Someplace Like Home |n.j

3.

I'm sitting at our saved table while Nami went ahead to order for us. It was a nearby cafe, she comes here regularly, or so I've heard. I watched by the side as she talked to the cashier, hands reaching to brush away her bangs. But they seemed grown out, with only a few strands that actually could pass as bangs. It looked homemade, not that it was unattractive. I liked it, actually. It adds to the charm.

My eyes avert from Nami when she heads to the table with a number on a stand, as if I'd been busy inspecting something else.

"So you come here often?" I asked with a cough just to start the flow of a conversation. She nods, sitting down.

"I like to come here to work, as much as I can. Other times I just stay at home."

This was the perfect time for me to ask, so I took the opportunity, "What do you do exactly? I saw some sketches on your table." If it even counts as one.

"I'm a freelance graphic designer, what you saw on my desk was probably the logo I'm working on, or the poster for this event...one of the two."

So that also explains the unrestricted schedule. Working hours are up to her. I don't think I can picture her with a job where she isn't her own boss either. But what do I know, I haven't even known her over a day's time.

"How long have you been doing this?"

Nami brought up her fingers and began to count them under her breath, "Eight? I started before I graduated from college. I also took a three-year program. It's been a while."

I haven't been a bartender for nearly as long, maybe half the years. She should be making more money than I assumed then, if she's been doing it for this long. Nami probably has already made a name for herself. And if you reach a certain level of quality, free-lance workers do get paid quite well. With that said, she probably makes more money than I do. I wonder why she still lives in that studio then, she could afford much better.

"I can show you some stuff another time if you want. I'd avoid the first two years though, I don't know why I ever got paid." I was supposed to laugh, I know. But the way she said it, was as if there is 'another time' for us. As if she intended to see me again. I could simply smile. The thought of that had me easily ignoring the joke thrown in my direction.

To my luck, I had no need to muster up a reply. A waiter came at the best time with our orders, placing them on the table without regarding either of us.

I had already thought of another question by the time he left us be, "What brings you to Korea though? Or have you lived here all your life?" The latter seemed improbable though, her accent doesn't convince me of a native speaker's, as alluring as it is.

"I just wanted to try living in another country. Your language was easy to learn, and it was near Japan. I probably wouldn't have, if I knew how much money it was going to cost me.

"I've been here for a year, it was only two or three months ago, that I really started making money again. Unless the internet does its magic to makes me famous and dirty rich, I won't be moving out of this country the next time."

Next time? I voiced my confusion, but she seemed to have wished to brush it off, dismissing it as a tripping of words. I let the topic pass. She'll let me know if she wants to.

"I am curious though," Nami begins, and this might be the first time she starts the conversation, "I meant it when I assumed you would want to never see me again. What makes spending a day with me a repayment?"

Does she really have to know about my dying social life so soon? That as pathetic as I am, being troubled by a drunk woman is the most 'living' I've done in years?

I try to soften it with a change of words, "I was always curious about how other people lived. It felt like a good opportunity to find out."

My answer seemed to have satisfied her enough, as she sipped from her drink with a nod.

"I wanna know how you live too," Nami started, "What do you do, besides being a bartender and bringing drunk women into your home?"

I would've choked if I hadn't expected this sort of humor and expression from her. And obviously, if I wasn't busy asking myself the same question. What the hell do I do? What the hell am I really doing?

Shrugging was my most genuine and immediate response, so I did.

"I ride bikes to random places, I also go to parks to watch people." But I wouldn't call that doing anything. I don't feel present more than half the time. Even when I'm talking, I feel like I'm living in silence. You could turn off the volume to a movie about me, and there would be no difference. My life is monotone. It is without a high or low, no matter what takes place.

"You seem to like watching other people's lives rather than living out your own."

That is as accurate as anyone can get with a description of me. I didn't take it as an insult, honestly, as she didn't mean it as one. Again, to each their own, right?

"I'd call it an occupational illness, habits at work start to take over your life eventually. Do you ever get that? I don't know how it would be for a freelancer."

I look down to realize I haven't taken a single bite out of my meal. She had my entire mind, eyes, and ears. I've never been so absorbed in someone or something before. Maybe I really am focused for once, maybe that's what it's like to be present.

"I don't know if it's because of my job though. My habits on and off work do coexist pretty well. I rarely interact with people out of interest." She pauses, as if in sudden awareness, "I've never taken anyone to this cafe before."

We sure are a lot of each other's firsts. Should I be touched? I know it's more about her than it is about me. Nevertheless, I'm still honored to participate in what seems like a breakthrough.

"Should I feel lucky?"

Nami shrugs with a smile that could only shine on her, I don't know if it even passes as a smile. Her lips were crooked and jerked up in a strange angle, her eyes weren't even curved. But I'd be down to see it again anytime.

"Take it however you want. I want to show you a place though, so eat up." Her cold fingers take my fork and shoved them into my grasp, "Less talking, more chewing."