The VW travels along the shore road. Outside the window, I watch the ocean. Even in the rain, it has a strange kind of beauty. The waves are high and crashing into the pilings. From time to time I spot seagulls huddled in clusters. They are enduring the storm together. The windshield wipers swoosh back and forth, my heart is keeping time with them.
A memory of bright sunlight fills my mind. I am sticky from a melting orange popsicle. I am seated on a huge rock listening to the waves hit the pilings. I am crying again. The night before I heard mom arguing with my dad over the phone. Later, that night I heard my mom’s muffled sobs in the bedroom next to mine.
I remember the distance sound of whistling, good whistling, the kind that actually sounds like music. The tune is “Don’t Stop Believin’”. I glance back. Picking his way across the rocky shore is a boy in ragged surf shorts, wearing an equally ragged Journey T-shirt and flip flops. In English he asks, “Are you Yi-seul?”
Aware my face is puffy and my eyes are red, I nod.
“Mrs. Park Ji An told me to tell you to get home.”
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Confused I ask, “Who are you?”
He laughs, rubs his crew cut hair and says, “I am Hae-in. Don’t you remember me?”
Hae-in? The last time I saw him I was eight and he was twelve. At twelve, he smelled terrible and had strangely hairs growing above his upper lip. He was also surgically attached to his Nintendo game system. This beautiful creature was THAT boy? Impossible! All I manage to say is, “Oh.” I stand up and take off at a run.
He calls after me, “Be careful, the rocks are sharp.”
The crunch of gravel beneath the tires, brings me back to the present. We pull into Auntie Ji An’s drive. I notice the white paint on the house is peeling. It is made of cinder blocks to withstand storms. Next door is an identical house painted blue. On the porch is Neighbor Song. She is wearing her brightest flower pants. Her gray hair is pulled back by a yellow scarf and she is waving furiously. My, she has aged. I glance at Hai-in. Not only is he waving at his grandmother, he makes the heart sign for her. I am touched by the sweetness of the gesture.
We pile out of the car. In Korean Hae-in calls out, “Granny, I will be there in a sec. Let me help them get their bags in.”
I am surprised I actually understood him.
Auntie Ji An tells him, “We got this. Go on!”
The look he gives Auntie Ji An is pure gratitude. His eyes are full of light. “Thanks.”
I watch him dash across the yard, scoop his grandmother into his arms and give her a gentle twirl. She squeals with delight.
Auntie Ji An’s nudges me with her elbow. “Ain’t they a pair?”
Softly I say, “They are.”