Work Text:
"Dahyun-ah, don't be late! We'll be waiting by Gangnam Station."
Chaeyoung had reminded me multiple times. We were supposed to meet outside Gangnam Station by 8 p.m, dressed formally, barring a gift and a smile.
I got off work at around 4, I had many students to consult, and the principal also needed some assistance. I left the school and walked to the bus stop, as the sun had slowly started setting. It took around 45 minutes to return home and I knew I was going to be late, the ride to Gangnam was quite a long one.
Usually, whenever Chaeyoung invites me out, I decline the offer. I do not fit with the rest of her friend group; Jihyo and Jeongyeon, company shareholders, Nayeon, cosmetic surgeon, Mina, retired ballet dancer turned into the most renowned teacher, and Tzuyu, international model. As an artist, working in one of the major entertainment companies in South Korea, my friend Chaeyoung hung around people with...cool jobs, and lives. They are rich, and know how to rub shoulders with other people just like them. They are proper, but also know how to have fun. There was no need to calculate their spending, or worry about paying rent, and bills. Chaeyoung's friends are more like her than I am.
I am not that exiting. I am a divorced social studies teacher, still living with my parents, after the marriage they set up for me broke off. Even if well over my 30s, I continue to attend church despite not wanting to, because my parents say so, and go to the countless blind dates my aunties set up for me. I wake up at 5 in the morning, and sleep at 9. I do not do diets, and do not post on social media. The money I make is barely enough to have the lifestyle my childhood friend Chaeyoung has, but no matter the different paths we took in life, she still somehow invites me to nights out, and dinners. We do not see each other often, though she never forgets to text me, and make sure I am doing well. She wants me to make friends and diligently meets me the people from her circle, because the only other friend I have is the English teacher in the school I work at. Sıla is Turkish, and her Korean is not that good yet, but we still make it work. We eat lunch together, and she teaches me English, while I help her with her paperwork.
No matter how boring I may be for her friends, Chaeyoung invites me regardless. I am glad she does, not because I enjoy listening to her friends brag, and go on about topics that are foreign to me, but because I had the opportunity to meet Sana.
Sana is Japanese, a little older than I am, and much more pretty. She lives in Korea while studying for her doctorates, and is Mina's cousin. Like the rest of Chaeyoung's friends, she is rich, and lives a life too alien for my working class brain to fathom. However, she is so much different. She is the only one to attempt and talk to me, always looks at me in the eyes, and does not mind that I choose the cheapest plate on the menu. Her long blonde hair looks really fluffy, and her eyes shine no matter if she wears contacts or not. Sana is effortlessly pretty, so much so, that she wears minimal makeup. She does not need to add anything to her face for people to notice her beauty. Her nose is high and slim, and her teeth whiter than the color white itself. She is funny, but also intimidatingly smart, and kind. She was the reason I was meeting with Chaeyoung and her friends today.
Today is Sana's birthday, and she had just completed her doctorate program. We were going to surprise her with cake and gifts outside of Gangnam Station before going out to drinks and partying. That's why, once I got back home from work, I rushed to take a shower, do my hair, and wear a pretty outfit.
My mother whined about some blind date that I was missing, and asked why I was making such a fuss. Today, I did not bother to listen to her. I was happy to be meeting Sana again, and congratulating her on her success. Although, my present was not as luxurious, as her friends', I had spent some precious time writing up a note for her. It was a note I was afraid of writing, and it felt odd proofreading it, but I figured, it was the best way I could express myself. Besides, Sana is the type of person to like things like these, so I am almost certain that I did a decent job.
I looked myself in the mirror. I had just straightened my hair. They were a little frizzy, it's usually like that in the winter, and the ends were slightly split. I made a mental not to get a haircut during the weekend, and applied some makeup. Base, some pink blush, some mascara, a small eyeliner wing, and red lipstick. I bought the lipstick a month ago from LOTTE, it was quite expensive, but the color complimented my black dress. A few spritzes of cologne later, and after I put on my coat, I ran to put on my heels. I typically do not wear heels, which caused my mother to whine, but I had no time to deal with her.
The weather was cold when I stepped out, and the first few drops of snow had started falling as I walked to the subway station. It was around 7 p.m at that time, and Chaeyoung was already calling me to remind me again that I should not be late. Based on some quick calculations, and if I was lucky enough, I would be in Gangnam right on time.
I entered the subway and my heart started beating. I was only around 50 minutes away from meeting Sana again, and just a couple of hours away from finally confessing. We had spent a lot of time together, exchanged KAKAO IDs and chatted frequently. Sana had taught me about what being sexually liberated felt like, that labels were constructed by society, and that were useless. Of course, I knew all about society and it's labels, I studied a lot about minorities, and their struggles in fitting in Korean society when I was in college. Talking to Sana like that, sharing knowledge and things like social acceptance, fitting in, and the consequences of it was so fulfilling. Chaeyoung did not like talking about such topics, she wanted to laugh, and have fun, drink, and party, so I appreciated how Sana and I could bond like that.
Sana opened my eyes to many things. We talked about religion, too, something that I avoided doing, due to my parents' fanatic beliefs. I believe in God, and trust his guidance, but I appreciated that Sana was able to understand my concerns about how some things in church confuse me. We got pretty close, especially after I confessed the reason to why my marriage broke off. She was very understanding, and told me liking other genders romantically was something completely normal. I cried that day, my parents were always hateful towards those people, and told me God hated them. I had spent most of my life fearing of my parents, and God because of the person I was, though Sana explained in a calm and comforting matter that it was okay. She, too, was like that, and I was not alone. That's what she said, and then she held my hand for a while. It felt so nice to touch her hot and soft skin, especially since my hands are calloused and cold. That day, when I cried in front of her, I realized it would be better if I was honest about what I was feeling. It would probably be some type of unrequited love that I see in dramas on TV, but it felt like it was the right thing to do. Especially since she was about to begin a new chapter of her life. After her doctorates, she was going to move back home. Today was my only chance.
I smiled at the thought of her face. Her presence made me feel good, and that there was someone out there who liked being around me. I was never one to talk much, though with Sana I could talk for hours on end. The thoughts about my next class, my bills, and marriage crazed mother come to a halt when I smelled her vanilla perfume, and my heart raced when her eyes met mine across the table. Even if she was way out of my league, confessing was the only thing I could do that would calm my beating heart, and let me finally sleep at night. The small possibility of my feelings being reciprocated was enough for me. And even if they were not, I could at least move on. I would be happy either way.
All those thoughts raised the temperature on my body. I realized when a drop of sweat trickled from my forehead and brought me out of my daydreams. My forehead was heating up, and my cheeks felt like they were turning red. I had not noticed how packed the subway was up until that point, not even when a young man stepped on my foot. I looked at my clock, I was supposed to meet Chaeyoung in 20 minutes, but I was still quite far from Gangnam Station. The subway was stationed, and the passengers were starting to get worried. I was not sure how long we had been stuck there, nor how many times my brand-new shoes had been stepped on. Once I looked down at them, they were dirty and destroyed.
"Excuse me," I tried speaking, but the panicked passengers had started to scream and bang on the windows. "Do you know what is happening?"
The young man in front of me could not turn his head. He kept his hand against his chest, and muttered something in-between deep breaths. He was hyperventilating and his right leg shook. That was when I came to the realization that things were more serious, and that I had let myself daydream about Sana when everyone around me was panicking.
The people closest to the exits screamed and grabbed at the door, while some others tried moving around and escaping. How long had we been there? What had happened? How could I be thrust into this mess so suddenly? It was better when I was thinking of Sana's delicate hands against my own. I needed to hold those hands again, grip them tightly, as a surge of people moved backwards, knocking a pregnant lady. Would her hands be strong enough to help me keep the pregnant woman on her feet when the rest of the people panicked and tripped and fell?
I would much rather shiver due to Sana's intense gaze, than due to the anxiety attack that creeped up on me when someone screamed that a fire had started. Her high-pitched voice would calm me and make me smile, unlike the cries of distress and fear of the passengers that were being stepped on, and suffocated by the smoke. I wish it was the smell of Sana's perfume that reached me soon after, not the one of thick black smoke, that made me cough and my eyes sting.
The atmosphere was suffocating, I was hot, sweaty, and tired. My back was pressed against the walls and my hands tiredly shielding the pregnant woman in front of me. I wish it was Sana's body that I was touching, hugging her tightly, and whispering sweet words into her ears. I wondered what she would look like if she was pregnant, or if she even wanted to have children. I think a little girl that looked just like her would be a delight to raise. The world is in dire need of a smile as bright, and a heart as big as hers. What would her fit body look carrying a baby? How much more beautiful would she be when creating God's gift, a sweet and innocent child. Would she have someone to protect her from a burning subway? Of course, not. Sana would never use the subway. She would be at home resting and have people drive her wherever she needed to go. I could totally drive her. I do not mind being stuck in traffic for hours, if that means spending time with her.
"Are you okay?"
I heard a woman's voice. I tried to imagine it was Sana who was speaking to me. As I stood there, feeling my heart trying to break through my chest, and my lungs burning, I wanted to see her breaking open the doors and speaking to me. I wanted her to hold my hand and keep me to my feet. How nice would her lips feel against mine, as she kissed me passionately, telling me how scared she was that I would not make it. I imagined her taking me home and caring for me, taking off my destroyed clothes, and cleaning my sweaty body. I wanted her to lay by my side as I slept, hug me until I drifted off. I wondered how beautiful she looked when she was sleeping, if she snored, or what she wore to bed. What color were her sheets? Did she wear socks to bed?
I could feel my head getting heavy and my eyes closing. I did not have the strength to cough anymore, nor keep myself on my feet. I shivered, and struggled, with my hands still around the pregnant woman. I felt like jello, being stabbed by the spoon of a hungry child. I was being torn apart, my limbs giving in like jello, while the people who pushed against me scooped me up, like a spoon, feeding me into the mouth of the devil. I had stopped being able to breath and I could hear my blood rushing through my veins. It was loud, louder than the screams, and the cries. Everything around me was a blur, nothing other than myself existed. It was me and my slowly beating heart, but all I could about was Sana. I imagined her walking towards me while I waited at the end of the aisle in my neighbourhood's chapel. I wondered what type of dressing she would choose, and if her father would be accompanying her. I liked to believe God would be happy, if I was, and would tell my mother to accept me the way I am. Would it be too much to ask this from God? Was I selfish? I figured, I could always ask him myself soon.
The phone in my pocket started vibrating, I could tell. However, I could not reach to grab it, nor move. It was probably past our meeting hour, and Chaeyoung was calling to tell me to hurry. She was going to tell me that I'm always late and absent minded, and that I ruined the surprise for Sana. I wondered if Sana would be disappointed if she did not see me there, waiting with the rest of the girls. I imagined she urged Chaeyoung to call me, or even take the phone and speak to me herself. I really wanted to hear her voice, I'm sure I could easily tell it apart by all the screams.
My phone stopped vibrating and my legs gave out. There was a sweet tingling feeling that I felt on all my limbs, it almost tickled. I imagined it was Sana's long fingers tickling me in a cute banter that ended in a sweet kiss and embrace. I laid on the ground with my eyes closed, as I listened to the blood in my veins slow down. I could not feel the people stepping on my legs and arms anymore. Is this how it feels to die? Even then, all I could think about was Sana. I wondered how she would react if I ever died and if she would come to my funeral. Would she cry? I imagined she looked pretty even when she cried. Though, I only wish her tears are those of happiness. My chest hurts at the thought of her being sad, like someone is pushing a large needle into me. It could also be the lack of oxygen, too.
Suddenly, I panicked. I had dropped my gift for Sana, with the note inside, and I could not get up and find it. How would it reach her? I desperately wanted her to get my gift and read my note. I wished to watch her face as she reads it, no matter the expressions it took. I needed to tell her.
I love you, Sana. I really do love you. Your hair that smells like the ocean, your neck that carries your signature vanilla smell, and your freshly washed clothes. I love your faint eyebrows, the nose you're so insecure about, and the small wrinkles around your lips when you smile. Your soft hands and long fingers, the sculpted legs, and slightly curved spine. I love your pronunciation and your culture shock moments, the way you get passionate over you job. Every time you scold me about table manners or when you get lost in thought at the most random times. I love it. I love everything about you. I wake up and go to bed, breath, and eat, wishing I have the chance to be around you. I pray to God that I do everything right, so that I get a chance to cherish you for more than just a few hours weekly. I read romantic books and watch movies picturing you and me, imaging a world where I can grow old by her side.
Even now I love you, as the door to the subway bursts open and panicked people ran outside to safety. I love you even when I can't up, when the world fades away, and the cries can no longer be heard. As I lay there, all I can think about is you, Sana. One last breath is all I ne to finally be close to you. One last breath is all I need to reach you. If only I could take one last breath, get back up on my feet and walk into your arms. Even when I cannot, I love you.
One last breath.
But my lungs collapse.