.

He does.

I look at the people that pass me on their way to the cafeteria. One of them has a large cast on their leg, and another has a face that looks as though it's been torn of its top layer and blisters are scattered along her cheekbones.

Burn victim, is what I think.

(I learned quite a bit from Ki's medical school textbook.)

They all look at me because I have a thick white bandage wrapped around my head and I have wrinkles along my cheeks from smiling too often.

When Doctor Ki Park returns, he continues to push my wheelchair along the slick tile floors.

Then he asks if I know what love feels like.

I ask him what love is.

He simply smiles and says never mind.

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