After his “confrontation” with Han Tae-Gyung, Choi SongHua had returned just to tell Hyeong-Jun he had something urgent that he needed to do. After which he’d left.
A message from Eun-Ji’s grandmother popping up on Hyeong-Jun’s phone, pulled him from his thoughts.
And so here he was, using the directions on his phone to navigate the roads near his parents’ cemetery, on his way to Eun-Ji’s old home to help move the last few boxes.
He’d passed the street that turned towards the cemetery when someone called out to him. Eun-Ji’s grandmother waved him over from the steps of an apartment building.
“Thank you so much for coming, dear.”
“It’s no problem, ma’am,” Hyeong-Jun reassured. She promptly led Hyeong-Jun through the metal and glass door and to the elevator.
The building was on the newer, more modern side, and Hyeong-Jun curiously followed Eun-Ji’s grandmother into a flat that was empty save for two decently sized cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other.
“These are the last ones, dear.”
He nodded.
Using all his accumulated leg strength, Hyeong-Jun lifted the boxes and then they were leaving again.
Hyeong-Jun was grateful for the short trip, as the boxes became heavier and heavier as they walked.
“You can put them over there, dear,” Eun-Ji’s grandmother indicated as she opened the door to her apartment. Hyeong-Jun waddled over to an open spot by a window, arms strained.
In contrast to her daughter’s apartment, Eun-Ji’s grandmother’s apartment was well lived in: knitted blankets covering the chairs. The air and furniture was simultaneously saturated and slightly washed out. It was an odd balance that only seemed to occur in spaces touched by age.
It was comforting.
“Halmeoni, what－Hyeong-Jun-oppa!” déjà vu hit as a small body barreled into the backs of his legs.
Hyeong-Jun staggered and caught himself against the wall with one hand while the other went down subconsciously to keep Eun-Ji steady.
“What are you doing here?” Eun-Ji asked as she peeked up at Hyeong-Jun. Her eyes looked tired, like she’d been crying, but her expression spoke of a determination strange to see on a 6-year-old’s face.
“I brought some of your boxes.”
“I’ll get some scissors and you can start unpacking them,” Eun-Ji’s grandmother said before heading towards the kitchen area.
“Okay, halmeoni,” Eun-Ji nodded as she let go of Hyeong-Jun’s legs to peer at the two boxes.
“Anything else I can help you with, ma’am?” Hyeong-Jun shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, out of place now that his purpose was complete.
“There are some things that need to be stored on the top shelf of the cupboard if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll pour you some orange juice after I’m done opening up those boxes. Cheonsa1, would you mind showing him where they are?”
Eun-Ji scrambled to her feet and grabbed Hyeong-Jun’s hand to lead him into a room. It was clearly Eun-Ji’s new bedroom, toys and clothes covered various surfaces. She pointed to a basket that stood to one side on the floor. “It needs to go up there.” She pointed to the top shelf of the open closet.
The basket wasn’t heavy but the shelf was high enough that it would’ve been difficult for Eun-Ji’s grandmother to store it there.
“Something not right happened the night eomma died, didn’t it?” Hyeong-Jun’s grip faltered and the basket tipped back precariously for a moment before Hyeong-Jun caught himself and successfully pushed the basket to safety.
He turned to look at her, only to be met by pleading eyes.
“What do you mean?” Hyeong-Jun tried to maintain his composure, to tread lightly.
“Halmeoni said I can’t tell anyone what happened. And I want to remember what happened but I can’t. You found me and took me to Mrs Oh and there was that boy bullying us but nothing else makes sense.” Eun-Ji looked close to tears and Hyeong-Jun’s heart clenched in sympathy even as confusion overtook him.
She couldn’t remember?
Then again, the memories from that night had attempted to slip through his fingers as well. Had it not been for what was caught on his video camera, would he also be unable to remember it, or be misremembering it in a way that made more logical sense?
Could memory truly be so unreliable?
Hyeong-Jun knelt in front of Eun-Ji and rested a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.
“It was a very scary night, maybe you’re not ready to remember yet. Give yourself some time. I’m sure you’ll remember once you’re ready for it.”
Brimming tears spilled, and Eun-Ji hung her head, a stem bending under pressure. Hyeong-Jun couldn’t help it, he hugged her, afraid she’d break.
“I just want to remember. What if I forgot something that could help catch eomma’s killer?”
The tremble in her voice opened a chasm in Hyeong-Jun’s heart. Was this how everyone had felt when it had been him?
Careful not to pull away, Hyeong-Jun eased his way onto the ground next to her, leaning his back against the bed.
Quiet sobs racked through her － Hyeong-Jun could only wait.
But, sitting there, Hyeong-Jun’s eyes were drawn to a photo frame perched on the bedside table. It was clearly handmade, craft flowers stuck onto the frame. In it, was a picture of Eun-Ji and a woman hugging each other as they smiled at the camera. She looked almost familiar, the resemblance between her and Eun-Ji so striking she could only be Eun-Ji’s mother.
“She’s beautiful,” Hyeong-Jun offered awkwardly. Eun-Ji stilled and raised her head. Upon realising what he was referring to, she stood up and hurried to retrieve it before plopping back down next to him.
“It was on parent’s day. She made me that headband” Eun-Ji pointed to the matching purple polka dot headscarves they both sported.
“They’re beautiful.”
Eun-Ji’s answering smile trembled.
“Eun-Ji, the boxes are ready!” Eun-Ji’s gaze jerked towards the door and for a moment she was a deer caught in headlights.
“Don’t worry, you’re okay,” Hyeong-Jun said as he carefully took the photo back from her. “I’ll put this back while you start unpacking.” Eun-Ji hesitated but allowed him to take it.
“And if you ever need someone to talk to about that night, you can talk to me, okay?” Hyeong-Jun offered. He’d never taken anyone up on similar offers, and when he’d been ready to, it felt too late. But maybe Eun-Ji was different.
Eun-Ji gave a quick nod before rushing out.
Hyeong-Jun glanced at the picture a final time before he returned it to the nightstand and followed Eun-Ji out of the room.
***
The bus jostled slightly as it halted at the stop by his parents’ cemetery. Hyeong-Jun gripped the standing handle tighter as people bustled in and out around him.
The peach trees still hung heavy with fruit, that one odd tree persisting in blooming. Hyeong-Jun stared ahead as he waited for his fellow sardines to settle around him. He was so lost in thought that it took him a moment to realise he was standing centimeters from none other than Choi SongHua. The only consolation was that he looked just as startled to see Hyeong-Jun.
Hyeong-Jun’s hand betrayed him and he gave a small wave.
Choi SongHua blinked like a startled puppy before he glanced behind Hyeong-Jun in search of something. Oddly endearing. “Came to pick up some more of your things?” The words were unsure.
Hyeong-Jun shook his head in confusion. “No, I don’t live in this area.”
“Oh…you were here on the night that－well on that night. I assumed you lived nearby.” He gestured vaguely, eyes not meeting Hyeong-Jun’s.
“No, I just－” Hyeong-Jun paused. Could he tell him about Eun-Ji? Was he even allowed to be in contact with people effected by exorcisms? Hyeong-Jun wasn’t sure what the rules were, to scared to ask. “I had to help someone with something…and you?”
That was too vague wasn’t it?
“I－” Choi SongHua’s hand tightened on his bag. “I had some work to do.”
“We’re allowed to work?”
Regret hit Choi SongHua’s face.
“It’s not really work…” he backtracked. “I’m just doing a favour for someone.”
Hyeong-Jun gave a slow nod. Better not to press the issue lest Choi SongHua pressed right back.
It didn’t really surprise him. There were many trainees who secretly kept jobs in order to sustain themselves while in the trainee programs. In Choi SongHua’s case, Hyeong-Jun suspected that it was just Choi SongHua being allowed to work because it was his father’s company. That kind of freedom likely wouldn’t be extended to the rest of the group.
“Did everyone move into the dorms recently too?” Hyeong-Jun asked in an effort to change the subject.
Choi SongHua’s face formed a question. “No.”
“Oh.” Well then.
“Do people tend to forget about…things like that night if they’re not in the know?”
Choi SongHua watched Hyeong-Jun, contemplating. “There’s nothing for them to see too remember.”
“But if something weird did happen that they were able to see－”
“Yes. Generally people find ways to explain things away if they don’t understand them. It’s easier.”
If that was the case, what had Eun-Ji’s grandmother known that she needed Eun-Ji to forget－
The bus stopped.
Hyeong-Jun lurched forward.
Face headed towards face.
Noses almost touched.
Almost close enough to－
A firm hand planted itself on Hyeong-Jun’s shoulder pushing him away while steadying him.
Hyeong-Jun stared at Choi SongHua, shaken.
The doors pinged open.
Footnotes:
- cheonsa - angel as a term of endearment
