Secret Relationships

Chapter 2

“I’m hom—”

I pushed open the front door, which was precariously wedged between the slate roof and the plywood walls, and began my tired greeting, but before the door could even shut behind me, I froze at the scene unfolding in our tiny house.

“Oppaaa!”

“Hyuuung!”

My little sister and twin little brothers came running over to me and latched onto my legs, their faces drenched with tears and snot. I staggered at the weight pulling on me, but managed to catch my balance.

I calmly took in the room once more.

“Oh, welcome back, Daon. Come, let’s pack.”

Large cardboard boxes that looked like they once had been used to pack chips and cookies at the grocery store were scattered all over the cramped space. Mom and Dad were bent over, stuffing clothes into one of the boxes, so focused that they belatedly noticed me and welcomed me home.

It was hardly a welcome sight, to be honest. It wasn’t an unfamiliar one, but it was definitely sudden and unexpected.

“Do I… have to change schools?”

My heart had plummeted in my chest, but I managed to ask with a steady voice.

Dad wore a worn-out wifebeater as he taped one of the boxes shut. He shook his head.

“No, no, no, you don’t. We’re just way past the date we were supposed to move out, and the new tenants are supposed to come tomorrow morning, so… But thankfully, we were able to find a place just in time…”

Then why didn’t you tell me sooner…?

A deep annoyance and resentment stirred inside me.

Meanwhile, my parents, both with hot-and-cold pain-relief patches all over their bodies, gave me sheepish smiles as if to say, Hey, at least you don’t have to transfer schools, right?

I quietly let out a sigh, then took off my shoes to step inside.

My little siblings were still hanging on to my legs. Heavy little rascals.

I’d been poor all my life. We weren’t one of those families whose booming business failed or were ruined by the IMF crisis—no, nothing dramatic like that. We were just poor. Always. And it was probably the same for Mom and Dad.

That’s why I’d always wondered how it was even possible to stay in poverty so consistently for so long.

I’d seen neighbors who lived diligently and worked hard to pull themselves out of extreme poverty, and it wasn’t some stroke of luck or shady business that got them there. I mean, it wasn’t so far-fetched that I had to watch TV shows or the news for example—these were ordinary people we knew.

And my parents weren’t bad people either. Mom worked so hard day and night that she got sick often, and her medical bills cost more than she earned. Dad tried his best, but he really loved alcohol.

Or maybe it just couldn’t be helped.

I shelved such hopeless thoughts for now and taped a box shut. Ignoring the younger kids, who were running wild, we managed to get everything packed. Then…

“We’re moving… with that?”

We’d just hauled the boxes to the doorway. It felt like my back was ready to snap.

Dad had gone to fetch “the thing we’re going to be moving with” and brought back… a two-wheeled pull cart.

“Yeah.” Dad smiled awkwardly. “We don’t have much, and the new place is close. Should be two or three trips at most, I figured.”

I exhaled through my nose. I felt utterly hopeless. Forget rent, forget professional movers—we couldn’t even afford to rent a tiny truck.

While other kids who had no interest in studying were attending cram schools against their will, I was working part-time jobs to help cover living expenses.

Where had all that money gone?

Lashing out about it now was… meaningless.

“Let’s get to it.”

I calmly made my way to the boxes and picked one up. Mom and Dad hurried over to help. The kids were now much more interested in the cart, sparing me the burden of their weight on my legs.

“Haa, haa…”

But moving things on a clammy summer evening in June was brutal. You never got used to this kind of labor. The sounds of the cicadas somehow drowned out my parents’ grunts as they put their backs into it, as well as the kids’ chatter from nearby. Dizzy spells clouded my vision every now and then, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through.

“Daon, drink some water.”

Apparently, Mom noticed and offered me a bottle of water. Of course, it wasn’t a new bottle of water—it had been reused and refilled from the tap dozens of times.

“Yeah, take a breather,” Dad chimed in with a smile. He was stick thin, yet weirdly seasoned at this kind of relentless labor.

“Okay…”

What would it have been like if my parents had been truly awful people? A mom who went around sleeping with other men, or an alcoholic dad who was violent to his wife and kids? If that had been the case, maybe things would have been…

I straightened my back next to the wide-open front door and quenched my thirst with gulps of lukewarm tap water. I was getting sick of myself and my low-grade fantasies.

The little ones were running around, shrieking and giggling as if they hadn’t been crying earlier. Mom and Dad were diligently moving boxes. The scenery was almost peaceful.

But please… Someone help me…

I don’t know why, but a sudden desperate cry echoed inside me. I swallowed the lukewarm water I was holding in my mouth and shook my head, but the stifling feeling of hopelessness wasn’t easy to shake.

Meanwhile, the remaining boxes were clear tasks sitting tangible before me. I put down the water bottle and wiped my wet palms on my thighs so I could grab another box, when…

“Ah…”

I felt something crinkle in one of my pockets. I stopped and pulled it out. It was the note with the confession that I’d been given in the hallway earlier.

I looked at it silently.

The handwriting was far from refined, but it was written with clear effort to make it as neat as possible.

I stared at it for a moment.

How romantic. Must be nice to have time for something like this.

My reaction was cynical. The back of the guy as he ran up the stairs, bathed in the afternoon sunlight streaming in from the window. The ticklish sensation on my nose… It all felt like such a long time ago.

I crumpled the piece of paper in my palm and threw it on the ground. I reached for a box.

Hopeless.

As I lifted it with all the strength I could muster, another dictionary definition flashed through my mind.

Lonely and stifled, with nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

That could not be more true.

* * *

Steam vigorously poured out from the nozzle of the humidifier and dispersed into the air. I stared at it blankly and eventually lost myself in the calm.

The small pots on the inside of the tightly shut window looked like they were very well cared for. Their fresh greenery felt like they were of a different season than the dreary scenery outside.

Through the gap in the rickety sliding door that was painted in a pale yellow, I could hear the chatter of the students spilling in as they passed through the hall. But for some reason, the sound of the water bubbling inside the warm-mist humidifier sounded louder to my ears.

Sitting there in a daze for a while longer, I suddenly had a thought.

I feel safe right now.

Safe? It wasn’t like there was a war going on out there. But with all the tension that was seeping out of it, my body became so languid that drowsiness began to wash over me, causing my head to bob.

Lately, on top of my weekend shifts at the convenience store, I was working short evening shifts after school on the weekdays. Dad was bedridden after slipping on ice following his usual post-work drinks. Meanwhile, the restaurant where Mom worked had shut down, so she was busy nursing Dad and watching my younger siblings.

At least for now, I was perfectly safe. The cushions on the sofa I was sitting on were perfectly plush. My eyelids started to get really heavy.

Suddenly, the sliding door was pushed open with great force—bam!—snapping me back to reality and the reason I was alone in this cozy room in the first place.