Nonfiction by Kelly Hao
Some identifying information has been changed.
While I was home from college last summer, my Mother briefly mentioned the name of an old friend. It was summer then. The door to the backyard let in gentle breezes as the two of us lounged around the kitchen table.
“Moonsu? Mino? Miiin…”
She has always struggled with names.
“You mean Minsu?” It felt like I’d been waiting to say his name for ages. The simple act of doing so was like scraping off year’s worth of rust, tiny bits of accumulation chipping off my tongue.
“Yea, that’s it, Minsu. Did you know him?”
“In high school.”
She paused then, pursing her lips in the way she always does when she’s thinking. I could see the way she skipped around her mind, testing and reinventing her words in short bursts. I know this because I take after her. Because I do the same thing when delivering bad news.
“Bob told me he died, he saw his name in the obituary.”
In the distance, birds and cicadas were chirping their afternoon rituals. They formed a sort of silence that one can only find in good weather. That’s how the day was. It was warm and good, as was the day I saw him last.
“Bob told me he died, he saw his name in the obituary.” My Mother’s words echoed in the chambers of my mind.
—
I’ve known Minsu since elementary school.
Back then, I had been a pretty anxious kid. I went along with the other classmates so they would like me more, even if it meant sacrificing my favorite color (which was pink) in favor of the much cooler “lime-green” and “sky-blue” combo. That’s how kids are. It’s slightly shocking then, that I felt the shameless urge to contest Minsu over most things.
Let me put it this way. We had been getting along. We got along well enough that our 4th-grade teacher sat the two of us together. We got along well enough that I drew the letter M on his seat with the back of my eraser. But for some reason, he saw my tribute differently.
“WHY DID YOU DO THAT?” He pushed me. We were separated before I could get any words out.
By the time 4th grade ended, any sort of cute amiability made way for a more sinister force. I began challenging him to playground battles, and I vividly remember that one time when, urged by friends from either side, Minsu thrust a fist at my face for me to single-handedly grab with an open palm. I roared at him. Naturally.
—
“Bob told me he died, he saw his name in the obituary.”
Those words kept replaying, over and over, like waves crashing on the beach. It’s interesting how people compare moments like these to a feeling of wiping out, as in tsunami. But the birds were so charming, the air so delicate, how do you feel the absence of a friend you haven’t seen in years anyways?
I placed a tack in his name to reconsider for later. There’s gotta be more than one Minsu, after all.
—
When Minsu moved to a different class for fifth grade, a thick coat of disappointment was left behind. He had mellowed out since that day. When I teased him on the school bus, he’d let me. When I chased him on the playground, he ran. It was a different relationship entirely, but it had been fun nonetheless.
Luckily, our paths collided again when the school district funneled us into middle school. He was in my eighth-grade science class, sitting somewhere behind me as I focused on being a mostly non-comedic class clown. I remember turning around from where I sat and making him laugh. I remember his laugh. When he asked for my Skype, I rushed home, made an account, and came back with a username the next day.
Over the next year, the thing I looked forward to most was skyping Minsu. The minute I got off the bus, I was sprinting up the driveway and prying my mom’s laptop open.
Yo!
Yo!
Hellooooo????
I basically spammed until he replied–Hey.
Then I would call him immediately.
We hit it off immediately over games of Minecraft and RPGs from Steam. We talked about all sorts of things, like what kind of car we would be if we were cars or how much we hated our teacher. Some of it was just making funny noises, and some of it was about our parents. His dad was working for the South Korean military abroad. He would send his family money, and that was all I really understood. Minsu called him a “piece of shit.” I let it be.
He was easy going though. Laughed easily. He always listened to me in a careful manner, and he was gentle. Yet, despite all that, there was another part of him I rarely saw. Sometime in fifth grade, he was suspended for punching our classmate Aaron in the face. When Aaron came back from his suspension (the punching was reciprocated) I was frightened by the sight of a dark welt under his eye. Sometime in high school, Minsu’s best friend David told me he isn’t who I think he is.
“He’s only nice to you,” David had said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I responded. I didn’t want to think there was anything wrong with Minsu. David was probably jealous.
—
Minsu Lee
NY (formerly Wyoming)
20, 08-Jun, Savage-DeMarco Funerals.
There, preserved in the light of my laptop, was Minsu: the one from our town, still twenty when it should have been twenty-one. But even with hard evidence, I had to wonder. Is this really him? I couldn’t find any pictures of his face. I stalked Instagram to find that life was continuing as usual. The critters were still chirping. The house was still standing.
Somewhere inside, the shifting had settled into a cement block. I messaged David:
Hey, this is out of the blue but have you heard from Minsu at all? Not sure if you guys are still friends.
—
Our small town flooded in 2011, the same year the tsunami hit Japan. I remember our teacher handing us paper clippings from a children’s magazine titled: Top 10 News Events of 2011. On it was the tsunami, the death of Osama Bin Laden, and some pop culture moments from the Oscars.
“Our flood’s not on here!” a kid blurted out.
“I guess it wasn’t notable enough,” said the teacher.
I thought it was silly for the kid to expect our flood to be famous. The tsunami in Japan was devastating, deadly, and left a massive trail of destruction in its wake. Our flood was catastrophic for many. People lost their houses. Businesses permanently closed. But the violence of a towering wave gripped me, and the world, differently. Of course our flood wouldn’t be featured.
That’s the thing- our vision can’t penetrate the ocean. When we look out into that glittering mass, the waves are the only things that feel dangerous. We don’t notice the undercurrents, that slow violence of the deep. At least, not until a young boy is beached, and then a crowd forms, and the parents come running up with the weight of a grievous error.
The flood that hit our town rose sometime in the night, but the rain was there the entire time. All throughout the day, giant goblets of water punched the ground. But we all went to sleep. Then we woke to our homes underwater.
—
When I went on a trip to Seattle, I bought Minsu a mug I found at the gift store. It had Seattle’s nighttime skyline printed on the rims. It was pretty.
It’s eerie to think about why I purchased it now. It was because he was always sleeping, so I thought the darkness on the cup was fitting.
“You’re like a cat!” I would tease, and he’d just chuckle and move on.
They say some people sleep as a means of escape, a way to relieve the pain. The silhouette of a chaotic city is much simpler at night.
My parents never let me play games, so I was constantly on the lookout for free ones I could secretly download. Eventually, I found TERA, an MMORPG on Steam. It was hilarious when I made him download it. He would be swinging with a giant sword while I ran around as a girl with wings, cat ears, and a scythe.
When we were playing once, I asked him how he liked his mug, and he told me it was sitting on his desk.
“Don’t you ever use it?” I inquired.
“It’s too precious,” he told me.
Looking back, it feels obvious he liked me, especially in moments like these. After all, what boy spends hours talking to a girl he doesn’t like? But I only had my suspicions, and I avoided asking for a long, long time.
There’s not much left to say. He told me eventually, and I rejected him. By the last Skype message, it was probably too much to talk to me. Too painful, too awkward, and perhaps, too frustrating. He eventually stopped responding to me altogether. We fell apart.
—
For the next three years, I did my best to avoid him. I felt that, after I hurt him, he wouldn’t want to see me again, but I’d still get hints of his presence here and there. A glimpse in the hall. A mention from a teacher. My friend told me he was the captain of the engineering club. I was happy he was doing well.
We spent so long being completely separate, he took me by surprise when he finally approached me. I was walking out the front entrance to my car, on the last, last day of high school. The sun was approaching its golden hour. The scent of summer brought thoughts of new opportunities. I was going to college in a different state, it would be the last time I’d ever stand here.
“Hey.”
I was shocked to see him standing next to me.
“Hey!” I was so taken aback, I overcompensated in my tone. It came out too cheery, as if I were greeting a friendly coworker before quickly walking past. He looked skinnier now, and taller. His chubby cheeks had thinned out, and his hair was just a little shorter. I used to make fun of him for having white hair here and there, but for the most part, it was jet-black. There were all these changed things I used to recognize so familiarly, and it made me sad to see him again.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Good,” he said. “Where are you going for college?”
“Ohio, what about you?”
“SUNY Buffalo.”
That took me by surprise too. Minsu struggled academically, but it was a great school. So he’s leaving here too, I thought. Good for him.
“Congratulations!”
“Thanks, you too.”
I still remember how considerate he was being. For all of my emphasized enthusiasm, his words were slow and thoughtful. I wanted to add more to our conversation. There was so much unsaid between the two of us.
“Okay, bye.” I heard myself utter instead.
“Bye.”
As I walked away, I turned around to see him one last time. Then, I was in the car, and then I was driving home. Hidden in the winding hills of the town, I replayed our final conversation, again, and again.
—
David:
I don’t know how to tell you this but he passed away last month. If there is something you’d like to relay to the family just let me know.
—
Nowadays, I try not to think about his absence. When I do, I get a sense that I’m slipping. There seems to have been a wall somewhere I didn’t notice before, and now, when I lean against it, nothing holds me back. It’s as if I am a river at risk of pouring out and emptying myself.
—
I need to talk to you! By now, I’m becoming desperate. I know that death is a matter of time, but I can still stop it. I just need to see him again.
Hello??? Where are you? I am texting in the chat. Get out of there!
Suddenly, he’s in front of me, sitting on a swing and alive. It’s golden hour, the milky honey of the sun fracturing all around us.
I’m excited to be at the mall with him. It means we’ll have a few more hours of walking around together.
“Why didn’t you answer me?”
“I was high all day.”
Oh. Duh, of course, he’d be high all the time. He’s depressed, sleeps a lot, and has a friend who sells weed on the side. I should have known.
We’re back in high school again. Senior year. There’s a lot I have to say to him. But before I get anything out, I take his presence in. He looks the same as he used to. Chubby cheeks, ruffled black hair, a dark T-shirt that fits well. He looks so young, too young to be suicidal. The sky is so beautiful here.
I have so much I have to say to him, a list of accumulating items. I am like a hoarder, my words- a precious second chance. I love you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’ve learned my lesson now. I’ll never leave your side. We can live our lives together. How brilliant is that? You have a whole life ahead of you. Twenty is such a small part. Come on, let’s go shopping, there is so much catching up to do.
But it never comes out. By the time I open my mouth, the horizon becomes a snapshot. The scene, once overflowing, becomes an image. The image of a young boy swinging gently in the breeze.
Then, even that fades, and I am greeted by the blank void of my eyelids.
—
By the time our town recovered from the flood, some businesses closed down permanently. An elderly couple who slept in the basement passed away together in the night. A part of me is glad I wasn’t awake, didn’t witness the destruction. To stand helpless and watch the water rise would tear me apart.
The flood of 2011 never made it into the history books. Few people even know it happened. But still, from time to time, memories are pulled from a hazy bottom. A pet store in the plaza. A sunken school. Cars floating in a pool of water. It did happen. There was something there. Even after the world moved on, the waters kept flowing.
