7
Absence
For Mido and Yun, the second year of middle school was a major improvement, because they had a new homeroom teacher. No one missed Mr. Na. Their eighth-grade homeroom teacher, Mrs. Lim, also taught them Korean.
Mido and Yun spent a good deal of time discussing Mrs. Lim’s personal life, which no one knew much about.
They wanted to one day imitate her bohemian style—collarless white blouses, dark V-neck sweaters, and a rotation of pencil skirts worn with dark tights and black loafers.
They were classically tailored clothes that Mrs. Lim had bought as an undergraduate at Ewha and that she could not yet afford to replace since she and her husband, a fellow teacher, were saving for a larger place to live for when they started a family.
Mido and Yun admired Mrs. Lim’s ability to discuss writers of classic literature with a kind of ease and familiarity.
Almost nothing ever ruffled her, and even if a student didn’t know an answer, she had a way of making the student feel fine about it.
She inspired them to do all the reading and led them in animated discussions about ancient poems and stories, which they had to know well for future standardized exams.
That morning, Mrs. Lim’s hair was worn in loose waves, making the young, slim woman appear even more glamorous than usual.
Mido was curious as to what Yun would think about Mrs. Lim’s new style, and was disappointed to see that her friend’s desk was vacant again.
For three days, Yun had not been in class.
Twice she’d phoned Yun’s house, and no one had picked up.
The Koh family had now been in Seoul for about a year and a half.
Mido liked middle school. She had Yun, and, not having had a friend before, Mido realized how much better things could be with one.
Even Mr. Na’s class had become manageable, because Yun had advised her about how to act, and Mido had become a more capable student: observant, prepared, and better able to recognize patterns.
Her classes at Eagle Academy helped her to keep up with the top students, who had been tutored since kindergarten.
The two girls had decided that with a teacher like Mrs. Lim, school could be a wonderful place, and it did not seem terrible that her brothers were so occupied with their own lives that neither had time for her.
In his second year of high school, Bo studied night and day.
It was a testament to Bo’s remarkable efforts and the tutors at Eagle Academy that Bo had the necessary grades and high class rank to qualify for Yonsei University’s entrance exams. He could not test for Seoul National, which was reserved for the very top students, but his rank was close enough that his advisors thought even a school like Yonsei might be possible, especially if he applied for sociology, which was a subject Bo wanted to study.
Bo couldn’t sleep much. There was no time for that.
In the evenings, when he worked, Mido studied as well, but she could never stay awake as long as he could.
Helen did her best to stay up with Bo, but even she had to turn in because she had her job the next day and had to prepare breakfast for the family.
Home wasn’t the same without DH, who was now heading into his sophomore year at Andover.
The family believed that a private foundation that Eagle Academy had a relationship with had given him a merit scholarship, allowing him to go to Andover only four months after the Koh family had returned to Seoul.
He had repeated freshman year at boarding school with Peter Son, the boy he had met at Eagle Academy.
Fast friends, DH and Peter planned to bunk together for their second year, and both played on the varsity soccer team.
After another day without Yun at school, Mido walked to Eagle by herself. It was difficult to concentrate at hagwon because she was worried about her friend. Even Sean Teacher’s jokes seemed less funny without Yun laughing with her.
As class ended, the students trickled out, and Sean handed Mido her graded assignments.
“You did a terrific job. Again.” Sean smiled as he returned his pencils to their case.
Mido smiled briefly, thanked him, then turned to leave.
“You’re sad about Yun.”
Mido looked at him blankly.
“It won’t be the same without her.”
“Hmm?”
“She’s moving to California. I just heard from Dr. Song. Isn’t that why you have the long face, my young friend?” Sean asked, soon realizing his faux pas. From her stunned expression, he figured out that she hadn’t known.
“You’re upset,” Sean said. “Oh my.” He got up and closed the door.
Mido tried to be calm. There was no way for her to explain what this would mean.
They were supposed to have a birthday party together in October.
She had never had something like that before, a friend and one born within a week of her.
Everyone liked Yun, and she had chosen Mido to have lunch with and go to hagwon with.
In church, they always sat together. Now her friend was moving to America, thousands of miles away, and Mido did not believe she could have another friend.
No one like Yun. In her time in Seoul, Mido had not made another friend.
There had been no need. She had the best friend a person could have at the whole school.
Mido swallowed, blinking back tears. She picked up her bag and bowed to her teacher.
“You can’t go yet. Here.” He handed her a packet of tissues. “Listen. I know. It’s hard to make friends, right?”
She turned away from his concerned expression, and then the tears started again.
Sean looked at the little face and the childish braids. He patted her back the way he had seen her brothers do. The girl was devastated, and he had never seen her this emotional.
“She’s your best friend.”
“Best friend,” Mido repeated, wiping her face.
Sean covered his mouth, wanting to cry himself.
He knew what it was like to feel this way.
Even though he’d had many friends growing up, not everyone had known about him being gay.
In college, he was out and had friends, but it wasn’t until he fell in love with Mark that he felt he had someone who could read his thoughts and be with him in silence. He handed her another tissue.
“I’m sorry, Mido. Life can be painful. I can tell you that things will get better, and I want you to believe me. But I know you still suffer right now, and no one will understand exactly how you feel. I’m sorry I broke the news to you in such a careless way. I should have checked. How can I help?”
Mido shook her head, feeling bad for him. It wasn’t his fault. In a way, she was relieved that Yun wasn’t in a hospital.
“Is she already gone?” Mido asked, unable to believe that her friend would move without saying goodbye. But Mido had left Paramus and Sydney without much notice or fanfare, never thinking that anyone could care about her absence.
Sean waved his hand no. “I don’t think she’s gone yet. I was just told she wouldn’t be coming in while they prepare to move.”
Mido was clutching her schoolbag close to her chest. Jane Teacher would have started her lessons. Hagwon was expensive, and her parents had to sacrifice so Bo and she could attend. It would be wrong to sit here and feel sorry for herself. She bowed to Sean Teacher and rushed to her next class.
In the morning, Mido got up earlier than usual and went to Yun’s house.
She walked the eight blocks down the main shopping thoroughfare, then took a sharp left. Past the furniture store, konditorei, and vegetable market, there was a cluster of high-rises, where Yun lived in Tower 6.
On the second buzzer ring, Yun’s mother, Nari, opened the door.
“Mido, what brings you here? It’s so early. Are you all right?”
Mido burst into tears, relieved that they hadn’t left yet.
“Oh, Mido, what’s the matter?” Nari tapped her forehead. “Oh, of course. You heard. Come. Come inside.”
Mido removed her shoes and put on the pair of red house slippers she wore at Yun’s house. Nari had bought them just for her because she’d wanted Mido to visit often.
Nari guided the girl to the gilt-edged sofa.
Mido breathed in the scents of Yun’s house—a mixture of food aromas and Yun’s father’s lime-scented cologne.
From floor to ceiling, the living room wall was mirrored, and if you stood in the hallway with a closet door open, you could see seven or eight images of yourself.
Nari wore a pink cotton apron over her burgundy wool dress, its hem trimmed in fur.
Somehow, in this living room designed like a miniature palace, Nari’s extravagant clothes made sense.
“Yun is upset, too. She’s in her room resting.
I was going to phone your mother next week.
” Nari wrapped her head with her hands. “When I was her age, I would have been thrilled to live in America. I don’t know how I raised such a brat.
No doubt it’s all my fault. I thought she would go there for school.
I mean later. For college. She’s in there sleeping. She was crying all night.”
Mido wanted to defend her friend. Yun was the most generous and brave person she had ever known. She was the furthest thing from a brat.
“Mido, you should go to school. You don’t want to be late. Mrs. Lim will not like it.” Nari stood up.
“May I talk to Yun?”
“Have you had breakfast? I have some bread. I can put jam on it and wrap it for you.”
Nari looked exhausted. She wore no makeup, and her dyed-auburn hair was gathered loosely with a fabric tie. Mido had never seen Yun’s mother without black eyeliner and dark-pink lipstick.
“Be a good girl, Mido. You should go to school. I will tell Yun that you came for her.”
Mido looked up at her again, unable to ask further. She tried to smile at the tired mother, suddenly feeling sorry for her. From all their moves, Mido knew that her mother had worked even harder than her father to organize everything.
“She is resting, Mido.”