Chapter Text
“Fire!” someone yelled. It sounded like the man who lived next door. These apartments and their paper thin walls. That’s when I realized what he had screamed. “Mom, Appa!” I yelled as I ran to their room. The door burst open just as I reached it. My dad, my Appa, picked me up and started running for the door. On his other arm were four winter coats, thick and plush for each of us. I could see Mom behind him holding Ascher, still two and completely unaware of the situation. He woke up almost as soon as we left the house and started crying. Mom, her blonde hair peeking out of her messy bun, started desperately quieting him.
She kept repeating “It’s okay, it’s okay, shh, shh.” The air in the emergency stairway was hot with smoke coming up from one of the floors below. The tiny windows near the ceiling were open, but they were too small to be of much help. I could barely feel the cold winter wind that was coming in from them. A few snowflakes drifted in and came down as wet water droplets as they melted in the heat. Sirens echoed in the stairwell that was filled with smoke and other people, all in their nightwear running down stairs. We lived on the 17th floor of an apartment complex, making our way down to the 1st floor and then outside to escape the fire. We were nearing the 7th floor when I saw it. “Appa, Appa!” I yelled over the sirens “The fire’s on the 6th floor!”
Just as we approached the 6th floor, there was a loud pop and the door to the fire escape blasted open and the fire instantly spread into the stairwell, catching on old plants and pieces of lumber people were storing in the stairs. The bang had made it so that my ears were ringing and I couldn’t hear what Appa said. I could see his mouth move, but there was just a soft ringing in my ears. I tried my best to read his lips. It looked like he was saying “Don’t look in front of you.” What? Why? I instantly turned my head, trying to get a look. Appa covered my eyes with his hand, but he was a second too late. I’d already seen the two people rolling on the floor, their clothes and skin burning along with the bits of random rubbish that people had left lying around.
I screamed and started to cry. It was terrifying. The only way down was blocked. Most people had gone down before us, but a family of four with two kids under ten can’t exactly escape fast, especially after Mom and Appa had bundled all of us up with bulky coats. There were only a few elderly people behind us, but that was it.
The ringing in my ears was subsiding and I could hear snippets of my parents’ conversation. I started reaching for Mom, desperate to snuggle into her arms, to smell her comforting strawberry shampoo. Mom and Appa switched kids as we climbed back up to the 7th floor. The tiny windows weren’t doing enough to let the smoke out and people started to cough in the thick smoke. Dad had said something in German that made Mom tear up.
I didn’t understand why at that time. I just knew she was upset and that made me cry harder. Mom hugged her tears, whispering over and over, “I love you, I love you so much, Astoria.” Appa and Ascher had joined us and we were all huddled together, the flames rising higher, licking at our feet. Mom and Appa kept us shielded as much as possible, but the heat still stung and I was coughing from the flames.
I heard a loud crash and another bang, another burst of heat. I covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. Everyone was crying and other people were screaming. Appa was looking around, whipping his head furiously, searching for something. He suddenly shoved Ascher back into Mom’s arms so that she was balancing one of us on each arm. I wriggled down off of her arm but clung to her leg, terrified of the heat. Appa was at the tiny window, the one that was two meters off of the ground. It was a tiny window, maybe half a meter wide and a forearm’s length tall. Appa suddenly picked up one of the wooden planks lying around and used it to break the window open.
The glass shattered and landed everywhere and Mom moved to shield us from it. She was crying harder than I’d ever seen anyone cry before. She started whispering to me. “Astoria, sweetie,” she said, her voice shaking a bit. “You’re perfect, just the way you are. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” I could tell she was panicked by the way her native German accent started to slip out. “Protect Ascher, okay? Love him as much as you love me and Appa and Ascher combined. You have to be his big sister for him, okay? I love you so so much. So much more than you could possibly know.” She kissed me on the head.
“Okay, Mom, I will. I love you too.” I said, confused with all the crying. Then Appa came over. His coat was gone now, and his black hair was drenched with sweat.
He picked me up and whispered to me, “I love you so much my little star. I love you so, so much.” He started to tear up and that’s when I got really scared. Appa never cried. Dads weren’t supposed to cry. They were supposed to be strong. “You gotta love Ascher, okay?” Appa went on. “You two have to rely on each other. Be the amazing big sister I know you are.”
I nodded furiously and asked him “I love you too Appa, but we’ll be okay, right? The firemen will come. I heard the sirens.” Tears rolled off Appa’s face.
“Right, right.” he said, wiping them “Astoria, listen to me, remember when we went to the trampoline park last month and you were jumping through all the different shapes? You’re going to take Ascher and you’re going to do the same thing out of the window. There are fire men down there who have a cushion down there for you so it won’t hurt. I promise. Appa will never make you do something unsafe.”
I just nodded. Confused and scared of the whole situation. “You and Mom will come out too right? Jump through the window after I do?”
Appa just nodded. Then Mom came over and handed me Ascher to hold. Then she took off her own winter coat and wrapped it around the both of us. “It’s cold outside, so this’ll keep you warm while you’re waiting for us, okay?” I nodded and let her wrap me and Ascher in her black coat that smelled like strawberries. Then she whispered “Hold on tight to Ascher. Keep him safe. We’ll be out in a moment. Love you both till the stars fade away.”
“Love you even after.” I responded, the phrase a muscle memory. Then Appa picked us up and gave us each a kiss. Ascher was still wailing his head off and I hugged him closer, whispering to him that it was okay. “I love you,” I said. Appa just smiled. Then he pushed us through the broken window, his own winter coat set on the shattered glass to keep it from hitting us.
We fell. From somewhere between the seventh and sixth floors. I wanted to scream. Ascher certainly was. My instinct was to flail my arms around to regain my balance, but I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip on Ascher, afraid he would slip out of our little cocoon. It seemed like we fell for eternity. When we finally landed, it was on a huge orange air mattress. Instantly two firemen rushed over and picked us up, still in the bundle.
Even as I held on to Ascher, who was now calling for Mom, my eyes were glued to the window we fell from. I could see Appa’s navy winter coat sleeve flap in the wind. I kept waiting for Appa or Mom to come jumping out of the window. Then, not even a minute after Ascher and I had gotten off of the mattress, there was another loud boom. The loudest one yet. A burst of light and a wave of heat followed. When I blinked, the entire midsection of the building was on fire. Including the area near the window we fell from.
I couldn’t help it. I screamed as loud as I could “Appa! Mom!” over and over I screamed, but I never left Ascher’s side. The firemen guided us to the parking lot where the other residents who had already escaped were waiting. They were all watching transfixed, as their homes went up in flames. Paramedics rushed over and began asking a million questions. Ascher was only two, so they kept asking me things, but I could only scream and cry out for Appa and Mom. Finally, a paramedic stepped between me and the building and that snapped me out of my desperate trance.
Ascher. I had to take care of him. My voice hoarse, I began answering their questions. No, I didn't hurt anywhere. I was seven and Ascher was two, we didn’t feel sick, my breathing was fine, yes I would like some water. Then, finally, I asked “What about Appa and Mom?” The paramedics shared a look. It was less than a second’s eye contact but I felt the truth in that glance. They just told me they didn’t know. I walked over to a little bench and sat on it before pulling Ascher onto my lap. My legs dangling from the park bench, I patted Ascher’s back until he fell asleep, exhausted. It was nearly an hour later when they’d gotten all of the fires. Another hour had passed when the cops came.
They brought me and Ascher to the station, where we waited for another hour, watching other survivors file in and out of various rooms. Finally, someone led us into a bare room with a table and three chairs in it, like the ones I’d seen in movie interrogation scenes.
The policeman was pudgy and had a slight pot belly. He had a can of Monster on the table in front of him next to what looked like a mountain of papers and files. He sounded exhausted and had bags under his eyes. It looked like he couldn’t wait to get out of the office. In a monotone voice, he started explaining the situation to us.
“So kids,” he started. “The apartment you were living in had a faulty wire in it from when it was built 20 years ago. People overused the heating this winter and the wall burst into flames. The fire traveled from floor to floor through the walls, causing the explosions, including the final explosion. You two were lucky, you know. You escaped a little over a minute before the walls on the sixth through tenth floors blew. We’re estimating maybe a little over 15 casualties, including Leni Leumann and Juwon Lee.”
I was zoning out until I heard their names. Mom’s pretty German name with all its harsh vowels, mispronounced by the policeman. Appa’s lyrical Korean name flowing from the cop’s lips. I think it was at that moment that I completely understood the situation. In the 4 hours since our fall, I’d come to terms with the fact that Mom and Appa were dead. I didn’t know what had gone through my seven-year-old mind, but all I knew was that they were gone, but Ascher and I were here, and we had to live on.
After that, I really focused, asking questions, trying my hardest not to cry as the officer told me of the money Mom and Appa had left me, how I wouldn’t be able to access that until I turned 18, how I would have to go to an orphanage with Ascher and stay there. I assaulted him with questions. The scene would have looked ridiculous, a seven year old girl firing questions at a police officer who was sweating like he was being interrogated. Ascher had curled up on my lap and was asleep, whining, mumbling in baby talk. I patted his side as I asked the police officer everything from “Will the orphanage separate us?” to “What happened to Mom and Appa’s bodies?”
The latter was the final question I asked him and I remember seeing a look of genuine pity fill the policeman’s face as he told a seven year old girl that all that was left of her parents were ashes, blown all over a burnt building filled with ash from the winter wind.
We stayed in an orphanage from that day onwards. We never saw our parents' ashes, never got a chance to give them a funeral until years later, when I was 18 and Ascher 13. It was a rough 11 years. I had to act insane to avoid getting adopted. That meant I walked the borderline between mentally unstable and needing to go to the psych ward. I acted normal enough in front of the doctors they had diagnose me, and all they said was that I may have autism, and even that was a maybe. To make sure Ascher never got adopted, I made sure to fake some kind of illness with him when people came around looking to adopt. I learned to steal make up from the Housemother and apply it in five minutes to make him look ill. Sometimes I’d make it look like I was obsessed with him, holding him in my arms and not letting go, screaming at any one who came close. Ascher played along after I explained to him this was the only way to make sure they wouldn’t separate us.
We stuck together, Ascher and me. I slipped him extra portions at dinner if he was hungry and read him good night stories when he couldn’t sleep. I snuck into the boy’s wing at night if he had a night mare. I slept on the floor next to his bed and got yelled at. I think we were 9 and 14 when we came up with something we called “The Key to Life”. I’d told him about the Legend of Solomon and we both fell in love with the phrase “This too shall pass” For me, it felt like there was finally a sliver of hope, a confident voice telling me that the bad things will all pass. So we kept it. It was like our secret code. We even managed to slip it into our conversations when we ran into each other at school.
The orphanage sent us to public school where I tried my absolute best to score erratically. I flunked half of my tests, yet scored within the top 10% of my grade in all of my mid-terms and final exams. On the other hand, I told Ascher to try his very best, which meant he was top of his class nearly every year. I knew I was ruining my own future by purposefully flunking my tests, but I couldn’t find another way to keep my cover safe. I wanted to seem a bit unstable and excessively attached to Ascher because that was the only way they wouldn’t separate us.
I’d seen it happen countless times during our 11 years at the orphanage. They’d separate siblings and even twins if the new family only wanted one child. It was heartbreaking to see, to be honest. I saw kids crumble beneath fear of a world where they weren’t with their siblings, a constant in a world that was ever-changing. My sole focus was to make sure that Ascher and I would never be separated. That and learning secretary work.
I started working at a coffee shop when I was 16, as soon as I could considering the legal regulations. From there, I switched to a nearby clothing store that paid a bit more than the coffee shop, then moved again to a small business that did clothing repairs, sold clothes, and added custom patches. That was when I learned how to be a secretary to someone. Then I got the opportunity to start working in a real company, doing real secretary work. I was 18 then. I chose not to go to college and instead started working like crazy. I couldn’t stay at the orphanage after I was 18 and neither could Ascher because I was now his legal guardian. I used the money our parents left us to rent a small 1 bedroom apartment. Ascher kept going to school, acing all his tests and even joining the school soccer team. I worked 9 to 5 at the office, often putting in extra hours.
The hard work eventually paid off and a few days before I turned 19 I held a funeral for my parents. Ascher hardly remembered them, but I still had vivid memories of when they were alive. I had kept the grief stifled while we were at the orphanage, prioritizing survival above all else. But now, I was in desperate need of closure. The funeral was quiet, just us two. Both of my parents were only children, with Appa’s parents long gone and Mom’s parents in Germany, we had no one to contact. Honestly, I didn’t even know if Mom’s parents were still alive. I didn’t know any friends of theirs either, so it was just us and two empty caskets being lowered in the ground.
Two of the cheapest caskets they sold and one big ivory headstone that had both their names on it. I cried. It was the first time I had since that day when I was seven. Ascher seemed more unsure than anything. He came to the service but had no clue who we were remembering. He kept patting my back as I cried, but his own eyes remained dry. Seeing that he couldn't remember our parents made me cry harder. I stayed at their head stone and cried through the whole night, Ascher staying by my side the whole time.
I was seven and Ascher was two. We had two years together as a family before the fire tore us apart. I could still hear their repeated whispers of “I love you” . I still remember how I never really responded to them. It had taken me over a decade to honor them. The only thing bright about that day were the caskets and my grief, polished with tears I’d kept inside for 11 years. I think I was eye-level with Mom now. I wasn’t sure. Yet in my memories, she always bent down to kiss me and knelt to look me in the eye.
Eventually, even Ascher cried. He cried for the memories that he never had a chance to make, while I cried for the memories that I could recall. It was nearing 2 am when I finally got a grip on myself and took Ascher home. It was the last time I cried. It was also the last time either of us mentioned our parents to each other.
When I was 20, I managed to claw my way up to the position of CEO’s secretary. It was near that time when I started to write AAE, the novel a method of release for me. Ascher was doing great as ever, acing high school and becoming captain of the soccer team. We’d bought a house of our own with the rest of our parents’ money, and we were living off of the money I was making, going from pay check to pay check. Ascher offered to drop out of high school like I did to get a job, but I forced him to stay. One of us had to go to university, right?
Every day was the same. We weren’t struggling, but I wasn’t exactly happy. At times, I couldn’t help but feel a tidal wave of grief and anger. Why did the world have to rob me of my childhood? Why did I have to spend a decade of my life pretending to be psychotic? Why did I have to drop out of high school? Why couldn’t I have a college education? Why didn’t I have the opportunity to discover hobbies other than writing? Why?
I had kept those questions inside, shoving them down with work and my seemingly endless list of responsibilities. My motto had become “Move forward, move on.” There were times when I whispered it dozens of times to myself in a day, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. Why did I push myself like that? Why did I have such a rotten childhood? Why was I so unhappy in my adult life as well?
I found my answer in my memories. Because I had to take care of Ascher. Because I had to be the big sister. Because I was his only family. Because I had to protect him as his only other family.
I think the cruelest part of grief is that it teaches you to live in a world that your heart insists doesn’t exist any more because they’re gone.