The Humanity Formula

Fathers, Fires, and Firsts

At first it's the heat on my face, and then the stench of burning cotton. The tickling itch of smoke in my lungs.

I remember something from when I was younger, a memory that had been neatly tucked away. There was smoke then, and flames, too. My mother was crying and swearing as I screamed from my highchair. She was fanning at the fire, the blackened pan fuming and sizzling from the oil.

I could still see her face, wet with tears. The fire reflected in her eyes. So she was like this in my memories, too. Not just smiling in a doctor's coat with tired eyes. Not just holding me in her arms and telling me everything would be okay. She was like this, too. Flame and smoke and anxiety. Reds and oranges and yellows.

The water splashes out the side of the tub as I startle, desperately holding onto the rim. Smoke, smoke everywhere. The bathmat had burned into a cinder black. Fire licks at the curtains and walls, surrounding me.

I cup my nose with my hand as I scramble from the tub, trying to put out flame where I can.

...

When I'm kicked out of my apartment I'm not surprised. Chaerin drives me back to the house, telling me not to worry about the envelope the landlord had given me. She says Dad will take care of it, why should I worry?

Why should I worry?

I almost burned down an apartment building.

Why should I worry?

I stare ahead at the road, watching the neighborhood pass us by. It looks fake, like a manufactured set of what a neighborhood should look like. A cardboard figure of an old woman walking her dog.

I pick at the bandage on my arm before Chaerin gently places her hand over mine to stop me. I just wanted to see if I had really been injured. If it was all real, or just a drama playing out.

"Professor Choi gave me the number for someone who can help you." Chaerin peeks at me from the corner of her eye. "You'll go, won't you?"

I nod, staring at the bandage on my arm and Chaerin's bright pink nails.

The car rolls into the driveway and Chaerin puts it in park. She unclicks her seatbelt and turns to look at me. For the first time I see that her eyes are bloodshot, there's swelling under her eyes that makeup can't hide.

"Things are really tough for you right now, huh?" She purses her lips, not looking at me. I feel like it's the first time she's ever asked me how I'm doing. "But so are you, Hayi. You're tough. Tougher."

Her fingers squeeze around my wrist. I want to cry but it's because I'm happy. I'm so exorbitantly happy that for the first time in my life my sister gets it. She doesn't blame me or make me feel bad, she just gets it. It's hard on me, it's tough. She understands.

I sit through dinner more easily than I thought I would. I eat my salad without feeling like a failure. I sip my water without feeling worthless. Professor Lee hands me the bread and his eyes don't reflect disappointment or resentment or judgment. He looks tired. Just like all of us, he looks so tired. Like a human.

Chaerin washes the dishes and I dry, eyes looking out the window. I never realized the garden my mother planted was still there. Who had been taking care of it all of these years? It wasn't overgrown or wilting, the flowers and vegetables looked well maintained.

I walk up to my room after a hug from Chaerin and carefully start to unpack my suitcase. It startles me how easily my life was packed into one single bag. Did I really make such a small impact that it could be neatly stowed away in a corner of the room?