12
Granny and I first met at McDonald’s. It was a strange day. Mom ordered two burger combos, something she rarely bought, but she didn’t touch a thing. Her gaze was fixed on the door, and whenever someone came in, she kept sitting up straight then slouching, her eyes widening then narrowing. When I later asked her what that was, Mom said that was one of the ways your body reacts when you are both afraid and relieved at the same time.
Finally, when Mom got tired of waiting and had stood up to leave, the door swung open and the wind rushed in. There stood a big woman with broad shoulders. On her gray hair she had a purple hat with a feather. She looked like Robin Hood from one of those children’s books. That woman was my mom’s mom.
Granny was very big. There were no other words to accurately describe her. If I had to try, I would say that she was like a huge, everlasting oak tree. Her body, voice, even her shadow was enormous. Her hands especially were thick like those of a strong-man. She sat in front of me, folded her arms, and pressed her lips tight. Mom lowered her eyes and mumbled to say something, but Granny stopped her with a low, thick voice.
“Eat first.”
Reluctantly, Mom started stuffing the cold burger into her mouth. There was a long silence between them even after Mom ate her last french fry. I licked my fingers to pick up and eat the crumbs on the plastic tray, one by one, waiting for their next move.
Mom bit her lips and just looked down at her shoes in front of Granny’s firm folded arms. When there was literally nothing left on the tray, Mom finally worked up the courage to put her hands on my shoulders and say in a tiny, faint voice, “This is him.”
Granny took a deep breath, leaned back in her chair, and grunted. Later, I asked Granny what that sound had meant. She said it meant something like, “You could’ve had a better life, poor wench.”
“You’re a mess!” Granny shouted, so loud that her voice echoed throughout the whole place.
People looked at us as Mom started to weep. Between her barely open lips, she poured out to Granny everything she had gone through in the past seven years. To me, it merely sounded like a series of sobbings and snifflings and the occasional blowing of her nose, but Granny managed to understand everything Mom said. Granny’s locked arms were released, her hands resting on her knees, the glow on her face now gone. While Mom was describing me, Granny’s face had even looked rather similar to Mom’s. After Mom finished talking, Granny remained silent for a while. Then her face suddenly changed.
“If what your mom says is true, you’re surely a monster.”
Mom gaped at Granny, who had now drawn her face close to mine, smiling. The corners of her mouth turned up at the edges while the outer corners of her eyes drooped. It was as if her eyes and mouth were about to meet.
“And the most adorable little monster you are!”
She stroked my head so much it hurt. That was how our life together began.
13
After moving in with Granny, Mom opened a used-book store. Of course it was only possible with Granny’s help. But Granny, who Mom always said loved to hold a grudge, grumbled at every opportunity.
“I sold tteokbokki spicy rice cakes my whole life to pay for my only child’s education, but look at you, selling old books away instead of studying books. Way to go, you rotten wench.”
Taken literally, rotten wench had an awful meaning, but even still, Granny showered Mom with it day and night.
“What kind of mother calls her daughter a rotten wench, huh?”
“What’s wrong with that? Everybody will eventually rot to death. I’m not cussing, just telling the truth.”
Anyway, as we reunited with Granny, we were able to end the never-ending cycle of moving in and out, and finally settled in for good. At least Granny didn’t nag at Mom to get another job that paid more. Granny had an admiration for letters. That’s why she used to buy Mom many books despite being pressed for cash, and had hoped her daughter would grow up into a well-read, well-educated woman. In fact, Granny had wanted Mom to become a writer. Specifically, she had wanted her to be an “unmarried woman of words” who spent her entire life in solitude yet aged gracefully. That was the kind of life Granny would have wanted for herself, if only she could turn back the clock. It was part of the reason she gave Mom the name Jieun, which meant “author.”
“Whenever I called her, Jieun, Jieun, I thought fancy words would flow from the tip of her pen. I had her read as many books as possible, hoping she’d become an intellectual. Who knew the only thing she’d learn from books was to fall head over heels in love with some ignorant punk. Aigoo . . .” Granny often complained.