Chapter Text
Momo worked your regular graveyard shift, stacking boxes of juice on the top shelf of a rundown twenty-four hour convenience store. Believe it or not, she didn’t mind the dusty job, sweeping the floor and restocking was ideal enough for her. (She hated talking to people.)
The hatred only grew when several high school students pressure her into buying cigarettes and alcohol for them. “You’re wasting our time,” the girl clicks her tongue, red high heels, nose up in the air, prideful and not willing to back down. She adjusts a lollipop from one side of her mouth to the other, placing a hand on Momo’s tired and heavy shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll keep this a secret from your friend over there,” she jabs her thumb back to the cash register, a tired and spaced out Jihyo from the corner fails to notice the situation.
“The cops are on their way,” A soft but stern voice rings from behind the crowd of delinquents, a dainty figure dressed in a floral dress, early twenties.
Momo fails to take note of the small bag slung across her body, the rigid layered haircut, short brown wisps just below her shoulders. She fails to take note of the cursing kids running out of the store, the bells ringing on their way out.
“Thank you,” she mutters, eliciting a soft sigh as she rubs the back of her neck, embarrassed for not being able to handle the situation as well as the stranger did. The girl merely nods, taking a pack of ramen to the counter before the ringing bells signal her presence away.
Momo stands in the middle of the empty convenience store, holding onto a broom with both hands, clutched tightly against her.
What the fuck was that?
-
Whenever Sana would forget things she would write them down on her arm, in black ink, scrawled messily on her pale skin, change bed sheets. This way she could never forget about it. This way when she does, she could always come back to it.
Sana and her girlfriend, Dahyun loved to host get together parties every occasional Friday. (The fancy type). The one where there’s really expensive champagne, a platter of varying sushi, pasta, and a ton of European desserts. That kind of party.
“We’re engaged,” Sana says cheerfully, showing off the ring to three squealing girls. The ring was costly, an 18 carat diamond ring listing just under 3k. Sana’s off to marry the daughter of a corporate millionaire, the heiress of a top gun company. 3k was nothing.
“Oh my god, when did this happen?” Mina shrieks, grabbing Sana’s fragile hand to take a good look at the authenticity of the ring.
“Just yesterday! She asked me off the coast of the Han River on our yacht,” there’s an exchange of oohs and ahs from her friends, laughter following after that.
Buy milk
It’s scribbled on her pale wrist, leaving a smudge when she rubs on it too much. Sana prefers walks, she preferred to do things the way normal people did. The way she was used to. The bells ring when she enters the corner store, a soft footstep inside the rugged, decaying local shop.
“Milk, milk,” she says, tapping her lips as she examines the sections. Lifeless as the entire place seemed to be, Sana found comfort in the quiet. The quiet when the cash register dings loudly, getting stuck and having to be forced open by the obviously embarrassed cashier.
Ten.
There were ten cars that passed Sana on her way back. She recalls the faces of each driver, each taut and rushed. The seven a.m. traffic jam was just another reason she prefered traveling on her feet. There were lots of things Sana enjoyed, perhaps walking was only one of them.
The nights came by lonely, the perfect life she was living was none near it. Dahyun had began to pull overnighters at work, coming home in the morning, tired and cranky.
“Get off me,” she says, stern and rough as she shakes Sana’s embrace off, “I’m tired.”
“But,” Sana starts then keeps silent as Dahyun begins her way into the room, “Don’t come in here.”
When the mornings come just as lonely as the nights do, Sana finds the space beside her cold and empty. Dahyun’s last words were nothing meaningful, “Wash the dishes and fold the laundry.”
Wash dishes
Fold laundry
Temporarily tattooed on her palm.
The time came when she rarely saw her wife-to-be, rarely in the evenings, rarely in the daylight. Visiting hours were never discussed, and the calls were often short and pointless, “Don’t wait up for me, I’m not coming home.”
Nine.
She called Dahyun nine times before she picked up, voice irritated and sans love, “What do you want?”
“We need to talk,” Sana sighs, watching the ring slip off her finger. The situation had pulled all the weight on Sana’s shoulders tighter than before, losing time for sleep, losing energy to eat. There’s a ringing silence on the other end, Dahyun trying to come up with an excuse and merely at loss for words when Sana’s patience run dry.
“I’ll be home at six.”
The loneliness bore her raw, finding ways to eat at her thoughts when sleep would refuse to abide her. Dahyun comes home in a crash, sweaty and disoriented. Work doesn’t do that to you. Does it?
“I don’t think I can do this right now,” she says, placing her bag down on the floor. Sana stands by the hall and watches her discombobulated girlfriend try to talk herself out of it.
Not today.
“Are we still doing this?” she replies, arms crossed over her floral blouse, “Are we sure about this?”
She holds the ring between her fingers, the 18 carat diamond which had once symbolized love and hope, now only recognizing hate and loneliness. It served as a reminder of their failing relationship, slowly, painfully.
“Of course,” Dahyun says, walking towards her in a slow strut, “I just think I need some time right now.”
She says it easily. She says it like she says I won’t be home tonight, quick and sure. Sana knows. Sana knows the difference between not coming home and loving someone else. But she loves her dearly, more than anything in the world. So she caves in, taking the shorter girl in her arms, slipping the ring on her finger where it first belonged,“I love you.”
No response.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Dahyun says, sharp and quick as she stuffs her feet into a pair of black, shined heels, “Dinner at 7, I’ll meet you there.”
Sana smiles, placing a soft kiss on the girl’s forehead before seeing her off. Maybe things will get better from here on. Sana says this when she finds a bouquet of roses on the foot of her door, just before she leaves for dinner.
“Where are you?”
“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can make it tonight,” Dahyun’s voice rings from the other end of the call, “Go ahead and eat without me, I’ll pay.”
Sana sighs dejectedly, leaving the restaurant in her elegant, black dress, heels held by her fingers as she walks home barefoot. Eight. The convenience store’s neon lights flicker eight times before she enters, the remaining lit letters spell out stoe, the r missing its light entirely.
“Welcome,” a tired cashier smiles at her, elbows propped on the counter as she sits on the opposite side, picking at her nails. Her name tag spells out a soft Momo. Sana completely disregards it, shuffling towards the back to grab a pack of ramen, the same kind as always. She could run out now and the cashier wouldn’t even bat an eyelash.
“Tough night?” The cashier asks, taking a quick look at the disoriented girl, tired as she was and even more so rugged than her. Sana nods before sighing a thank you and leaving with her pack of ramen, the bells ringing on her way out.
Eternity was forever ago. She feels it in the harsh burning of love and pain when she sees Dahyun in a car with some other girl.
Seven.
It was seven seconds after Dahyun entered the apartment when she tossed the ring at her, “Take your shit and go.”
“What the fuck Sana,” Dahyun curses, picking the 18 carat symbolism of six years down the drain off the floor.
“Don’t even try to explain yourself,” her voice is firm as she fumes in anger, “I know you’ve been fucking around with your secretary Dahyun, I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Take your shit and go.”
There’s clothes on the floor, Dahyun’s clothes, Dahyun’s jewelry, the stuffed toy she had given on their first anniversary, on the floor with the rest of Dahyun’s belongings.
It was Sana’s apartment. Despite being engaged to the future heiress of the biggest company in Korea, Sana wanted something to herself. Something she could call her own. Although the apartment belonged to her, the space had become meaningless upon Dahyun’s departure.
The desolation only reminded her of the failed relationship, the failed love. She spends the next few days staring out of the window, to the decaying apartment complex across the street, dim lights at half past one in the room across hers. She watches as the girl enters the room, drops her bag on the floor, sits on the recliner and watches TV till sleep finally crept up, it was a routine.
The doctor says it was from the antidepressants. That the weight of her broken relationship had pushed her towards depression, towards temporary memory loss.
He says, “You chose to forget everything you want to forget, and now you can’t remember at all.”
Sana sits across the mahogany table, watching the doctor’s lips moves but no sound coming out. All they needed to say was that she wasn’t ever going to remember anymore, that would be enough to drive her away. But she sits there, glassy eyed as he breaks the news that one by one, she’ll stop remembering things.
“It’s temporary, until we can wean you off the antidepressants.”
It rings in her head on her way back home, You’re going to start forgetting more and more. Sana doesn’t want to believe it, who would? She sorta laughs and throws it in the back of her head, repeating to herself, slowly, I know who I am.
I know who I am.
“But who are you?” She says, standing outside her door, the key in her hand. There’s a girl she swears she’d never seen before, or is it the memory loss kicking in?
“What are you doing here?” Sana asks, taking note of the red tupperware in the girl’s hand. The girl stiffens, shoving it in Sana’s hands.
“Here,” she stutters, refusing eye contact, “Because you always only eat ramen, I think.”
Before Sana could refuse the kind offer, the girl begins on her way out of the complex. Maybe she wants to poison me.
Sana stares at the neatly placed pile of rice and sides in the tupperware. And then she thinks, maybe it was from Dahyun. But Dahyun didn’t look like that, did she?
Six.
It was six times Sana found a bright red plastic tupperware on her doorstep, each one a different cuisine. Yesterday it was orange chicken, today it was kimchi. Every tupperware came with a hand crafted papercrane, each scribbled with some sort of wisdom.
Things will get better.
There’s that same girl outside her apartment again, she knows because the tupperware is the bright red, because she’s wearing a black hat that’s fading gray under the dim hallway lights.
“It’s you,” Sana says, “I remember you.”
The girl clears her throat, having been caught a second time trying to leave food on the doorstep of a stranger.
“Why are you doing this?” Sana asks, taking a good look at the girl’s attire, fading black jeans and a black tracksuit top.
“Nothing,” she inhales sharply, “I just thought it’d be nice to eat something else for a change.”
Her voice is soft and raspy, a cute girl underneath the discolored ball cap. Sana frowns upon the response. Who in the world would take their time to do this without some sort of ulterior motive?
She shoves the lunchbox back into the stranger’s hands, “Thank you for doing this but I’d really appreciate it if you stopped.”
The door shuts loud, leaving the confused girl outside her apartment. Maybe that was a little too harsh.
When morning came, Sana fixed a nice bow between the strands of her brown hair, a white bow which held her curls neatly.
Toilet paper
Across her wrist with a gentle smudge. She takes a last look at her reflection, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear before heading out. Sana never knew what it was that drew her to the rundown corner store. There were always better options, maybe the supermarket which was a shorter walk would’ve been a better idea. But today she decides a familiar place will help her memory. Will it?
Five.
She takes five steps out of her apartment before running into the ball cap girl, this time wearing a green shirt, a uniform.
“You again?” Sana says, watching the girl hide the lunchbox behind her, “I thought I explained to you—” “
I know,” she lowers her head in some sort of shame, “but I wanted to try poisoning you one more time.”
Sana steps back, furrowing her brows at the thought.
“Relax,” she laughs, handing Sana the box of handmade kimbap, “It was a joke. If I was trying to poison you, you’d be dead by now.”
Her laugh is a soft chuckle behind her fist, a crinkled pair of eyes, a golden smile. She reads the name tag pinned on the bright green uniform, Momo.
“I’m Momo by the way,” she says, extending a hand out for Sana to shake, “I’m sorry it took a while to introduce myself. You probably thought I was a stalker.”
“What with the hat and everything?” Sana points, taking the hand in hers, “Not at all.”
Four.
She looked at her eyes for four seconds before remembering that Momo would just be another subject to her memory loss. Another timepiece that would prove her illness.
“Sana.”
When time stood still for the second time, it was when Momo promised to take her out if she would stop being so grumpy.
“I know these homemade lunches, or dinners, aren’t ideal,” she scruffs the back of her hand, telling it like a story, “but I’d love to take you out to get actual food.” “
If you stop being so grumpy all the time,” she adds, chuckling.
Sana elicits a soft sigh, leaning against the wall, “I’m sorry, I just have a lot going on.”
The dim lights flicker outside of Sana’s four star rated apartment. She had not yet gotten around to showing Momo the bareness of her home so for now they sit outside her door, four feet apart, against the wall.
“I know,” Momo says, staring at the dingy hallway. She had not known Sana for long, but there were many little things that struck a bell in Momo’s mind.
“You write everything down on your wrist,” she says, pausing for a second in contemplation, “it’s because you forget, don’t you?”
6:00pm
Dinner with Momo
Myeongdong
Sana steps out in a pair of sneakers and a floral dress, glancing at her wrist for the reminder.
“Momo and Myeongdong,” she repeats, “6pm.”
When Momo sees her from across the street of the darkened sky, she had known all this time. Sana had always been of her interest, but for more than what anyone could imagine. She waves, catching a glimpse of Sana’s rare smile.
“Well,” she starts, “this is no five star restaurant but,” she turns around, twirling in the yellow food stand lights, “street food is still the best.”
Sana couldn’t ask for a better date, the overrated nights at a three star Michelin restaurant would only remind her of Dahyun. This had spelled out Momo.
“So,” Momo says, pressing her lips together, “is this good enough?”
Sana taps her chin for a second before her lips curl into a soft smile, “More than good enough.”
The darkened sky failed to show Sana that the brightest star of all was not up above, but right in front of her. She smiles wearily at Momo, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.
“I have temporary memory loss,” Sana says, poking the fish ball with the stick. She refuses eye contact with Momo but she could see the girl nod, in the same graying ball cap.
“I know.”
Momo knows this because she could hear the girl repeat to herself, “Momo and Myeongdong.”
“I’m with Momo at Myeongdong,” she mutters, fumbling with her fingers. Momo takes her hand, easing away the nervousness that Sana had felt just seconds before.
“You’re okay,” she smiles, “I’m Momo and you’re at Myeongdong with me.”
Sana nods, remembering the discolored ball cap and star-lit crescent eyes. Momo.
“Do you like arcades?” Momo asks, turning to look her. It was the first time she had been in Sana’s place, nevertheless see the naked bareness of it all. In total there was probably a single black leather couch with a matching table and a flat screen tv in front.
Everywhere Momo had turned, she was met face to face with a post it note. Pink, yellow, orange post it notes, reminding the girl to call her mom at one, don’t forget laundry on the other.
“I don’t know,” Sana responds, taking the loose leaf tea leaves from the pot and pouring each in a porcelain china, “I’ve never been.”
Momo picks a sticky note off the door frame of her bedroom, Momo is her name. Underneath it was a pink note, scribbled across it in a hurry, She wears a faded black hat, then the yellow after that, She’ll make you laugh. In the last, orange sticky note, That’s how you’ll know it’s her.
“Well,” Momo purses her lips, eyes meeting a crestfallen Sana, tired in the mind, “would you mind going with me? You’re just so boring that’s why.”
It makes Sana smile, tiredly though, but it does it’s job and makes Sana want to punch Momo in the face, “I’m all you’ve got.”
Three.
There were three dots on Momo’s face. If you connected them they formed an isosceles triangle. Sana loved that about her, like a constellation on her favorite night sky.
They walked along the skyline, overlooking the wide river under the paling, cotton candy sunset. If there was one memory Sana wanted to keep forever, it would be her and Momo, legs dangling off the end of the pier, sharing the moment (and a churro).
Sana talked about her love for the night sky. So much so that the next time Momo came to visit her, she had a packaged telescope in her hands.
“What is that?” Sana says through the tiny crack of her door.
“Are you going to let me in or will I have to sleep out here?” Momo nudges and Sana smiles, letting her in. Sana didn’t know that she was letting her in her heart too. She didn’t know this when they sat shoulder to shoulder outside on her patio, taking turns looking at the stars through Momo’s telescope.
“What’s your favorite constellation?” Momo asks, peering into the scope.
“You.”
Two.
There were two less lonely people in the world when Sana and Momo are with each other.
“I think I’ve met you before,” Sana says, laying on the couch, head on Momo’s lap, “I’m not sure though.”
These days Sana wasn’t sure of a lot of things. Did she ever get around to visiting the corner store and buying milk? The faded black ink on her arm says no.
“What are you most afraid of?” Momo asks.
The stars are lit bright yellow, bright white from across the galaxy, dead stars which consider themselves alive in this time period. They reminded her of Sana.
“Forgetting you.”
When Momo got back one day, knocking on Sana’s heavy apartment door, she remembers an empty feeling which had bestowed its way into her stomach, leaving her in pits of worry. The door opens a tiny crack, like always.
For Sana who was not used to visitors, Momo had made standing behind the doorframe a habit for her. But Momo’s staring at empty brown eyes, peeking from behind the thick wooden door, nicely kept, number 45, third one down the hall.
“I bought you something,” Momo says, half of her trying to bite back the excitement and half of her trying to figure out the confused blank stare she was receiving on the other end.
“Sana,” Momo frowns when she garners no response, lowering her hands from behind her back. She held tightly onto a gold necklace, a locket that had her picture on one side, the other was the night sky when she had first met Sana. Around her neck was a matching pair, a gold locket which was empty aside from the night sky on their first encounter. (She had planned to get Sana to put a picture in it for her.)
“Are you going to let me in?” Momo taps on the opposing end of Sana’s door to which Sana replies by opening the door inches, just wide enough for Momo to see the mess behind her, to see Sana’s scuffled hair which she had never left that way, a stained floral dress she had worn when Momo first met her. The red Momo on her wrist which she had evidently tried to scrub off.
One.
There was only one person in the world Sana had grown to love in the midst of her illness. Not the stars that she loved, not the plants she had cared for, none had made her as happy as Momo did.
“I’m slowly forgetting,” Sana says, laying on the floor next to Momo.
They had spent hours painting each other and all Sana came up with was a galaxy of stars, a million Momos in her hands. Momo says it’s unfair, that she tried her best to draw Sana true to life, showcasing an five-year old painting of a girl smiling.
It makes Sana laugh, the ear piercing, dolphin wave of sound which elicited from Sana’s mouth ever so rarely.
Today she hears it for the last time.
In Sana’s defense, the stars reminded her for Momo, claiming that she was always with her whenever she saw the stars, she had no longer felt alone.
"I'm going to forget you," Sana says, there are hot tears running down the side of her face as she looks up at the ceiling.
Momo shakes her head, taking a paintbrush, dipping it in bright red like the tupperwares she would bring to Sana.
Momo
Bright red across her wrist, in Momo's writing.
"I'll write it everyday and make sure you won't forget about me."
Zero.
There was 0% of Sana in the eyes Momo was staring at. The sparkle had disappeared, the room behind her a complete opposite from how she had left it last night.
“Sana?” Momo mutters, eyes fixed on the littered apartment behind the dazed girl.
There were tears in Sana’s eyes, glassy and red. When she blinks a tsunami of tears run down her face in pairs.
“Who are you?”