Chapter Text
December 17th
Imagine this:
You’re in your favorite bookstore, scanning the shelves. You get to the section where a favorite author’s books reside, and there, nestled in comfortably between in the incredibly familiar spines, sits a red notebook.
The choice, I think, is pretty obvious: you take the notebook and open it.
And then you do whatever it tells you to do.
You see,it’s Christmas time in Seoul, the sickest time of the year. The moo-like crowds, the endless visits from hapless relatives, the ersatz cheer, the joyless attempts at joyfulness-- my natural aversion to human contact could only intensify in this context. Everybody is happy and fuzzy and cheezy about love, friendship, and family. Not that I don’t like this kind of stuff, because I really like it, but I’m not in the mood this year. That’s why finding this book could be so fun and entertainment for me. I don’t have anything to do in Seoul and don’t even start asking me why. It’s a long and disappointing story about a kid with divorced parents.
Until this red notebook came to my vision, I had nothing going on and was happy about it. Because, excuse me, I told my mom that I was spending Christmas with my dad and told my dad that I was spending the holidays with my mom. And the lack of communication made it really good for me.
And you know what is the best part of all of this? I still have my best friend here, and while he’s working I spend time overlooking books in my favorite bookstore in the world: Strand. If it isn’t because of its smell, the sightseeing of endless books that I could read leaves me breathless. I could lose myself there, time, and space.
So I go to my favorite shelf looking for my favorite author's book. Just because, you know? I have a lot of time to spend until Namjoon shift is off, so I just choose to re-read one of the most beautiful books in the world (“Now with a new introduction from this super duper famous hyped author!” yay). And, between their editions, there was the red notebook.
There wasn’t any writing on the spine of this particular journal, but on its cover, there’s DO YOU DARE? written in black Sharpie. I laugh. Do I dare? Of Course, bring it on.
I know what you want to know. What was written when I opened it.
“ I’ve left some clues for you.
If you want them, turn the page.
If you don’t, put the book back on the shelf, please.”
The handwriting was a girl’s. I mean, you can tell. That enchanted cursive. Either way, I would’ve endeavored to turn the page.
“Oh! So you Dared!
- Let’s start with French Pianism.
Charles Timbrell’s your man.
88/7/2
88/4/8
Do not turn the page until you fill in the blanks.
(just don’t write in the notebook, please.)--”
Even though I’m really into music, I would ever say that I knew what French Pianism was if someone asked me because, you know, I’m really into music and must look cool. But, actually, I don’t have any idea of what this is about. Piano studies and people who play the piano from France, I guess.
But, as I already told you, Strand was my second home, my paradise. So I knew exactly where to start: the music section. The book was found easily enough- and was exactly as I pictured it would be, the kind of book that can sit on the shelves for years. I thought that it was a date “the second day of July in 1988/1888/1788/…” But then, I thought the more obvious: page/line/word.
“Are you”
Was I what? Please red journal, was I what?
I turned the page and it continued.
“Okay. No cheating!
What bugged you about the cover of the book? Think about it and turn the page.”
Well, that’s easy. I hated that they’d used the construction An Historical when it clearly should have been A Historical since the H in Historical is a hard H.
“if you said it was the misbegotten phrase “An Historical, please continue.
If not, please put this journal back on its shelf.”
Once more, I turned the page.
“2. Fat hoochie prom queen
64/4/9
119/3/8”
No author this time. Not helpful.
I took French Pianism with me ( since it was in my hands for ages, we’ve become close friends I couldn’t let him stay there) and went right to the information desk, where there was this boy who looked like had my age, but with blondish hair and incredible smile, drinking coke and looking at his phone.
“I’m looking for Fat hoochie prom queen.” I declared, not so proud of saying it out loud.
He ignored me.
“It’s a book.” I don’t know what I should have said “Not a person.”
Still looking at his phone.
“Can you, at least, tell me who wrote it?”
He looked at me with dead eyes. His smile went away, and he slowly wrote on his computer. Still, not a word was coming from his mouth.
“Are you wearing airdots?”
Nothing.
“Do you know me?” I started to become red. The audacity of this fella. “ Did I punch you in the face back in middle school and now you remember me but I’m the bully that has any idea that you still remember my face and always wished me the hell? Because, ok, maybe I deserved, but you might as well called my friend a fag, and that wasn’t nice mister.”
He laughed.
He.
Effing.
Laughed.
“I’m sorry, sir.” He was trying to stop smiling, but couldn’t. “I’m not allowed to discuss the location of Fat Hoochie Prom Queen. But, may I say the person that you punched deserved it. You go Punch Boy!” He got closer and gave me a pat on my shoulder. “You’re a middle-grade hero.”
He came back to his invisible airdots and coke, while my head was full stressed trying to figure out where the heck would I find this book. It should be some fiction literature, like a Meg Cabot book (not that I’ve read any of her books. I liked Jesse better than Paul, but hey, that’s my opinion) so my new scavenge session begins. And in my mind, this book cover would be pinky and flowy and cute and smells like industrial strawberry. So, when I found the M section in literature… there it was.
I turned to pages 69 and 119 and found: going to.
“Now that you found this in the teen section, I must ask you: Are you a teenager?”
Well, I’m 19. Maybe I’m way past this girl's age.
“If you’re older than 18, please turn the page.
If you’re not, return this book to its place. It was nice to meet you, though.”
I don’t know what to expect anymore. How many hours have I been running around this bookshop? I reached my cell phone hoping there were a thousand messages from Namjoon but what I’ve found was that only twenty minutes had passed. I still have plenty of time.
Next page.
“3. The joy of gay sex. (Third Edition!)
66/12/5
181/18/7”
Well, I thought she was asking the age so when we met it wouldn't be so strange to meet a really old or young person. But, in all things I was expecting, none of them was not only going into the sex section but looking for a gay book.
Again, not that I’m against it. I don’t know if it’s clear as the water from that European country that everybody wants to drink and show that it is fancy and rich: I’m bisexual. Took me some years to discover that I was not only into girls but into guys too. I’ve had some relationships myself, but none lasted enough to think about it. So, hey, not a problem or anything.
I went to page 66, looked out to line 12, and the fifth word was…
“cock”
I counted three times and accepted that this girl wanted to be funny. Like, she wanted to be cool, and funny, and sarcastic. So, maybe she’s using it as a verb.
“Are you going to cock”
Whatever, moving to page 181, I’ve tried to scam without reading it. Because it was already weird enough to be running around this place, but reading this book in public? Well, that’s a no. Then, I’ve finally found the last word:
“playing”
Which result in
“Are you going to cock playing”
It didn’t seem right. I mean, grammatically speaking, it wasn’t right. And this person also had the same problem as I with the An/ A Historical, so I've made a mistake. I turned the pages of the journal until I found out that I was on the wrong page. It wasn’t 5, it was 6. So, back on page 66 ( the junior version of the devil’s number) and then my phrase was ok again.
“Are you going to be playing-”
“Yoon?”
The voice calling for me was Eunji, this girl from my college, somewhere between a friend and acquaintance. She’s the best friend of my ex-girlfriend, Ha-na, who was now in New Zealand. Eunji was the typical best friend that you, as a boyfriend, is always around because she’s always around too.
“Hi, Eun!”
She looked at me like she’s trying to find something wrong. But the thing is: nobody in Seoul (only Namjoon, because he’s the only person in this world that I’m confident with) knows that I’m queer. And then her eyes stopped in the book I was holding.
“It’s for an art class paper.” I show the red journal, as it would make any difference. “My teacher wants us to use some creativity on how to express sexual feelings. That weird stuff art kids study, you know?”
Eunji, bless her, looked like she regretted ever saying my name.
“Are you around for break?” she asked me out of blue.
If I answered yes, as she might be expecting, she might invite me to an eggnog party or a group excursion to the holiday film Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer, featuring a black comedian playing all the roles, except for that of a female Rudolph, who was, one assumed, the love interest. Because I withered under the glare of an actual invitation, I was a firm believer in preventative prevarication - in other words, lying early in order to free myself later on.
“I will leave for Japan tomorrow.”
“Japan?”
Must I tell you that my family is that Korean kind of family that goes to Daegu and stays at their parents' house, with the grandparents and use that full clothes and do those things that family do on holidays. That’s why I told my mom I was staying with dad and told dad that was staying with mom, but, in the end, I’ll end up going to Kim’s holly molly Christmas. “My dad loves Japan in December. This year he wants to spend time with his only son, so.. I’m going with it.”
Eunji nodded. “Sounds… fun, I guess.”
We stood in this mortal silence. I mean, she’s my ex-best friend, the only thing we had in common I don’t have anymore so why still be in contact? Right?
“Well, I gotta go.” she smiled at me. She’s really sweet or seems to be. “Have fun in Japan.”
As she walked away, I came back to my journal and turned to the next page.
“The fact that you are willing to stand there in the strand with The Joy of Gay Sex bodes well for our future.
I mean, you don’t know if I'm a girl or boy or someone in between, and if you’re still ok with that, I might say first: I totally support you! You go queer!
Now, let’s go to the last book.
- What the Living Do, Marie Howe.
23/1/8
24/5/9,11,12,13,14,15”
Now I’m really scared. Because, you see, nobody in my circle reads poetry. Only Namjoon, but he’s on another level, so he doesn’t count for any intelligent and reading stuff. Who’s this person who’s really into Marie Howe’s poetry? I mean, maybe Ha-na would read it, but this isn’t her handwriting. ( And she’s in New Zealand.)
I have only ten minutes so Namjoon's shift is over, so I ran over to the section and found the book without blinking an eye. I could feel the boy in the information desk observing me, but I wasn’t caring enough of not being a total creep. I already was. Found the book, the pages. Everything was done. I finished my scavenger hunt.
“for the pure thrill of unreluctant desire”
I almost fell. Literally.
“Are you going to be playing for the pure thrill of unreluctant desire?”
I mean, what?
“So here we are.
Now it’s up to you, what we do (or don’t) do.
If you are interested in continuing this conversation, please choose a book, any book, and leave a slip of paper with your email address inside of it. Give to Jimin, the guy from the information desk.
If you ask Jimin any questions about me, he will not pass on your book. So no questions.
Once you have given your book to Jimin, please return this book to the shelf you found it.
If you do all these things, you very well might hear from me.
Thank you
Kim J.”
For the first time in a while, I was happy on holiday. In a way, when I’ll find Namjoon he’s gonna be thrilled that I’m really happy with this time of the year. It’s one of his favorites, he loves Christmas more than… I don’t know, his most precious collector stuff. And knowing that I wasn’t going to Japan was the best part of it.
But I had to think about a book to Kim J. So, I thought it would be funny to leave a children’s book. We had indie, poetry, YA books. It’s missing a children's one. So I ran into the Kids section and got the first edition of Bonobono. My favorite childhood book. Then, I went to Jimin with this one, and when I was almost there, with him smiling for me as he was happy enough I finished this thing, I turned around and went to the register with French Pianism and fat Hoochie Prom Queen in my hands with the red journal.
Two can play this game.