Chapter 40 #2
One woman in East End said that they had been fifth-grade class parents together.
She was an immigrant from Brazil, and she and Harabeoji had bonded over not speaking English well, working together to organize activities at the elementary school.
“We didn’t know the words, but we understood each other.
We laughed through it all, and I must say the children had a good year.
The teacher told us we were the best class parents she’d ever known and thanked us for volunteering.
I’ll forever see Garam Shin as my favorite co-class-parent and school friend. ”
I knew I had to tell the app that my grandfather was now deceased and have his account taken down.
When was the appropriate time for that? We couldn’t leave his page up forever, could we?
It was painful to see it, fielding questions from people who didn’t know he had died.
Out of curiosity, I looked through his friend group to see if there were people I knew.
Almost a secret life. Harabeoji would have said the same about me, though he would have known more about my life since I shared it with him.
As I scrolled through, I saw many interactions he’d never mentioned.
They were all unknown to me, these people, for the most part.
I was relieved to find Mr. Yun, of course, on Harabeoji’s list of friends.
I clicked over to his page and saw, as expected, a very active—and public—social media page.
No wonder he’d been excited to be notified that a friend had appreciated his post. He shared photos of his family and news about East End.
His last post was the day before my grandfather died, and it was of a cardinal perched on his tall black-roofed bird feeder.
He hadn’t yet posted about the funeral or anything new since Harabeoji’s death.
He belonged to several community groups.
Some were for parents; some were general ones for people who lived there.
I wondered what they might talk about. My grandfather was not a member, I noticed.
Maybe you had to be a current resident. Mrs. Yun’s profile had one post on it, and it wasn’t of her family.
She had a generic photo of a cat. Remembering her words about the toxic community pages, I asked to join the ones she belonged to.
While I waited, I swiped back to Mr. Yun’s profile to look at his photos.
The colors and patterns of his patio furniture caught my eye in photos on his page. Mr. Yun had posted about the cookout at his house we had attended. There was a photo of him and my grandfather. Their faces close together. Mrs. Yun must have taken it from the other side of the table.
Channing was in the background, slightly blurry.
In another photo, Mrs. Yun was frowning at the camera, holding up a glass of lemonade.
She seemed unhappy to be the subject of the camera.
Next to her was Channing, sitting at the table, and then near her I could make out Minjae, half of him, his body turned in Channing’s direction.
Paul appeared in one making a goofy face next to Minjae, who was looking in another direction, out of the frame.
There was another of Mrs. Yun with Ames.
Alice, Jesse, and their baby were in a photo, as well.
I remembered Mr. Yun asking them to smile.
Several people had liked the photos, and there were comments about the importance of friendships and family.
There were photos of Paul and Ames and Ames’s sisters over the years.
I had to go back through many of them because Mr. Yun posted so much; some were the same, just a difference of an angle.
He was one of those who posted everything in duplicate and triplicate and made no decisions about which photo was better than the other.
At that point I heard a ding, notifying me that the moderator had approved me for a group. It was for the larger East End community. And then another ding sounded. I’d been approved for another and then another. Clearly, there were no criteria.
I meant to go to the largest East End group, but I ended up seeing a post about school supply lists on one and when they’d be told by the school which teachers their children had been assigned.
A comment caught my attention from a member who said parents should buy from the local store instead of ordering online.
Others liked the comment and chimed in with hearts and happy faces.
Another person commented that people were just showing solidarity in this forum but would buy online.
Show receipts! this person demanded. There were no likes of that post. But recently someone had posted a photo of a receipt, and others liked that, and a few others followed.
And then there was one that said, Just buy online and save money, we’re not rich like you.
That one got the most likes. Someone followed with: Yeah, you’ll be sorry when the small shops leave and the online one is the only one left and jacks up their prices and you have no choice! Good luck!
I was sorry to see that nobody liked that one.
Below it were a bunch of political posts for local candidates and a slew of paranoid conspiracy messages that made me cringe.
From the number and intensity of the likes and reactions, the graphics posted against migrants, casting them as criminals and dehumanizing them, I saw East End with new eyes.
I wanted to shut my laptop closed as if doing so would extinguish the reality of them.