Jung Yun - Shelter

Connie hasn’t spoken to him since the gas station. He sits with his arm out the open window, a can of nuclear-green energy drink in his hand. Every few minutes, he takes a sip and glances in the rearview mirror to check if Tim is still behind them. He seems worried and tired, almost as tired as Kyung is, but Connie will do this all night if he has to. Kyung alternates between studying the lock on his door and the speedometer on the dash, which hovers near thirty-five. At this point, his best chance of ditching his in-laws is to jump out of the car, but the risk of hurting himself is too high. He needs to be able-bodied when he sees his father, capable of doing harm. He chucks his empty beer can into the backseat, frustrated by how much time they’ve wasted.

“I have to piss.”

Connie turns onto a state road, a large artery that will eventually leave Marlboro and connect with the highway.

“Did you hear what I said? I have to piss.”

“I’ll stop at the next gas station.”

They follow the road toward the old airstrip, an area that’s been under development for years. The two-mile stretch is now home to several new bars and restaurants, all vying for business with wattage. Huge neon signs flash and flicker, blinding passersby with their offerings. LADIES’ NIGHT. HALF-PRICED PITCHERS. ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT SHRIMP.

“Why can’t we just stop at one of these places?”

“I’m a cop, Kyung. Not an idiot.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I know you’re planning to bolt if we go somewhere crowded, and I don’t really feel like chasing you right now.”

Kyung’s bladder is swimming with cheap lawn-mower beer. He actually does need to piss, but it never occurred to him that he could turn a basic human need into a chance to run. Connie is too many steps ahead, too practiced in the ways of desperate men. Kyung worries that he’s never going to get rid of him.

“I’m exhausted,” he says. When this fails to elicit a response, he says it even louder. “I’m exhausted. ”

“Then go to sleep already.”

“I can’t, not in a car. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’ve never been able to sleep in a car.”

“So what do you want me to do about it? Sleeping and pissing are your only options right now.”

“But couldn’t we just go to your house for a while?” Kyung looks out his window. They’re driving farther and farther away from town. “We’re still close, and maybe if I get some rest, it’ll help me clear my head.”

Connie considers this for a moment, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

“I haven’t slept in almost two days. I couldn’t even run if I wanted to. I just need a place to lie down.”

A few minutes later, Connie swings a wide U-turn, doubling back along the same neon strip. Eventually, Kyung begins to recognize the modest housing stock that makes up the northern end of the Flats. He sinks into his seat, trying not to let on that he’s hopeful about where they’re headed. He didn’t think Connie would be willing to take him back to his place. He can’t remember if he’s ever been there without Gillian or Ethan before, but he’s relieved by the sudden change in course. Now all he has to do is outlast his in-laws.

When they walk through the front door, Vivi is asleep on the couch with a magazine open on her chest.

She jumps up at the sound of their footsteps, wrapping her shiny green robe over her nightgown. “It’s so late,” she says. “I was worried. Is everything all right?”

“We’re fine.” Connie gives her a kiss on the forehead. “Why don’t you go to bed now, Vivi?”

She looks at the three of them uncertainly. “Have you eaten?”

Tim takes off his jacket and throws it over the arm of a chair. “You need me anymore?” he asks Connie.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got this.”

“I’m going to bed, then.”

Tim stalks off down the hall and closes his door, not bothering to answer Vivi’s question or even acknowledge her presence. He treated her the way a little boy might, sullen and rude to his father’s new girlfriend despite her attempts to be kind.

Vivi seems slightly hurt by his reaction, but she quickly turns her attention back to Connie and Kyung. “What about you two? Are you hungry? I can heat up some leftovers.”

“No, honey. We’re fine. Just go to bed.”

She looks the two of them over, waiting for an explanation. When Connie doesn’t offer one, she hangs Tim’s jacket on the coatrack behind the front door, frowning as she smooths out the wrinkled sleeves. “Aren’t you coming too?” she asks.

“No, not just yet.”

Kyung can almost see the questions forming on Vivi’s tongue: Why did you bring him here? Why does he look like that? What’s wrong with him now? But she’s too polite to ask and slowly retreats to their room.

Kyung didn’t expect to see her here either. He didn’t think things had progressed this far yet, but it’s obvious that Vivi is making her presence felt in this house. The living room is much tidier than it was the last time he visited. Homey, almost. There are pictures on the walls now — small prints of fruit and trees and fishermen, similar to the kind hanging in his dentist’s office. The magazines have been neatly arranged on the coffee table in the shape of a fan, and there are candles everywhere. Big red ones in glass jars that make the place smell like cinnamon, an improvement from the stale smell of chips and popcorn that was always here before. He wonders if Vivi’s interest in decorating has anything to do with his mother’s influence, and the thought of this is so sad, he has to shut it out.

“Didn’t you need to use the can?” Connie asks.

There’s a window in the bathroom, right above the tub. Kyung can see it from where he’s standing. The streetlights outside cast shadows of tree branches on the glass. It’s half the size of a normal window, but still big enough to crawl through. He looks at Connie, not certain how he could overlook something so obvious.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead.”

Kyung walks into the dimly lit bathroom, locking the door behind him. He turns on the fan and relieves himself, staring at the trees outside. The bathroom is on the first floor, so it worries him to see treetops instead of bushes. He wonders how many feet he’ll fall when he climbs out. Quietly, he steps into the tub and pulls on the window, but the frame won’t budge. He flips the latch in the opposite direction and tries again, but still nothing, not even an inch. On the other side of the door, he hears Connie open and close the hall closet. When he walks away, Kyung reaches up and feels around the inner edge of the frame for a stopper, kicking up the ancient layer of dust on the sash. His heart sinks when he realizes the entire window has been caulked and painted shut. He assumes Connie already thought of this — he wasn’t worried for a reason — and for a moment, Kyung doesn’t know what to do but just stand there, staring at the moon rising high and bright above the trees.

Connie is shoving a pillow into a case when Kyung returns from the bathroom. “The sofa’s not the most comfortable thing in the world,” he says. “But these chairs recline pretty far back. I fall asleep here half the time anyways.”

There’s an army green blanket on Tim’s chair that wasn’t there before. Kyung sits down and spreads the itchy wool across his legs, putting his feet up to appear ready for a nap. He’s disappointed when Connie throws him the pillow and sits down in the chair beside him.

“You don’t have to stay here with me. I don’t need to be watched.”

“Actually, I think you do.”

They sit silently, both of them with their arms crossed, studying the black television screen in front of them. Minutes pass, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can take it — the nervous, uncomfortable energy, the sense of being trapped. His car keys are in Tim’s left pocket. He noticed their faint outline when Vivi hung up his coat. All he needs are the keys and a few seconds to get away. He wonders if he should pretend to fall asleep or ask for a glass of water from the kitchen, but he knows Connie would see right through him.