All With Guns Drawn.pdf

All With Guns Drawn, All With Reason

1970's summer, San Francisco's Chinatown. Sweltering heat. Girlfriend walking around the apartment in the nude when the air conditioning has broken down. No complaints. Reciting the Bible while I am trying to work out the loose ends of our apartment rent. Complaints. Every day, I pretend to be a person I am not. My Father came to America from Korea thirty years ago with the hopes of success, with hopes of what this country bribed us here for: the American Dream. And what did he find? Full time job at the Laundromat. I worked there as a child and was homeschooled by him, only under the broken English he learned in and between the American life. I do not wish to put his efforts on smuggling me on the boat and raising me while balancing his piling debts in vain. But working in a Chinese restaurant under a workaholic boss, dealing with the crazy ideas of my only trusted companion, and fighting amongst Chinese gang members was not what I had in mind about continuing my Father's legacy after he died in the hands of a white man. Some loan shark with some lead. I am now 25 years old, with nowhere to go and nothing else to do but slave over what my Father has left me: thousands of dollars of debt. I do not wish to tell that part of me, my secret Korean American girlfriend Tiffany, a past customer of the restaurant that I worked at. And also my current English teacher. I do not want to burden her, or to hurt her. Or to involve her in the war I live in constantly. Inside and outside of me.

Act I: Evening, 1972

Act I: Evening, 1972

"Quit your yelling, you old hag!" "Me? Me? A hag, why you dirty old---" "Both of you! Shut the hell up or else I will just go over there with my gun and---" "No, you are not going anywhere with your gun! You still own that damn thing, you---" "Why can I not eat in this apartment anymore, you are all ruining my dining experience!" "In this beat down rat infested dump, I am surprised you had the iron stomach to cook at all!"

Decrescendo into silence.

"Good riddance."

I bent on knee on the nearby chair and propped my elbow on the small wooden table that threatened to lose one leg with any more pressure. Then I fanned myself with the newspaper that I'd just finished reading. I wondered why it was called a "news-paper" if there was never anything new in the paper. It was always this man killed and that man being semi suicide while his wife is wallowing in self-pity while crying for help that will never come. "You used the new expression that I taught you." My partner, girlfriend, domestic un-wed wife, whatever you would like to call two women in a relationship and living together, Hwang Tiffany, appeared at the doorway with our dinner. Thank the Lord, despite my lack of religion. This woman, this beautiful woman did not deserve to live here. I told her that we were living here because my Father raised me here in Chinatown because it was near the place he worked. He was a scholar in Korea, and a Laundromat owner on the dark alleyways of America. I told her that we couldn't move because I was a failure, I couldn't afford any place else. In reality, if I left this place, I would die just like my Father, maybe even in a worse way. In reality, I would do anything to get away, even follow through with some of the most outrageous plans Park Leeteuk had. I cared for my co-worker and comrade in this anarchy of a world held by the thin ropes of democracy, but sometimes, I regret meeting him. He lived in the room above ours with his Mother, equipped with a heart of gold but a viper's tongue. She would cook for us at times and donate some of the things she would receive in the mail from their Korean relatives, and I'm sure she called Tiffany all different kinds of alterations of "pretty" more than I have. But even this Mother's tough kind of love could never cover the bloody tracks of my Father, every time I look out the window from the

kitchen and dining room meshed into one, I see the dumpster in which his arm was hanging out of. It was just another story in the news, only I knew the truth, and only I was running from it while protecting it from everyone else. This truth was the only reason I'm alive and the very reason why I want to die. Apparently my dear Father, before he was shot and killed and thrown out like casual trash, associated with loan sharks and some Chinese gang members in order to establish a living. Now they wanted it back, but he couldn't give it to them. This was the only place we had. It kind of reminded of the government, in a strange way, that it hurts and harms and corrupts and does no one any good, but you can't leave. Right now everyone was laying low, but I knew I was just a rabbit, bounding in front of the tigers that disguised themselves in the bushes. "Yes, are you proud?" I fluttered the newspaper once more and spread it on the table, since there was no tablecloth. She paused after she set the tray down on the shaky table and stared intensely at the two doors that wore scratches, bullet holes and broken hinges. Before we ate dinner, only dinner, she would do such. Tiffany would just stare at those double doors, the left one would lead to the bedroom, and the right one would lead to the bathroom. We just had bare necessities. A bed, a dresser, and a bookcase in the bedroom and a sink, a toilet, and a shower in the bathroom. Everything tried to fight against time until they would all break. The only thing that ever changed in this house were the small details, a toothbrush here, a pot and pan over there, and the books in the bookcase. Constantly. It was overflowing, some even had to be placed onto the floor. There was just too much, but never enough.

"Very." She finally snapped out of her trance and hastily set up the table, trying to make up for the time that would never come back. Crack. A plate hit the floor and everything shattered. "Tiffany!" I quickly leaned down to observe the beads of blood dripping down her legs, streaks of red against a flawless white. Such perfection, destroyed. Tiffany gritted through the pain and spoke, "I'm sorry for breaking the plate...you just bought the set yesterday, didn't you?" I looked up at her. Then I look away. "How could you? How could you care about how I feel more than your own health?" "Because you suffer more than me." "Tiffany...come on, let me help you with your leg and we will eat dinner."

She peered at me over her bowl, making me slightly uncomfortable until I broke the silence. I jabbed my chopsticks at her.

"What is it? You are not usually so quiet, you are usually telling me what happened today amongst the other gossiping women at the market or teaching me some new words, both appropriate and no so appropriate." I was met with silence, this worried me greatly. "What is it, Tiffany, just tell me!" I slammed my chopsticks with down the table as it shook violently and the dishes shook with high magnitude. I didn't mean to create such a ruckus. But Tiffany remained calm. "Why are you always on the edge, Tae?" "'On the edge?'" "It means to be like a bomb, like you could go off any moment. You never seem to be happy, Taeyeon, but you never tell anyone why." "Because there is nothing to say." "Taeyeon, please..." She reached over for my arm, but I jerked away. She didn't need to know, nor would she understand. I was afraid to see her reaction if I told her I was being chased by some loan sharks and running errands for the Chinese mob, trying to pay off a damn debt. Even more so, I was afraid of losing her to my own lie, telling her that all I do is take orders from white people and play waitress at a Chinese restaurant all day. Ironically, I would rather take orders from the white people than

my own race; at least I could keep my hands clean if I did. But I didn't, I have killed, smuggled and sold people, I am tired of it. Sick of it, sick of my own self. "I was happy when I met you." She gave me a fond smile, but it didn't decrease the rate of my beating heart. "I'm happy with you Taeyeon, right now, I'm just happy with the fact that you're working for us. I understand your efforts. I appreciate them." No, you don't understand, and yes, you should be damn happy because I almost got stabbed in the neck with a broken bottle during the rival rumble last night. I was always in the front line. Kill the Korean one first, they would say. My jaw just clenched tighter. "Thank you, Tiffany." "But that doesn't answer my question." “Why are you still here with me? In a place I can barely afford. I cannot give you children. Or even marriage. Maybe not even love. I will feel too guilty.”

“Because you have a dream. You have an open ended dream: to be anywhere but here. I believe in you.”

“But any man would have a dream, would he not? And if you married a man, it would be easy for you. You would still cook, clean, and read books minus the fear of being shot. Or raped. Or both.”

“Kim Taeyeon! Don't talk so grotesquely at the dinner table!”

“Oh, does crucified sound better to you, Tiffany?”

"Taeyeon, why are you always like this? No, you weren't like this when we met."

"Tiffany, that was a long time ago."

"No, Taeyeon, that was only five years ago."

The year my Father was killed. I was twenty; she was nineteen, just out of college. I was crazy in love then, detached from reality, but I would never let my Father know. The only comfort in his Rest in Peace now is that he would never know and I would never have to hide this from him. I would do anything for her, and I am doing anything for her now. She moved in two years ago, from a street which was Korean exclusive to here. I was doing what I was doing now, running around for

the gang, but I was happier then. For some damn reason, I was happier then even though every night was a repeat of the last. Love made her throw her privileged life away, and every day, I feel more guilty every time I find that "I love you" choked up in my throat, tightening up until I feel it would just explode.

Both of us sacrificed our appetites to dead space, to a matter that neither of us could discuss. I was leading a double life, and Tiffany was, I am sure, was feeling remorse for selling her nice little condo for this worn down suite for the rats. She suddenly stood, she was taller than me, always had been. In body and in mind. The chair legs scraped against the floor, the sound reverberating around the room. I flinched at the harsh unwelcoming sound but she ignored it, instead, she strode up behind me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

"Tell me why you're just so tired all the time, Taeyeon. I want to help you, I really do. Is it Collins again? Do you have another overtime?"

"No, it is not my sadistic cow of a boss this time. It is just---you are so optimistic, Tiffany, and I want so many things. So many things. I want something more than being under others. I want you to have a job, better than selling food for people, food that we ourselves cannot afford. Are you happy working in the market?"

"Well, I have been working in the market for a long time, Taeyeon. Delivering this and shipping that, that's all that's really open to people like us."

"I do not want to be the 'people like us,' it doesn't matter, a Laundromat like my Father, another rip-off Chinese restaurant, another supermarket, it doesn't matter. I just want to own something, like my Father had. And every day I apologize to him for selling the Laundromat."

"You had no choice, Taeyeon; you needed that upkeep for the rent."

And I needed to save my own hide.

"I'm sure this all is just a phase. Like some kind of midlife crisis. After this, things will be better."

"The more you say things like that, the more I find it hard to believe. And are you calling me old?"

She kissed me, "'Course not."

"Good."

"Maybe things will look up so far that you have to crane you neck."

I looked at her with an eyebrow raised and my frown still plastered to my face.

"And wait for it to break. Sure."

Her lips just twisted into another smile and looked up.

"At least all the havoc being wrecked upstairs have quieted down."

I kissed her.

"Good riddance."

Act II: Evening to Night, 1972

Act II: Evening to Night, 1972

Life only seemed complete when we were lying in bed, even when we made love in this bed, I never felt complete. Complete meant to be at peace with myself, but with a body like Tiffany's, it was hard to be at peace. Peace didn't exist under this roof; I could hear the echoes of gunshots in the distance. It was chaos outside of our supposed shelter. It was chaos in the outside world. But nothing new. I propped my reading glasses farther up my nose as I chose tonight's book that would serve as my lullaby. Also the thick frames would blur my vision from the arousal that coursed through me when I saw Tiffany's sleep wear. Every night, any weather, an oversized T-shirt with shorts so short...damn. I was known for my strict attitude about keeping in line and giving a woman her space. But Tiffany just twisted those words into nonsense. How could I not touch her? Do I not have a right? I will not hurt her, I will release if she says "no." If I promise myself that, can I touch her? Of course I can. Why think so much? "How are the wounds on your hand?" She sank into the bed next to me and tenderly inspected my hand, my muscles jerked involuntarily at the warm touch to a cold mass.

"Fine, I suppose." "Fine? You call this fine? Look at you, it opened up again." "Well, carrying hot plates all day at breakneck speed before customer impatience is not good for the healing process." "But you don't just get scars on your hands, Taeyeon, what about that long running scar from your nape to your tailbone?" She said it almost accusingly and I couldn't meet her eyes. That cut, it used to be a scare, now it's just a nuisance. It scabbed and scarred all over, but it would never heal. And that was the beginning of my troubles. While I was in mourning of my Father, the mob trashed in, threw the ashes outside the window in which I witnessed him shot. They demanded for all the debts to be paid before I could leave their sight, and for me to forfeit my Father's Laundromat, technically now the mob's. To secure my foot soldier place in their ranks, for something to remember me by no matter how I tried to change myself, that scare was the souvenir. That was when my world crumbled apart, and Tiffany became a small bandage to all of it. "I..." "No, don't say it Taeyeon. You won't tell me the truth. I'm sorry that I asked." I made all sorts of excuses, and with those soft, pleading eyes, my pained heart has paid the price. "Jagiya..."

"I love you, I hope you know that, Taeyeon." "I, um, yes." "You don't have to kill yourself over saying it, because all this tells me a thousand words." She raised her head again, and this time, I didn't think she saw the torn down apartment complex, I think she saw something that made her smile. The things that we've built together, such as that bookcase, and how I brought the hammer down on my own hand and begged her to kiss it better. The rickety old chair that I sat on the floor trying to fix over and over again with no avail, only to have her simply nail it all back together. Tiffany was someone that kept me alive, someone to live for, and even with my constant paranoia and wavering emotions, I did love her. While sitting in this bed, book in one hand and twirling of the girlfriend's hair in another, nostalgia consumed me. And so did arousal as my eyes slid down her thighs. I set the book down and she took my hand and coasted it up her thigh. She always knew what I wanted, always one step in front of me every session. I never minded. With Tiffany, what was there to mind? I was about to lower my lips to her's until obnoxious knocking drew us apart. Interruption, I minded that a lot. I shook my head and rebelled against the rudeness with a growl. But even after several of attempts of trying to kiss her skin, she kicked me away and pointed to the door. I could win against men three times my size in a gang war, save for bullets almost going through my stomach and a couple scrapes here and there. I could never win against Hwang Tiffany who didn't leave a mark on me. I lose to her taps that wouldn't even wake a sleeping child. After all

my failures, I just grumbled while rolling off of her and just crossed my arms and turned away. I could feel the top layer of the blankets peel away to wrap around her body to save her modestly even though she wasn't bare. And through the muffling walls, I knew that there was no reason to worry. No reason to pick up the pistol from under my bed. It was just Park Leeteuk, anyway. "I made these pancakes in the kitchen tonight for the legitimate reason to please you. So you better eat them tomorrow and be pleased even with their non-five star quality." "Why, thank you, Leeteuk. But I'm sure you didn't come all the way down all those flights of stairs to please us with pancakes?" "To be honest, the pancakes were an excuse." I could imagine Tiffany nodding knowingly and hide her smile at the seemingly gentleman's politeness. "Taeyeon?" "In the bedroom." And I could hear footsteps, stepping with confidence like he owned the place, nearer and nearer until he burst in. "Taeyeon, oh my God!" "What?" was my not amused reply. "I have an idea!"

I sat up in bed suddenly, throwing the covers off in exasperation. I liked this friend, I did, although he didn't know my night life as much as Tiffany didn't know, he was always a great source of entertainment. But at eleven at night, anyone but a naked Tiffany was just an annoyance. "Park Leeteuk, you always have an idea. Always at the wrong time. I do not want to hear it right now." Tiffany trudged behind him, ready to mediate the situation. "Please listen to him, Taeyeon. Maybe he does have a great idea, you always told me that it was important to have a backup plan." Leeteuk agreed readily and I just sighed. I will never win. "Fine, what is your brilliant idea?" "To own a business." My eyes widen at his suggestion, it wasn't because it was impossible, I could rake through my savings...but for him to... "Leeteuk. You come here at eleven PM to invade my privacy that I rarely have time for to tell me that? Of course I would like to own a business, but come back and discuss it with me later." "But you do not understand." I uncovered my head with the tattered cloth of a blanket and peered at him long enough for him to speak. Well, even if I didn't give him a chance, he would make one himself just to keep talking.

"Taeyeon, stop looking at me like I have lost my mind more than I have. We can completely do this. We just need money. And I can invest in a little store, like a supermarket, or Laundromat, or something. Just anything than being under someone else. You do not have to slave overtime anymore. It will be all over." “We will have our little haven. Then what? We cannot hide in our nonexistent store forever. As a minority, do you think you would get any respect? Do you think people will actually come and buy things from us?”

“That is why we are moving out of the Chinatown. All three of us. Just move into a small flat, just start from the beginning. Freshly.”

"That's ridiculous."

"That's great!"

Tiffany and Leeteuk practically danced across the room like they discovered a way to cure cancer or saved every child from world hunger. This idea has been proposed before, but I just waved him away. But now it has been proposed to the person of my affection for the first time, the idea would take on a whole new dynamic. I needed to avoid the topic of moving out as much as I could. Because I

knew if I would be a dead woman if I dared to run away. Tiffany locked eyes with me and I just sighed.

And for the record, the mood was ruined.

Act III: Afternoon, 1972

Act III: Afternoon, 1972

She fingered its velvet red lining, and reluctantly folded it back on the rack. The wine red dress with golden lotus patterns. Tiffany wanted it when she met me and she kept wanting it until this very minute, perhaps even before she met me. If she didn't sacrifice everything to move in with me in constant poverty, she would have gotten it. Because she deserved it. And I would watch in equal sorrow. I didn't care for the dress, hell; I never liked wearing skirts or dresses. I supposed it was because they would get in the way of running from the gun if they were below the knee, and I didn't like the exposure they presented above it.

Every time we traveled into town, she would just look at it. Scrutinize it. So much so that the shopkeeper, Ami Liang, took it off the shelves and present it on a more obscure part of the shop, labeling it as "not for sale." I figured it was because the shopkeeper didn't want to sell it off and see the smiles and wonder slip off of Tiffany's face when we visited this dress shop. Tiffany was the only light around here.

"Ami?"

"Over there, as usual."

And Tiffany would let go of my hand only to watch the red dress flutter.

I had about enough of her staring, her materialistic dream slipping away from her fingers because of me. Because she needed to pitch in her efforts, everything that she owned for my half lived life. I couldn't even take care of myself with a cut there and a hit here, what was I thinking when I told her it was safe to move in with me? When I told her she would be happy with me? But it was too late to pull the offer away now; I was too much in love. And debt.

"Tiffany, let's go, the more you see things, the more you want things."

"Taeyeon..."

That was the first time I've ever interrupted her staring session with that dress. Before, I wouldn't dare to move, I allowed her to indulge in her fantasy of wearing the dress. But I just couldn't...I was selfish, the longer she gazed, the harder my heart burned for the fact I couldn't afford it. It was just that, Tiffany never asked for it, but she made it boldly apparent that she wanted it. And I just couldn't give it to her, I just couldn't. I grabbed her hand and steered her to the exit, all the patrons' eyes were on us, and Ami was just looking on with a mix of despair. She has seen too many people like us, but not us particularly as a couple. She didn't know that we were together, if she did, we wouldn't be able to be allowed in the store without judgment. But she saw us as just working women in the lower middle class, the people who struggled to pay rent, but didn't beg on the streets. 'Though I came really close to it. I was so close to the exit before I just couldn't take it anymore. Everyone's eyes looking down on me, knowing that we came here almost all the

time, but didn't buy a thing. The women and men who could afford these things were looking down on us, literally, I knew they were. Us, who could only dream of touching such fabrics. That dress was a tempting sin. And I bought it. I bought it because I didn't want to sin by not giving Tiffany what she deserved from the start. Something she would value much more than the women with pearls around their necks, even if Tiffany would wear it only once. Well, I was about to buy it, but a gentle hand on my wrist told me not to. "Do you not want the dress?" "First you told me not to look at it, now you're buying it?" "Fine, what do you want me to do?" "I want you to buy it when you and Leeteuk make a stable income." "You mean that stupid idea?" "That's not a stupid idea, listen, Leeteuk's idea was pretty great, I think. You both have the perseverance and the charm to pull business off. It's going to be a little story anyway, right? We won't risk too much if we go into---" "Do you want the dress or not?" "If it's not from the money you will make from that business, I don't want it." "But Tiffany---" "I don't want you to stress even more on a silly impulse for me, Taeyeon."

"Tiffany..." I didn't understand how this woman thought about things. She stared at that dress like her life depended on it, and now she didn't want it. And from that, I felt more like a failure. If one doesn't understand, one gives up and feigns ignorance. I gave up and ignored the true intention behind her rejection, I thought she wanted me to go into business because I didn't make enough for her. But she wanted me to go into business because she wanted me to take a chance for myself, and not spend too much effort on her. Later on in my life, I realized that most of what I did had her in my thoughts, never myself. It began to become unhealthy about the mental and physical strain I was placing on myself to see her smile. Yet in the past, I was too blind. I shrugged her hand off of my skin and scowled at her words. For some reason, they stung. "I have to go to work, I cannot be here anymore." "Wait, Taeyeon, isn't your shift later?" "Later is now." Without another word, I shook Tiffany further away and trudged to the store exit. I couldn't stand all the eyes on me.

"I'm not Japanese, so that that Konichiwa and stick it up your ass! Have a nice day."

I swept my hair to one side and chuckled at Leeteuk's attitude, it amused me, yet it him into countless times of troubles. Fights were usually started by a couple snarky comments by him, the only reason why he could stay here and work was that his hard work was parallel to an entire new workforce's. I folded my silk vest neatly over my slightly wrinkled white shirt (minus the dark brown of Tiffany's ironing skills) and confirmed that I would much rather be here than there. And also the fact that this vest, provided by the restaurant, was the priciest article of clothing that I owned. The Golden Dragon had sheltered me well, all those that I could trust resided in this very area, and even some frequent customers have assisted me along my career, not tattling on me when I dropped a plate, and giving me constant compliments therefore I didn't have to be given overtime by my white boss. Obviously, in this cruel world, there were exceptions, and my exception was Terrence Wong, or just "Terry." Chinese-American. That was the way he introduced himself, and my nightmares only increased when he added in private as I was pulled over into the large meat fridge, "I was sent by the mob." Just those six words was like multiplying them by one hundred and eleven for me. Constantly, he subtly tortured me, flirting with Tiffany when she brought me lunch, blackmailing me into spilling my secrets in exchange for his workload, but he never touched me. At first I thought he actually had a respectable bone in his body, but he later revealed that it was just boss' orders, if he was only free...I shivered at the thought. Outside of the Golden Dragon, we fought together frequently, despite his horrible intention towards me all the time to make my life miserable; he was an adequate fighter and aided me on the front lines many times. I wondered why he took that bullet to the shoulder for me. I also wondered why the mob has such a tight hold on me, but never actually suffocated me. Why dangle me on a thin string but never let me fall?

There were just too many concepts in life that I couldn't understand. But later they would come full circle, I knew, like an instinct, I wouldn't die not knowing why the mob defended my life yet tortured it at the same time. Now I believe it was beyond my Father, now I believe that it was just me alone that triggered their twisted wishes. The wish to push me forward in life or to keep me back, I didn't know. It seemed like there were other intentions for pulling the strings of my economic status, meaning my life. Threats were made constantly, but have I ever really taken a bullet to the head? After clearing out the rest of the dishes, I scooped up the trash and was prepared to lug it own into the main bin when I spotted a crouched figure on the steps, smoke wafting from it and polluting the air. "Up." Terry tossed a cigarette box my way and I caught it. "Your reflexes have gotten better." I was not prepared for the lighter. "Lighters and smokes go hand in hand, you should have known that when you met me. No matter, your reflexes still suck, Korean." "Would you ever call me by my name, Terry?" I inquired with indifference, his little games became more like annoying antics now, and I no longer feared him. But he still could find ways to take me out of my comfort zone and light my personal bubble on fire.

"Nope, Korean has a better flow, don't you think?" "I cannot find it." "Aw, what's with you and your proper speech, huh? What's so wrong with using a contraction once in a while?" "I am amazed that you know what those are, Terry. Why would you shorten the word 'cannot' into 'can't?' when it is harder to say and just two fewer letters to write? Do these...'contractions' exist so you can be lazy?" "Korean, you can't even pronounce 'contractions' without sounding like a retard, slurring your words like that. It's just the way Americans talk." "You are not American." "Who said I ain't American. Now shut up, calm your Korean ass down here and take a smoke." "You are too nice." "That's what my Mama used to tell me, before my Pa smacked her in the head with a booze bottle. Now she's all kind of loopy." "That would explain a lot." "No, what would explain a lot was that I was dropped as a baby. Now shut up again and come over here." It strangely felt comforting in a way to settle next to Terry when he was quiet for once. He didn't seem to have a care in the world, look up at the clouds in his free

time all day, he didn't even keep a leash on me like the other members of the gang. Because he didn't need leashes when he had good eyes. Twenty twenty. I almost liked him sometimes, even platonically. To sit next to a rival yet to still feel at a certain ease, pretending to be working when you're just slacking off and shaping the clouds in your imagination, watching the smoke from your cigarette float upwards as you take one long drag. I felt complete at this moment. Not with Tiffany, but on my own.

Act IV: Night, 1972

Act IV: Night, 1972

“Y-you killed him.” “Of course I did, no one, no one messes with Terrence Wong.” I looked up at my partner in crime, and felt a horrible taste in my mouth. It wasn't the blood, no, it was something worse, and it was that humanity filling me up every time I witnessed a killing. Terry told me I would get used to it, I didn't want to get used to it, I wanted to keep the shred of dignity I had left patched and sewed into my skin. In the heat of the moment, I had to admit that I lost myself multiple times, the sound of gunshots, screaming, sweat, spouting blood all over the windows and walls...it was sort of satisfying. Of course, in a sick kind of way. I wasn't like that, I wasn't a murderer. I only added another layer of brick to the wall separating me from the title of a Monster. The one that dabbles within the dark of the night in only evil, doing things no child was taught to do. But then again, I have seen a child hold a gun better than I could in a textbook once. And soon enough, I would run out of brick and would have to settle for hay. I dreaded that inevitable moment. My voice went stern, “why did you do it, Terry, he did not do anything.” “Look, Korean, look here, he wrecked my ride!”

There was barely a scratch on his car, and it was one of these moments in which I realized how privileged I was to be in the good presence of men like Terry. I bent over, as if trying to inspect the car for an actual dent, and just shook my head in disappointment. It was a gang war. I felt like I was walking under the water. Every single gang war felt new, because you would never know how an opponent would move. Move in for the kill. Move directly into your way, or be sniper practice on the front line. My position was less than desirable. Bang. “Watch yourself, you stupid fuck! You almost got shot!” It was years into the past, I was still recovering from my emotionally crippling experience of laying flowers on my Father’s grave and saying my prayers. That will not be answered. But soon I was thrown in the midst of a war, like fresh meat in front of lions. I was like a lost child; I didn’t know how to pull the trigger. I couldn’t pull the trigger. The want to take another life for my own was not even fathomed. That gun I my hands would not save me if I didn’t save myself. “You fucking Korean, give me that!” Terry ripped the gun from my hands and shot a few rounds. Rounds that saved my life, but I was not thankful, watching the man who attempted to kill me fall from his post on the roof just made me vomit. I fell to my knees, and my soul gave away to the sounds of white deaths. Deaths that possibly wouldn’t have happened if humans didn’t exist.

“I taught you how to use this fucking gun beforehand, right? So use it, aw, you sonofa---don’t go wuss on me now…” I could still feel the sticky Earth rain scratching the back of my body and dirtying my clothes as Terry dragged me to the nearest and safest outpost that our gang set up. I hated to use the word “our” when trying to set deals and arrangement with other gangs. I tried to avoid that possessive adjective as much as possible. I felt a hard slap to the face, and not only did I taste the foulness of my stomach, I tasted the blood of ripped internal skin. “Look here, Korean, there are only two laws of the jungle, kill, or be killed. I’m sure you don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, but we’re here. We’re here and we’ve got to fight because that’s our only chance to survive. Man, I can’t believe I was stuck with a weakling like you, a woman no less. If you don’t want to get fucking raped out there, you better fucking listen to what I saw, you got it?!” He spoke harshly, and softly, as not give away our position. And I earned a kick to my side when I didn’t answer. “I didn’t ask you to die on me, I asked you, ‘you got it?!” “Y-yes…” I managed. He threw two guns to my side and cracked his knuckles in annoyance. “You stay here, don’t fucking move or else I’ll blow your brains out myself. Fuck, you should be fucking happy that you’re under the protection of the Boss.”

As he dashed back into the heat of the battle, I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Just weeks ago, I was happy. I was actually happy; I thought I could just sell my Father’s Laundromat and move out with the money from his will. Although I still mourned by Father’s death, he wouldn’t have wanted me to be in grief forever. But now, now I wanted to be him, to be buried a couple feet under, where no man with a gun can touch him. Now all the guns were pointed at me, even from my own gang. But as useless and careless as I was in the triad, I was never shot. The men called me foul names, they threatened my womanhood, but they never laid a hand on me, and when they touched me, they even seemed afraid. And the men...they even seemed to envy me. I’m sure it wasn’t the amount of physical strength I had, but perhaps the value that I possessed? “Hey, hey you, we’re here.” My eyes blinked away fading memories and my mouth felt dry. I had indulged in my past so much that I have forgotten to periodically swallow. Terry removed his snapping fingers from my face and unlocked the car doors. “Why are we here?” “The fight was pretty close to home, so I guess you’re going to have to stay here for the night. We didn’t bring two cars, and I’m sure you don’t want to go off wandering out into the night by yourself.” “…Thanks.” There goes Terry again, making me sympathize him for a moment. “You should be thankful that my Mother is home.” For a moment, as I had said.

“Terrence! Put that smoke out or I will put you out!” A loud shrill ran through the air. “Aw, Ma, just once.” “One too many time!” Terrence’s Mother had her hands on her hips, the absolute sign of authority in this house. And while swearing under his breath, he tapped the cigarette away into the ashtray so the glowing red meshed into an unidentified black. I couldn’t help but smile. Here was the “baddest kid on the block,” the one who would be kicking sand in peoples’ eyes and pick pocketing lunch money, being chastised by his own Mother into submission. “You shouldn’t be smoking with girlfriend in the house.” Her heavy Chinese accent was apparent in her words, but you could still make out the hard diligent study of the native language. Hours and hours of translating and speaking from the dictionary, I’m sure. “She’s not my fucking girlfriend!” Terry replied with the utmost defiance and he even sat up straighter for emphasis, puffing his chest out. His Mother waved a finger warningly at him. “You swear one more time…” He just rested his head on his hand and stayed mum, clearly annoyed and exasperated at the lack of freedom he had. In China, he would have been the man of the house; his Mother would stay quiet and listen to him. No matter what he

wanted to say or do. But here, it was different. She had power. And I just watched this small scene in silent awe; two cultures that were separated by a single ocean were too contrasting. “We are not dating, Mrs. Wong.” Her eyes adjusted to me, she knew of the gang activity that Terry was in. She was too tired to tell him that this was not the life he should lead. I felt quite sorry for her; she didn’t raise Terry like this. There had to be some kind of back story as to why Terry would join the gang. Perhaps a tricky loan shark? Most likely it would have to be something about money, that was the only way a man could gain any kind of sense of power in this world. And maybe she felt for me as well, during the occasional times where I had to drop by Terry’s place. “A shame, you are a pretty girl. I know you are smart too. It’s hard.” “It is. I mean, Terry is a good guy. But, well…” “You are too smart for him.” “Ma!” Terry’s face was shielded from my view; his eyes seemed to have found the ceiling suddenly interesting. His blush was facing the ceiling also, but his Mother paid him no heed and continued with her speech. “Terrence is a good boy. He is. But playing with guns made him stupid.” She picked up the gun that was freely lying on the table, and Terry shot his hand out to stop her.

“Ma! Don’t! That’s dangerous!” But she had the gun in a death grip, and her eyes flashed with this sort of menace I have never seen before. If Mrs. Wong was on that battlefield, she could take all the men out. Just with a single bullet and that stare. “This,” she unlatched and all the bullets tumbled out onto the titled floor with loud wind chime sounds while Terry’s mouth unhinged at his Mother’s finesse with a gun, “this is a toy. Just a toy. For little children who don’t know how to use it.”

Act V: Morning, 1972

Act V: Morning, 1972

“Taeyeon, what is this?” “What is what?” I shuffled out of the bathroom, still drying my hair. I was thankful to Terry for allowing me a stay at his place for a good night’s rest on his bed while he was kicked out onto the living room couch. I would have to owe him a massage later when I worked today’s morning shift. I slipped out of the Wong’s house around 3AM, and drove Terry’s car back to the apartment complex, I would also have to return that to him later. He could take the train or carpool with one of his gangster allies, but I had to return home. Tiffany was waiting, I was sure. I could see the bags under her eyes which she constantly fought with in the morning. At night, though, she was this surreal being. I remembered last night, when I arrived home, when I unlocked the door; I could hear nothing but her breathing. Her calm, whispering breath that reverberated throughout the whole apartment. Through those double doors lied my woman, there was no doubt about that. I could feel her. But still, I approached quietly, and I could even hear her heartbeat pumping faster. Or maybe it was me. No matter how aloof I seemed, every time I saw her, my heart would beat as fast as the first time we kissed. Oh, the beauty that

she possessed. How lucky was I to be able to call it all mine?! If conditions were different, if we were given another chance to live a life without pain, without strife or sacrifice, I would never waste such time with a woman like her. But alas, this is the life I live. I can only evade the bullets to be able to rest at her bedside, like that night. I kneeled by her, watching where I placed my hands, I wanted to have balance, but not awaken the sleeping woman, no, she was a girl when she slept. Yet even with all my training in the gang of martial arts to approach a victim with sweeping silence, Tiffany still fluttered her eyes open. But she was not alarmed, I suspected that she was faking her sleep, she knew it was me. “What are you looking at…?” She didn’t mumble like a half asleep person, so I supposed it was false dozing. Tiffany spoke in a dry tone, though; maybe she was gripping the corner of sleep instead. “Why are you not asleep?” I muttered back my own inquiry just as dry. “I was waiting for you.” Then, guilt ate at my core again. She stayed up this late, for me, she isn’t supposed to. She deserved to sleep just like everyone else at a normal time, and not be plagued by thoughts of her loved ones not coming home by the standard curfew. “You are beautiful,” is all I can say. I must have been very tired from the drive home, because I then continued with my quiet babbling; I almost didn’t make sense to myself. But she must have liked what I said, because she didn’t say anything but dragged me up into bed. I realized that I wore my shoes into the house, and must have gotten a few carpets dirty, but Tiffany didn’t care. All she did was hold me from behind, and I already felt like a child again. This is what Mrs. Wong meant, I keep running back home, and I keep running back into the oblivious Tiffany for

comfort. I’m unconsciously using her, like a child unconsciously uses its Mother, I cannot focus on the needs or anyone but myself. When the sun rises the next day, both of us know that we will be characters within a brand new love quarrel over useless things, and she will sell at the market again, and I will burn all my fingers by hoisting up hot plates. But at night, it’s just night, it’s not a time to be afraid anymore, it’s just a time to rest near those who will protect you. “This.” Tiffany was twirling my gun around her index finger. During my vertigo yesterday night, I must have forgotten to stow away my gun, like my shoes. But of course, now the shoes were the least of concerns. I needed to dodge an inevitable question, I knew that she would find out, but I didn’t want it to be like this. I wanted it to be forever a secret. So right now, I can only stare dumbly at the wall, finding it intensively and suddenly interesting. “Taeyeon, you will answer me right now.” “I was just practicing my right to bear arms. The Second Amendment, I read about it yesterday.” That was the most pathetic excuse for an excuse I have ever said in my entire life. My face lit red with the flames of mortification about how thin the ice was in which I was treading. And that excuse just made a huge crack in the middle of the ice, and my mask. She stared at me expectantly, and skeptically. I didn’t blame her. “That reminds me, yesterday, where were you yesterday?” “Terry Wong’s house, we had a project, I had to run an errand, it was late.”

That was the traditional excuse that I used a lot. It was much more reasonable; at first Tiffany was apprehensive about me going alone to a man’s house. But over time, when she found no markings on my body that could be passed on in the midst of a certain heat, the excuse gained strength and her suspicions faded away. Now they were lit anew by the gunpowder of a gun. And if I wasn’t careful, she may explode. “And you had to bring a gun to the Wong’s house?” “You always told me to be careful.” “Well, yeah, but that was before I met Terry Wong. And knew how much he was kind of…I don’t know, afraid of you?” “That sounded like a question.” “That is a question, I always wondered why, but I never wanted to ask you. Because you always seemed stressed, well, nowadays. I knew I couldn’t figure out on my own, you never dropped a hint. You were good at hiding things, Taeyeon. But this, you can’t hide this.” She shook the gun in her hands; the only part of me that was thankful that I left the gun in my jacket that hung loosely around the chair was that the gun was safety locked. Tiffany could have blown her brains out with the way she was toying with the gun, and as much as I didn’t want her to know my secrets, I didn’t want her to die. If she died, it wouldn’t be worth a thing, because even I do not know all the secrets of myself either. “No, I can’t, but---“ I pressed the alarm off that suddenly rang around the entire room. Her look hardened into an inexplicable glare. I gulped, the warm traces of yesterday night

was gone. It was morning now, and I ironically feared morning more than night, but not without a good reason. And this reason was an angry Tiffany, purely disgusted by me. I know what I’ve done; I know that our relationship was caving in, piece by piece, falling apart, part by part. I know that I can’t run away anymore. But that doesn’t keep me from doing it. “Look, just put the gun down. I will explain later. Do not touch the gun.” I was half way out the door, half dressed in my uniform, my all my buttons loose. “Where are you going?” “Work, you don’t know after so long where I go?” I couldn’t stop breaking her apart. “No, Taeyeon, actually, I never know where you are nowadays,” she stepped closer, usually I would welcome her, but now I just felt threatened. “Nowadays, I sit here at night, and I wait, alone. When you come home early, let’s say 1AM in the very early morning, that’s already an award for me. Even yesterday night was early. And then you come home, you say some stupid things that I always fall for. I don’t know why I always for it! Maybe because they’re said all by you? Then we hold each other in bed and pretend everything is alright! All those things, God, do you mean them anymore?” Her voice was laced with something that was meant to hurt. It was no longer the words that scarred me, I expected them to fly out of her mouth some day and pierce my like arrows. But her tone was much harsher than I would have thought she could have the potential to produce. I bet she borrowed the winds of the Artic to create such an edge in her tone. But it was the fuming part of her that motivated

me even more to get away, but now I’ve forgotten where. All I can process at that moment is the fact that Tiffany is mad, I need to go somewhere far far away so she doesn’t become even angrier. Or maybe walking away will just add fuel to the fire. But I just don’t know how to deal with Tiffany’s anger at this level, she’s closing in on me, I just don’t--I pushed her backwards, physically, and she landed on the floor. “I-I am sorry…I…I do not...I do not know how to…how to answer you. I just…I will see you later.” But I lived with a strong woman, and she gripped my wrist to support herself up and anchor me down. I had one hand on the doorknob, the other in her unfriendly grasp. “You didn’t answer the very first question I asked you Taeyeon. I’ve had enough. Where the hell did you get that gun? You’ve lied to me too many times, I’m not an idiot, you tell me, or I leave.” Tiffany, if only you knew the gravitation of the situation! That isn’t simply just a gun, that is my life! I wanted to tell her that so much, so many times. In the very beginning, that gun was the first thing I wanted to discuss, to put out of our lives. But the dangers of her being involved, and with her strong willed nature, she would not be an ideal character in the mob that demanded complete submission of the common people. If only I had a clean slate to work upon, if only that slate was white. “Taeyeon, yesterday night, I had an argument with my Father.”

Her voice dropped a couple octaves that grabbed my attention. What was with the switched breeching of subjects? “He didn’t approve of me, you, or the way we were living.” She continued with a small sad smile that made me want to hold her right there and then, but I clenched my hands into fists, digging my broken nails into pads of flesh. “I was happy though, and that was all that mattered to him when I was little. But we’re not little anymore, Taeyeon. We can’t just stand around, sit around, walk around and be miniature actors and actresses in the world. We can play the part of being taken care of all the time. You might think you’re an adult with this gun Taeyeon, but you’re not. You don’t need this gun to get the respect that you want. And the same goes to my Father; he doesn’t need his shotgun to make other people listen to him. If they would only sit down…if they would all just sit down and talk with each other, then maybe Mother wouldn’t have died. Sometimes, when I look at him with his shotgun in his hands, he almost seems like a stranger to me. And that hurts, don’t you understand, Taeyeon? To know that the person you loved is no longer here and you can’t bring them back? He’s my Father, the man who raised me with the most delicate of care, but at times, he looks at me like we’re strangers.” Her hand loosened her pressure on mine. “He looks at me like how you look at me.” I let go of her hand, and I leave out the front door that has a slightly damaged hinge. And through the thin walls, I can hear the shattering of Tiffany’s porcelain heart.

Act VI: Afternoon to Evening, 1972

Act VI: Afternoon to Evening, 1972

“…And then I left.” “You’re just being stupid, now.” “I know that was an idiotic decision, Leeteuk, but that look, that look…I just could not look her in the eyes.” “Tell me that you’ve done something extremely stupid.” “I have…done something stupid.” “There, that is the smartest thing you have said all day.” My eyes narrowed into a glare I knew very well that he did not deserve. But my pride whispered different sinful demands into my ears. The greatest sin was leaving Tiffany alone, her haunting sobs echoed into my ears. I couldn’t focus at work at all; I dropped my salary’s worth of plates, and took multiple wrong orders. If Collins wasn’t upset, Leeteuk was, and he thankfully pulled me aside to drink my bottled emotions before I got myself fired.

“What is wrong with you? Usually you’re the sharpest one around; you work harder than all of us put together. But now, now you’ve become some sort of slob. Has arguing with Tiffany affected you that much?” “But it was not just an argument.” No, it wasn’t just an argument to me. It was the private burning of a bridge, a bridge between her and me that used to be so strong. It was just rubbish and ash now, softly blowing in the wind to a place I will never reach. I knew if I went back home, then it would mean building from scratch again, from the raw materials of stone. I would never build the bridge back into its full potential though, because it would only be from my side. Tiffany doesn’t want to stay with a liar, and I am one, through and through. He just didn’t understand, and he would never. “Look, I know you’re upset. But you’ve got to focus; you can’t let this get in the way, or well, life. I mean, sure Tiffany is important and a large part of your life and all. But you’ve got work, and, and responsibilities that are more important than her.” If you only knew, Leeteuk, if you only knew without a price. “But I think, you know, I think I’ve got a solution.” It was that again. His plan to own a building, a place where he can put his name on it like a man and call it his. Leeteuk’s eyes lit up every time he spoke about the plan, there was no mistaking the climb in his voice as it rose higher and higher in excited volume. His face could be a scene from a Christmas morning, so how

could I bring myself to be the one to crush his spirits? I didn’t need to add any more wrong to my repertoire of cursed evils. “And we’re going to…you didn’t let me finish! Hey!” “Hide me, God damnit!” “Why---oh, hey, Tiffany. It’s uhm, it’s you.” “Is Taeyeon here?” She already knew the answer, but asking questions was a reflex for the human nature of curiosity. “Ah, uhm, no.” Leeteuk had atrocious lying skills, despite his talkative wit. But Tiffany didn’t press on, and here I knew was my second mistake. Hiding, all crunched in an awkward angle behind the kitchen cupboards. I thought I heard some of my bones crack. I shouldn’t be hiding; I should be facing Tiffany, not like a man, but like a person with the actual capacity to feel emotion for another. But I never promised Tiffany love, so I found this dark excuse in the back of my head and used it. I knew I would feel terrible tomorrow. My so called savior continued with his stumbling of words, “she’s, uhm, she’s out somewhere running an errand. You know, just doing things.” I could practically hear the suspicion in Tiffany’s voice, “oh, I see, maybe I’ll come back later.” “Sure, yeah, sure, later, when she comes back. If she does.” “She will come back.”

There was truth there. I had nowhere else to go; my life has been restrained to the restaurant, the house, and all the other places I’ve gone to was with Terry and the rest of the gang members that I never bothered to remember. I’ve never, after my Father died, actually focused on travelling anywhere, I’ve been so focused on myself that I realized that I’ve been losing everything. I needed to do something about it; I needed to continue on, even with the scars. This internal battle constantly raged within me every day. But I couldn’t allow it to keep ripping me apart, I felt like I was on the brink of self-destruction. And I wasn’t the type to enjoy losing. So why wait for this bottled feeling to explode tomorrow when I could just let loose right now? “Tiffany!” Even I amazed myself with the amount of decibels that was put into my voice. Her head swiftly followed the flame of my voice to the source: me. “Taeyeon…?” “Tiffany, let us go.” “Where---wait, Taeyeon!” Before another beat could pass in wasted silence, Tiffany’s hand was in mine and I ran with a part of her in my possession. Pieces that will somehow make me feel whole. I left Leeteuk in the dust, scratching his head in a mix of confusion and disappointment at his plan being tossed away in the presence of another woman. Friends were not on the top of my list of importance, Tiffany was. Tiffany wasn’t just my friend, but she wasn’t my life either. I suppose she was just Tiffany,

someone who couldn’t be described by anything, not even words. There was just never enough. I was still in my uniform, and she was still in the summer gown that she slept in the night before. Her makeup wasn’t done, not even her hair. But that didn’t matter; I wanted nothing more right now but to take her up in my arms. And apologize, apologize until my throat was dry and my eyes were wet. “Taeyeon…wh-what?” She took the momentary pause to catch her breath, I ran in all kinds of direction around town, I might have dashed the entire perimeter. And Tiffany obviously wasn’t trained or dressed appropriate for any kind of running activity. “That was…that was kind of crazy, spontaneous, God, Taeyeon, if I knew that you were going to drag me around like this, I would have never dated you. Or loved you, for that matter.” When our eyes met, I understood her double meaning. I dragged her around with me for many long years; it might not feel long when you’re married, when you’re moderately young, it feels like eternity. Saying nothing, just holding Tiffany’s hand, watching the waves of the lakeside we arrived at, it felt like my teenage years again. Where every day felt like forever, sitting in class, carving wooden stick figures into the desks, counting every second that felt like minutes. I missed that, I missed feeling the warmth of Tiffany’s hand, it was a fresh and renewing feeling compared to that of the cold touch of a metal knife. There were too many things that I missed in the past that have been killed and buried under the pressures of the future. If only life was simpler enough for me to enjoy the simplest of things like before.

If only it could be like this for the rest of my life. “Taeyeon.” “This just proves how bad we have gotten, does this not?” “What do you mean?” “That I must, I must run you all across town just for a moment like this. A moment to ourselves, where we are not rushed by society to succeed, where no one cares for anything more than the love we can give one another. When people kept telling us to grow slowly, because we had time. Time is our greatest enemy that we cannot fight against.” I could take down a hundred men that want to land a bullet in my head, but I could never duel with time, no, I would always be the second to last man to fall. “I wish we could deal with all our problems tomorrow,” I concluded. Tiffany just nodded in quiet agreement. “But you can’t keep mourning for the past, Taeyeon, you need to move on.” “If the future was brighter, I would not be mourning.” “You need to move on.” “What are you implying, Tiffany?” “I found you, to tell you, that you need to move on. There is no tomorrow to deal with our problems, there is only today. And this gun, you, your life that you’re not

telling me, these are just problems that I can’t deal with anymore. And surely my existence is just pulling you down. I need to leave. You need me to leave.” “B-but, this is sort of abrupt, do you not think so? I feel like, I feel like we have just met, we have just met yesterday, and now, and now you’re leaving me? Everything we have done…” “Feels like a waste, doesn’t it? But there isn’t any other of a choice; you need to get your life figured out before you put mine in it. You can’t take care of me when you clearly can’t take care of yourself.” “But I can take care of you! Do you not see…in the future, I will get a promotion, I will…” “Then why the gun, why the constant paranoia of something that I can’t see, why all the running away and evading everything I’ve loved you for?” “You wanted to be an actress. Did you not say that America was full of dreams? And imagination. Yes, imagination. Acting is all about imagination, is it not? So let us say that we are married in America, it is just us to with the world to spend. And let us also pretend that I am romantic.” Tiffany dropped my hand that was held onto for too long, and keenly back away. I didn’t even notice, I was too shocked by her confession to leave me. It was going to arrive, I was sure, but I didn’t know how soon. Time, I will never win against it. “You were the greatest actress of them all, Taeyeon. But you need to stop imagining things.”

I never listened to her though, I still imagined. I still imagined of a place where I had enough time. The sun had set. My only light has left me.

Act VII: Evening to Night, 1972

Act VII: Evening to Night, 1972

“You wouldn’t do it, you fucking Korean, you wouldn’t do it.” Terry’s voice whistled in the wind that blew. I just thrust the point of my gun further into the dense air. I had just broken up with Tiffany, and like a mindless heartbroken teenage, I decided to do something rash. So I scoped out Terry’s usual smoking spot, behind the trashcans of the Golden Dragon. “You wouldn’t pull the trigger.” “W-why not?” Even I knew I wouldn’t pull the trigger, as much as I hated the gang, Terry, my own life, I knew there wasn’t enough pressure for me to yank the trigger and shoot. But there was enough pressure for me to cock the gun. Terry just laughed in the face of death. “You’re turning the gun on me, and you’re the one peeing your pants? God, I knew you were pathetic from the start.” “Do not push me, I will…”

“Not, you won’t pull the trigger because you know if you pull the trigger you…” A cold metal sensation tapped the back of my head. My stalker was right behind me, but I couldn’t see their face, I didn’t know if they were man or woman, but at the moment, it didn’t matter to me. It doesn’t even matter if it was a child, because I could feel the emotionless eyes staring me down. Eyes, that was more emotionless than my heart when I wrecked Tiffany. The stranger never spoke. “So…so this is what my life is about, is it? It is actually more simple than I thought: kill, or be killed. This is how all our lives go about, do they not? All we know is how to point guns at each other and see who will be shot first.” My voice was surprisingly firm even when the tables turned on me. It was in this moment that I didn’t fear the gun, there was nothing to fear, and the gun was harmless. It’s a piece of scrap metal. All the times I’ve been running away from the gun, listening to the gun in uptight fear was a waste of life. I began to be afraid of people, but even people were none of my concern now. They were nothing compared to the world, with or without a gun. They had nothing on a tsunami, avalanche, or a blizzard. A gun will not feed you. The gun is not God. What I should have been tearing myself away from was the people, the people whose hearts of evil were tied down by the ropes of law, of good, but the parasitic being of desire and curiosity chewed away. The rope was just a string in my heart now. This section of the land felt like it had no sense of rules, no sense of perseverance, where husband beat their wives, and their wives scorch their children with unwise words, and in return, the children play with knives, apologizing for slipping when someone is stabbed in the throat. It’s not an accident, it’s murder.

But we can’t face that, can we? When we are caught, we only dig our graves and hide in them to cover up all the crime we have done. We are all cowards, this underground gang, the government, and myself. We cover the wrong with more wrong, hoping that it will create a miracle, hoping that suddenly it will all be right. I could see the clouds of the night shadowing the moon in the corner of my eye, I couldn’t turn my head, even if I hesitated, the possible hit man behind me would not be. The moon will never witness this death behind the clouds, if I died here, only humans would grieve. They would grieve by laughter, the greatest evil of them all. “Put the gun down.” The intruder slipped the gun back into the Hollister, a smooth jingle signifying its rest. “You can move now.” But I didn’t move. Terry just raised one eyebrow at me in a mental confusion, blew a breath up into his bangs, and left me in peace, finally. I dropped my gun to the ground. I used to hold into it like it was my life line, but now, it no longer held its protectoral value. I no longer felt like I needed it. Tonight, I will dream of walking through an entire gang war, without my gun. Without bandages, or aid, or a sane mind. I will be reckless, and I will make it out alive. It will be a great dream. “You two broke up?! Why? I mean, you’ve been together for so---wait, hold the phone, Mother is walking past.”

I heard the muffled sounds of footsteps, and some disconnected Korean here and there. “Who has been together?” “Uh…just some friends.” “Oh, well, ask Taeyeon about Tiffany, I heard she moved out. I wonder if the girl knows.” “Tiffany did what!?” Leeteuk shrieked into the phone to his Mother and to me. I stared at the ground sheepishly, I could imagine his infuriated face, and it jolted me in a bad sense. I was prepared for some ranting as his Mother’s footsteps got farther and farther away. “You first broke up with her, and, and now she is moving out! You should be doing something, not sitting here and being a complete moron here with me, why are you so stupid? Why was I so stupid not telling you to go get her?! Oh, it does not matter; you would not do what I say anyway.” He didn’t resist any more blabbering in our native tongue, and all I could do was listen. Usually he was off his rocker, but right now, he was actually making some sense. Only to me, though. To anyone else, he would be nonsensical. No one would ever listen to him. “Life has just been hard.”

“You say that all the time like you mean it. You do not think my life is hard? You do not think your Father’s life was hard? What gives you the right to believe that you are any greater than the next man? All I have been hearing is you moaning and groaning about that life of yours that is apparently no worth living when there are millions and millions of people in worse shape than you! Jesus, just get over yourself!” Leeteuk never apologized for being right. “Sometimes, I wish you would just listen to me, it actually might do you some good,” he added as a side comment. “Then,” I challenged him, even though he had already won, “Then tell me something that is worth listening to. Something that will shut me up and get back Tiffany.” There was a pause. “W-well, before you ran out like a chicken with its head cut off and then due to your own stupidity, I hope I have made that clear enough, I was just going to tell you that we had a deal.” “You, you added my name in without me knowing?” “I knew you well enough to put you in partnership of the store we will own in the next month.” “That is…that is kind of great. But are you sure it is not a scam?”

“Please, what kind of uncle would scam his own nephew? That is just plain not honorable. Anyways, my uncle had moved on to bigger and better things, being rich and all must be nice, huh?” I thought about the golden rings and necklaces that curled through some gang members’ fingers and hung low around their neck, the weight of diamonds brought them down. “It must be nice,” I repeated. I slept well; even if it was a night of not many nights without Tiffany. I didn’t dream of the gang war like I had wanted, but I dreamt of the store instead. Deep inside, I knew I wanted to own something besides another person, a place that I could sign my name all fancily upon its contracts. Making investments of money I could throw around. That thought was a sin, but it was a good kind of sin. Even without my light, I could still see in the dark. Even without my light, I could still doge bullets. And that, that was the acme of my optimism.

Act VIII: Morning, 1972

Act VIII: Morning, 1972

Even if you know how to play the game, it doesn’t mean that you’ll win. But if you cheat in the game, maybe there’s a chance of paving your way to a certain victory. When people tell you that you don’t deserve to win, don’t listen to them. Because lying and cheating is much harder than being truthful, you stake a lot more. You need to put in the effort to perfect your emotions and actions to cover up the evidence of being a quiet backstabber. Defecting the gang sent this course of energy through me that I’ve never felt before. To gain my free will, I had to cheat; I had to slip away from their grasps, even if I had to die for it. I used to keep myself alive for Tiffany, but humans heal. She will find someone else and life will go on, just because I die, time will not stop. Just because I’m part of a notorious gang, it doesn’t mean that we’ll have the power to take over the world. This new enlightment was dawned upon me when I adjusted the sign on the very first store I owned. To the common eye, this run down little store couldn’t uphold the economy of one, but to me, this would soon become the very thing that kept my heart pumping. I was somewhat assertive by nature, I actually liked this store more than Tiffany, because I could change the interior of this store, but I couldn’t change the interior of Tiffany. She moved back

into her Father’s home a couple hundred miles away, and I was sure she was getting the speech of her life about how I was never good for her. I could prove him wrong later. But right now, everyone was right while I was wrong, I needed to get my life straightened away before I could ever think of lifted someone else’s. That is, if I would live that long. “Don’t talk like you’re going to die tomorrow when we just finished the grand opening today, God, that’s so depressing. Smile a little; pretend you’re enjoying this, even though you hate crowds.” “I am surprised that there is even a crowd,” I hummed through my teeth. “Doesn’t it feel great though? To finally put away that raggedly old vest and greasy button down shirt. What’s the best thing? Getting away from that pig, Collins. And what’s even better is being able to call him a pig!” I couldn’t help the way I lopsidedly smiled. This sort of freedom elevated my pressure somewhat, but somehow, I could breathe easier in this bare store. It was a mix between a supermarket and a convenient store, it was quite plain, and there aren’t a lot of stock, but we would get things squared way. I was quite positive about that. “Cheers?” “No, thank you. Maybe later, I am not used to drinking in the morning. Anyway, there are things I need to do.” “Alright, come back around later, we need to move some furniture. Too bad this place didn’t come with moving men.”

“I will be back.”

“You’re back.” Terry was at his usual post, with a smoke between the fingers of his left hand. He switched his brand, instead of a sharp, slight mint scent; it was a slow, simmering cinnamon. “You changed your cigarettes.” “Yeah, my girlfriend doesn’t like the brand I had.” “Your girlfriend?” That was news to me. “Yeah, Ami Liang.” “Ami? Oh, Ami Liang. Well, what are the odds?” It was small world indeed. “I was pretty sure you knew her.” “Do you do a lot for her?” “I guess so. I mean, hey, even with all the shit that you do, sometimes you’ve got to find someone ordinary to slow you down, you know?” “I…I used to.” “You loved her, didn’t you?” “I, I still do. It is just…that…”

“Aw, just shut up. I get it. Jesus, I’m sure she dumped your Korean ass when she heard you talk.” “I-I just…” “Here, just shut the fuck up and have a smoke before you leave.” “How did you know that I was…?” “Leaving? I saw you hang up your stuff in the closet in the corner that no one will ever enter again. Heard you got a store, might check it out sometime. You better keep it clean though, because I don’t want to go in and get my shoes dirty with your shit.” “Y-yes. Okay. Terry?” “Yeah?” Another long drag through the lungs. “Can I leave?” He knew what I meant. “No, as long as you hold the scar, you aren’t going anywhere.” “The scar!” I didn’t even know why I exclaimed, I knew very much about my own scar on my back. But over time, it has transformed into something of unimportance to me, but something of upmost respect in the gang.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but, well, I can’t feel your stalker around, so I’ll just say it fast. Listen, you’re only going to hear this once.” His lips looked like they never moved. “No one has touched you so far because you’re the boss’ greatest treasure.” “What does that…what does that even mean?” “Not sure,” he now spoke in his regular nonchalant voice, “but that’s what I heard around town, the boss specifies you as his greatest treasure. But since you’ve never actually interacted with the members, you’ve never heard the words.” If I wanted to find the weakest spot to defect, I needed to be within the beast. My Father didn’t deserve to be shot; I didn’t deserve to be constantly chased by the Chinese mob. To support this fact meant I had to fight, I had to riot against., and it wasn’t to be with on with the source, but to be against the source. Both made me equally as nervous. But the second choice was this happy kind of nervous. This healthy kind of apprehension, I felt like I had a shot at winning. Because I had aimed not for the goal, but to cheat. How, I didn’t know yet. But through all this tumbling over myself, I knew I would find a way. Even if I reached the end of the line, there was a gun I could use on myself. And that was a twisted relief. So perhaps, my life wasn’t about good and bad, it was just life and death. Do I live, or do I die? I only have one shot at life. How should I spend every second? Every second that cannot be taken back. Do I step this way, or do I step that way? Do I take a calculated risk where every move is analyzed, or do I throw myself out there and pray for a checkmate on the opponent that was myself?

“You’re back.” I sat in the place that from now on was where I worked. “Yes, I am back.” Cinnamon filled the air.

Act IX: Afternoon, 1973

Act IX: Afternoon, 1973

“That will be seventy cents.” As I watched the customer go, Leeteuk shuffled his newspapers as he stowed himself away in a corner. We still haven’t left Chinatown like he said, nor have we escaped the hold of the white dominant society, but this store allowed us to walk an entirely new level. And we accepted that, fueled by the excitement, and it courses through us still, a year later, every morning. “Busy day, hm?” He inquired like a true businessman, suits and all. “Just fifteen people and I have been standing around here for about three hours, yes, a busy day indeed.” “Oh, you know how business is; people wake up during the night,” he spoke with slight jest. I couldn’t help the small smile that befell my lips. Leeteuk was right, business was actually efficient. Even if all the world’s issues would never be solved, mine were halfway there. Money took up half of what I was fretting about, but doing business

with low prices had chopped off at least a quarter of my debt. I had finally seen money that would actually pull me away from what I was running from. But Tiffany. She came with a price even more than money. She came with the price of time, time to heal and rebuild our past again. Tiffany had suffered, but I was sure her one year absence was more than just an overreaction; she wasn’t the type for too much drama. Her Father must have been holding her back from seeing me, manipulating her even though I had already sent her countless of letters before. I kept telling her that she was the main actress of my life, the woman who would be permanently hired. And almost every update on the store, how business was doing (thankfully it rose every month,) how we had ability to fight off competition, and how, with the energy we now possessed, could keep impatient customers at bay. I kept telling her that to make this even more satisfying was for her to be here, with us. Tiffany never replied back, but I knew it wouldn’t and shouldn’t be on purpose. She wouldn’t do that to me. But all I could do was keep on sending. Yet the house sure was empty.

The gang. I still couldn’t leave the gang, because there was a part of me that was afraid. A year ago, I made a vow to myself to just segregate from them and not stand for their illogical nonsense. But the ratting out and execution of the somewhat good, true, and sneaky Terrence Wong had struck fear through me. Someone had told someone else that he told the truth, this news was informed to me by my plan to

sink my hearing a little further into the gang. I didn’t like what I heard. I actually liked Terry, he was snarky and a bit of a brat, but he had this sense of tough love, like what his Mother surely had for him. She warned him countless of times, I was sure, but now she would blame herself a hundred times for something that she had not done. And Ami, even though I wasn’t sure when they had started dating, since the first time he ever mentioned that he had a significant other was on that day, a year ago, I was sure she could be heartbroken as well. And I think the thing that would kill both women in Terry’s life that there was no such thing as vengeance, even if they knew very well what had killed him. You couldn’t fight the code of honor, or the corruption of mortals, and you definitely couldn’t put your fists up to a gun. To me, though, personally, he was just another thing in the news. There was a black part of my heart that just couldn’t feel the sympathy for him, if you touch a rose’s thorn, you should expect to be pricked. So maybe, there was no room for me to cheat, or to win. That is the only lesson I received from Terry’s death, I couldn’t even shed tears. Did that make me a horrible person? “Leeteuk?” “Yeah?” He flipped another page, and the sound rippled throughout the bare walls. “Am I not humble enough?” His eyes peered at me, and his face, perhaps contorted into confusion by my question, was covered by the inked pages. “Even if you were humble, it doesn’t matter.” “Why is that?”

Leeteuk sighed and lowered the newspaper as if I was an annoying, ignorant child and he was just a tired Grandfather who had seen too much of the loss of innocence. “Even if you were modest, even if you were humble, even if you didn’t put yourself on a pedestal, even if you weren’t egoistic, who would know? Unless you perform actions that scream your inner self, who would ever know who you are? We do things and we say things that are completely not us, yet can be us at the same time. There are always back stories behind what a person does and says, horrible people can actually be just jesters. Good people can be secret snakes. Sometimes, I think I’m better than everyone else, sometimes, I even think I’m better than you. Better at handling customers, better in social appearance in general. But until now, you never knew that, did you? But just because I think I’m better than you, that doesn’t mean I’m going to chase you out of the store. It doesn’t mean I’m going to rob your house or even kill you with the only foundation of all that being that I’m better than you.” He took a breath to breathe. “Even if you’re modest, even if you’re boasting your heart out, what does it matter? You might make a couple enemies; hurt a couple feelings, but then what? Then what? Even if you were modest, we’re programmed to think that overly modest people are actually attention seekers, or compliment seekers. We just can’t see the sincere good in each other because we’re raised in a society where everyone secretly hates everyone else. It’s a practical law to hate and be hated. If you do not hate someone, you’re being hated. We all just can’t escape each other, because the Earth is in fact a very small place. The only people that matter to us are ourselves. If the human race was wiped off the face of the universe, not a cat,

dog, bird, or a pesky raccoon that I found in the trash yesterday would give a single fuck.” He ran out of breath. “Leeteuk…that was…that was informative,” I almost wanted to applaud. The farther away we moved from being low life waiters and waitresses, the more Leeteuk was talking like a normal human being. I was possibly more eager to listen to his lectures, miniature and not so miniature ever since his plan of owning a business worked. I always thought he was just a dreamer until now. Miracles. “So basically, you can be a totally rotten person on the inside, as long as you’re fake, that’s okay. Because we’re all fakes anyways, we smile at each other when we actually want to wring each other’s necks, and we laugh in front of each other, and laugh behind each other’s backs at the same time.” “That’s kind of extreme, do you not think so?” “Extreme is the way of the world. Without extreme, without the extreme risk and desire from our ancestors to get their asses here, we wouldn’t be here. But at times, I kind of wish that we would remain cowardly. But now, in America, in this day and age, what’s extreme would be women marrying men who are a billion times older than they are without the urge of arranged marriages. That would be unheard of in Korea, wouldn’t it? And when a woman marries a man like that, we all know why she married him.” He rubbed his index finger and his thumb finger together. “It could be love. But slim chance. Even if it was love, who would believe it at the first sight of the couple? Or even the second sight, or even the third? When I see

love like that, I try to convince myself there’s more emotion than greed, but it’s difficult. All our lives we’ve been told to marry for true love, or marry because your Father told you to get married. You didn’t need to worry about finances, because the man you would be arranged to most likely would be rich enough for you to sit around and learn how to sew all day. Love will never be defined, because it always changes, through and through the years. That’s why I accepted Tiffany and yours love, because there’s no such thing as traditional love, the one between a man and a woman who each other just the way they are. Love’s always going to some kind of ride that goes with the ever changing wind, and maybe that’s why humanity is crazy enough to fall in it.” I couldn’t find the words to answer, because it was just one huge rhetorical statement. And Leeteuk, suddenly flustered at the quantity and quality of phrases he wasn’t comfortable with saying, buried his head away and pretended to be intensively interested in the article about kitchen appliances. There was a lanky man, a little handsome in a way with his long face, but there was something about the way he stood at the doorway. I could spot him through the window, but he wouldn’t come in right away. He was just leaning back and forth on his toes with his hands in his pockets like an innocent seven year old, waiting for the school bus. His eyes seemed like they were anticipating something, but he didn’t make any sort of moment to come inside. I hastily had a debate with myself whether to allow the curious looking stranger in, but refusing a customer at the doorway would make a bad impression. But he didn’t look like he came to buy anything; he didn’t look like he had a sense of direction. I don’t think he would complain to the locals if I told him to take a few steps back, but yet some invisible force told me that that would be a bad idea. So I opened the handle of the door, and the entrance bell rung.

“What were you standing there for? It’s kind of cold outside, isn’t it?” I spoke in my rather upbeat sound that I reserved for customers; I had spent time in front of the mirror perfecting it. “You the lady with the scar?” The man had a slight lisp, and his eyes twitched about slightly, and he kept sniffing and shuffling around. He didn’t seem aware of surroundings, and he was short with his words. Before I could answer, he jutted out a hand awkwardly. “I’m a…Sparrow Cheng, can I tell you a story?”

Act X: Afternoon, 1973

Act X: Afternoon, 1973

Leeteuk was the first to react, “I think you should leave, Sir.” The definition in his tone snapped me out of shock. Now, Leeteuk, no matter how his attitude waned into arrogance, wasn’t a rude character. He spoke in possible insulting phrases, but he was never serious. He strove for fun. But this store changed him as much as it changed me. It gave him power, and the ability to evict. That alone was what defined you as a man. “Leeteuk,” again, I find myself fighting back, always fighting, “didn’t you say we should always treat our customers with respect?” “There’s something off with him, he’s strange, I don’t want you getting hurt.” He pulled me closer by my sleeve and whispered in a low tone, “there’s always people like him out there in the world. The people who act good, but they ain’t.” I shook his grip away, “you were the one who said society was not honest. It is not honest because we do not trust each other. Maybe it should start now. This man wants to share some information with me, what if it is information that will save his life.”

“His life is a stranger’s life.” “But it is still a life.” Leeteuk said no more and lowered himself in his chair. He unfolded his newspaper again, “be back in two hours, if you’re dead by then, don’t blame me.” I smiled, “by then, I would only have myself to blame.” “Remember to pat him down, you can’t trust anyone.” What we say and what we do can be on very separate sides of the spectrum, I figured. “Sparrow, is it?” “Yep,” he cut into my question before I could finish the last syllable. He twisted and turned in his seat, and pressed his feet together constantly, then spread them apart a couple inches every now and then. His head constantly rotated between biting his knuckles and keeping it straight with difficulty. I noticed his knuckles were bright red. We were in the back room of the store, with the storage. There was a musky but no unpleasant smell, since most of it was from the dry food. There were scents of ginger and spices that would prick at nose, but it was refreshing at times. With the amount of his apparent attention span, or lack thereof, I had to cut to the chase. “How did you know I had ‘the scar?’” “My Ma told me.”

I had to stare intensely into his eyes to find if he was joking around, if he was, I would follow Leeteuk’s orders for the rest of my life. But he wasn’t. There wasn’t a flicker of amusement in any part of his determined eyes. His story had to be told. “My Ma is a smart woman, you see. We was from the South, and my Daddy, you see, worked a lot. He worked a lot because he didn’t want to be on vacation. Because being on vacation meant he had to see us. I don’t think he liked me a lot. Only at home would singular mean plural, I’m gussin’. That’s real weird, I mean, singular isn’t plural in school. I liked school, I liked Math. I didn’t really like English though, because in English class, there were the mostest kids. I mean, some of them were real nice, but then there’s always people that are kinda mean in the world. I mean, Daddy was kinda mean; he made Ma cry a lot. I guess. But there was this girl in school that was pretty and nice. She was pretty nice, I think. She was white, though. Ma didn’t like me playin’ with her, but she was the one who taught me how to ride a bike, and climb trees, and run. I suppose her name was Sammy." He inhaled. “Sammy, she, ah, she loved everyone, you see. I got mad because they were sayin’ stuff ‘bout her. Some people hit her too. I think it was some of those guys that Sammy liked. I got mad because they didn’t love her like she loved them, I guess. So I hit them. But then Sammy got mad. I didn’t know why she got mad. We was best friends, I was just lookin’ out for her, you know? But she was always cryin’ for me, saying that I didn’t know anything. I felt bad. I felt real bad but I didn’t know how to wipe her tears away. They just kept comin’, not even a million tissues

could solve the problem. And so, I think Sammy loved me when we got into a college. I was pretty alone; it felt like school all over again, you know? And I was, ah, just reading books and stuff. I still liked Math. I was pretty well at that. My Ma was always proud of that, she was always tellin’ me, that, that me being good at Math is the only thing she was proud of in me. Then she would be takin’ me to church and tell God my Math scores. It was like He could help me get those A’s or something. And so, we was in college, and Sammy loved me then. Don’t know why she can’t love me now. ‘Cause she love me one night, she said so. And I told her that I loved her too.” He exhaled. “But then the next day, I tell her again, and it was like, like she didn’t rememberin’. Like she just said I dun know what love means and then she left. She left college, and I never saw her again. She got into one of the guys, I rememberim’ from college, he was all over her, I think he loved her, he looked like he loved her, well, she got into his car, and left. Never saw her ‘gain. Because I went to the army, you know? I went to the army, and I was put on front in the beginnin’. They said I was good, ‘cause the army wasn’t all that hard. You just had to scream really loud, and listen to the people they said was above you. You didn’t even haveta think. My Daddy was actually proud of me when I got into the army, so I guess I really like that. Maybe I won’t make it out alive, he said. But he was smiling, so it was okay.” He inhaled. “After I got outta the army, he left. My Daddy left the family, and my Ma got sick. She was real sick, but she said Daddy ran out with the money. I needed to findim’,

and the only way to findim’ was to see ‘the lady with the scar,’ ‘cause you were under him and knew him or something. My Ma visited this place, then told me to comeere’. She said you knew Daddy. So, do you?” He exhaled. Sparrow didn’t run out of breath at all. Instead, he found the strength to inhale deeper with each passing second. He stuck to his desire to tell a story. I was sure that woman still held a mysterious romance in his heart, she was the sense of corruption that he was so close to, but never knew. He just did what the authorities told him to do, and was raised under the protection of God. He was a large part of the puzzle in my life; he was the source of the gang lord that haunted my living fibers. Even so, I couldn’t answer him. “I do not know your Father, I am sorry, but I don’t think I can help you.” He grit his teeth, “but he’s here. I know he’s here, because Ma said he was here. Ma knows, so I know.” “…If you find your Mother, I will find your Father.” Because he has made us both suffer.

Act XI: Evening to Night, 1973

Act XI: Evening to Night, 1973

I still remembered, back in Korea, swinging on the swing with my Father. I think I was around the age of six, then. Every time I went to the park, it was always that red swing, I felt like it was there especially for my existence, and when someone was occupying it, I would always wait. There was no need to fight over it, because it was always there for me. I believed owned that swing, so no one would just rip the swing set out of the Earth and bring it back home; there was no need for panic. And when I swung on that swing, I would always swing too high for my Father’s favor, he would always reprimand me for it, saying that girls weren’t supposed to swing that high of a distance, that is ruffled my skirt too much. But I was young, what did I care about danger? What did I care about the external forces that I could not control? I didn’t care about who had me, I didn’t care if I signed up for life or not, I was here. And I wanted to ride the red swing, the red swing only. I also remembered that the red swing was gone one day. They were renovating the park under new regulations, and they had to tear the playground apart, I didn’t care much for the rest of the playground, but for the swing set, I cried.

My Father cried also. He and my Mother, before she passed away, had their wedding pictures taken right by this playground. They weren’t rich, no, so they didn’t pay for any special wedding studios. They just took them right near home, with my Uncle’s camera, my Uncle’s camera was the rare ones that we could get a hold on that could store memory, and it was always full because he would always forget about the capacity. And sometimes, I wondered why there were no pictures of me. Not in my Uncle’s camera, but around the house. There were empty frames that were still left up that were handmade from my Mother, but her pictures were slid out of the wooden frames and burned. All was left were my Father’s photos, and me, when I was four years old. But there were no baby pictures, I was curious; all of my friends had baby pictures of them, why not me? Why only me? My Father explained because my Mother died giving birth to me, that I was his greatest gift, but my birthday marked his greatest sorrow. This statement held the gravity of guilt that I didn’t understand, but even so, my heart fell. I suppose my Father didn’t mean to hurt me in such a way, humans never understood the weight of their words, but right now, in the future, twenty one years later, that sentence hurt me even more. That sentence that should have rotted away years ago. Because it was a lie. I told Leeteuk that I had to leave the store right away after Sparrow told me his story that was full of circumlocution, yet connected to one main point. We were

interconnected by the web of fog that the gang created. Sparrow’s Mother was the wife of the main gang lord, the same gang lord that had my family of two, my Father and I, under his skin. Then the woman of the lord somehow, through her sickness, although she could be tricking her son about it, visited the store and saw my face, right under my nose. She knew I carried the scar, so she knew about how the gang moved; she must have had intercommunication in the gang somehow, because her husband has obviously cut ties with her the day that he left her to die with not a cent to spare. And Sparrow, he only did what the upper tiers of the world told him to do, the most trusted person was his Mother, and possibly using his mentally disabled mindset, she had him travel by train to me to tell me this “story.” And just from this, I had relearned how manipulative this world could be. I was still wary of Sparrow though, I was not an expert on mental diseases, rendering me helpless to whether he was genuine or not. Even so, I had to put a stop to this chapter of my life that has haunted me for so long, and tore my paper heart in half and burned it with none other but the chemicals of gunpowder.

The clattering of the cracked porcelain cup reverberated throughout the entire house as I say, stiff and serious. No matter how much the hostess told me to relax. I’m sure something crazy in my mind spurred me here. Even though I have sounded so serious before, I did not know that my feet would actually listen to my brain for once, and so, I found myself in this woman’s house, Mrs. Cheng. I really hoped that it was worth the train ride and Leeteuk’s screaming protests, if I died, he said, he wouldn’t come looking for me. And as always, with a transparent

smile before following Sparrow out the door, I said back that if I died, it was my fault. Mrs. Cheng was quite manipulative, there could be many arguments about whether she was and is a good mother or not. And at the same time, there could be many debates of her good side versus her bad side of humanity. The money Sparrow talked about was in her possession; she actually divorced with her husband, and took at least half of what he owned. She had money, and she wasn’t sick. She kept the money out of her son’s view, and using his mental illness and mostly his trust, bent him to her will. Mrs. Cheng loved her son, sure, but I wasn’t sure if keeping him from the truth was the best thing to do. And to me, she told everything. Her husband, Mr. Cheng, the gang lord, has kept me alive all this time, and killed Terry, who attempted to assist me into knowing my identity, because he knew I would have my revenge if I knew who he was. He was my Father. This all sounded anti-climactic now, but when I was at the Cheng’s house, I still remember my cup slipping from my grasp and colliding with the floor. And all I had at that time was the faint memory of recreating Tiffany’s motion with our dishes many moons ago. My Father was a gang lord, he was the master pulling the string, why did he create such resistance for me, and did he have a connected to the man that raised me were only questions that I should ask him himself. His second wife didn’t know the answers; I could only stare at my half-brother, still named Sparrow. And my Mother, Cheng’s first wife, where was she, did she still walk the Earth?

There were books closed finally on stories that haunted me all the way here. So the gang feared me only because I was the possession of the “boss,” I had this scar that marked me the authority’s territory, and I was thrown within the wars because, still, because of what? I usually made it out without a scratch, so the goal wasn’t to get rid of me, but what? Was shooting men down and selling drugs under the table Cheng, my apparent Father’s, kind of game for Father-Daughter bonding? Was he the one who sent the white man with the gun? He was surely the one who wanted my late Father out of the picture…or was the murder just good timing, so good that Cheng didn’t need to get his hands dirty? Even so, I couldn’t refer to Cheng as Father without a sour taste in my mouth, because all of that word sounded so wrong when I tried to apply it to his faceless figure. Having a child was half of the battle, to be called a Mother or a Father required fighting the other half, either you gain victory or not. Even calling this man by a name was enough for me, anyway, I couldn’t believe then. Leeteuk’s sneaky advice about weak trust amongst humans possibly being a good thing filled a sliver of the back of my mind. Who was I to believe Mrs. Cheng’s words without testing them myself? The only way to do that was to find the source. Find the source, and the resting place of my worries will be dug out perfectly. But as life goes, there were always going to be a rock that would blindside me into oblivion. There would always be something right before I would be able to march up to the final task and complete it. There was only one person that could ever stand between me and Cheng. “You look tired, you should stay in one of the guest rooms tonight,” Mrs. Cheng offered, her voice almost came out like a purr. Sparrow no longer looked as eager to talk as much as he did as he stood like a true soldier next to his Mother.

“It is night,” I said more to myself than the crowd, and I alternated from the window to Mrs. Cheng repeatedly. “Can I bring my gun?” “You can bring anything you want, special service. You will find spare clothing after Sparrow escorts you into one of the rooms. This is an advertised ‘we will provide everything’ family motel for a reason, after all. But be assured, these are one of the last rooms.” “Did you build this extension to your house with your husband’s money?” “…I couldn’t depend on him in first place.” There was no need to bid her goodnight as Sparrow directed me onto the lower floors into the very last rooms. I nodded at Mrs. Cheng’s words as I walked, she didn’t need to depend on her husband after all, and business wasn’t that bad for a woman like her at a time like this. He handed me the key, and I accepted it with silent approval. He seemed more reserved than the first time we met, mumbled something, then left. Before I could even catch any fallen words, the door shut upon me. “It seems like this really is the last room open,” I explored the tiny confines rather carefully, wondering how this could be named a family motel with beds and rooms this small. I twisted a turned comfortably into the neatly folded bed sheets, and kept my gun close to my side as my muscles settled into the soft surface.

“What are you doing here, this is my room,” a snarky, high pitched voice reached my ears in a very uncomfortable fashion. I looked up, ready to bite, furious with Mrs. Cheng’s possible trickery of putting me with an earlier occupant. But any sudden movements proved to be a mistake when the occupant’s towel slinked to the floor. The beating of my life would ensue.

Act XII: Night, 1973

Act XII: Night, 1973

The woman that barraged me with her fists was shivering on one side of the single twin bed, and I was trembling on the other side. We didn’t dare look at each other after the traumatizing heart attack I almost gave her, and the multiple bruises that would say littered on my skin on me. But I knew I had to act, if not, I would be sleeping outside. “Tiffany…I…” “Why are you here?” Whenever I talked to her, now, before, in the future, I could never find the correct words to say. I spoke to her like she was an entire new entity, and I needed to form a completely new vocabulary list in her name. The ellipses were too much. I dared a peek over my shoulder at the woman, who has changed, but not because of me, but because of herself. She didn’t bother reaching for clothes to cover her, displaying how much trust she had for me over her body, but there was this distance that would never be closed again. All that was on her, covering her slick back, still dripping with water, down onto the soaking bed sheets, was the towel that she dropped in midst of her mortification over my intrusion. Her hair was cut

short, it just skimmed over her shoulders and the tips of them, slightly splitting at the ends, stuck to her back, pointing to her spine. And her spine was apparently more prominent, over the course of the year; there was a business in her life that made her lose weight, for sure. The curves and soft womanly body that was on her before, when she was living with me, despite the lack of appetite that we may have had, was gone. Thick bone and sharper handles were left on her. Her back no longer carried the slight curve that she had before of a sort of care freeness, it was ramrod straight. And her face, I couldn’t see her face, but I could imagine her eyes being shut, and her lips being sealed. Her face would carry a look of tiredness, confusion, and a tinge of love. I could see it. Tiffany was sure a changed woman, but was she still my woman, I wasn’t sure. “I am here for the same reason you are here,” I shuttered through my words, “I am here for time off.” “If you wanted time off, you didn’t have to come so far, you could have just spent time at the lake, which should be enough for you. You were always low maintenance, after all.” She said it almost snappily. “And so you remembered,” I laughed sadly at her coldness. It surely wasn’t born out of me lying to her. There had to be something more, a bigger, and more important drive. “Honestly, Taeyeon, I don’t want you here.” Tiffany lifted herself from the bed to face me, finally. “But I want to stay here, I rightfully will stay in this room, the owner allowed me to stay, so I will.” I willfully stood my ground.

“Then stay here all you want, I’m leaving.” She rounded the corner to my side of the bed to her suitcase. “No, you will not,” I grabbed her wrist before she could touch her suitcase’s lock, “time to answer me, why are you here?” “Because,” she blew her short hair out of her face, in frustration at her failed escape, “because of things.” “What things?” “Things. My Father, how he can’t pay the mortgage because of his gambling problems, dropping my Mother’s picture on the ground, selling her funeral picture frame, things like that. And marriage.” She tried to sound nonchalant under the pain, and uttered the last phrase with such unaccented sounds that I almost let go of her wrist. But I only held it tighter. “Marriage?” I inquired, and my internal flame was lit, “you are getting married?” “Yes. To a man. Next week,” she spat out in short accented phrases, as if she were ripping a bandage off my wounds. Only to rub the bandage into them again. I hissed at the invisible pain. “Is this my punishment?” “No, Taeyeon, this is what I want now. This has nothing to do with you.” She freed herself from me and fumbled with the straps of her suitcase, her hands now shaking.

“Is this how you punish me, Tiffany? Because of the gun? Because of me? Because of your Father? Because of your Mother? Or is it really you? Is this why you’re pushing me away, because you’re afraid to love me again? Because I’m the worst thing that will ever happen to your marriage? Just because you have a ‘normal’ lover, just because you have children that will not be alienated because of the gender of their parents, just because you have a piece of fucking paper to prove that you’re tied to someone for the rest of your fucking life does not mean that you’ll be happy, Hwang Tiffany. Mark my words!” I didn’t know why my passion grew stronger, perhaps it was because I was losing the person that I loved, and it was my fault. I was pushing the blame on Tiffany, I knew that she had every right to marry a man instead of continue her relationship with me whenever she pleased, whether I ever owned a gun or not. Whether I was a woman or not. I knew that there was a sliver of a chance that she was no longer in love with me anymore, therefore she chose men, and I knew that I shouldn’t be interfering like this. If Tiffany wanted a man, she wanted a man. But I just couldn’t help myself. “You finally brought yourself to use contractions.” She smiled at me, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. If only I could reach between her chest and reprogram her heart. But even so, that would be useless, because love is controlled by the brain. She rummaged through the suitcase some more, and threw on her usual sleep wear, a T-shirt, that was it. It used to make my mouth disgustingly water, I was always ashamed of being tempted, but now, all she did was make my mouth dry with anxiety.

“Well, if you’re not leaving, I’m not leaving either, I paid for this, and I am staying until the last minute for my dollar,” Tiffany said that with finality and slipped into her left side of the bed. I said nothing more after our less than happy reunion, and retreated into the bathroom for a much needed hot shower, and a terry bathrobe. But even if she wasn’t in the premises of my visualization, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. As I twisted the knob on the shower and undressed, I thought of Tiffany, and how she always knew what temperature I liked my baths that she would set up before I came home. I would come home sore, but she would be, she would be coming out of the baths and shaking her fingers free of water. Then she would come to the door and kiss me, I would come in, eat dinner, and be in the bath that would already cool down to the right temperature after dinner. And after the bath, I would come out and sometimes, I mean, we would make love, over and over again. It was…it was full of routine, but I think I was happy then. Yes, I was happy then, and I didn’t realize how happy I was until now, when the source of my happiness was pushing herself away from me. It was sure ironic. As I emerged from the bathroom, hands clutching both sides of the string of cloths that held the two poles of the robes, her side was surprisingly facing me, her dark eyes on me that I couldn’t help but search for in the dark. I would have suspected her to face away from the sounds of showering, but Tiffany never ceased to surprise me. “The moment you brought that robe in,” she spoke softly, in respects to the silent night sans the crickets chirping and the whispering sounds of the wind, “I knew it was going to be trouble for you.”

“Why is that?” I mimicked her low tone. “Because,” she had genuine laughter in her tone, and I melted right away, “because you can never tie a knot, we’ve establish this years ago. So, come here.” I scooted over attentively, feeling as pathetic as a lost child, over to the person who knew all my weaknesses. She sat up and swung her feet over the bed, and I almost rested my thighs on her knees. Tiffany reached for the right string at one hand, and the left one in the other. I did nothing but grit my teeth. I missed her. I missed her, and I didn’t even know it until she touched me. I was angry at her then, but this was now. I scanned how much more beautiful yet tired she had become, and how her eyelashes casted pretty shadows over her cheeks. Tiffany was a woman, indeed. She used her previous tone, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I liked this soothing voice; it was like a smooth jazz instrument, but in human form. “Taeyeon, it’s really hard to sleep with someone that you know so well. Someone that you’re dying to have, someone that you’ve loved so much. But Taeyeon, as much as you want something, I want something as well, I want to get married, have children, and never depend on anyone every again.” “If you get married to him, will you not depend on him?” “What?” “Have me.” Tiffany untied the knot, and began to tug me toward into her by my hips. She was touching me again; I wanted her more now than I did the first time we were

together. I bent down, so my lips were grazing hers, she lifted her head to connect us, but I shifted my neck. “Are you not getting married next week?” A smirk befell my lips. “That’s next week, isn’t it?” She mirrored my twist of the lips. She kissed slightly above my navel and travelled upwards, biting here and there. I could only card my hands through her hair as her hold became stronger upon me. All my skin was hers. It has been too long. She licked the expanse of my collarbone up to the side of my neck. I could only kiss her full on the lips for that. Within these walls, we were free, we figured. No one would ever suspect us; no one would ever intrude on our world for once. If this could only be reality, forever, I would never find another reason to complain ever again. My robe sank to the floor; she was shoved onto the bed, and only sagged further into it as the night progresses. Life was only full of touch and response, no more anger, no more words. I had her, I did.

Act XIII: Afternoon to Evening, 1973

Act XII: Afternoon to Evening, 1973

"Hurry up!" "Hurrying!" I think I felt complete today. Tiffany was in front of me, dodging the people within a city that I never knew could be busier than Chinatown. I always enjoyed following the flow of the tips of her hair with her speed, but her short hair had its own kind of charm. Never did her beauty cease my heart to skip like how my feet were moving, attempting to catch up to a prancing being. I could never catch up to her. "How long are you going to be here?" She opened the door and the jingle of the entrance bells tolled. "I think...I think when I have everything figured out. Maybe in two or three days." After she greeted the owner at the desk of the market, she turned to be seriously. "You'll be gone while I'm still there."

"You're moving to his house soon, though, aren't you?" The male pronoun slid so easily off of my tongue that it shocked me that I could speak so easily of my woman with another. Somewhere, within me, I knew there had to be the chance of letting her go. "...Yeah." I think, that if you really love someone, you're fine without them, until you see them again. I was like that with Tiffany. I dared to say that I almost forgot her within the store, the revelation about my Father, and the findings of myself. Because, realistically speaking, I would always be more important to myself. It would sound selfish, but without me, there would be no me to feel selfishness, or to feel compassion. "How was it?" "How was what?" "You know...what we just...this." "Oh. Oh that. I forgot." "What?!" She shot and sat up in the bed then leaned over to slap me in the stomach. "Ow! What was that for, stop it, I am still sensitive." Tiffany has a catty smirk on her face and slid her body against mine, her scent solely encompassing me, I almost forgot how good she felt. I suppose it was more a mental aspect than physical, because it couldn't just be anyone, it had to be

Tiffany. It just had to be. She began twirling my hair between her fingers and absentmindedly came up with an idea. "Sit between my legs." "Pffft, what? God, you are unsatisfiable." "Huh!? Kim Taeyeon, I didn't mean it that way, you're making me look weird, shut up." She was much more aggressive now than she was then, but I didn't mind, I didn't mind because I kind of liked her aggressive attitude. It gave her more of a carefree flare, she sounded younger, she sounded like what she was supposed to sound at that age. Slightly self centered and careless all at the same time. These were unsavory traits for sure, but I couldn't help but admire them. Maybe because I would be entranced by Tiffany whatever she did. So I did end up shifting so my back was at her front, and my eyes were glued to the television ahead that wasn't playing. The dark screen was only darker in the night. She ran her fingers through my hair and there was a sudden yet pleasant touch to my scalp. "I always loved it when you did that." "Why did you never tell me?" "I was...I was busy. That is all." "That's all?" "I think..." I let out a small sigh as she added the right amount of pressure,"I think I was afraid. Afraid of you."

"Why is that? Do you no longer trust me?" "I do...I did, I just, I just, you can break down all my walls with a single touch. I did not like that very much, but there was nothing I could do about it." "How about now?" "Even though...we are not supposed to be together, my walls are nothing but dust." Her fingers left my back, and trickled down my spine to my hips, where she rubbed along the length and I could only tremble. There was nothing I could do to fight her, even with a gun in my ownership, even a gun in this very room that I could easily reach for. But I didn't want to touch a gun, I wanted to touch Tiffany. I wanted to touch her a lot. "I missed you, Jagiya." "You're becoming this white rabbit, Tae." "You have not called me that in years, that makes me feel like a child all over again." "You're still not young?" She kept massaging my sides, "you haven't called me that name in a while either." "Do you like it?" "I do, it's authentic." "Authentic, huh?"

Tiffany kissed the top of my head, and scraped her teeth along my nape, I reacted with small jumps in the joint accordingly when the nerve was hit just right. It was true, Tiffany, it was hard to spend the night in bed with a person that you have loved so long, a person that you shouldn't love. The most I wa torn away from her, the more I wanted her. Now I understood the reason why people warned others so much about wanting what you couldn't have. I craned my neck upwards, and she kissed my lips then. I took her hand and placed it upon my body, she traced my collarbone so lightly that it almost seemed as if she was a ghost. But I could feel her quite definitely. "You're beautiful, Taeyeon." "I love you." All touches ceased to exist. "What?" "I love you, Tiffany. I love you." "...I'm sorry." "I know." Tiffany didn't touch me anymore, but her warmth was still there. The warmth that I clung onto so desperately like a missing child finding home again. Her arms encircled me, and despite our age difference, and how many more horrors I have endured in her place, Tiffany was always the stronger one. When I was beaten down and battered, she was the one who was constantly forced to see the evils of

the world marked on my body without mentally breaking down about there being no hope in the situation we were in. She fought with me, the world, herself. But you're done fighting, Tiffany, there's no need to cry. Even if you're on the outside circle, holding me, and my eyes are closed against your skin, my whimpers can only be heard by your beating heart that lied within your chest, I will be the one to protect you. "Because I love you." "I'm...I'm sorry." "I know, Tiffany...I know." I don't know a thing.

Act XIV: Afternoon to Night,1973

Act XIV: Afternoon to Night,1973

There was a whistle, and a strong jawed worker slowly raised his head up to the noise while raising a thick eyebrow to confusion. His eyes trailed to the source, where the noise sounded and right when he made eye contact with the object, his heart feel. "Hey, what are you looking at me for? Jeez, I'm just whistling, not like I'm going to shoot you." The African-American man shook his head with the pride that quieted him to the younger White worker who was smirking and subtly practice his racism that was mastered and taught for decades. He didn't even have to be discreet about it, if he wanted to even shoot the African-American right in the middle of this store, at most there would be a protest and a petition that did nothing to calm the peace. But American wasn't even rightfully his, I thought. The Native Americans were driven out by his ancestors, and I pondered what lineage the teenage looking White boy carried on. I wondered if his great, great, great, great, great grandfather was the president who drove all the Native Americans out, who forced them into

Christianity, who deemed them savages and unintelligent because of their lack of written language. But then, I thought just as bitterly, who were the ones who taught the White Men how to survive on this land that I stand upon right now? Who should the White Men be praising instead of God, because without the Natives, would they have ever survived? Perhaps, but not without great difficulty, they didn't even what berries were poisonous and which were not. They didn't know, and yet they acted like they did. They knew things like how I knew things. I hurt Tiffany, but I was the one being angry. There must be something wrong with all of us. "How could he just say that?" I whispered to Tiffany who was shifting through the jars nestled neatly on the shelves, apparently she didn't notice the offensive event that took place. "Said what?" "He was just being racist." "Taeyeon...this isn't Chinatown." "What does that mean?" "I mean, well, sure, the Japanese and the Korean and the Chinese perhaps don't all get along too swell, but we know we need each other. Without each other, there wouldn't be any Asian footprints on this country. But the Blacks and the Whites, it's a completely different story. The Whites are dominant, and the Blacks, well, aren't. They don't need each other, but Whites depend on the Blacks a lot, I suppose some White culture is actually dependent on Black people, it's just that

they've got too much pride to admit that. It's really weird though, how everything that was fine before always gets fucked up by some White Christian man." "Tiffany!" She almost never swore, and as inappropriate as it sounded, it was quite refreshing to hear more signs of letting go. And in her voice, it was partially arousing, I embarrassingly confess. "I really like your voice, have I ever told you that?" I traced her resting figure, but not yet sleeping. But breathing, very evenly so. "I don't think so, even if you did, I must have forgotten." "I thought lovers with never supposed to forget each other," I allowed myself to smile. "Hey, I'm only human," she turned to her side and my breath hitched. I would never forget that image, she was almost like a painting. There was something about a woman's figure that a man could never possess. Sure, men had their attraction spots about their muscular broad shoulders that I really liked, more than their flexing abdominals or their bulging biceps, but there was just this lighter tone on women that I especially enjoyed. I think it was the curves, and the soft lines that would draw a woman instead of the rough jagged lines on a man. It was the round strokes of a pure graphite pencil that shaped Tiffany's body formation the best, I thought absentmindedly, if I had to draw her, I would most definitely use that as my medium. "Are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Yes." "Then let's make tonight last," she said almost dispassionately. "Hold me like you did last night, so I can see your face." And instantly arms hooked around my shoulders and pulled me closer to her, I didn't need to hold onto her, because she was right there. I couldn't romantically toy with the tips of her hair anymore, since that would mean lifting my arm all over her face to get at the layered short hair. "We let down more walls for each other in these three days than we have in the last couple years." "Things change, I have found a place to be at peace, to find myself." I hummed into her touch as her fingertips pressed at the side parting of my hair. "You took a long time," she coasted her fingers between my bangs repeatedly. "Some people die without knowing who they are," I had nothing to complain about her actions. "That's morbid," her hand fell from my hair to my neck, gently teasing the skin there, I bet she could feel me swallow. I decided to paint her with my tongue. "Tae---," she gasped with a discomfort that I pleasured in as I ran my tongue over her bare shoulders where the pajama top shifted and she didn't wear any undergarments for her upper body. I wondered about stripping the lower body, but my animalistic urges were triumphed with my logic that if I loved her too much

today, I would never leave tomorrow. The smoothness of her skin permitted nothing but pleasure for me. "I do not feel like letting you go," I muttered into the dip of her collarbone. "Then I won't be able to get married," she answered my utter. "Why do I not mind? Right, because you belong to me," I inhaled. "Who said?" She exhaled. "I did, and I do, and I will," I exhaled. "What if I tell you that you don't own me, and you never will?" She inhaled. "I might as well die. My breathe is taken away from me." I exhaled. "Why does that sound so fake, so recited?" Her deep sighs were no more as they were chopped and let go in pieces between her questioning sentence. I lifted my head from her body, and traced my lips, the cracks in it captured the golden taste of perfume. "I did not know you wore perfume to bed." "He likes it." "I do not." "In a week, it won't matter." You're most likely wondering how I felt about that. I couldn't feel at that moment, frankly. I didn't know if Tiffany deliberately wanted to gut my heart out, I didn't

know if she was just stating the facts as they were and I was just being overdramatic. I didn't want to think anymore, but even thinking about not thinking was thinking. "You are making this easier," I mumbled as my body set out for hers again. "Thank you, that was my intention." "After tomorrow, do you think I will see you again?" I felt younger than Tiffany, thinking that I was attention worthy, throwing at her my body, all that I had at seventeen, eighteen. "You will see me if you want to see me, and you will not if you do not want to see me," Tiffany responded to my body well. "I want to see you forever," my lips futilely tried to meet hers in the dark. "We can't always get what we want." "That is rather contradicting." "We're all born hypocrites," her head tilted for more simply access to herself. She was my open canvas on that night, and not only did I paint her, I etched my signature on her. Carving Kim Taeyeon into places that her future husband could never dream of touching. If I couldn't see her, I would make sure that she would see me, every time she ate dinner with him, made love to him, had children with him, grew old with him. In him, she will see me. He will never touch her mind or her heart, ever. I made of that before I left.

Therefore, when she told me that she loved him, I would never know who she was speaking to and about. Him or me.

Act XV: Morning, 1973

Act XV: Morning, 1973

"So, I am...I am leaving today," I stood outside of our door. Our door, I sounded pretty pathetic to be clinging onto plural possessive pronouns with a woman I couldn't have anymore. She was getting married, married, and never divorced. Never to break up with a man I've think I would never meet. Was I heartbroken? I didn't know anymore, I love Tiffany, I could say it now. But maybe it was because I could say marked the beginning of my lack of interest in her. It was rather intriguing yet strange that we find ourselves shying away from the people we genuinely love, and throwing ourselves out of our introverted shells to people who are more like strangers to us. We'll take forever until it's too late to confess a love to someone we think we'll spend life with, but then drink a couple ounces of hard liquor to find ourselves naked next to five minute friends. "So, you are...leaving today," She repeated after me like a broken record that was fixed with duct tape. The record was priceless, valuable, I'm sure Tiffany was a antique that no one wanted to sell. She was like that dress, shoved back in the corner because it is valued, not shoved back in the corner because it isn't worth the protection, rendering it useless. Tiffany traced the outlines of my hair with a single

finger with nails cut evenly, to no one, this detail would easily go unnoticed. But to me, I tried to drink in as much as Tiffany as I could. You never learned to put an unnamable price on someone until they were going to slip like water out of your grip. Then she leaned down to kiss me one more time, and from there, I was lost. Too much loss, I couldn't, I can't--I furiously grabbed her collar downwards to taste more of her lips, and she complied, yanking at the nape of my neck forward. I backed her back into our room again and nipped at all the skin I could reach without lifting the hem of her shirt or the bringing down the waistband of her shorts. "Are you thinking of fucking me again?" Her tone was direct, direct, all business, like we were going to shake hands again, then leave. Rip the contract apart that we just signed two days ago. Business, just business. "I am, I am thinking of fucking you until tomorrow, but, you know." I plateau my voice to imitate hers. It's the safest route out, make myself anymore emotional and that'll just be a worrisome roadblock. "I wish I didn't know anything," She turned her neck to a dangerous angle to provide more area for me to lick. Props to her. "Does it feel good?" I inquired with a tilt of my head to ignore the blush on me cheeks as I asked that. My reserved personality clashed with that question like never before.

"It...It...I like you, I just do," She brought her neck back to its original position and snaked her arms around me to pull me closer. My tongue swiped her upper lips but she didn't grant me access. That was fine, if she didn't, again, I would not go. The puppeteer was cutting the strings off her puppet, the puppet who actually enjoyed dancing for its master because without she, it doesn't know where to go. Me? I had a firm direction to go, I crumpled the address on the paper Mrs. Cheng gave me that was inside my pocket as Tiffany and I were in midst of our lip-lock, but I just didn't want to go. I wanted to drag on for another day, kiss her for another day, but my pride pulled me back. And I almost regret it while peering down on her ecstasy filled face, feeling that mutual feelings because I caused it. I just didn't want to go, simple as that. I pulled my head away from her. "You didn't like it?" She panted. "I-I..." I ran. Just like the past. I ran. I even told her I loved her. The shame. I knew she wouldn't chase after me, but there was this image in the back of my head that burned of Tiffany, her loose collar and unbuttoned first couple buttons. If she only would button them out in her modest ways, brush her hair back and come after me. If only she would. But this is the imagination we have dropped. Cracked glass. "Return for room..." Although I was was half out of my mind, I still didn't forget about the human responsibility of little things like room keys that could amount

into large things like new key replacements that would take half of my funds that I brought to this place. At the reception desk laid a sleeping Sparrow, his eyes sealed tight and his face shadowed by the waking morning, he never looked so beautiful before. I quietly, but not silently, save for the jingling of the keys as they made contact with the wooden desk when I place them. Then I folded a one dollar bill neatly next to his fingers and bid him a wish of silent prosper. "Where the fuck have you been? You just talk to that weird guy, shut off your phone, and then you leave. And then you...wait, you, are you crying?" Leeteuk's voice brought reality upon me right when I returned to the store, I knew he would be waiting. His face scrunched up into a funny face of concern as he attempted to console me in ways only true men knew how. He just encompassed me with his arms, which were twice the size of Tiffany's, and allowed me to calm my hiccuping sobs with his smoky scent. There wasn't any cinnamon on him like Terry, which was a different kind of familiar. Leeteuk was more of a, if you were to put scent into colors, a cool gray, it was sharp and smooth all at the same time. A cross breed between mint and a lit banana bread candle. "I...I saw Tiffany." "Y-you did?" I could see his voice. "How is she?" "She was good...she is getting...she is getting married next week. Some day." "I am sorry. I am so sorry."

You don't have to be Leeteuk, I wanted to say, you don't have to be because I I kissed him. He lips twitched slightly, his hesitation was injecting into him. The syringe never felt so good, I bet that's what he thought when his left hand was at my waist and his right hand around my neck into the back of my hair, ruining it, but I didn't care. I never told him that I loved him, because I didn't mean it. But he was my closest friend, even closer than Tiffany, so those words weren't necessary to describe our relationship. The more words, the less the meaning. Our ancestors never had a written language, only body language. And music. Music to describe what was really deep within their souls to their soul mates. Not words that start wars, rebellions, revolutions, and reforms now. They hurt. They can hurt a lot. Leeteuk never let me hurt me, he never hurt me. He was so nice to me, he let me forget things for once. I thought of nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing, hurt by nothing. "Do you feel better?" He said this, a fragment of being out of breath. I couldn't breath too easy either. "What do we do now?" "Keep going." "What about Tiffany?" "You do not hurt."

With that, I pressed him against the wall, he had his fingers clawed onto my body as he walked us backwards into the dark storage room. Our lips collided again, with much more fervor than last time, no hesitation, just blank want, just empty usage. My forgotten gun flashed through my mind, I think it was with Tiffany now. She could do whatever she wanted with it. I thought no more of her, but it was hard when the last image of her in my idealism was her driving two bullets into her head. One for her. One for me. Perfect, isn't it? Do you want me to give up my pride as a woman, or drop dead? I cannot do both at the same time. That's what I wanted to say to her. I undid Leeteuk's belt.

Act XVI: Night, 1973

Act XVI: Night, 1973

"I did not know you smoked." "Really? Does it bother you?" He was about to smother it out in the ashtray beside him before I delicately placed my hands on his wrist. He made me feel like a woman, my motions were so feminine that it was borderline pathetic. But interesting enough, there was cinnamon in the air. "No," I ran my fingers over his shoulder, "it is kind of attractive, actually." "We have been friends for so long, so long, and...there are still things we do not know about each other." "Being friends does not obligate to knowing people. Being spouses, lovers, children, do not equal to knowing the person you are related to." "Taeyeon?" "Hm?"

He leaned to kiss me, but I pressed his face away lightly. No one had sex only twice, there was once in the morning, and once after the store was closed down. We didn't even know why, sometimes we didn't even know what happened. But I remembered that it didn't hurt, but I didn't love him. I suppose it wasn't about love, it was about pleasure, and maybe trust. I trusted him with my life, and my body was part of that. People say that when your body withers away, your life, your spirit is still there. But I'm sure my life depends all on the beating of my heart, but even if Leeteuk made my heart beat fast, I still didn't love him. "Sorry, I got carried away." "No, I am sorry, I, I honestly...I do not know what I am doing." I rolled away from him and back onto my feet. It felt good, in his arms, it was warm. My past scars, my wounds, I didn't even feel them. Now that I thought about it, I wasn't a lackey for the mob since Terry died. Maybe that was the only why my wounds healed. Yet on my back, never. I shivered in the loss of Leeteuk warmth and reflexively pulled my arms into a hold on myself. He stretched his arms out to stretch, but he looked ready to receive me again. His eyes scaled the back of me, but not in a perversive way, it was much more critical, more observant. "For some reason, that scar, as much as it is inappropriate against your skin, it is beautiful." I turned my neck in his general direction with my eyes dropped, shielding the top half of him from my view. "Is that so?" "Yeah."

The alarm on Leeteuk phone sounded off, signaling a call from his Mother. I could still hear the methodical beeping sound in my head, the three sounds, the next sound just louder than the last. It pierced through my ear drums each time, and echoed only because he left it on for so long before picking his phone up. But as much as I wanted to throw his phone across the room in the last five rounds of beeping, fifteen beeps in total, I kept mum. There was a part of me that didn't want to complain. "My Mother is coming home, you should..." "Dress." "It is already morning, it is..." "Only eleven. Can I still stay?" "If you help me make the bed." I smiled and nodded, then we covered the mattress with the sheets, tidying up the evidence that anything ever took place here. It wasn't awkward, even if the room was silent besides the shuffling of sheets between our fingers, instead, there was a comforting silence that took place. Leeteuk was slightly bashful, but I, I didn't know how I felt. I wasn't particularly happy, but I felt no regrets. "If you have to pay for it, it will break." I slid my fingers and clutched my coffee mug even closer, not caring if the heat radiating off of it burned at my finger tips. It was a slow sizzle. We were seated now outside in his living room, still waiting for his Mother to come home so she could clearly see me not in her son's bed, naked. Making a bed clearly cut the

mood, and as I smoothened out the creases on the blanket, it sealed the deal that this would never happen again. He was my best friend, and that was all he was. Sex wasn't love. Just as how money isn't happiness. "What do you mean, Leeteuk?" "I mean," He furrowed his brows to further explain his random statement, "I mean if you have to buy something, there's a guarantee that it will break. If you have to buy love, it won't last, if you have to buy beauty, it's not going to last either. If you have to buy a girl expensive clothes and jewelry to get some love, isn't that a notion that she's using you? Maybe she does genuinely love you, but you will only know once you stop buying her things. And beauty, beauty is, beauty is impossible. I mean, you're beautiful, because you don't buy it. Even if you had the money to slather on make up, if you had the money to somehow fix your face with a knife, wouldn't they still just fall apart? I dream that money wouldn't have to mean anything. Time needs to move faster for that to happen, so the world can just end. But if the world ends, you won't be there. Time moves too fast for my liking, but too slow for my dream." His voice rose as he had built a stronger argument during his monolog, the man spoke, I could only listen. "But happiness, I mean, happiness isn't money. When I'm with you, I'm happy. When I was with you...I was happy. You know? And we didn't even have to spend a single cent on it." "What about condoms?" I blatantly and candidly said.

Leeteuk's deep chuckle versus Tiffany silent high pitched giggled clashed in my ears. Laughter was supposed to sooth the programmed brains, but it only damaged mine. I couldn't laugh with him, even when he took my hand in his. "I'm happy with you, you know." "I...I can't. You know that. I can't be with Tiffany, I can't be with you. I'm too...I'm too dangerous." "But...but me...you..." I screwed my eyes shut, damming the tears and the vision of Leetuek's falling face. He knew I used him, but I never knew he could hurt like this...just so hurt. "I'm just as sorry as you are." Through the dim of the light, he was faceless, but his vocals shaped his facial features. I suppose he wasn't sad, nor depressed, nor lost, he knew. He knew what I was putting him through, and he didn't like it. He always knew I was keeping him from something, and he didn't like that either. But his face would display no sense of eagerness. More of a respect. I didn't understand what part of my broken self, torn apart by society adding to the lit powder of self destruction could be respected. But in him, it was there for me. He was there for me. Part of me depended on that, and the other part of me, to feel like I owned another person, distracted my eyes from the mirror. Running from myself then became my favorite recreation. Even more than swinging on that red swing, now just a distant memory.

Father, I'm sorry that I was one with one of your gender before marriage. Father, if you were alive, would any of this have happened? Father, I feel like a child. Father, I miss you. Mr. Cheng, you're dead.

Act XVII: Afternoon to Night, 1974

Act XVII: Afternoon to Night, 1974

You have been invited to Hwang Tiffany and Terrence Wong's wedding on...at... "Why? It's already been a year, she must have gotten married last year, why did we get this invitation now?" "I do not all, all I know is, is that I am going." "You shouldn't." "Maybe it's been postponed." Leeteuk laid his hand palm up on the table and I reluctantly handed the wedding invitation to him. His eyes scanned the paper over and over, but never would he understand the importance like I did. "You just shouldn't." "But I am. And I ordered a dress to wear just last week. Ami should bring it now."

Leeteuk sank into the back of his chair and half heartedly threw the invitation onto the table again, it almost missed its mark to the edge if there wasn't an extra blow of wind around. We were in the Golden Dragon, not as workers, but as patrons. I still attempted to resist the urge to wipe the table, silently criticizing the newcomer that must have done it because he cleaned so slowly and still left debris on the tables. My mind created ghost figurines of Terry out back, smoking in secret, my younger self running around, and Leeteuk's laughter. Two years and more just seemed to long ago. And Tiffany would bring me lunch sometimes. "It's been a year, Taeyeon, another whole year. And you survived without her, why can't you repeat it a couple more times? This is too suspicious, too dangerous. Tiffany surely has her life now, she - " "No!" "Taeyeon..." "There is more to this, Leeteuk, there is more to this and I am sure of it. There is someone out there playing with me, and he is not Tiffany." "How do you know?" "I know because you do not know." "...Why Taeyeon, why can't you just stay at the shop and be with me and just, Tiffany has her life, why can't you just live yourself without her being your foundation all the time." "Because right now, it is not about her, it is about me."

"I don't know you anymore." "Even if you know my body, do you know me since the start?" "..." "I got your call, and your dress." "Ami." That woman wasn't a major person in my life until this very moment. And I didn't even know. I didn't even know how important she was in furthering understanding my emotions within myself that seemed to distant before. Even her face was a blur to me, but her words, her words still stung me and dug my heart out to hang on my wall like a trophy until this day. All I remembered was the fact that she kept the red dress Tiffany loved so much to the back of the store, and now I was buying it from her to wear to the love of my life's wedding. I promised Tiffany that I would buy it, well, I bought it. I smoothed out the fabrics and picked at the loose seams. "Thank you, Ami." "Did you date Terry?" "What?" Her voice cut in again, I didn't notice her anxious gait since the dress covered her, the red capturing all of my senses. But now Ami was clear to me. She was still broken. A woman in love, broken.

"Did you ever date him?" "N-no, I was...I was with Leeteuk." He didn't say anything, but was somewhat pleasantly surprised and folded his arms, as if defending himself from an invisible force. "Oh..." Her voice didn't sound any more relieved as she added, "if you didn't date Terry, Tiffany was my second guess." "Tiffany?" "At least you two aren't together," her voice melted from sorrow, skepticism, to poison in less than five minutes. "What if..." I found myself whispering aloud, "what if we were?" "That's disgusting." "That is what?" I shoved the dress into Leeteuk's fumbling hands as I was prepared to right my own war. But I wasn't prepared to confess to myself a feeling that was locked within me since the day my Father was shot. Shot and killed. Not shot and lived. If only I had control over my life when I was younger, if only I could control the amount of human corruption that bled into me and pumped through my veins. If only. "The Bible says homosexuality is wrong, it is wrong. You and Tiffany, no, I'm sure you're just joking. At least she's getting married like a normal woman."

"The Bible says...the Bible says. If the Bible says that your love with Terrence was wrong, would you believe in it still? If the Bible told you to jump off a cliff, would you? If the Bible told you to axe murder your family in order to achieve salvation, in order to to be with God in Heaven, in order to bring Terrence back would you do it? Would you do it? If the Bible said that Terrence deserved to die, would you believe it? What makes you think your love is better to cry over than mine? What makes you think...what makes you think that what you hear and what you see is always over what you feel? What makes you think that homosexuals like me cannot feel what you feel? I am sick and tired to stand here, silent, while people like you trample all over my feelings like they are nothing, trample all over my love like it is nothing because the Bible says! Now, I ask you, one more time, not what you do feel about homosexuality, but what do you feel about love." "T-the Bible says..." "FUCK WHAT THE BIBLE SAYS, I AM ASKING YOU, WHAT DO YOU FEEL!? I AM NOT GOD, I AM JUST A WEAK HUMAN THAT FEELS. DO NOT GIVE ME THAT FUCKING BLACK AND WHITE AGAIN. AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN YOU ALL TELL ME THAT LOVE IS WRONG. TAKE ME TO COURT THEN, TAKE ME TO THE COURT WHERE LOVE IS GUILTY AND HATE IS INNOCENT! IS THIS WHAT AMERICA, IS THIS WHAT THE WORLD IS ABOUT?! HATE HAS GOTTEN ME HERE!" My scar was out for all to see. The weight has been lifted. The thick and deep line that traced my collarbone felt like there was not a knife's point to my back, ever. Hate has gotten me here. But love will get me there. All could only stop and stare.

I wiped away the last of my tears. "...But love, love will get me there."

Act XVIII: Afternoon, 1974

Act XVIII: Afternoon, 1974

"Extra guests are not allowed, this is a family meeting, you see," Cheng purred between his lips as two of his largest henchmen held Leeteuk down in the most unkind of ways. He was clean cut and shaven in his suit, but he wasn't very handsome. There was a tattoo of a tip of a dragon's head just peeking through the suffocating collar around his neck. I wish I was that collar. I wished for a lot of things. I would have none of them. Here was the man who controlled about every aspect of my life, here was the man who ruined it with a single flick of the finger, here was the man getting married to the love of my life simply because he is the man. I sort of hated him. "Let him go, he did not do anything," I spoke between gritted teeth, I couldn't lose the cool I didn't have in the first place, he didn't have to show up in my life physically until now, and yet he could still overpowered me. As much as I didn't want to feel, I couldn't help but fear what he could do right in front of me.

Tiffany could only look away, I could see darker spots staining her dress, a sign of tears. What does she have to cry about? Who is she crying for? The stained glass window of Virgin Mary frowned upon her. Maybe, I thought almost mockingly, maybe she forgot to pray before she fucked him. I sort of hated her too. I came here because of love. But now that I'm here, it's a different story already. Maybe I just came here for answers. And Leeteuk's existence just made it even more complex. He insisted on coming, insisted on protecting me, even though I attempted to convince him that a gun was all that I needed. A gun was better than a human, because you can control, you can always count on it not to throw you under the bus. Unless if it doesn't trigger. And when he brought a pistol of his own, I was powerless. "You see, the child is always going to be in the shadow of the parent. Sure, apprentices learn from their Masters, but even Masters are afraid. They are afraid of their students overpowering them, knowing more than them, so there's always a move that isn't taught, something you could use for the grand finale or some shit like that. You know, Taeyeon, I was always afraid of you." His gun swung my face, and I didn't flinch. "Look at you, just look at yourself. You're beautiful and disgusting all at once to me. You look like your Mother. But your eyes look like mine. Why is that Taeyeon? How could two people that are so different could be so much alike? I wanted to erase you from this Earth, but I didn't want to do it myself. But of course, we all like to play with you food, I wanted you to suffer first, then now,

now...everything, everything was set up for your demise. But you just had to be like me, that tough son of a bitch that wouldn't say no to anything. No even...not even love." He inhaled. "Your...guardian, Mr. Kim, he raised you like his own, didn't he? You didn't know all that time, he was paying me. All his money is my money. And all I wanted to do was to get my money back. But the building, that building was yours, White men aren't worth associating with. You trust the dominant culture one time, you serve them like a God and in return, they'll screw you over. Terry Wong, Terry was a good man, you see. He had this large guilt about lying to a comrade, but money got through to him. We breathe it, you know? Sparrow, my retarded son, he just listens to what his Mother's words, her words is just a puppets to the money signs." He exhaled. "And Leeteuk, good old Leeteuk. How did he feel under you fingertips? Rendering your strength helpless? Pretty, isn't he? I wonder why he would get so close, like your Father, your companion, your..." "He was my best friend." "Was, I see. Leeteuk knew." He inhaled. "And Tiffany, the love of your fucking life. You see, I really didn't want to drag her in here, but her cute face was just hard to resist. And her largest weakness wasn't money, it was you. You, you, you. You better feel special."

"You promised that you would let her go," Tiffany spoke between sobs. She was just so useless. "Ah, yes, yes, I did promise, I will let her go. After this. Since Tiffany is in such a rush for the ceremony, choose." "What?" "Taeyeon, you're smart aren't you? I told you to choose. Raise your gun. No funny business now." He stepped a good distance away and dropped his gun to the ground after unloading its cartridge. "Two people. Me and Tiffany, or me and Leeteuk." "How do you know that I'll follow your rules?" He smiled, "Because you are my child." I closed my eyes and put my hands on the trigger, this felt like ripping a bandage off of my wounds. My mental debt will just add, add until I don't know what to do anymore. Fuck this. Bang. Bang. Bang.

"You happy?" "Yes, I am pretty fucking happy." "Why...why is that...your Father is dying...your lover is dying in your arms..." "A Father is a lot more than you. I know where the bullet hit Tiffany. I know where the bullet hit Leeteuk. That is all I need to know." He used the last of his strength, to pull himself a little closer and to tilted his neck to look directly at me. "You killed him." He then inspected Tiffany. "Frontal lobe for that girl, she may never remember you anymore." "I will find a way, she will remember me." "She - " "I said, SHE WILL REMEMBER ME." "If you live, my child, remember, don't lie. It's bad for you." I smiled as my Father died. Bullshit. Tiffany was motionless in my arms, but still breathing, I loaded her into the back of a hot-wired car and my eyes met the front door of the church. Only God's eyes will see what has happened there. Promise me God, to not tell anyone no matter

how hard they fucking pray. Because it was only fair when you didn't tell me a thing. The long, flowing red velvet dress touched the ground when I situated myself in the front driver's seat. I concluded that it would get in the way, I didn't want to get into a car accident or something due to a piece of fabric. So, I ripped it. All are punished.

Act XIX: Morning, 1977

Act XIX: Morning, 1977

"That will be..." Tiffany peered down on the label, her eyes couldn't help but trail elsewhere. "Oh! That will be eighty four cents, yep, that's right..." "Your attention span has been longer than usual, that is good." I reached up to ruffle her hair, she used to hate it, but now it seemed to be the only thing that could comfort her. Just has Cheng had said, Tiffany couldn't remember much. She was truly alone, and with those eyes that she used on me the first time I saw her on that hospital bed, who was I to let her go? We weren't questioned much, even with our given conditions by the nurses or other hospital administrators, because hurt was a common thing. It still is. But I think hate crimes reigned during those times again any person of race that wasn't White here. The only evidence left of what happened at the church was whatever lied behind Tiffany's headband.

I didn't dare to take it away or look. It was for the owner's eyes to see only. Was I guilty? Surprisingly, no. Because it was all set up for me, all I had to do was pull the trigger. Like a movie, there were gang members to clean up the mess that would trail to them, they never touched me, Tiffany, our store, or the apartment again. The only good thing about a gang was the fact that there was great loyalty, if their leader fell, they wouldn't operate until there was another leader installed. And thankfully, he enjoyed doing petty crimes than going after two defenseless women trying to put their lives back together. Leeteuk, much to his Mother's sorrow, was missing to the world's eye. Even though he may have been a traitor and a hero all in one, the world didn't care about him. Time didn't stop for him. His body was dragged away by the members, I'm sure, because there was no funeral. His Mother purchases a cemetery ground that would never be used, because even three years later, the body didn't show up. There were loose ends that would never be tied, but I guess that's how the American Dream goes. You leave a bunch of shit for the next generation to deal with. No wonder each generation is more fucked up than the last. We hand some screwed over kids with our problems, and we don't teach them how to learn over what to learn before we kick the bucket on them. Hey, Tiffany, when I die, you be good, alright? Tiffany couldn't read my thoughts, she just tilted into my touch as I couldn't keep my hands off her hair. In return of me being angry, selfish, vengeful, I think I have repaid my debts.Because every time I look at her, ignoring her bullet wound, it hurts. There's writing all over her arms, there are dates, and holidays, and stock prices to names and addressees, all over her arm in pen, marker, whatever.

Tiffany took my hand. "I wonder why you ripped that red dress, I really liked the way it fit on you." "Tiffany, I love you." "I love you too. Cheng." For some reason, not hearing my name come from her lips makes saying the truth easier. See, I told you that I owned a gun for a reason, Father. Good morning.

Author's Note

And this story has come to an end. Now let's start from the beginning. The inspiration for this story in the first place spawned from multiple places. I think the largest part was from my own experiences during my fifteen year old life and the experiences of my parents as immigrant to the United States. My Father, from Hong Kong, worked in the a laundromat before he went into the army to pay for his education and went to a good college to take courses in Criminal Justice and Law. My Mother worked multiple jobs in Hong Kong, from being an accountant to a tourist guide, but never had a stable education. She had two older siblings, and four younger siblings below her that she needed to take care of. And with my Grandfather being a shoe maker and my Grandmother being a housekeeper, there wasn't much money or family time to pass around. When she married my Father and lived in America after a couple meetings of traveling overseas, she studied to get a GED after I was born. I grew up in a flower shop that my family owned, and everyday I was taught the importance of hard work and not to whine for the things that I wanted, because I wasn't going to get it. The main income was on my Father's hands, since the flower shop didn't get much money on a daily basis unless it was on holidays. I think the lowest point of my family during that time when my Father was discriminated against in his workplace, his income somehow dropped, the flower shop was robbed, and my Mother had to shut it down due to my Father's growing

illness. And we had to move into a rundown apartment. But my parents had hope, my Father just fought through the illness while studying more so he could take the test to get a promotion despite the discrimination, and my Mother tried to work in multiple jobs again. We even built our own furniture and fixed our own apartment up as nice as possible to not spend more than we needed. So I grew up being very frugal and practical by nature, in this society, I actually thank my parents. In the end, my Father did get the promotion, and has made a stable income for a long time now, securing his position to not be pushed around again. And his illness has toned down. My Mother doesn't work anymore but ran a small business on the side of being a homemaker. Growing up, the only way that I could get the things I wanted was to work for it, I either had to do very good during a piano recital, or get an especially good grade, and the likes. And I think because I saw how diligent my parents worked, that it would only make sense for me to be just as good (even though I can get a little lazy from time to time). I don't fling money around like it's just a piece of paper (as much as I wish it was), and I invest into my bank account for college. Just because I'm young doesn't mean money doesn't mean anything. It will always mean something. Attending a private school when I was younger because I missed the cut off for a public one wasn't the issue. The issue was the fact that I was the only Chinese, no, Asian person in the entire school of three hundred. I enjoyed drawing a lot, but beneath all the stupid coloring books and the mangled drawings of fish, there were pictures that reflected loneliness. There was a picture that I drew, in which I was separated from the rest of the group. Obviously, I didn't know why I drew such a thing, and I especially didn't know why I kept it when I was six or seven. But I did suffer from being lost in cultural identity until I was fourteen, until last year. I would keep asking myself, "am I Chinese, or am I American?" I'm both, my body

is Chinese, but my mindset is both. When I go to China, they know that I'm different, when I'm here in America, I'll never pass for a White person. But to call me American or call me Chinese, I suppose I'll take both. There's nothing wrong with that. Gangs, gangs, gangs, they're a popular topic to write stories about, but are they actually described properly? No, not really. I did some light research within the Chinese gangs back then, and there was a leader that controlled everything, and there was a tight unspoken loyalty between members. They could freely get married and live lives, but you could never forget who you were. I don't think you could ever truly leave, or achieve happiness. I was very unsure though, to even involve gangs in this story, because I felt that I wrote them as being a little too nice. If I pushed the boundaries on realism even more, the gang members would go after Taeyeon and Cheng would have killed her. Then again, there is background between them all that just prevents you from pulling the trigger. In this story, I think money was the least of Taeyeon's debts. Her greatest one was the one in her heart to forgive. Taeyeon never forgives. So the debt will always be there. Another thing that just adds is Tiffany, Tiffany will never remember Taeyeon as Taeyeon, Cheng is the only one ingrained into her mind to remember. To wake up ever morning to a person that loves you the wrong way is just very sad. Even sadder than if Tiffany died in that church. And on top of that, even when gay marriage was legal while they were alive, they wouldn't get married. Because Tiffany would refuse the hand of Taeyeon, she only knows the the name Cheng. I thought a lot about the ending. I wanting something neutral. I didn't want a plot twist or anything like that, as much as I enjoyed them. I waned something more methodical, because the final scene wasn't the climax. I think the climax resided

more in Taeyeon finding out who was pulling the strings on her life all this time just because he was her Father. And the rest was just Taeyeon taking the worst but somewhat necessary steps to get rid of him. Sometimes, your dreams just can't be achieved, sometimes, it's not your fault. There are just things out there that you wish but you can't control. Happy Ever Afters are not entitled, but earned. What you get sometimes isn't always what you deserve. Tirraunt.