Debut, p.3
Debut, page 3
“I find your naïve optimism endearing.”
“That wasn’t at all condescending.” Heather finished her beverage. She was beginning to lose patience with the recalcitrant prey. “What is your plan, anyway? All I see in your future is dance cover videos and retail. Most people don’t have the dedication to push like you did. Where did your ambition and work ethic go?”
“Tell me what ambition and work ethic got me. A headache. That’s all.”
“Our group will be young. You’d be our unnie. We’d listen to your advice.”
Mindy didn’t retort right away. She pondered the possibility for a moment. “Sounds rather hopeless.”
“It’s not. Besides, what do you have to lose at this point? Meet with us and see how it goes. If you don’t like it, walk away. No hard feelings.”
A taciturn server came to drop off the check and collect empty plates. “We’ll be closing in 10 minutes,” he said before stepping away.
“Time’s up. What do you say?”
Mindy reclined in her chair and let her arms drop to her side, swinging them gently as the long minutes passed. “Part of me is tempted to stick around just so I can say I told you so when this idea of yours fails.”
Heather hid her disappointment but chose to accept the statement for what it was. “Maybe it’ll prove different this time.”
“Look, I appreciate the invite, but that lifestyle holds no value for me anymore. Good luck, though. You’ll need it.”
* * *
The next afternoon, after stopping by the university’s bookstore to buy a lesson guide, Heather returned to her apartment. The smell of freshly baked cookies greeted her nose when she stepped inside. “Smells good,” she shouted towards the kitchen.
Roommate Kylie poked her head around the corner. “My turn bringing snacks to mock trial tonight. I utilized the mix I found in the cupboard. Hope you don’t mind. Oh, a package came for you. I put it in your room.”
A toaster-oven-sized box sat on her bed, thoroughly covered in packing tape and Korea Post stickers. Her mother usually overdid things, so cutting through the protective layers took a few minutes. The box revealed a bounty of goodies, including her favorite brand of low-carb konjac snacks. Despite much searching, she couldn’t find them in the States. The gift, in total, made her heart leap. Sweet potato balls, diet jellies, and her favorite brand of instant tteok-bokki; the box was packed. A few personal items from her old bedroom were also included. The brief note read:
Heather,
I sent some of your favorite things in case you were feeling homesick. How’s school going?Your brother did well in the Suneung. Your father is so proud and thinks his scores will get him into Seoul National University. He’s also applying to Stanford. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? You’d both be in the same state. Keep working hard. We miss you.
Mom.
Among the items her mother had sent was a photograph of Heather holding the acceptance letter from St. Ignatius with her parents standing behind her. Her mother, Ji-woo, smiled, while her father, Dae-hee, stood stiffly, not frowning, but not precisely happy either. Actually, that’s pretty good from him, she thought to herself. The photo was taken at Chuseok last year while she was still training at 37-G. Back then, the idea of going to college was a backup plan. At least to her, it was. She remembered the visit clearly.
“Help! Police! A stranger’s in our house!” shouted Heather’s brother Andrew as he sat before the TV playing Kingdom of Legends. His torrid pace of enemy slaying had ceased long enough to assess her before returning to his virtual castle siege.
“Hardy-har,” said Heather, leaving her shoes in the tiled foyer and stepping onto the pristine wood floor in stockings. “Is Mom home?”
“Kitchen.”
Ji-woo emerged, looking exasperated. She took one look at her daughter and smiled. “Hi, Heather. Did you get the songpyeon?”
“I stopped by the shop near Bangi station. There was more left than expected.” She collapsed her suitcase’s lift handle, unzipped its front pocket, and wrested a mangled plastic bag full of holiday rice cakes to present to her mother. “They got a little smushed. Sorry.”
“Your father went to pick up your uncle’s family. They’re excited to see you again. You were a child last time we all spent the holiday together. And you’ve not even met your cousins.”
“When will they get here?”
“Not until late, I imagine. The traffic from Goyang is terrible tonight. You can see them in the morning if you feel like sleeping early.”
With multiple cooking appliances operating at once, the apartment was balmy. The scent of freshly cut vegetables and heated cooking oil permeated the room. Heather’s base of operations stretched across the kitchen table. As her mother handed over trays of sliced lotus root and sweet potatoes, Heather dipped them into an egg and flour batter. Once appropriately coated, she placed the savory cakes on an electric griddle, flipping each once until both sides were crispy golden-brown. It took a while to establish a good rhythm, but her delectable jeon-making operation was now flying.
“It’s not like we live far away. You can’t visit more than twice a year?”
“Between school and rehearsals, I get three or four hours of sleep as it is. That’s with the dorm only five minutes from the agency. The thought of adding a long subway ride on top of it —”
“I have to get used to you being gone, I guess. Especially with college on the horizon.”
College. Heather knew that sensitive subject would inevitably arise during the holiday weekend. All efforts to devise a deflection strategy had failed. She had no choice but to address the matter head-on. “Yeah, about that.”
Sensing a distinct lack of enthusiasm, her mother stopped slicing long enough to face her. She waved her cutting knife at Heather as she spoke. “Your father’s expecting you to go to university. You’ve been accepted and everything.”
“I mean, can’t it wait? At least until I know for sure.”
“Know what for sure? This is non-negotiable, Heather.”
“My agency is debuting a new girl group soon. That’s what rumors say.”
“Rumors,” her mother scoffed. “You can’t put your life on hold for rumors.”
“I’ve been working towards this for years. What’s the rush? College will always be there.”
“Your father has it all planned out. Since he’s paying for it, you must follow his schedule. Surely you can see the value?”
“She’s scared she’ll fail,” her brother said, unexpectedly appearing in the kitchen doorway, interrupting their conversation. Heather stuck her tongue out at him, but not before he used the distraction to steal three pancakes from the cooling platter.
“You brat! At least take the ugly ones.” She watched helplessly as he slipped away from view with his ill-gotten booty.
“We had an agreement,” Ji-woo said as she returned to slicing. “We’d let you attend the agency through high school as long as you kept your grades up.”
“And I have.”
“But high school’s almost over.”
“Most idols debut around my age. Why would I leave now?”
“Good luck convincing your father of that. He’s been more than patient.”
Heather replaced the stolen jeon with fresh ones from the griddle. “Appa doesn’t take my dreams seriously. Not for one minute.”
“He has his reasons. Try to see through his eyes.”
“And with that, I won the grand prize,” Heather said, beaming at her relatives who sat around the table. “The first one to do so in K-Pop.” After sharing the tale of her recent triumph at 37-G, she assessed the reactions of those who had gathered for the annual feast. Uncle Tae-sung and Aunt Hyo-sonn offered strained smiles. Her mother glanced at her father, whose expression remained blank. Heather’s two young cousins played with wooden blocks on the floor, oblivious to the conversation. Andrew seized the opportunity to mock his sister with facial gestures. She chose to ignore him. “Anyway, the galbi feast was amazing. Best meal ever! Everyone at the agency was so grateful.”
“Your mother works hard to make the meals she does,” her father said.
Heather looked at her mother with alarm. “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that, Umma, I’m just saying. Masheesuhyo!”
“It’s okay, Heather, I understand.” Her reassurance sounded disingenuous.
The block tower her cousins were building came crashing down. Dae-hee looked annoyed at the disturbance but didn’t admonish them. “Andrew’s on track to finish at the top of his class!” he said, changing the subject in his favor. A surge of enthusiasm greeted this news.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Andrew! Congratulations,” her uncle said.
“That boy will run a company someday. Just you wait,” said her aunt. Heather had difficulty envisioning that outcome unless, of course, there was a sudden demand for CEOs who were also avid gamers.
“Will you stay here or go abroad?” asked Uncle Tae-sung of Andrew.
“I’d prefer he aim for a California school when the time comes,” said Dae-hee, answering on his son’s behalf. “But we have another to send off first.” Heather chafed at the renewed attention.
“So, what are your plans, Heather?” her aunt asked.
“Keun eomoni —” She stopped short of responding, unable to find the exact words to please all occupants at the table.
Andrew exploited her hesitation by volunteering a suggestion. “I hear there’s a shortage of tomato pickers.” The outburst of laughter that resulted shook the table.
“Andrew,” scolded her mother. “That boy. I don’t know what gets into him sometimes.” Heather had a few ideas but wasn’t keen to share them.
“I’m sure she has better options. Right, Heather?” Aunt Hyo-sonn’s mild defense failed to mask her amusement. Heather reached for the japchae to take her mind off the humiliation. The scent of garlic stir-fried noodles with beef and vegetables reminded her of childhood. Simpler days.
“I was hoping my daughter would take an interest in medical school, but that dream died years ago.”
“You’re the one who wanted that, Appa,” protested Heather.
“Maybe a law degree, then,” Uncle Tae-sung asked. “Have you considered that?”
“Not my strong suit.” She glared at Andrew, who was still chuckling at her torment.
“No, of course not,” Aunt Hyo-sonn said.
“I’m thinking a business degree would work for her,” continued Dae-hee. “Finance or management, for example.”
“An excellent idea. How about a business degree, Heather?”
Hoping acquiescence would bring the discussion to a rapid end, she opted for the path of least resistance. “Sure. Why not?”
Unfortunately, Appa wouldn’t let it drop. “Don’t forget why you’re going there,” said her father.
“Yes. School. Got it.”
“No. You’re there to excel. It should be easy where you’re going.”
Heather was confounded by this comment. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, unable to contain the emotion in her voice.
“Heather,” scolded her mother. “Mind your formalities.”
“Yes, Umma.” She tried to remain calm, but her father habitually got under her skin. “What are you implying?”
“Your brother took school seriously. When the time comes, he can choose from the top universities worldwide.”
“I applied to the one school I wanted to attend.”
“That’s because you don’t push yourself.”
“Do you have any idea how hard I worked these past few years?”
“Is that what you call it? Work?”
“You have no idea what it takes.”
“Singing is not a stable career, Heather. I was willing to humor your mother for a while, but it’s time to grow up. Take college seriously and get a proper job when you graduate.”
“Oh, boy. I can’t wait to sell ball bearings.”
Her mother glanced at Appa with concern but remained silent as he spoke. “Precision metal components have afforded us a comfortable lifestyle. It’s paying for your college, don’t forget.”
“I’m sure you won’t let me.”
Deciding that she’d rather watch a hippo take up gardening than spend another moment at this demoralizing gathering, Heather imagined herself vanishing in a puff of smoke. The holiday was ruined before it even started. Even if she could speak her mind without fear of reproach, she knew her words would fall on deaf ears. It seemed pointless to voice frustrations about the industry’s fickleness and how success depended on luck as much as hard work. Her father knew these truths all too well, but speaking them would only exacerbate the situation. Heather had much to say but dared say little.
With one day left before she returned to the agency, her mother demanded she sift through old boxes slated for the discard pile. The closet space desperately needed attention, and Heather hadn’t touched those belongings in years. Most of it turned out to indeed be junk. Toys and books were set aside for donation. Old school projects were bound for the recycling bin. However, much of her old artwork was set aside, particularly those that still held merit or evoked specific memories. A box of worn-out colored chalks reminded her of the elaborate sidewalk illustrations she had created as a child. Passersby often commented on the lovely depictions of smiling flowers and generous sun rays.
One particularly ambitious project followed a family trip to California’s Antelope Valley Poppy Preserve. Inspired by the occasion, seven-year-old Heather promptly set to work on her epic masterpiece the next day. Stretching along both sides of the street, the illustration was massive, depicting hundreds of poppies. Her orange and green chalks were reduced to nubs when it was finished. The driveway itself featured an elaborately-framed message of well-wishing in bright explosions of color. Bursting with pride, she eagerly awaited her father’s return from a business trip. So excited was she to witness his reaction that she camped out on the lawn, setting out a folding chair just for that purpose.
To her dismay, he simply ignored it when he arrived. Instead of admiring the drawing as expected, he drove straight onto the driveway, parking on top as if it never existed. Maybe he didn’t see it, she thought. “Welcome home, Daddy. Do you like my drawing?”
He looked at the driveway and noticed the art stretching down the entire block. “Our neighbors will call the police if you keep this up.” Rounding the vehicle’s rear, he stopped long enough to read the few unobstructed words. “Heather, how could you be so careless? What on earth is wrong with you?” He pointed at what she wrote. “Since when do you spell nice with an S? Change it immediately. I don’t want people thinking my daughter’s an idiot.” Without another word, he went inside.
Alone on the pavement, Heather washed away the error with her tears.
“Did you hear me? I asked a question.” Roommate Kylie stood at the bedroom door holding a plastic container of freshly baked cookies. “Do you want me to leave some of these for you?”
Heather displayed her konjac snack bag. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”
3
MISFIT TOYS
An ocean away, and two seasons removed from Seoul’s Giga Music, Ahn Sun-hee had launched a new adventure. Though unsuccessful, her experience as an idol trainee pushed her to pursue music more fully. Towards that end, she applied to UCLA’s School of Music and was accepted.
Sun-hee was filled with excitement and terror on her first day of college. The fact that she had chosen to study abroad only intensified those feelings. To make matters worse, she was facing them alone. Her parents were discouraged from tagging along due to limited finances; the cost of two transpacific flights for the occasion seemed wasteful. Besides, she’d eventually be on her own anyway. What sense was there in prolonging it by a couple days? In retrospect, that logic seemed foolhardy. She could have used their support right about now.
Despite having wheels, her luggage was unmanageable. The mistake of packing all the heavy items in one enormous suitcase suddenly became apparent. Logic suggested that the most durable bag could withstand a heavier load. The thought that she’d eventually have to handle it alone never crossed her mind. Appa dealt with the package at Incheon, and the LAX shuttle driver had loaded it into his van. Now that she was independent, the grossly overweight bag was beyond her capacity to maneuver up the dorm’s steep ADA access ramp.
The idea of pulling it by the handle was quickly abandoned. Pushing it required bending over, which made Sun-hee feel self-conscious. Her suggestive pose eventually drew the unwanted attention of two boorish male students who sat nearby, one with brown hair and one blonde. They watched closely with great interest.
By using maximum effort, Sun-hee managed to nudge the bag. Unfortunately, this caused a wheel to lodge in a pavement crack. Repeated attempts to extract it failed. The exertion exhausted her. She fell to her knees in defeat. The brown-haired onlooker seized that opportunity to ridicule. “Ha, that’s how I like my women, on their knees.” He and the blonde friend shared a laugh.
Sun-hee rolled her eyes in disbelief. She had hoped college would produce a better quality male, but those expectations seemed premature. These boys had come straight from high school, apparently intent on retaining their immaturity. She briefly considered ignoring them but quickly saw a chance to turn the situation in her favor. “A gentleman would offer his help,” she responded. The tone of her voice lacked any resentment.
“Well, I ain’t your servant,” the boy retorted.
“Oh, certainly. I understand.”
Her agreeable reaction disarmed him. The brown-haired kid’s mouth fell open. He expected more of a fight, it seemed. “Good. Glad we got that straight,” he eventually responded.
“Please explain, though, what you mean by liking women on their knees.”
