Chapter 28
I drove down Middle Street. With stores and restaurants closed, the sidewalks were empty on Sunday as usual.
The concrete block of the police station showed no signs of life inside either.
There were no lights on, but it was the middle of the day, why would there be?
Parking lots were empty, just as Harabeoji and Paul had seen the day before.
I couldn’t bear the thought of Channing inside that cold place behind bars by herself.
Since she hadn’t called, I was sure she was being unlawfully detained.
To keep myself from breaking down, I kept driving.
It was unfair that it was such a beautiful day.
It usually was after a storm, I knew this, which was even more difficult to stomach.
I found myself driving back to the beach where we’d all been together last. The parking lot that had been empty the day before was packed with cars.
Despair flooded over me like the tide coming in, higher and higher with each pull in and out to sea. Relentless. I heard the seagulls in the distance. I hated it. All of it: East End, beaches, the ocean.
I was looking for a clean tissue in my bag to wipe my tears when I saw the notebook Mrs. Ahn had handed me.
It was a plain marble-patterned composition college-ruled journal, with a hard cardboard cover and stitched-in sheets, swollen with pieces of folded paper stashed between pages.
I wondered how Mrs. Ahn knew it belonged to Channing.
Her name wasn’t in sight. I opened it to see if she’d made a mistake.
Channing was all about her computers and gadgets, or she was on her phone using the Notes app.
I had never seen her handwrite anything before.
A flash of white fell to the floor on the passenger side. I set the notebook down and leaned over to retrieve it. It was an unsealed white envelope with the return address of the Leeward Resort logo. Inside were two pages of Leeward stationery:
Channing, are you awake? Are you looking out your window at the same night sky?
I took a walk on the beach. It’s so dark.
You know, I love the ocean. I love everything now.
Everything is different since we met. I see, hear, smell, feel everything better—everything is sharper, in focus.
I know you made fun of me for it. The sky is beautiful.
More beautiful. Everything is more beautiful. You’re beautiful.
I saw a man and a woman in the elevator tonight get off on my floor and walk together to their room, and I wished that was us. They weren’t even holding hands, but I knew they were together. Seeing them made me miss you even more.
Though I envied that couple because they got to be together, I felt sorry for every man who isn’t me. They can’t be with you. They don’t know what it’s like to listen to your voice.
I should sleep, but I can’t sleep. All I do is think of you.
That’s why I’m outside now, sitting on a rock to write to you on a notepad from the hotel.
Old-school analog. Who does this anymore?
You said you did, so here I am. I want to do everything you do.
If you write in a diary, I will, too. I’m serious—I never felt like writing a love note before, but now I do.
I want to write thousands of love notes and poems and write a million songs.
This is what everyone means when they say they’re in love.
I had no idea before. I used to hate poems, and I was terrible at metaphors.
My teachers said I didn’t try hard enough, but now I know it was because I didn’t have a reason.
Since English isn’t my first language, I could never get the metaphors right.
Ha ha, I was terrible at metaphors in Korean, too.
But now I know what they mean, and I want to try.
I miss you so much and it’s only been hours.
Tomorrow, I get to see Channing! Did you hear me shout just now to you over there on Sandpiper Lane?
Okay, if I don’t sleep, I won’t be able to drive to you tomorrow, so I’m going to go back inside. This is what it is be sick with love. I’m completely silly for you.
Yours forever,
Minjae
I felt tears prick my eyes. Angry tears.
Where the hell was he if he loved her so much?
What good was Minjae in love against Kent out for revenge?
My hands shook as I folded the letter, returned it to its envelope, and inserted it back into the notebook.
I should not have read that letter. I should have put Channing’s journal away and given it to her along with the rest of her possessions later.
Except when was later? I’d heard of so many in the news who were detained indefinitely.
I fanned the pages. Paper receipts and a lime-green Post-it with an address caught my eye. Also Channing’s slanted handwriting of Harabeoji and my name. A torn fragment had been taped to a page:
January 2, 2016. Boston.
Before my mother started the story, I knew the story.
I don’t know how. And then when Harabeoji told me and Dahee the whole long “Tale of Chunhyang” when we were kids, his words sounded like a confirmation of a narrative I’d heard before.
His voice a needle on grooves of an old vinyl record album spinning round and round until the end.
There was only one way it was going to go.
Find your love, my mother and this story said.
And then I forgot about it until I grew up.
That damn story again. This time, grief for our childhoods brought fresh tears. I flipped through and found an entry dated just last week on our birthday.
Today I’m thirty. Thirty. And here I am.
Never expected it. If Erisha had gotten funding I wouldn’t be here.
At least it’s a job, but not the way I thought I’d come back to East End.
With the money I can get the car fixed and not worry Harabeoji so much and figure out my life.
I have to be more like Dahee. Look at her.
She has an important job teaching children.
She takes care of her shit. Like you’re supposed to when you’re thirty. Omg, I’m thirty now.
I’m such a loser. I’m babysitting. Do thirty-year-olds do this sort of thing?
But I need this job. Dahee keeps reminding me how much I need this money, as if I don’t know.
I know better than she does. The kids are sweet, but they’re not my kids.
I’ll tell KC he has to stop coming in. Freaks me out and Austin doesn’t like him.
Edison doesn’t seem to mind. He’s a deep thinker that one.
When Edison says he misses his parents, it kills me.
I know how he feels. Lucky for him they’re coming back.
Why do their parents have a best friend like KC though?
I don’t get it. He’s so weird. But I have to be polite to him or else he’ll complain about me and I’ll lose this job.
I have to handle it. It’s going to get better.
I drove by my old house today, a birthday present to myself. And I felt this calm wash over me when I passed the pillars at the entrance, like I was closer to Eomma, closer to her here near the house she loved. I’ve kept my promise, Eomma, I wanted to tell her. If she were here I’d say:
I’m looking out for Dahee, Harabeoji, and Appa just like you said.
Dahee needs me, you’re right. She doesn’t give hugs easily or say she loves me, when I know she does!
You were right when you said Dahee has Chunhyang’s quiet strength, but she doesn’t easily love.
There are all types of prisons. Dahee thinks she’s staying safe.
She’s afraid it’ll break her if something happens to someone she loves.
She’s tougher than that, I know she is. I wish she knew it, too.
You should have heard her tonight. As soon as I told her about KC she said she’d jump in her car and come straight here.
I had to tell her to slow down. She’s coming tomorrow and I’m relieved honestly.
I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but having her here will make me feel better.
She would risk her life to protect me and Harabeoji.
Going to sleep now. I hope no nightmares. Please. The one about the police chasing me? They started again when I returned here, but near our old house I only felt love. Why does one always have to come with the other?
Her words shook me. Was I in a prison of my own making? Was she right about what I thought I could endure?
There were other entries, just a few after that. I saw Minjae’s name more and more. Those seemed too private to read. All of it was too private. I shouldn’t have read any of it.