1 #3
As Professor Wilson fielded Priscilla’s follow-up questions, Bo looked around the quad where they stood.
Asbestos was being removed from the library, and the school had set up a massive tent for a temporary library.
The low-slung buildings appeared serviceable and modest. The Fullerton campus had none of the grandeur of Yonsei’s neo-Gothic edifices or the stunning architecture and beautifully landscaped greenery of UCLA, and again, Bo had to remind himself to care less about esteem and prestige.
He was at Fullerton now, and so far, what he was learning from his classes and instructors was transforming everything inside of him, he thought for the better.
Was it again his vain wish for esteem that made him compare the campuses?
Weren’t the schools entirely different in their histories and purposes?
More than anything, Yonsei didn’t want him, and here, his professor had even asked him to come by to speak with her because she was interested in him.
Wasn’t it good for a school to be getting rid of asbestos?
Perhaps a better library would be built later.
On his first day, someone had told him that the film director James Cameron had gone to Fullerton College, and he had made Titanic, a film Bo had watched twice.
Again he wondered, What did it matter if a legendary filmmaker had walked along the same quad, or if he never had? It didn’t matter, or it shouldn’t.
What mattered was that Bo was here now, and he wanted to learn more in his classes rather than just preparing to get into UCLA, the next step in his education. He had learned all this from reading a twenty-six-page paper a person had written over fifty years ago.
“I think Maslow would argue that the pursuit of being an actor has great value in self-actualization. The process matters, I think,” Bo said to Priscilla, and Professor Wilson agreed.
Bo checked his watch and excused himself to get to the airport.
Although the new apartment was larger than their first, it still felt crowded.
They were saving to buy a two-family town house, but it seemed almost impossible to gather a down payment.
Bo made about $40,000 from his driving and tutoring.
Fullerton tuition was less than $1,000 for the year because he was in-state.
Sometimes his textbooks were more expensive than his classes, because Bo preferred to buy them, and Lion said he must. Reading and annotating the actual text itself, Lion said, was far superior to simply reading a library book.
Since Bo was sponsoring his parents’ residency, he had to show a sufficient income, but lately Mido had been earning more as an administrative assistant and tutor. He couldn’t qualify for a mortgage yet.
The plan was for him to graduate and get a higher-paying job; then they could get a mortgage in his name.
For a while, the family savings account was building steadily, but during the summer, Helen had a persistent stomach virus, and she missed two weeks of work.
The medical bills were paid in cash, wiping out a portion of their savings.
Sonya didn’t know any of this when she arrived at her sister’s house.
Bo put her bag in Mido’s room and brought her a glass of cold barley tea. He showed her the clean towels his mother had left on the bed for her.
“If you’d like to wash up, the bathroom is over there,” Bo said. He remembered the size of his aunt’s palatial home in Apgujeong, and he wondered if she could be comfortable here.
“Where will Mido sleep?” she asked.
“She’s sleeping in the living room. I used to sleep in the living room in our old place, but I have a lot of schoolwork, and she offered hers. We always knew Mido was the nice one.” Bo smiled. “Is the room okay?”
“It’s very nice,” Sonya said, removing her jacket and laying it on the sofa.
Right away, she went to the kitchen. Rice was kept in the cupboard below the sink, and the refrigerator was filled with tofu and vegetables. Helen kept a clean and well-stocked kitchen.
“I’m going to fix dinner,” Sonya said. She pulled out two $20 bills from her purse and handed them to Bo.
“Can you go to the store and get two whole chickens? Is that enough money?”
“I have money,” he said.
She frowned at him, no differently than when he was a little boy.
There was no need for her to remind him that she was his elder even though she was a guest, and it did not seem right that a guest should pay for groceries and cook dinner, especially on her first night visiting. Bo worried what his mother would say.
“Aunt, I think Umma is going to make dinner, or she’ll bring something home.”
“Be a good nephew and go to the store now. Your mother will be tired when she gets home. I’ve been sitting on a plane for a long time. Business class. It will be good for me to be useful. My sister has to rest and eat.”
Bo went to the store.
Sonya put on the red apron hanging on a nail near the kitchen door and rolled up her sleeves. After soaking the rice, she began preparing the spinach.