TRACK 01 #2
He cuts his eyes back over to me in question, and his expression makes me laugh. "It's true. Apparently, all it would take is a pretty face and some ice cream. I'd be a goner."
Covering his mouth with his hand, his laugh is almost deeper than his voice and super contagious.
I can only imagine how he catches me looking at him when he glances back over at me.
Snapping my slightly parted lips shut, I feign interest back toward the night lights of the city.
In my peripheral, I see him pulling the loose strap of his facemask back over his ear, blocking his face from sight again.
It doesn't matter, though. The damage is done.
Even if tonight is the last night that I see him, I won't be forgetting that face any time soon.
"Would it make you feel better to know my name?" he asks. "Maybe less like taking ice cream from a stranger?"
My lips pull up into a smile automatically. "Maybe."
"Byeong Kyung Mi," he states quietly, even though there's no one around us to hear him. "But you can call me Kyung. My friends do."
I glance over at him where he's waiting almost expectantly and reply, "Elizabeth Tierney. Everyone just calls me Liz or Lizzy, though."
"Are you from here, Lizzy?" he asks.
Sitting back, I get comfortable in my seat.
It's not a rare question that I never get or anything.
As an American who definitely looks American, I think I've gotten asked this question more than any other in all my years here.
It doesn't help speaking in Korean like we are.
If I had a nickel for every time someone started a conversation in English instead of Korean because they assume I can't speak it, I'd be rich. It always confuses them.
"I'm not," I answer easily. "I was born and raised in America. Virginia as a matter of fact. My adoptive mother was from here. Well, technically, a small village in the south, but she moved to the states when she was in her late twenties."
"So, you're visiting her homeland with her, then?" he questions.
"Not exactly," I say with a sad smile. "She passed four years ago.
It was always her dream to come back home after the man that she married and moved over there for divorced her.
She chose to devote her time to helping kids like me who had no one or anywhere to go.
Then she got sick and never made it home. "
"Wow, I'm sorry," he says, sympathy in his voice.
"It's okay," I tell him. And, in a way, it really does feel okay. Normally when I'm thinking about her, or telling someone about her, my heart feels like a bag of sand weighing my stomach down. For whatever reason, he's different. I haven't felt the first wave of sadness hit like it usually does.
"Is that how you're so fluent in Korean?" he asks gently.
I nod. "It is. She raised me since I was five years old. Even if she hadn't actively taught me, I would've picked it up anyway since it's all she ever spoke in the comfort of her home. If we'd go out, or if we'd have new foster kids in the house, she'd speak English, of course."
"So, when are you planning on leaving to go home?" he asks.
There's something in his tone that makes me glance over at him. His shoulders are slumped again in the way that he walked off yesterday as he looks out at the lights.
Giving him my full focus, I answer, “Not anytime soon. If ever."
His eyes find mine. "Why with such conviction?"
I shrug. "I fell in love with the city and never want to leave, honestly."
He nods in understanding before his eyes flick down my lips and back up again. It sparks little butterflies to life in my stomach. Clearing his throat, he looks back out to the city, and I follow suit.
"Have you ever been to America?" I ask, not wanting to monopolize the conversation and clear my improper thoughts with a distraction.
Letting out a short huff, his smile can be seen underneath his mask. "I have. I visited last year with some friends."
"Yeah?" I ask, curiosity burning now. "Where did you guys go?"
Thinking on it for a few seconds, he leans back, crossing his legs and grabbing the front knee with his hands. "It was an exploration kind of thing. We went to many different cities."
I've been in South Korea long enough to grasp the vibes rolling off of him right now.
I'm confused as to how we've switched from polite conversation to what feels more like an interview.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, neither of us willing to break it.
Me, because I'm feeling slightly awkward now for asking a personal question, and him, if I had to guess by the lost expression in his gaze, away with the fairies in his thoughts.
This whole experience is completely out of character for me.
I never have any problems with conversations.
Even with strangers. My omma once heard one of my case workers say that I never met a stranger, and she used to repeat it every chance that she could.
The only time that I've found that my extrovert self goes into hiding is when I'm sad or lonely, and that was only a recent discovery since I lost her.
He finally relaxes and looks over to me. "This is nice."
"Mmm?" I question, wanting clarification.
He slips the one side of his facemask off again before he adds, "Being able to sit with someone and not feel obligated to fill the silence, or the pressure of being expected to speak."
Again, I'm caught up in the daze of his beautiful face.
It's an oval shape that matches well with his high cheek bones and sharp jawline.
I catch myself staring at his thin lips as his tongue peeks out to roll the bottom one through his teeth.
When I flick my eyes up to his, it's to find him already watching me.
I swallow hard and look back out toward the city.
"That doesn't mean that I don't want to talk to you," he assures me. "It's just nice to be able to get lost in your thoughts every once in a while, you know?"