You-jeong Jeong - The Good Son

I thought about dying. That was certainly the easiest solution. I could hang myself, jump off the building, or cut my own throat with Father’s razor. It was also the neatest solution. I wouldn’t have to be cuffed, embarrassed or face judgement. I wouldn’t have to face Hae-jin, who would be disappointed and afraid of me, which would be the worst thing. The only problem was that I didn’t want to die yet. At least not next to Mother. I didn’t want to be forced to die; I wanted to be able to choose the time, place and method of my demise.

But neither did I want to confess. Just thinking about sitting across from a police officer and trying to explain what I didn’t want to talk about – it made me feel like shit. It would be better to die now rather than to be cross-examined and read about the crime scene in the newspapers. I dismissed this option without thinking any further about it. There was only one way left – vanish as soon as possible. It was now or never. I could think about the rest after I’d gone.

I went back into my room and sat at my desk. Every summer, we went to see Father’s side of the family in Cebu. My grandmother would embrace me each time, tears streaming down her face. I remembered her embrace, which was soft and smelled nice, and what she would say as she stroked the back of my head: ‘You look just like your father the older you get.’

I took out my passport. I still had over a year before it expired. Would she hug me like that this time? Would she hold me in her embrace even if she knew what I’d done? Maybe. Hope fluttered its wings. I wanted to remain in that hope.

I took Mother’s mobile from my drawer. I took her credit card out of the phone case. I turned on the computer, and heard the familiar sound of it booting up. But my mind had to go and ruin it all: Are you serious? As soon as they find out what you did, your grandma’s going to pick up the phone and call the police. She’ll hear it on the news. Even if she does hide you, how long could she stand the pressure? It’s better to go somewhere you don’t know anyone. Then you won’t have to reveal your true identity. Find somewhere like that.

I went to an airline website and clicked randomly on all the countries and cities to which there were flights. Kathmandu, Jakarta, Manila, LA, Dubai, Rio de Janeiro. I suddenly remembered my birthday eight years ago, when I was a high-school senior. All I did every day was go to school and come home, immersed in studying for my college entrance exams. That day was a Sunday; not that it mattered, as I woke up at dawn anyway. Sundays were reserved for a special extra study course that finished late in the evening. But that morning Hae-jin had texted me. Get ready to be at Yongsan station at 10 .

I immediately understood what this was about. A few days before, he’d asked me what I wanted to do on my birthday. I told him I wanted to go on a day trip to the furthest place possible without getting caught by Mother. I hadn’t thought it was possible, but here he was, having planned something.

I smiled despite myself. Yongsan station! I packed my bag with the usual contents in case Mother became suspicious. Pens, notebook, reference books. As I left my room and went downstairs, Hae-jin came out of his room with a camera. Mother was making breakfast. She’d already laid out the traditional birthday meal of seaweed soup, along with the grilled mackerel that I liked, and the glass noodles that were Hae-jin’s favourite. Hae-jin and I sat across from each other. Hae-jin raised his eyebrows, which I took as a reference to his text, and I nodded.

‘Can you boys come home early today? Let’s celebrate tonight,’ Mother said, placing a bowl of rice in front of me.

I picked up my chopsticks and shook my head. ‘I can’t. I have to study.’

Hae-jin dipped his spoon in his soup and shook his head too. ‘The club’s going to Daebu Island. We’re going to find a place to shoot our graduation film. Sorry.’ He bowed his head further, trying to hide his flushed face.

‘You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not my birthday.’ Mother looked at us, her lips pursed. She was obviously disappointed. She paused, giving us a chance to change our minds.

I swirled the glass noodles around my chopsticks and Hae-jin shovelled the hot soup into his mouth.

Twenty minutes later, Mother dropped Hae-jin off at the bus stop. Ten minutes after that, she pulled up to the school gates. I opened the car door and Mother handed over a 10,000-won bill, my daily allowance.

‘I’ll pick you up at eleven?’

‘Okay.’ I got out, and Mother turned the car around and drove off quickly.

When she was gone, I waved down a taxi. My heart began to pound once we were racing towards Yongsan. It wasn’t really important what Hae-jin was planning or where we were going. The very fact that we were going somewhere was key.

Hae-jin was waiting for me in front of the Honam Line ticket booth. He handed me two tickets, one for the 10.37 a.m. train to Mokpo and the other for the 6.57 p.m. train coming home. Just as I had wanted, this was the furthest we could manage in a single day. ‘Are you excited?’

I nodded. I was excited, but I also felt a little like an idiot. Why had I never thought about trying something this simple? Maybe it was because I was beaten down by Mother’s rules. It could also be down to the different ways we received our allowances: Hae-jin got a weekly allowance, as he had more freedom, while I was handed a 10,000-won bill in front of school every morning. According to Mother, it had to be this way because I used money thoughtlessly. You couldn’t do anything with 10,000 won; it was barely enough to buy two snacks at the supermarket. So my allowance usually disappeared the same day. That might have been Mother’s plan all along; she might have thought: he can’t do anything if he doesn’t have money.

‘Let’s get something to eat,’ Hae-jin suggested.

We went into a fast-food restaurant and I ordered a shrimp burger with fries and coffee, and he got a bulgogi burger with a fountain cola. We barely talked on the train, but it was still awesome. I felt peaceful and free just sitting across from Hae-jin and looking out of the window. The train zoomed through hills covered in cherry blossom and shimmering green barley fields and big cities and small villages before arriving at Mokpo.

We had four hours before we had to get on the train back home. We only had 20,000 won left after having paid for the train tickets and food. There were maybe three things we could do with that amount of money and time: eat a late lunch and relax in a park, take a cab to the beach, or find a cinema and watch a film. We didn’t have to discuss it; we agreed on the third option. At a nearby cinema, The Bucket List was playing. Hae-jin liked Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson, and the film would begin in fifteen minutes. We could share a bag of popcorn with the remaining cash, too.

Carter, a car mechanic, and Edward, a billionaire, are lung cancer patients who meet in hospital. They decide to create a bucket list for their last few months alive in order to figure out who they really are: this includes hunting in the Serengeti, getting a tattoo, sky-diving, laughing until they cry, and having their ashes scattered in a scenic place. It was hilarious, even with death as the subject. It would have been perfect if it weren’t for the bastard who kept kicking the back of my seat. Hae-jin was quiet the whole time.

On the train back home, he blurted out, ‘I don’t like how they made light of death.’ It was just as we passed Gwangmyeong station.

I took my eyes off the dark window. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s just dishonest. It’s sugar-coating the facts.’

‘You don’t have to be so serious,’ I countered.