Chapter 60: Moving Past It

Tuesday | February 23rd, 2016 | 6:23PM

My fingernail lightly scratched at the worksheet in front of me, tracing the outline of a diagram I wasn't looking at. The yelling outside my door had been going on all afternoon. Well, ever since Mom came home from work. I tried to focus. I really did, but their voices were insistent, it was like nails on a chalkboard.

I just wanted to work on my homework but I couldn't seem to focus completely as I kept picking up on little bits of the fight.

"You think it's okay for you to just talk to me like I'm some sort of dog," my mom screamed, her voice high in anger.

"Oh, give me a fucking break, you're always starting shit for no goddamn reason," my dad's voice came back, comparable to a low rumble of thunder. He tried not to curse often, but lately he seemed to be just spitting it out.

I wished they'd just stop already. It's been a whole month now since the whole thing. Maybe they'll calm down and I'll finally get to work on my homework. I looked down and frowned, realizing I wrote the same sentence twice in a row. I used the eraser to undo it.

"This marriage has been over for a while now if you really think that," My mom shouted back. "I can't fucking stand it here anymore."

No, don't say that. My eyes were glued onto the wall across the room, my entire being focused on their voices. Every word they said felt like a punch to my stomach. Just please, stop yelling.

"What does that even mean?" my dad shot back. The grip on my pencil tightened. Maybe I should go out there? Maybe I should tell them to stop? No, Mom will just yell at me. I hate it when she yells at me.

I sat frozen, a prisoner in my own room. I couldn't think.

"Don't act like this is news to you. We've been miserable for years." Dad continued.

"Who are we? I was still doing everything I can for this family while you were out bringing your colleagues home for after-work 'activities'?"

"Fine, then I was miserable for years!"

"You've always been miserable," Mom spat. "God, what a sorry fucking excuse for a husband."

"Sorry excuse for a wife. I've had more intimacy from the intern than you. You have a black hole for a soul."

I couldn't help but imagine their faces right now, contorted in anger. I didn't want them to be angry at me, it would just add on top of my homework and I'd have to fix all that, too. Last time I got in the way, I remember the two of them fighting over me, about who I liked more, who didn't like who. The thought just made me sad.

Then I remembered how they changed when they were alone. I thought Dad was cool, he was funny and he brought me stuff from his work sometimes. Now, he just looks ahead and never looks down at me.

I love Mom, I know I do, but I don't know if she loves me anymore. She would always whisper under her breath, and she thinks I can't hear but I do. Things like, 'what went wrong' or 'wasn't raised right'. I never told her I heard everything she said. I just let it happen. Just let her say those things and then she'd give me that forced, plastic smile that never reaches her eyes whenever she turns to look at me, to say that she was busy doing other things.

The slam. So hard I swear the windows in my room rattled on their hinges. My head shot up, my heart thudding against my ribs like a trapped bird. I strained my ears, listening for the next volley, but all I heard was the heavy sound of footsteps stomping down the hallway. Dad's footsteps.

I scooted my chair back and quickly moved to my door, my hand hovering over the handle. The yelling had stopped. It was so quiet. I was so confused, should I do my homework now? Should I just go out and ask for help? I pressed my ear against the cool wood of the door. I couldn't hear anything at all.

I slowly turned the knob and pulled my door inwards, the tiniest of cracks to peer through. There, I spotted Dad. His head was low, his back was to me and he was standing in front of his bedroom door. His hands were bracing against the door frame, his head hanging low between his shoulders, like a marionette with cut strings.

"Dad?" I asked through the crack in the door.

He jumped slightly, as if I'd shocked him. He didn't turn around right away, and for a terrifying second, I thought I'd done something terribly wrong.

When he finally turned, the hallway dim light caught on the sharp contours of his face. He stared at me, and it was the strangest look. He wasn't mad. He didn't seem sad. He just looked empty. He let out a sigh and shook his head, his eyes fixed on me until they weren't. Dad opened the door to his bedroom, the darkness beyond swallowing his silhouette without another word.

I frowned, a confusing feeling of pity and sadness hitting me as he disappeared behind the door. He didn't even slam it this time. The faint click of the latch was sadder. I was left alone in the silent hallway. I looked down at my hands, and that was it. It just kind of sunk in then.

I decided to go out to the kitchen, see how Mom was doing. The fridge hummed a lonely tune as I passed it. Then I saw her. She was sitting at the small dining table by herself, staring straight at the blank wall.

"Mom?" I whispered, my small voice barely filling the space. She turned to look at me. Unlike Dad, who didn't show a bit of emotion, Mom's face was easily read. Her eyebrows curled down and her mouth closed tightly. She was angry.

I slowly took a step forward, "Mom, I-"

"You, of course, are always here." The accusation dripped from her tongue.

I froze again on my spot. I looked back at her and didn't move a muscle. What did I do? I asked myself that but I already knew the answer. Mom will remind me of it, it's what she's been doing since then.

"Everyone in this house hates me, don't they?" she asked, not really wanting an answer.

"No, I don't, I don't hate you," I quickly responded, taking a nervous step forward.

"Don't give me that bullcrap, Hwang Minjae. You hate your mother, after everything I've done for you, for your father. This is your fault as much as it is for the rest of them." The 'them', meaning father and his female colleagues, was said with such hatred. As if I wasn't their son, but a co-conspirator in a war against her.

"What?" I squeaked. Her words landed like little stones. She then stood up, her chair screeching against the floor.

"You're always in your room, hiding. You never say anything. You see everything that happens, and you just let it happen!" She was advancing on me, her finger pointing at my chest. My mouth turned into a deep frown. It seems like I'll never live this down. The last time she yelled at me for this was just two days ago, and then the day before that, and then the day before that.

"I was scared," my voice came out meek. That was the wrong answer. It always is.

"Scared!" She yelled with a small laugh, that seemed a little unhinged. "Scared of what? The truth?" Her eyes locked onto mine. They looked a bit wild.

"What?" I asked again.

She was face to face with me now. I couldn't do anything but just stare into her hateful eyes. "What? What? What? That's all you ever say! Just a few words, that's all I can get from you. That's all he can get from you. You can't even stand up for me, not once." I think my brain stopped after a few seconds from what I was seeing.

"You were a mistake." She said plainly. The sigh that followed was tired, and weary and she looked at me as if I was a stranger she just met on the street. "You were. I'm trying, god, I'm trying so hard not to hate you. But you make it so hard. You and he, you're just one and the same. You don't talk. You hide. You're empty, and I hate that I can't stand being around my own son."

I could feel a hot pressure behind my eyes. The words hung in the air. I just felt it then. Like a wave that crashed onto me all at once, it was my fault. It was never really about them fighting with each other. It was about me. My throat felt dry and sore. The gates burst open and I could feel the tears start rolling down my face. The hot water of my own embarrassment stung my cheeks.

I cried like a baby in front of Mom. The tears were pouring down my face, and I couldn't stop them. I hiccuped, my body shaking with sobs.

Mom watched, her face a mess of complicated feelings. For a split second there, I saw a flicker of something that almost looked like regret. But it was gone as soon as it came, replaced with that stony coldness again. She didn't hug me. She didn't tell me it was okay.

She just turned away and went back to her chair at the dining table, sinking into it with a weary sigh. "See," she murmured, more to the wall than to me. "Now I'm the bad guy."

I stood there, hiccuping, tears and snot running down my face. The silence in the kitchen was suffocating. My own crying sounded incredibly loud, pathetic. I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear. But my feet were rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the weight of her words.

She didn't look at me again. Not once. I was invisible again, but not a peaceful invisible. The kind of invisible you feel when everyone is deliberately looking past you.

Saturday | April 13th, 2024 | 6:46 PM

I felt the world spin back into place as my head sunk into the pillow, the phantom feel of my mother's words echoing in my head. My eyes fluttered open, staring at the plain white ceiling above the bed. The memory ended, leaving behind that familiar, hollow ache that had lived in my chest since childhood.

"Jesus Christ," I groaned, the words floating out of my mouth mindlessly.

"What was that?" Chaewon's soft, melodic voice came from beside me.