April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions (15 page)

“What do you want to study in college?” Sangwoo surprises me as he brings the question back to what we discussed at dinner.

“I don’t know if I should tell you,” I tease him lightly, testing the boundaries. “Since you critiqued my choice of going to college.”

“Hey, I went to college.” Sangwoo surprises me again. He looks over his shoulder and says, “I’m serious. I went for four years and studied business management.”

Business management? How apt. I am not sure they have a course on how to be
a gang leader, unless this is a special college designed for gang lords.

“What are you studying?” Sangwoo brings me out of my thoughts again.

“Psychology,” I answer with a smile. We are nearing my apartment complex now. I point to Sangwoo towards the stairs. “I want to be a psychologist.”

The playful smile on his face fades slightly, but Sangwoo overcomes it quickly. “A psychologist? Why?”

I am reveling in the fact that I surprised Sangwoo. He gives me the impression that very little will take him back. “I think it’s an interesting profession. I can help others figure things out.”

“You know there’s more to it than just helping others right?” Sangwoo inquires. There is humor in his voice.

At the same time, we are climbing the stairs to the sixth floor of my apartment. I lead the way with Sangwoo only a step beside me.

“I know that,” I agree with him. “But like I said, I like helping people.”

“But you don’t like to be helped,” Sangwoo corrects me.

“Are you out of breath yet?” I deflect the conversation, surprised that he is able to keep up with me. I look back to see Sangwoo with a fresh grin on his face.

“You’d be surprised by my physical stamina,” Sangwoo replies quickly.

Oh wow
. “I’m sure.” I turn around and continue up the stairs. I am not sure if it is the stairs or Sangwoo’s comment that makes my face deepen another shade of color. Fortunately, it is too dark for him to see.
Girl, you are out of your element!
my conscience barks at me under her stunner shades.

“You don’t believe me? I can show you sometimes.”

“Do all gang leaders have big egos?”

“Ha ha.”

When we finally descend the sixth floor, and my apartment door is just a couple of steps away, I face Sangwoo. Once again, he sticks out like a sore thumb underneath the dreary lighting of the apartment hallway. Sangwoo’s mouth stretches into that charming smile of his, and there is a tint of playfulness in his eyes now.

“Have a good night,” I tell him shortly.

“You’re not going to invite me in? That’s a little rude.” It’s a joke, but there is a notion of truthfulness to it. The playful light in Sangwoo’s eyes dims when I stare at him, slightly gaping.

“I’m sure you have work. I can’t stay long either,” Sangwoo recovers with a soft tone.

“I took tonight off from The Trax, so I’m working double shifts tomorrow,” I tell him. This handsome, mysterious, dangerous, and intimidating man wants to come into my dreary apartment to talk to me? I will probably have a heart attack if I am alone with him tonight.

“You really do work seven days a week,” Sangwoo notes. He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re a workaholic like me.”

“I’m not a workaholic.” I feel the immediate need to defend myself. “I just . . . work every day.”

“Why are you afraid of idle time?” Sangwoo asks poignantly.

No one has ever come out and ask me this question so bluntly–at least not anyone besides Lina. I get the feeling that Choi Sangwoo has an insatiable thirst to obtain as much information about me as he can.

“I’m not afraid of idle time. I just work hard to save up money for college,” I remind him again. “I have goals I want to reach.”

“I know you do,” Sangwoo replies with calm. “I just wonder if it’s your schedule or you who can’t stand to sit still.”

“What about you? You chose a job that requires you to work twenty-four seven.” I take the liberty of reminding him.

“Yes, it does. But I choose to take breaks,” Sangwoo replies with contention.

“I take breaks.” I make it clear that I don’t want to explain why my schedule is packed. “Good night Sangwoo.”

“Will you think about my offer?” he asks with haste. It is the first time I hear the impatience and speed in his question. “About helping you with Mayhem?”

I can read it in Sangwoo’s face that he isn’t just offering to help me because it is a money issue. Sangwoo is offering to help because he fears the consequences if he doesn’t. 

“Help me?” I repeat again.

“Within professional grounds,” Sangwoo adds. “We will draw up an official contract, including clauses and stipulations.”

A contract? What kind of contract and details will I have to adhere to? My instinct kicks at my heart who is struggling to breathe.

“A contract?” I repeat like a minion again.
You really are incompetent
, snaps my conscience.

Sangwoo stares at me as though he is wondering about my intelligence too. “Yes. So, it doesn’t mean I am just giving you money. You will be providing a service to me as well.” His eyes burn with intensity, as though he is afraid of my rejection.

“What kind of service?” I want to pick at this longer.

“Why are you alarmed?” Sangwoo ignores my question.

“Why are you so nice to me?” There, the burning question finally slips out. “Two weeks ago, I didn’t even know you existed. And now, you want to help me.”
Just admit that you know me from somewhere before,
my intuition growls impatiently.

“Because I was you once. I was helpless because of circumstances. And because I want us to be friends.” Sangwoo’s reasons are all over the place.

“So, a contract is the answer?”

“A contract will help you get comfortable with the idea I want to help you,” Sangwoo remarks. “We can talk about the details tomorrow night.”

Just like that, he stops me in my tracks. I want to talk to Lina first before I agree to anything else. If only Sangwoo knows that I want to take up his offer so badly my throat is hurting from rejecting it. “Ok. We can talk about it tomorrow night.” Finally, I muster up the response.

When he gets his way, Sangwoo’s eyes sparkle with agreement. He is still hard to read, but he appears more youthful now. “Good night May.” My name hangs in the air.

“Good night,” I reply breathlessly.

All of a sudden, I see the sadden expression return to Sangwoo’s face. Last Saturday was the first time I saw that facial expression– when he was drunk beyond consciousness.

Tonight, it returns. Sangwoo calls to me as though he can no longer control his impulse. “Can I ask you for something?”

“What is it?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“Can I have a goodbye hug?” Sangwoo’s gaze reaches my face with a definitive pull.

What?
My insides curl up and the butterflies are expanding in my stomach.
He wants a hug?
My conscience scrambles to pick her jaw off the ground.

Before I can answer or think, Choi Sangwoo makes his way over to me. He reaches out in a precise manner and wraps his arms around my back, enclosing me against his body. It isn’t the type of hug in which he wants to prolong the night with me, and it isn’t even a hug that is meant to be romantically affectionate. It is a heart-wrenching hug, a metaphysical hold. The difference, I know, is in his words from last Saturday night. And I know, as I am locked in Sangwoo’s embrace, it has to do with the girl he says I remind him of. I feel the pain still living and growing inside of him like a virus. The powerful memories, along with tears of happiness and pain, is in the strength of his clutch.

I feel myself swept away in Sangwoo’s warm embrace. He has a distinctive smell to him, not the typical kind easily assessed at the mall or store. It is the scent of someone from his world, dangerous and vibrant. I am not sure what I am doing, but I wrap my arms around him in return. I attempt to share his pain as if I know an ounce of it.

“It’s getting late. You should go in now.”

In a matter of seconds, it is all over. Sangwoo releases his hold and I am free from him. Sangwoo steps back from me as if he cannot stand the pain of touching me anymore. It is a rare moment of weakness.

My heart starts racing and the more I want to speak, the harder it is to hold the tears back.
You silly putty.
My intuition is dabbing her cheeks with a tissue.

“You know, you remind me of someone from my past.” Sangwoo’s voice is soft and heartbroken.

“You were calling for her the night you threw up,” I tell him. A faint image of Dead Girl haunts me again. “Is that why you were so drunk?”

Sangwoo looks up at the sky as if the answers are up there. “Yes.”

“Because you wanted to forget her?” I ask him.

Sangwoo’s face hardens suddenly. “You can’t forget someone who doesn’t want to be forgotten.”

My eyebrows come together in confusion, but the right words fail me.

“Good night May.” Without another word, Sangwoo retreats. Just like that, the moment is gone.

The feeling of having someone in such close proximity walking away calls for sensations like abandonment and rejection. I watch as Sangwoo makes his way down the apartment stairs with the same dejected feeling in my stomach.

“Sangwoo,” I call to him. I finally find my voice, but it is too late.

He is already gone.

I stand listening to his footsteps retreating until the echoes disappear altogether. When Sangwoo is indefinitely gone, I head inside my dark and desolate apartment with bouts of emotions riding on me. The weight of confusion and uncertainty falls upon my shoulders when I press my back against the door. I stare at the darkness stretching ahead of me. My heart is pounding. My ears are throbbing. My soul is aching.

His necklace remains inside the palm of my hand.

CHAPTER FIVE

N
ightmares torture me that night. I toss and turn into the wee hours of the morning before exhaustion finally hits like a ton of bricks. Like a zombie, I feel lifeless and neurotic. No matter how hard I try, I cannot fall back asleep and I find myself staring at the gloomy reflections of the sky peeking through my window. Choi Sangwoo’s face continues to permeate my mind. My thoughts dwell on his offer and the eerie, provoking encounter with Mayhem.

Memories and thoughts run through my mind like a script, scrawling and scrolling in red letters. In just one day, my entire world is no longer in equilibrium. One thing led to another and now not only do I owe Mayhem thirty thousand dollars, but I am also associated with Crist. I am not sure if this is final destination or I am the center of a cosmic joke.

When I can no longer stand it, I get out of bed and sit down at my desk. My pride and joy, a Sony Vaio laptop, sit on top of my desk waiting with silent speculation. Abandoned since last semester, the keyboard has collected dust. I try to stay away from social media and technology because I consider them white noise. However, at the present moment, I gather all the tech savvy skills I have. I am silly and gullible, but my fingers are itching to get information.

“Here we go,” I mumble. I switch on the laptop’s power button and sit back. For the first time, I’m excited to see the window’s screen flash on with its familiar chorus.

The trusty Google search engine pops up, welcoming me to the wealth of knowledge waiting for digestion. I feel giddy as I type the simple word
gangster
. Immediately, Google directs me to more than twenty million results.

“A gangster is a member of an organized crime group. There exist a variety of gangs differentiated by prerogative, objective, and success. The categorization of a gangster depends on his membership in the type of organization. Street, prison, city, and nation gangs vary in degrees of organization and location from low to high.
The Japanese Yakuza and the Italian Mafia are two of the most highly organized nation gangs while street and prison gangs are less organized local gangs. Gangs organized around motorcycles and cars are based upon modes of transportation. Street gangs claim neighborhoods while drug gangs traffic illegal substances. A street gangster’s cause is different from an entrepreneurial gangster’s objective. Small street gangs engage in low-level crime; well-structured gangs such as the Triads, Mafia, and Drug Cartels orchestrate complex crime . . . .” I read slowly and carefully. My eyes feel heavy from the amount of information; they burn from the raw black and white print on screen.

I click out of the link and type in
gang leader
. Another link expands to display a plethora of information. I read to myself. “Highly structured gangs operate formally with leadership falling to the individual or individuals who take control, much like a business or corporation. Such entrepreneurial gangs are intensely private in their illegal, underground transactions. A gang leader, or gang lord, is responsible for the recruitment, management, and orchestration of criminal activities.” I scroll down the screen, over the Mob and Mafia–the Italians and Sicilians. I stop at South Korean gangs. “Gangs in such countries are often highly-organized and entrepreneurial operating with distinctive formal proceedings. In order to join such high-level gangs, potential members undergo initiation ceremonies that may include brutal beatings, killing a police officer, committing theft/larceny, and engaging in sex with members of the gang and so on. Very few members are invited in or blessed-in–family members who are already in the gang . . . .”

Had enough?
My conscience looks over her dark glasses, narrowing her eyes at me. The amount of information is beguiling at the same time it is disturbing. Boldly, I continue with my investigation and type in
Crist gang
. Despite the amount of general information about gangs, the search for the specific gang yields weak results. There is one recent news article about their brawl with Mayhem, but nothing beyond what the news anchor stated yesterday. As I continue my search, nothing of significance comes up about Choi Sangwoo. The lack of information doesn’t surprise me. Sangwoo doesn’t seem like the type who would allow such information about him to float freely online. There are articles, however, of a family-owned business–Choi International Incorporated. The company has investments and ties with the national banking system, along with travel and commerce industries. There is no history about the company’s origins or the current CEO. In fact, CII is a private company with only one CEO and no board. It seems as though any adverse or negative reports no longer exist.

Testing my luck again, I type in
Mayhem gang
and the search results are scarcer. There is no gang listed or associated with the name Mayhem. No single business entity has the name Jaewon attached to it either. It appears as though this second gang lord is even more mysterious and intensely private than Choi Sangwoo.

I slump in my chair. The amount of information dances in front of my eyes. I am not sure what to think now that I have informally educated myself about this underground society. If anything, I am more apprehensive about the gang lords. Everything they do is above, below, or behind the law; they do not uphold the law. As I continue searchin
g, more research articles about violent gang crimes trickle through the links. Some gangsters die never knowing who their Boss is; others kill, maim, steal, and cheat as Son warned me about. I can no longer handle the heaviness of the research. I decide it is better to switch the screen off and forget it.

A
FTER A THIRTY MINUTE SHOWER,
I finally emerge with an aching index finger. I take off the gauze to reveal a deep, linear cut right down my index finger. Fortunately, the doctor told me that as long as I keep the cut clean, it isn’t going to scar or be infected.

I wash the cut thoroughly and replace a new Band-Aid on my finger. When my mind wanders back to Choi Sangwoo, I do my best to shun the thoughts. I follow my usual morning routine and make my way back to my room for my cell phone. Just as I expected, Lina has left me a message that she wants to meet at Mula. I am not due at The Trax until later in the afternoon, so I reply a quick yes to my cousin.

“May! Breakfast!”

From the depths of the kitchen, I hear Eunhye’s morning call.

“You’re up early,” I greet her when I enter the brightly lit kitchen. I sit on a stool at the small island counter.

Eunhye is dressed in her multi-colored scrubs. She is bustling between the stove and sink, putting away utensils and cooling off the freshly cooked toast. Eunhye’s hair sweeps out of her face in an elaborate bun, but her tired eyes can’t hide the exhaustion of working fifty hours a week.

“I’m leaving for work soon. The hospital called and they need me as soon as possible.” She places a plate of toast, complete with scrambled eggs and salad in front of me. “Eat. Do you have work today?”

I stare at my mother with a wave of emotion. Not only does she work hard, but my mother is also one of the most giving people in the world. Just watching her in the frantic state of preparing breakfast before heading off to work makes my problems feel insignificant. Life continues despite the cracks and potholes that I seem to encounter lately.

“I have work today. Thanks mom,” I tell her when I reach for the coffee maker at the end of the counter.
I need some coffee
. My intuition rubs her hands together in anticipation. I pour myself a cup of coffee, enjoying the pungent smell.

“At Sansachun or The Trax?” Eunhye glances at her wristwatch before she sits down at the other end of the kitchen counter. Her plate of food is stacked with eggs and salad. It is her favorite breakfast.

“The Trax,” I answer. I take a sip of the black coffee and cringe at its potent taste.

“What happened to your finger?” Before I can stop her, Eunhye has my finger under her control. Fortunately, I have taken the gauze out. Eunhye will never let me live it down if she knows I went to a hospital that wasn’t hers.

“I cut myself yesterday.” I make the decision to lie to her. I don’t make eye contact with my mother, afraid that she will be able to read my façade. I pretend to pick at my plate with the fork.

“Why didn’t you go to my hospital? I could have taken a look at it.” Eunhye lets go of my finger. She observes the rest of my hands before her eyes move back to my face. “Did it happen at work?” My mother raises an eyebrow. I already know where she is going with her questions. This is the perfect opportunity for Eunhye to provide yet another reason why I should quit The Trax. Eunhye has been actively trying ever since I started; she has been against The Trax since day one.

“No.” I am starting to feel worse as the conversation goes on. “At Lina’s. We were cooking at her house and I cut my finger.”

Eunhye gives me a weary look as she snaps, “The two of you together is always trouble.” She ends it at that and doesn’t pursue the topic any further.

I am pleasantly pleased with Eunhye’s reaction and try to hide my smile the best way I know how. I pick up the cup of coffee and take another sip. The hot moisture along with the caffeine rush soothes my mind. “Mom,” I call to her, “maybe next week you and I can take a day off and go do something together.”

Eunhye’s eyebrows come together in immediate surprise. “What brought this on?”

I don’t expect her to agree right away, but I also don’t expect the astonishment on her face. “We work seven days a week mom. I was just thinking we could take a day off to relax and have fun.”

“Oh honey.” Eunhye gets up from her stool and begins cleaning her area. She has devoured her breakfast throughout the course of our conversation. “You know I would love to take time off from the hospital, but it’s not a good time right now. If I’m not taking care of patients, I have paperwork to do. The list never ends.”

Something similar to disappointment comes over me. I know she has to work, but I feel sad by the circumstances. I keep my eyes focused on my teal green coffee mug. “I understand. I was just suggesting.”

“Hey.” Eunhye wraps her arms around me. “I will still try ok? You and I are both working hard towards improving our lives. I promise you, we will get to spend some time together soon.”

I look up at my mother’s kind eyes and feel guilty. If only she knows what I am going through.

“I know mom,” is all I can say to her.

“Ok. Be good.” Eunhye plants a kiss on my forehead. She glances at her watch again and makes a face. “I better go. I’m going to be late. Can you clean up before you go to work?”

“Yes,” I answer simply. I take another swig of the coffee, hold it in my mouth for a few seconds longer, and then swallow. The black coffee is still hot. It burns all the way down my esophagus and into my stomach. There is nothing like this feeling in the world.

“Oh, I forgot to ask you,” Eunhye starts, “have you seen Choi Sangwoo since last weekend?”

My head snaps up faster than it should at her question. “Why?”

Eunhye scrunches up her nose. “I thought I saw him last night when I came home. It must have been close to midnight, but I saw a very fancy car parked at the front entrance of the apartment complex. Granted the car windows were too dark for me to see, but I would recognize those facial features anywhere.”

Did Sangwoo sit in his car hours after we said our goodbye? Curiosity and flattery strike me. My conscience is twirling in the middle of the room on her tiptoes.

“I don’t think that’s him.” I am doing well with all the lies today. “Why would Choi Sangwoo sit in his car until the early hours of the morning?” I add a scoff to make it seem even more ridiculous.

Eunhye purses her lips together momentarily; she only does that when she scours for answers that are not obvious. “I don’t know. I just thought it was him. He hasn’t contacted you?”

“No.” I keep my answer as concisely as possible.

“Hmm, I bet money he will contact you. He obviously liked you very much.” Eunhye makes another silly face.

“And how can you tell that by meeting him only one time?” I entertain the notion with her.

“Because I am old and wise, my child.” Eunhye spreads her arms in an exaggerated manner. “Besides, I saw the way he looked at you. It was the way
your father used to look at me.”

“Mom, trust me, Choi Sangwoo does not like me.”

“Maybe you’re not ready to like him back.”

“I don’t think so, mom.”

“You do like him, don’t you?”

“I hardly know him.”

“Don’t deny. Remember, in therapy we–”

The conversation has fallen into an automatic mode of talking without censorship. When the mentioning of therapy slips from her tongue, Eunhye stops speaking. For a brief moment, we hold our breaths–afraid of one another’s response. The silence we vowed to keep about our broken family history exposes itself. The simple slip-up brings back painful memories for us.

I look away from Eunhye at the same time she lowers her eyes. The emotions grapple inside me. Why is Eunhye so careless to bring the subject up? Didn’t we promise never to mention it again, and pretend that it is only the two of us in this family composition?