April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions (7 page)

I want to laugh at Eunhye’s premature prediction, but when my eyes land on the spot where Sangwoo slept last night, I spy the shiny object. I make my way over to the area without any mental registration. As soon as my hands touch the object, I realize what it is quickly. It is the same diamond-encrusted necklace with a Cross on it.

Thoughts floor my mind. Why is it here in my room? Didn’t Choi Sangwoo tuck his necklace back inside his shirt just moments ago? I saw him do it in the kitchen. I spin the necklace up to the light.
It’s so beautiful. It must be a fortune
. The diamonds–tiny sliver studs embedded in-between the crust of the design–glisten as the symbol of the Cross swings like a pendulum in my grip.

My cell phone rings in the corner of my room. I am still staring at the magnificent piece of jewelry when I answer it.

“Hey, you didn’t text me back last night!” Lina’s voice engulfs my ears.

Just like that, I’m thrust back into reality. Choi Sangwoo and all the mysteries that shroud him will have to wait.

CHAPTER THREE

L
ife as I know it continues in the same mundane routine. Meeting Choi Sangwoo is unequivocally in my top five most-noted life events. Another seven days goes by and as I expect, there is no word or sign of Choi Sangwoo’s existence. It is as though he doesn’t exist, as though he is just a figment of my imagination from working two jobs and long hours. An abhorrent illusion. He is like a phantom, appearing and disappearing at his will and leisure. Choi Sangwoo is verified to be real only when Joolie or Tailor mentions him. They mostly refer to him as the lonely gangster and anticipate his return to The Trax. Many theories circulate the area without any reliability or validity. Most of the gossip starts with Joolie and often ends with Joolie when she becomes disinterested.

Only when I look at the Cross necklace am I reminded that Choi Sangwoo is real. He existed in my apartment at one point. And now, he is just a symbol left behind in my sock drawer. I can hardly bear the thought of throwing away something that costs as much as a house, so I keep his necklace next to the tip receipt. I realize I am starting to collect remnants of his being.

By the end of the week, I turn my focus on time management to forget him. I throw my time and energy into work. Every day after work I go home mentally, emotionally, and physically tired. The mundane patterns of work, sleep, eat, and repeat continues. I try to add some variation to my week; every couple of days, I take up my cousin’s invitations to jog with her. I also spend more time rereading my favorite books and college recommended literature. 

But when Sunday arrives to wrap up the revolving week, I lose my battle with time management. I wake up in the morning covered in a sheet of sweat from a nightmare I can’t quite remember. By the time I convince myself that my past is long gone and the people who used to hurt me are no longer around, I miss my first bus.

I am fifteen minutes late when I arrive at Sansachun, fresh out of breath from running.

“Good morning.”

Lina, my cousin and best friend, is standing at her usual place behind the glass counter. Lina’s mother is my father’s sister; we are first cousins and share the dominant genes of the Lee family. Although Lina has her father’s last name, Kim, she still desires to change her name to a Lee someday.

Lina and I both work the morning to mid-afternoon shift at Sansachun, the smallest convenience store on the busiest street in Seoul. The irony is hardly anyone shops here. We have other major conveniences and liquor stores around the block to compete with. Mr. Chun refuses to lower any of the prices on his products or develop better marketing schemes. He believes in running with the competition.

Because of Mr. Chun’s business approach and the inconsistency of foot traffic at the store, Lina and I mostly spend our shift waiting around. It is hard to do our job when the main component, such as customers, is close to non-existent some days. There are days when the store has a decent flow of customers. Then, there are some days, like today where Lina and I can hear each other breathe from the lack of activity.

“I missed my bus,” I start explaining to Lina why I am late.

“That sucks . . . . Watch this.” Lina ignores me without regard. Lina’s glued to the tiny TV mounted on the wall above the cash register. Lina has her elbows prop on the glass case that contains various products, including cigarettes and calling cards. Lina’s eyebrows form a nervous frown as she watches the TV. My cousin’s intense interest in the news is contagious.

I follow Lina’s gaze. The usual morning news is running its popular feature. I glance at the timer at the bottom of the TV screen; it is supposed to be weather hour. However, a somber male anchor is currently replacing the weather woman. His military hair matches the blue vest suit he is wearing. His eyebrows run flat against his face, giving him the expression of restlessness. His dark skin tone and demeanor reflect the news story he is covering.

“Last night, around ten-thirty, in the unmarked turnpikes of Busan, two rival gangs were embroiled in a massive street war. It was reported that an internal disagreement between the notorious Mayhem and violent Crist–a play on words of The Holy Christ–is what sparked this unusual public event. Although these two sophisticated rivals have never orchestrated reckless encounters like other street gangs, last night was an exception to their rising hostility against one another. Surprisingly, police were unable to apprehend any of the gang members from either side. Multiple cars stolen, properties vandalized, and stray shells accounted for civilian casualties. The local authorities ask that if anyone has any information on Crist or Mayhem members to call the hotline. Both gangs are known to operate mainly in Japan, but in recent months have been increasingly active in South Korea. The National Safety-Against-Gangs, the NSAG, warns civilians to report any suspicious activities and to notify the police when a gang member is identified.”

At the end of his sentence, the anchor picks up the stack of papers on his desk. He looks uncomfortable, possibly afraid of the backlash that reporting about gangs might bring him.

Meanwhile, I feel a chill run down my spine. The Crist gang. Choi Sangwoo’s face flashes in my mind. Did he participate in the fight last night? I can’t imagine him engaged in a hostile fight. Common media portrayals of gang fights rotate in my mind–guys wielding bats, sticks, and guns chasing after one another. Some fight while others are on the wet, dark ground bleeding to death. In the background, their respective leaders are screaming out commands.

“It’s so crazy the police can’t even do anything about it.” Lina’s comment brings me back to reality.

My thought bubbles pop and fade away. My intuition is eating grapes and shrugging her shoulders. She has no idea what to do with the news no more than my conscience. I snap out of my daze to focus on Lina. My cousin’s eyebrows furrow together in concern.

Lina hates gangs, gang members, and gang-affiliated anything. Apparently, her uncle from her father’s side was associated with a gang in his younger years and was double-crossed by someone he thought a friend. Long story short, Lina’s uncle got shot in the back. Lina was really close to him as a child, so she grew up
renouncing all social groups. Convinced that it was better to have one-on-one relationships than to be associated with a clique, Lina conducts her friendships in linear lines. None of her friendships run in circles. I am her only close, best friend.

In many ways, Lina is a lot like me in personality. She is blunt, straightforward, and a natural loner. But, unlike me, Lina lives with both of her parents. My aunt and uncle raised Lina under strict religious rules. Lina often cites her natural family composition to be the reason why she rebels in life.

Lina has a natural beauty to her that’s overshadowed by her rebellious streak. In middle school, we used to look like twins with the same dark hair and height. Then, high school rolled around and Lina developed a health conscious mindset. She began drinking milk every day and practiced yoga religiously. Now, she is two inches taller with platinum blonde hair.

It was during junior year in high school when Lina announced she is going to bypass the academic route to discovering life. True to her sense of humor, Lina proclaimed that her life goal is to find a rich husband and live happily ever after. Lina thought she was one-step closer when she met her boyfriend, Spyder, a year ago at a party.

When I first met Spyder, I was sure that his money couldn’t possibly be his. Spyder had
shady
written all over his face. But Lina is convinced that he can take care of her. She is only working at Sansachun because I am. In fact, Lina is the one who recommended me this part-time position. I am supposed to be her replacement, but Mr. Chun ended up keeping us both.

Lina has relentless thoughts and strong opinions about the world. While I prefer to be an observer, Lina is the more proactive one. So, the news obviously doesn’t sit well with her. I haven’t told Lina that I’ve met a Crist memb
er, and he is not at all how social media tends to portray gang members. But I am not ready to defend or agree with Lina’s comments about Choi Sangwoo. In fact, I’m not even sure how I feel about the incredibly mysterious, fascinating, and intimidating gangster.

At the present moment, Lina’s face is in a permanent frown. The more I observe her, the more convinced I am that her reaction to the news isn’t just at the superficial level. It is one of the perks of knowing someone for so long.

“Are you okay?” I ask Lina with a nudge. “You don’t seem too happy about the news.”

“I’m fine,” Lina mumbles. She looks away from the TV.

I glance back up at the TV. Now, the anchor is reporting about pipe problems in Seoul’s main business district. From gang fights to pipelines. Our world is never consistent.

“Why were you late this morning?” Lina changes the subject.

I try to gauge Lina’s facial expression. Is something there or is it my imagination? But Lina only stares back at me, waiting for an answer.

“I had a nightmare last night.” I finally give in. “I couldn’t sleep all night, just kept tossing and turning. When I finally did sleep, I woke up from a bad dream. You know, the kind you don’t really remember in the morning? I think it’s because I’ve been working late. I’m trying to manage my time a little better.”

“Nightmares?” Lina is sympathetic towards my issues. Because she is family, my cousin is privy to my past. “The same ones?”

I nod my head slowly. Not wanting to give too much away, I state softly, “It’s not a big deal. You know how it comes and goes.”

Lina surveys my face shortly. I can tell she is deciding if I am up to talking about it. Something in my face makes Lina decide it is better to leave me alone for now.

A small smile graces her lips instead. “You know what we should do after work?” Lina wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go shopping and get some milk tea. Girl time.”

“What about Spyder?” I ask. If I am not taking up Lina’s time, her boyfriend does.

“You come first to me, baby.” Lina places her head against my shoulder.

“Uh huh!” I laugh. My mood brightens from Lina’s humor. “Sure.”

Lina breaks out into fits of giggles. My endearing cousin always knows how to lift me up.

At the very same moment, a couple wanders into Sansachun. The husband wants to find motion sickness medication while the wife peruses the aisle for generic allergy pills. From then on, the foot traffic at Sansachun increases fivefold. A few more customers step into the store, interested in items ranging from beverages to household products.

It turns out to be one of those fast-paced and productive days. Neither Lina nor I could have predicted that Sansachun is going to have another successful day. Mr. Chun’s business hunch is turning out to be right. If he keeps his prices firm and doesn’t give into the competition next door, he can still generate income and keep the customer’s interests. The tour-de-force of good luck that is blowing through the store keeps Lina and me busy until the end of our shift. While Lina works at the cashier, I help the customers roam the aisles.

B
Y THE TIME THE LAST
customer exits the store, Lina and I are so tired we decide to close up and wait for our co-worker Bae to release us for the night shift. We only know Bae by his first name, and the only personal information he has ever told us is he has a family with a wife and two kids. During the day, he works as a mechanic and at night, he works at Sansachun for Mr. Chun. He is a good soul, and treats Lina and me as though we are his kids. Every other day, he would bring us a snack.

Today, Lina and I opt to have our things ready to leave by the time Bae comes in.

“I’ll go get our bags,” Lina says. She volunteers to go to the back room while I wait out front.

I am in the middle of stacking the remaining products in an orderly fashion on the glass counter when the store’s door chimes open. I turn, expecting to see Bae and the dark blue uniform he always wears. Instead, I face an unfamiliar customer.

A male, in his late twenties, comes striding into the store with purpose. His hair is in the style of a Mohawk; one strip of black hair rules down the middle of his head. He is wearing a black dress shirt, with the top two buttons exposed to reveal the shadow of his chest, over dark jeans. The dark sneakers he is wearing ruins his otherwise professional outfit.

Immediately, a red flag flashes in front of my eyes.
Get the phone.
My intuition scrambles up from her nap cot.

“Hi, welcome to Sansachun. How may I help you?” I force myself to state the usual greeting. Above all, I want to make sure Lina hears me.

I must blend into the shelves behind me because Mohawk’s body language changes when he finally sees me. He reminds me of a tiger when he moves, the slow and calculated movements of a feline stalking its prey. When he approaches the counter, and I can see his face clearer, I realize more than ever that my instincts are right. Mohawk is not here to buy anything that Sansachun offers. He is here with a different agenda entirely other than shopping.

“Hello.” His voice is whimsical with a dangerous undertone. Mohawk leans across the glass counter and smiles without teeth.

“How can I help you?” I repeat again. Part of me wants to call for Lina, but the other part is too perplexed to move.