PAPER HEARTS

30

The first word that flew out of my mother's mouth was derogatory enough, as I walk after her into the cafeteria. My throat is numb, my eyes are a swollen flare of anger, worry, and sorrow, and my heart feels as though it's been crushed to a pulp and stepped over at the sidewalk by millions of feet. We were fighting all the way up here. Fighting. Again, after about four years of not seeing her, it's all that has happened over our bitter reunion - a fight that's been serrated with so much venom, that it could reopen old wounds with one strike.

It didn't matter to my mother just how we were still swarmed by hundreds of students who were in a flurry to catch the next train and head home. She's seen me with a boy she doesn't know, and that's all there is to her law.

It goes without saying that my exam wasn't necessarily one of its best. I couldn't help but worry about having my mother waiting at the reception desk outside, nipping her freshly painted nails in anticipation as if I would vanish from sight if I wasn't under her watchful eyes.

It's only been about ten minutes since I'd stepped out, but I can't help but want her to leave. I've had enough of listening to her words - words that crush me, words that kill me. I'm repulsed by the thought of getting an earful in the crowded cafeteria.

I sit over the table, my hair still damp and unkempt as it falls over my shoulder. I don't even feel it as a few more tears slide down to the end of my chin. And that's all I can feel; emptiness. I don't want to explain myself for the choices I've made to come this far. 

We sit with an apple tart and a coke can each. I don't touch mine.

"This is filthy," she snarks, eyes swiveling down my outfit. I'm sure she realizes that I'm not wearing my own shirt, given the size, "imagine telling your dad of such a tragedy? Gracious, he'd die of shame."

I bring my arms to my chest, growing unconvincing as I sponge around for a response. It's clear that I'm growing vindictive as my eyelids narrow down at her overripened presence and I'm sick of having her look at me in such a spiteful light.

"How come you're here?" I ignore her remark.

My mother's sinister eyes find mine again and she lets out a haughty laugh voice soaring, "My, wouldn't you wonder," a pause follows, the atmosphere around us is tightening with tension, "Phone gone, no response for weeks together, your friend calls to tell us you've attempted killing yourself once ... And when we called Minjun, both your father and I had to bow our heads down in utter humiliation. Imagine why else I would come here -?"

"I was just," I snap coldly, "stressed at the time, you wouldn't understand it even if I told yo -"

Her bark of laughter splits my sentence apart. "Stressed? Good heavens."

My eyebrows knit when she proceeds to guffaw at me, "Stressed for this, stressed for that - you blame all of this on a generation gap and give it such a fancy term that you want to fawn on. Telling me I wouldn't understand your stress?" her eyes roll, "I was twenty-one once too, Jaehwa. Don't pull that card on your mother."

I'm pensive when she pulls a few papers out of her large handbag and slides it over the desk. Without another movement from me, and after a long-drawn sigh from mum, she initiates an elaboration as to what it's for.

"Your father and I do not want you studying here anymore." She looks close to tearing up herself, and my heart sinks in my chest, "We've found an alternative in New York, it's a decent college and we're not too invested on your performances. You -"

"No," I say, standing up. I don't want to cry over this, but it feels like she's here just to take my life away from me all over again.

"You lost your say in this when you decided to take your own life," she looks cross now, grabbing the sheets before following me, "We can't trust you enough to leave you alone like that, Jaehwa. You're coming with me after Christmas and that's final."