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Grinning (Three of Five)
Grinning
Tinny laughter trickled out from the television, and the girl sat, laughing, even as she checked things on her computer. The screens of both devices showed the same face; a young man with round cheeks and short brown hair, tallish with a slim build, his dimples showing up when he smiled big enough. Some music started playing on the television and she hummed along, smiling to herself as though she held the key to the world in her palm.
Absently, she opened a new window to check her email. On the other screen, a fight was brewing between the brown-haired man and some girl, conceivably his costar. Her acting obviously paled in comparison to his. Just as their screaming reached a crescendo, the girl watching them abruptly shut off her computer, her expression now angry, almost murderous, a striking contrast to what it was just moments ago. She stood up and walked over to the television, her movements at once graceful and feminine, yet seeming to hold some sort of inner strength, like a cat about to pounce. Bending down, she clutched the sides of the machine, her eyes boring into those of the actors onscreen. Her lips moved in a silent whisper,
saranghae
(I love you)
and she turned off the television as well.
Long hair shifted over thin shoulder blades as she stood up, looked around, smiled that same smile from before. Drifting here and there around the room, she extended her arm, allowing just the tips of her thin fingers to graze the surface of a printed cheek. The cheek turned into an eye, then a nose, then became a cheek once more as she walked across the room, her fingers never leaving the wall - or, rather, the images that covered the wall.
Eventually she reached a small table and bent down, picking up the odd-looking phone that lie there. It had been a rare find, and her grin only grew at the memory of how she had acquired it:
An antique shop, so uninformed as to the ways of modern society, offered up the prizes of a past age. Between the rusty picture frames and the beaten-up furniture was this, a phone, more kitschy than classic. It had the oddest shape, obviously meant to be offered to older women with too much time on their hands, even back in the days before retirement was an option. Perhaps it had become what it was through a myth, or a superstition; whatever it was, it caught her eye, and she wanted it like she had only ever wanted one other thing in her whole life. The need to have it consumed her. She didn’t bargain for it, as would usually be done in such a shop. In fact, she barely even looked at the price before presenting it to the aging, grizzled man at the counter. Despite this, though, he didn’t show the merest hint of surprise at her need to have the phone now. He wrapped it up quietly, took the money quietly, and only bid her a quiet goodbye as she turned, grinning, and left.
That had been weeks ago, before she’d really needed it, but not a day went by when she didn’t pick it up, cradling it almost like a child, its existence now known by her and her alone.
A light pitter-patter sound rose softly from the surfaces of the windows, and a small giggle escaped her as she realized the gentle irony of her current situation.
It was raining. Her phone was shaped like an umbrella.
“So am I protected from the rain, now?” she mused, looking down at the object in her arms, still grinning. Always grinning. She spun around in a circle, flashing that grin at the pictures on her walls, before slipping a finger into the old rotary mechanism and dialing a number. As the ancient ring tone echoed throughout the room, she leaned against the glass doors that lead to the balcony and shivered at its sudden coldness. The silken roof of the phone covered her ear, the handle curving around a smooth cheek and resting on her chin, and she sighed softly before beginning to speak into it.
“I watched a really good movie today,” and the voice now was cheerful, sunny. “I think you would like it. Maybe we can watch it together sometime?”
A pause. Her grin remained the same, unfaltering, just as it always had.
“I was reading news about it online, too, and it got really really good reviews!” A giggle. A flip of that silken hair. “We definitely have to see it! Promise me, okay? Okay! We’ll go together.”
She hung up, still giggling lightly. Her feet carried her over to the table once more, where the phone was replaced upon its base - a cheap mockery of an umbrella stand. Next to it was another phone, this one sterile and unfriendly, and an answering machine. The digital symbols on the front were flashing, angry little red numbers glaring up at her: 21, it read. Twenty-one missed calls. Her finger hit the play button and she drifted away again.
“Hyejoon?” The voice was rough, scratchy, technologically skewed through the machine’s speakers. “It’s me. Call me when you get this. I want to take you to see a movie.”
She sighed imperceptibly, trailing her fingers over the wall once again. The messages continued to play behind her back as she leaned over to reach for something.
“Hyejoon, I’m glad you liked the movie!” A laugh, deep, a male’s voice. Still scratchy, though, still skewed. “Maybe next time we can see that other one, with the same actress. I know it doesn’t have the guy you like, but maybe… well, just call me, okay?”
Her fingers had found a small wire on the floor, and she tugged at it gently, her grin widening when it grew taut and refused to moved. Crawling, she followed it slowly, pausing every so often to stare up, up, up along the walls and the ceiling. Everywhere her grin went it was reflected back, this time with dimples.
“Um, Hyejoon, we need to talk… I know you like that guy but asking me to dress like him was a bit… well… I didn’t like it. It’s fine that you like him but I’m still your number one, right? Call me back soon, okay?”
The cord led her to the hallway, to the closet, to the bathroom, and here she stopped, stood up, reached out to open a cupboard and rummage around. Her fingers closed around a small bottle and she extracted it from the depths of the dark mess, reading the label carefully.
Park Hyejoon, it read, two each day with food.
Her grin faded.
“Hyejoon, let’s go to the doctor tomorrow, okay? You’ve been acting different lately. I’m really worried.”
Her ears had tuned out the scratchy voice by now, though, and her sole focus was on the bottle in her hands. She turned it over and over before slowly uncapping it, tilting it, letting the pills spill out one by one into her open palm. Then, suddenly, she stopped, titled the bottle right side up, and methodically deposited each little piece back in. Then she lifted the toilet seat and raised the bottle above it.
“Did you take your medicine today, Hyejoon? Please don’t make me come over again, last time you really freaked me out, I almost took you to the hospital, y’know that?”
The pills dropped like rain into the porcelain target, cleanly entering the water with small “plip-plop” sounds. Her grin, almost totally gone, had now returned with a vengeance. When the bottle was empty, she reached out and gracefully pressed the handle, watching as the white drops dissolved, drowned, and were sent to their grave - the Seoul Sewage Management Plant. She flung the bottle away and exited the bathroom, reverting to her former crawling position. It didn’t take much effort to find the wire again, and it went taut just as it had before. She grinned wickedly and followed it further, leaving the voice in the living room to itself.
“Hyejoon? Why haven’t you called me? I miss you, okay? I didn’t mean to yell last time… please, Hyejoon, something important happened! Please call me, okay?!”
Finally, she reached an impasse: the wire led to a door at the end of the hall, where it promptly disappeared beneath the crack in said door. A giggle escaped her, and she tugged at the wire insistently - this time, though, she was facing the living room, where she had just come from. A loud clunk informed her that the object attached to the wire had fallen over; the dial tone that covered up the voice of the answering machine let her know that it was her precious umbrella phone that had fallen. Her grin widened. After a moment of contemplative silence, she turned around, stood up, dusted off her clothes, straightened her hair, and, grinning as always, turned the doorknob.
“Hyejoon, listen to me, that celebrity guy you like went missing. Did you read my email yet? I sent you the article -”
She entered into a room that was completely dark; the only light was that from the hallway, and the only shafts that were able to penetrate the room were those that came over her head or between her sides. Her silhouette fell upon a figure, curled up, trembling, its breathing laboured and rough. As she stepped forward, the figure made a pathetic sobbing noise, and the light sound of a chain rattling echoed into the darkness.
Her grin was the same as it had been when she was on the computer or watching television or looking at the myriad posters and pictures that she had plastered all over her house. It was the grin that she’d reserved especially for him, for the only one who deserved to be loved by someone like her. He never yelled or got mad or went away. He was perfect. He was hers.
She closed the doors, and even if she had been listening, the sobs from the round-cheeked, brown-haired man in front of her would have drowned out the distorted voice of the answering machine.
“The media keeps saying it was a stalker who got to him, do you know anything about this? Hyejoon? Did you take your medicine today? I wanted to take you on a date…”
Saranghae, she whispered to him, saranghae, I love you, we’ll always be together.
The dial tone of the umbrella phone persisted deep into the night, neither owner able to reach it any longer.
Tinny laughter trickled out from the television, and the girl sat, laughing, even as she checked things on her computer. The screens of both devices showed the same face; a young man with round cheeks and short brown hair, tallish with a slim build, his dimples showing up when he smiled big enough. Some music started playing on the television and she hummed along, smiling to herself as though she held the key to the world in her palm.
Absently, she opened a new window to check her email. On the other screen, a fight was brewing between the brown-haired man and some girl, conceivably his costar. Her acting obviously paled in comparison to his. Just as their screaming reached a crescendo, the girl watching them abruptly shut off her computer, her expression now angry, almost murderous, a striking contrast to what it was just moments ago. She stood up and walked over to the television, her movements at once graceful and feminine, yet seeming to hold some sort of inner strength, like a cat about to pounce. Bending down, she clutched the sides of the machine, her eyes boring into those of the actors onscreen. Her lips moved in a silent whisper,
saranghae
(I love you)
and she turned off the television as well.
Long hair shifted over thin shoulder blades as she stood up, looked around, smiled that same smile from before. Drifting here and there around the room, she extended her arm, allowing just the tips of her thin fingers to graze the surface of a printed cheek. The cheek turned into an eye, then a nose, then became a cheek once more as she walked across the room, her fingers never leaving the wall - or, rather, the images that covered the wall.
Eventually she reached a small table and bent down, picking up the odd-looking phone that lie there. It had been a rare find, and her grin only grew at the memory of how she had acquired it:
An antique shop, so uninformed as to the ways of modern society, offered up the prizes of a past age. Between the rusty picture frames and the beaten-up furniture was this, a phone, more kitschy than classic. It had the oddest shape, obviously meant to be offered to older women with too much time on their hands, even back in the days before retirement was an option. Perhaps it had become what it was through a myth, or a superstition; whatever it was, it caught her eye, and she wanted it like she had only ever wanted one other thing in her whole life. The need to have it consumed her. She didn’t bargain for it, as would usually be done in such a shop. In fact, she barely even looked at the price before presenting it to the aging, grizzled man at the counter. Despite this, though, he didn’t show the merest hint of surprise at her need to have the phone now. He wrapped it up quietly, took the money quietly, and only bid her a quiet goodbye as she turned, grinning, and left.
That had been weeks ago, before she’d really needed it, but not a day went by when she didn’t pick it up, cradling it almost like a child, its existence now known by her and her alone.
A light pitter-patter sound rose softly from the surfaces of the windows, and a small giggle escaped her as she realized the gentle irony of her current situation.
It was raining. Her phone was shaped like an umbrella.
“So am I protected from the rain, now?” she mused, looking down at the object in her arms, still grinning. Always grinning. She spun around in a circle, flashing that grin at the pictures on her walls, before slipping a finger into the old rotary mechanism and dialing a number. As the ancient ring tone echoed throughout the room, she leaned against the glass doors that lead to the balcony and shivered at its sudden coldness. The silken roof of the phone covered her ear, the handle curving around a smooth cheek and resting on her chin, and she sighed softly before beginning to speak into it.
“I watched a really good movie today,” and the voice now was cheerful, sunny. “I think you would like it. Maybe we can watch it together sometime?”
A pause. Her grin remained the same, unfaltering, just as it always had.
“I was reading news about it online, too, and it got really really good reviews!” A giggle. A flip of that silken hair. “We definitely have to see it! Promise me, okay? Okay! We’ll go together.”
She hung up, still giggling lightly. Her feet carried her over to the table once more, where the phone was replaced upon its base - a cheap mockery of an umbrella stand. Next to it was another phone, this one sterile and unfriendly, and an answering machine. The digital symbols on the front were flashing, angry little red numbers glaring up at her: 21, it read. Twenty-one missed calls. Her finger hit the play button and she drifted away again.
“Hyejoon?” The voice was rough, scratchy, technologically skewed through the machine’s speakers. “It’s me. Call me when you get this. I want to take you to see a movie.”
She sighed imperceptibly, trailing her fingers over the wall once again. The messages continued to play behind her back as she leaned over to reach for something.
“Hyejoon, I’m glad you liked the movie!” A laugh, deep, a male’s voice. Still scratchy, though, still skewed. “Maybe next time we can see that other one, with the same actress. I know it doesn’t have the guy you like, but maybe… well, just call me, okay?”
Her fingers had found a small wire on the floor, and she tugged at it gently, her grin widening when it grew taut and refused to moved. Crawling, she followed it slowly, pausing every so often to stare up, up, up along the walls and the ceiling. Everywhere her grin went it was reflected back, this time with dimples.
“Um, Hyejoon, we need to talk… I know you like that guy but asking me to dress like him was a bit… well… I didn’t like it. It’s fine that you like him but I’m still your number one, right? Call me back soon, okay?”
The cord led her to the hallway, to the closet, to the bathroom, and here she stopped, stood up, reached out to open a cupboard and rummage around. Her fingers closed around a small bottle and she extracted it from the depths of the dark mess, reading the label carefully.
Park Hyejoon, it read, two each day with food.
Her grin faded.
“Hyejoon, let’s go to the doctor tomorrow, okay? You’ve been acting different lately. I’m really worried.”
Her ears had tuned out the scratchy voice by now, though, and her sole focus was on the bottle in her hands. She turned it over and over before slowly uncapping it, tilting it, letting the pills spill out one by one into her open palm. Then, suddenly, she stopped, titled the bottle right side up, and methodically deposited each little piece back in. Then she lifted the toilet seat and raised the bottle above it.
“Did you take your medicine today, Hyejoon? Please don’t make me come over again, last time you really freaked me out, I almost took you to the hospital, y’know that?”
The pills dropped like rain into the porcelain target, cleanly entering the water with small “plip-plop” sounds. Her grin, almost totally gone, had now returned with a vengeance. When the bottle was empty, she reached out and gracefully pressed the handle, watching as the white drops dissolved, drowned, and were sent to their grave - the Seoul Sewage Management Plant. She flung the bottle away and exited the bathroom, reverting to her former crawling position. It didn’t take much effort to find the wire again, and it went taut just as it had before. She grinned wickedly and followed it further, leaving the voice in the living room to itself.
“Hyejoon? Why haven’t you called me? I miss you, okay? I didn’t mean to yell last time… please, Hyejoon, something important happened! Please call me, okay?!”
Finally, she reached an impasse: the wire led to a door at the end of the hall, where it promptly disappeared beneath the crack in said door. A giggle escaped her, and she tugged at the wire insistently - this time, though, she was facing the living room, where she had just come from. A loud clunk informed her that the object attached to the wire had fallen over; the dial tone that covered up the voice of the answering machine let her know that it was her precious umbrella phone that had fallen. Her grin widened. After a moment of contemplative silence, she turned around, stood up, dusted off her clothes, straightened her hair, and, grinning as always, turned the doorknob.
“Hyejoon, listen to me, that celebrity guy you like went missing. Did you read my email yet? I sent you the article -”
She entered into a room that was completely dark; the only light was that from the hallway, and the only shafts that were able to penetrate the room were those that came over her head or between her sides. Her silhouette fell upon a figure, curled up, trembling, its breathing laboured and rough. As she stepped forward, the figure made a pathetic sobbing noise, and the light sound of a chain rattling echoed into the darkness.
Her grin was the same as it had been when she was on the computer or watching television or looking at the myriad posters and pictures that she had plastered all over her house. It was the grin that she’d reserved especially for him, for the only one who deserved to be loved by someone like her. He never yelled or got mad or went away. He was perfect. He was hers.
She closed the doors, and even if she had been listening, the sobs from the round-cheeked, brown-haired man in front of her would have drowned out the distorted voice of the answering machine.
“The media keeps saying it was a stalker who got to him, do you know anything about this? Hyejoon? Did you take your medicine today? I wanted to take you on a date…”
Saranghae, she whispered to him, saranghae, I love you, we’ll always be together.
The dial tone of the umbrella phone persisted deep into the night, neither owner able to reach it any longer.