“Do you want some time alone with her? I can leave.”
“No.”
“Or if I’m pushing you too much . . .”
Just then, the word “Mom” came out of my mouth. I began to share with her all that had happened to me. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things I hadn’t told her. Of course there were, as this was my first time telling her anything. I slowly opened up to her. That Granny had passed away and I was left alone. That I was going to high school now. I told her that I met new friends like Gon and Dora. That winter, spring, and summer had passed and it was now fall already. That I’d tried to keep the bookstore going and that I had to close it down, but that I wouldn’t apologize for that.
After telling Mom all this, I stepped back. Dora smiled at me. Mom was still staring up at the constellations on the ceiling, but I realized that talking to her wasn’t so pointless after all. Maybe it was similar to how Dr. Shim baked for his dead wife.
58
As I grew closer to Dora, I started to feel like I was keeping a secret from Gon. Incidentally, the two had never stopped by the bookstore at the same time. Gon didn’t come to the bookstore as often as he used to, maybe he was busy with other stuff. When he did, he always sniffed. “Something smells fishy about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t put my finger on it.” He scowled at me. “You hiding something from me?”
“Well . . .” I would’ve told him about Dora if he had pushed me further. But for some reason, Gon stopped there.
It was also around that time that Gon started hanging out with kids from different schools. They were fairly well-known troublemakers in the neighborhood. Some of them had gone to the same juvenile center as Gon. A kid called Steamed Bun was particularly infamous among them. I once saw him talking to Gon after school. Unlike his nickname, he actually reminded me of bamboo. He was tall like a bamboo plant, and his arms and legs were skinny like the branches. But at the tips of those branches were hands and feet that were thick buns. He was like a stick doll whose hands and feet were made of thick batter. But the real reason he’d gotten the nickname was that with those huge fists and feet of his, he could squash the faces of people he didn’t like as easily as if they were soft steamed buns.
“I like hanging out with them. There’s a connection between us. You know why? Because at least they don’t judge me the way other people do, telling me to do this and that.”
Gon told me the stories he’d heard from Steamed Bun’s gang and thought they were funny, but I didn’t find them funny or interesting at all. Gon went on and on, laughing out loud, gabbling nonsense. I just listened. That was all I could do.
Gon was still being scrutinized at school. Parents continued to call in to complain about his behavior. I knew that if he got in trouble again, he might have to transfer to another school. Even though Gon was actually just sleeping through classes instead of causing trouble, his reputation still worsened. I often heard kids talking behind his back.
“Should I go ahead and stir up real shit? Feels like that’s what everybody’s waiting for.” Gon chewed gum noisily, acting nonchalantly. I thought it was just one of his silly jokes. But he wasn’t joking. By the middle of the second semester, Gon started to change. He seemed to be doing everything he could to throw himself into the abyss. He started cussing at whoever met his eyes, like he used to at the beginning of the year. In class, he sat haughtily in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, and deliberately paid no attention to teachers. When they told him off, he glared at them and pretended to correct his behavior, and they moved on without further comment to resume their class in peace.
Whenever Gon behaved like that, I felt a sudden, heavy rock sinking in my heart. Kind of like when Dora’s hair had touched my skin. But this was different, heavier and ominous.
59
It was early November. A downpour brought us into late autumn. I was almost done clearing out the bookstore. I had sold all the books I could sell, and the rest were to be thrown away. I was going to leave this place soon. I had found a room in a shared apartment and was going to stay at Dr. Shim’s place until I moved there. Looking at the empty bookstore, I felt like a chapter of my life had come to a close.
I turned off the light and breathed in the book smell that still lingered. It was as familiar as the background surrounding me. But I noticed something slightly different carried on the scent. Suddenly a small ember was rekindled in my heart. I wanted to read between the lines. I wanted to be someone who truly understood the meaning of an author’s words. I wanted to know more people, to be able to engage in deep conversations, and to learn what it was to be human.