What to wear? Why do I care? Don’t, won’t answer that question. I stand before the mirror looking at myself. My wardrobe is limited to what fit in my duffle bag. I go over my options. When one is running away one does not think about fashion. One only thinks about leaving. Auntie Ji An enters the room. She cocks her head and looks at the black dress I am wearing and asks, “Going to a funeral?”
I look at her reflection in the mirror and say, “No.”
“Come to my wardrobe, I might have something you like.”
I doubt this very seriously, but I follow her to her room. It is a quaint room with a single mattress on the floor. Her walls are covered with framed signed photos of the real Gong Yoo. On her dresser is a small framed photo of a young man in fishing togs. Auntie Ji An opens up her large wooden wardrobe. It is filled with the dresses she wears to work. She likes bright colors and prints. Nothing looks remotely wearable to me, until she pulls out a lovely cotton sundress with little daisys embroidered on it. It is beautiful. She hands it to me and asks, “What about this?”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Will it fit?” I take it from her.
“It should.”
I go back to my room accompanied by Gong Yoo. When I slip on the dress, it feels right. It isn’t a fairy princess dress but it feels like one to me. I make a small twirl. The skirt flutters out like the petals of a flower. Its perfect.
*
I am nervous as we make our way across the yard to Neighbor Song’s. My palms are sweating and my heart is not keeping its usual rhythm. I don’t even know if a certain someone is going to be there and I don’t ask. Still I am encouraged by the light in Auntie’s eyes.
Without knocking Auntie Ji An enters Neighbor’s Song’s home. The house smells of fresh cabbage. It always has. Little has changed inside. In the front room is a a traditional low table with cushions.It already has side dishes of various pickled vegetables on it. Against the wall is a small pea green sofa and a camp chair. The only luxuries in this house are the flat screen TV and a game system. On the wall above the sofa is Neighbor Song’s wedding picture. Mr. Song is with her. I see bits of Hae-in in both their young faces. Suddenly, I miss Mr. Song. I called him, Ahjussi. He was a quiet sweet man almost ten years older than Neighbor Song. I am sure she has missed him terribly these last few years.
From the kitchen Neighbor Song calls, “We are in here.”
We, she said we. I smooth out my dress and follow Auntie Ji An. At the sink stands Hae-in. He is wearing khaki’s and a button up pink shirt. He smiles at me. Warmth travels through me. I feel myself blush, regardless, I force myself to make eye contact with him. I am not disappointed.