Almond Page 11

  She smiled, as if she felt good after ranting. I was heading out of the library when she asked me where my bookstore was. I gave her the address and asked why she wanted to know.

  She grinned. “Just in case they stop letting me practice here.”

  54

  My mock exam scores were always average. Math was my strongest subject, followed by science and social studies, which were okay. The problem was Korean. There were all these hidden meanings and nuances that I couldn’t catch. Why were the authors’ motives kept hidden so well? My guesses were always wrong.

  Maybe understanding a language is like understanding the expressions and emotions of other people. That’s why they say small amygdalae often mean your intellectual level is lower. Because you can’t grasp the context, your reasoning skills are poor and so is your intellect. It was hard for me to accept my Korean grades. It was the subject I wanted to be best at, but it was my worst.

  Clearing out the bookstore took some time. All I needed to do was get rid of the books but it was no easy task. I took out each book and took pictures one by one. I needed to check their conditions so that I could post them on a bartering website. I had no idea we had so many books in the store. Countless thoughts, stories, and studies were piled up on every shelf. I thought of the authors I’d never had a chance to meet. Suddenly they seemed very far from me, a thought that hadn’t occurred to me before. I used to think that they were close. As close as soaps or towels, easily within reach. But, in fact, no, they were in a whole other world. Maybe forever out of my reach.

  “Hey.”

  I heard a voice over my shoulder. My heart froze at that one word, as if someone had just splashed cold water on me. It was Dora.

  “Just swinging by. That’s cool, right?”

  “Probably. Actually, it always is,” I corrected myself. “It’s rare to hear a customer asking for permission to visit, unless it’s at a popular restaurant that requires a reservation, I guess . . . which this is clearly not.”

  I realized I had just ended up calling my bookstore unpopular. Dora burst out laughing for some reason. It was the kind of laugh that sounded like countless ice crystals showering down onto the ground. Dora skimmed through the books, a smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “Did this shop just open? The books are all over the place.”

  “Actually, I’m preparing to close it down. Though ‘preparing’ seems like an odd word to use when you’re closing down a shop.”

  “Too bad. I missed my chance to become a regular.”

  Dora didn’t talk much at first. She did other things instead, like puffing out her cheeks after saying something, then making a pfff sound with a long deep breath. Or tapping the ground with the toe of her sneaker three times. Then, as if she had been working up the nerve for it, she asked a question.

  “Is it true that you don’t feel anything?” It was the same question Gon had asked.

  “Not exactly, but according to general standards, yes, probably.”

  “Interesting. I thought those kinds of people were only in charity documentaries for fund-raising. Oh, sorry . . . I shouldn’t have said it this way.”

  “That’s okay, I don’t mind.”

  Dora drew in a sharp breath. “You know how you asked me why I run? I feel bad for venting to you then. I came here to apologize. It’s just that you were the first person to ask me that question besides my parents.”

  “Oh.”

  “So I want to ask you something too, just out of curiosity. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  I couldn’t come up with an answer for a while. If I remembered correctly, that was the first time I’d been asked that question. So I just said truthfully, “I don’t know. Because no one has asked me that before.”

  “Do you need someone to ask you that to know? Haven’t you ever thought about it?”

  “It’s a hard question for me.” I hesitated. But instead of pushing me to elaborate, Dora found something we shared in common.

  “Same here. Right now my dream has kinda evaporated. My parents are so against running, so . . . It’s sad that we share that in common.”

  Dora kept bending and stretching her knees. She couldn’t stay still, as if she had an itch for running. Her uniform skirt fluttered. I looked away and got back to organizing the books.

  “You handle them so carefully. You really love books, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’m bidding them farewell.”

  Dora puffed out her cheeks with another pfff. “Books aren’t my thing. Words are no fun. They just sit there, embedded. I prefer things that move.”

  Dora swiftly slid her fingers along the shelved books. Pitter-patter. It sounded like rain dripping.

  “Old books seem all right, though. They have a richer scent that’s more alive. Like how autumn leaves smell.” Dora grinned at her own words. Then, with a quick “See ya,” she left before I could reply.

  55

  I was heading back home after school. It was a long sunny afternoon. The air was cold and the sun looked down on the earth from a faraway distance. No, maybe I was wrong. Maybe the sun was scorching and the sweltering heat was unbearable. I strolled along the gray school fence and was about to turn a corner. There came a gush of wind. It was a strong blow, coming out of nowhere. Tree branches shook violently, letting their leaves quiver.

  If my ears were working correctly, the sound wasn’t from the wind shaking the trees. It was the sound of waves. In a second, leaves of every color were scattered on the ground. It was still high summer, on a sunny day, but for some reason there were fallen leaves everywhere in sight. Orange and yellow leaves cupped their hands toward the sky.

  There in the distance stood Dora. The wind swept her hair to the left. Long and shiny hair, each strand as thick as string. She slowed down but I kept up my pace, so eventually we drew close. We had talked a few times before, but I had never seen her so up close. A few freckles sprinkled her fair complexion and her eyes were squinting to avoid the wind, revealing a small double eyelid. When her eyes met mine, they grew wide.

  Suddenly, the wind changed course. Dora’s hair slowly changed direction too, whipping over to the opposite side. The breeze carried her scent to my nose. It was a scent I hadn’t smelled before. It smelled like fallen leaves, or the first buds in spring. The kind of smell that evoked contrary images all at once. I continued to walk forward. Our faces were an inch apart now. Her hair flapped in my face. Ah, I moaned. It prickled. A heavy rock dropped down in my heart. An unpleasant weight.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” I said. The words, half stuck in my chest, came out in a croak. The wind pushed me hard. To resist it, I started walking faster than I had before.

  * * *

  That night I couldn’t sleep. Scenes kept replaying in my head like hallucinations. The waving trees, the colorful leaves, and Dora standing there, yielding to the wind.

  I got up and absently walked along the bookshelves. I took out a dictionary and searched it through. But I had no idea what word I was looking for. My body was burning. My pulse beat so loud right below my ears. I could hear my pulse even in the tips of my fingers and toes, which tingled as if bugs were crawling all over my body. It wasn’t very pleasant. My head hurt and I felt dizzy. Yet I kept thinking back to that moment. The moment when her hair touched my face. The scent and the warmth of the air between us. I drifted off to sleep only at daybreak when the sky turned sapphire.

  56

  My fever came down by morning. But another bizarre symptom appeared. I went to school and saw the back of someone’s head glowing. It was Dora’s. I turned away. That whole day I felt as if a thorn were pricking my chest.

  Gon stopped by the bookstore around sundown. I couldn’t talk to him or even listen to what he was saying.

  “Dude, you okay? You look pale.”

  “It hurts.”

  “What hurts?”

  “I don’t know. Everything.” />
  Gon suggested we eat out but I turned him down. He smacked his lips then disappeared. My body felt heavy as I twisted and turned. I couldn’t tell what was wrong with me. I headed out of the bookstore when I bumped right into Dr. Shim.

  “Did you eat?” he asked, and I shook my head no.

  We went to a buckwheat noodle place this time. Dr. Shim added that the noodles alone wouldn’t be enough for a growing teen and ordered fried jumbo shrimp too, but I didn’t touch a thing. I shared all the weird changes happening in my body with him as he slowly slurped his noodles. There wasn’t much to tell, but because I was rambling so much, it took twice as long as it should have.

  “I took cold medicine. I think I have a cold,” I managed to finish.

  Dr. Shim straightened his glasses, his eyes fixed on my shaking legs.

  “Well, I think you can explain in more detail.”

  “More detail? What do you mean?” I asked, and he grinned.

  “Well, I just thought, maybe there were some things you left out because you didn’t know how to accurately express them. How about you take time to go over the details, one at a time? When did you first start having your symptoms? Was there some kind of trigger?”

  I narrowed my eyes and tried to think back to how it had all started.

  “It was the wind.”

  “The wind?” Dr. Shim narrowed his eyes to mirror my expression.

  “It’s hard to explain, but will you still hear me out?”

  “Of course.”

  I took a deep breath and tried to recount the events of the day before with as much detail as possible. Once out loud, my story sounded rather dry and boring—that the wind blew and the leaves fell, and when her hair blew and touched my cheek, I felt as though someone were squeezing my heart. My story had no context; it wouldn’t even qualify as small talk. But as I rambled on, I noticed Dr. Shim’s face soften, and by the time I finished, he had a wide smile on his face. He held out his hand and I took it reflexively. He gave me a firm handshake.

  “Congratulations! You’re growing. This is great news.” Beaming, he continued, “How much taller have you gotten since early this year?”

  “Three and a half inches.”

  “See? That’s a huge growth in such a short time. I’m sure your brain must have drastically changed as well. If I were a neurosurgeon, I would suggest you get an MRI scan and check the progress of your brain.”

  I shook my head. Getting pictures taken of my brain was not a pleasant memory.

  “I don’t plan on getting one yet. I want to wait until my amygdalae grow big enough. Actually, I don’t even know if this is something to celebrate. It’s uncomfortable. I also didn’t get enough sleep.”

  “That’s what happens when you have a crush on somebody.”

  “Do you think I have a crush on her?” I regretted asking him the question as soon as I asked.

  “Well. Only your heart knows,” he said, still smiling.

  “You mean my brain, not my heart. We do whatever the brain tells us to do.”

  “Technically, yes, but we still say it’s from our heart.”

  * * *

  As Dr. Shim said, I was changing little by little. I had more questions, but I didn’t feel like sharing all of them with Dr. Shim as I had before. I babbled and got tongue-tied with even simple questions. I started doodling, hoping it would clear my thoughts. But somehow I kept writing down not sentences but the same word over and over again. When I realized what I had written, I immediately crumpled up the paper or leaped from my seat.

  My annoying symptoms continued. No, they actually got worse with each day. My temples throbbed at the sight of Dora, and my ears pricked up when I heard her voice from however far away, among however many people. I felt my body had outpaced my mind, and that it was as unnecessary and bothersome as a long overcoat in summer. I wanted so much to take it off. If only I could.

  57

  Dora started coming by the bookstore often. The time of her visits was irregular. Sometimes she would turn up on a weekend and sometimes on a weeknight. But always around the time she was about to visit, my backbone would ache. Like an animal instinctively sensing an impending earthquake, like a worm squirming out of the earth before a rainstorm.

  Whenever I felt my body itch, I would walk out of the bookstore, and there she would appear, the tip of her head rising into view from the horizon. I would scramble back inside as if I’d just seen something ominous, then I would go about my work as if nothing had happened.

  Dora said she would help clear out the books, but when she found a book she liked, she would sit reading the same page for a long time. She was interested in encyclopedias of animals, insects, and nature. Dora found beauty in everything. She found nature’s magnificent work and incredible symmetry in a turtle’s carapace, or a stork’s egg, or an autumn reed from a swamp. How wonderful, she would often say. I understood the meaning of the word, but I could never feel the splendor it carried.

  As fall ripened and the books were being sorted out, Dora and I talked about the cosmos, flowers, and nature—how big the universe is, how there’s a flower that eats insects by melting them, and how some fish swim upside down.

  “You know what? We assume all dinosaurs are huge, but there were some as small as a double bass, called Compsognathus. They must’ve been so cute,” said Dora, a colorful children’s book spread open on her knees.

  “I used to read this book when I was little. My mom read it to me,” I said.

  “Do you remember your mom reading it to you?”

  I nodded. Hypsilophodon were the ones as big as a bathtub, Microceratus were as big as a puppy, Micropachyce-phalosaurus was around nineteen inches tall, and Mussaurus were the size of a small teddy bear. I remembered all these long, strange names.

  The corners of Dora’s lips turned upward.

  “Do you go see your mom often?” she asked.

  “Yeah, every day.”

  She hesitated for a moment. “Can I come too?”

  “Sure,” I blurted out even before thinking.

  * * *

  A small stuffed dinosaur sat by a window in Mom’s hospital ward. Dora had bought it on the way. I hadn’t brought anyone here before. I knew Dr. Shim stopped by every so often, but neither of us had ever suggested visiting Mom together. Dora leaned over, smiling, and carefully held Mom’s hands. She stroked them.

  “Hello, Mrs. Seon. I’m Dora, Yunjae’s friend. You’re so beautiful. Yunjae is doing great at school, all healthy and well. You should wake up and see him. I’m sure you will soon.”

  Then she stepped back, her smile fading a little. She whispered to me, “Now it’s your turn.”

  “What?”

  “Do what I just did.”

  “Mom can’t hear anything anyway,” I said in a normal voice, unlike Dora, who had lowered hers.

  “It’s no big deal. It’s just saying hi.” She gave me a gentle push.

  Slowly, I took a few steps toward Mom. She looked exactly the same as she had for the last couple of months. I could barely open my mouth. I hadn’t tried this before.

  “Do you want some time alone with her? I can leave.”

  “No.”

  “Or if I’m pushing you too much . . .”

  Just then, the word “Mom” came out of my mouth. I began to share with her all that had happened to me. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things I hadn’t told her. Of course there were, as this was my first time telling her anything. I slowly opened up to her. That Granny had passed away and I was left alone. That I was going to high school now. I told her that I met new friends like Gon and Dora. That winter, spring, and summer had passed and it was now fall already. That I’d tried to keep the bookstore going and that I had to close it down, but that I wouldn’t apologize for that.

  After telling Mom all this, I stepped back. Dora smiled at me. Mom was still staring up at the constellations on the ceiling, but I realized that talking to her wasn’t so pointless after all.
Maybe it was similar to how Dr. Shim baked for his dead wife.

  58

  As I grew closer to Dora, I started to feel like I was keeping a secret from Gon. Incidentally, the two had never stopped by the bookstore at the same time. Gon didn’t come to the bookstore as often as he used to, maybe he was busy with other stuff. When he did, he always sniffed. “Something smells fishy about you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t put my finger on it.” He scowled at me. “You hiding something from me?”

  “Well . . .” I would’ve told him about Dora if he had pushed me further. But for some reason, Gon stopped there.

  It was also around that time that Gon started hanging out with kids from different schools. They were fairly well-known troublemakers in the neighborhood. Some of them had gone to the same juvenile center as Gon. A kid called Steamed Bun was particularly infamous among them. I once saw him talking to Gon after school. Unlike his nickname, he actually reminded me of bamboo. He was tall like a bamboo plant, and his arms and legs were skinny like the branches. But at the tips of those branches were hands and feet that were thick buns. He was like a stick doll whose hands and feet were made of thick batter. But the real reason he’d gotten the nickname was that with those huge fists and feet of his, he could squash the faces of people he didn’t like as easily as if they were soft steamed buns.

  “I like hanging out with them. There’s a connection between us. You know why? Because at least they don’t judge me the way other people do, telling me to do this and that.”

  Gon told me the stories he’d heard from Steamed Bun’s gang and thought they were funny, but I didn’t find them funny or interesting at all. Gon went on and on, laughing out loud, gabbling nonsense. I just listened. That was all I could do.