He went out first thing the next morning, leaving a brief note. I only knew that no matter how he tried to console me, I couldn’t stop crying. Was that his way of protest? I didn’t know. I heard a saucer breaking in the other room. I cried so loudly I even woke up the old man next door. I’m blanking right now.”Ĭrestfallen, I started crying. “Then tell me, what are those three things?” I never imagined such a vulgar cliché happening to me, and with such ease. Like every naive lover, I believed that once we were together, we would always be together. “Your phone was off.” I even looked back at him and smiled as I replied. “Why didn’t you call me before you came?”
Playing dumb, I took the keys from him and left. That inexplicable overtime, those muffled bathroom phone calls, the refrain of “I’m too tired today”-it all dispersed like fog before the intensity of his gaze, which only outlined what it tried to conceal. I had seen this man’s picture in his phone before. In the split second that he started rising from his seat to walk over, realization dawned upon me. Then his eyes swept over me, and he stared blankly for several seconds before lowering his eyes and flicking them back to mine. I followed his gaze as it followed the other man. Through his office window, I saw a charming young man. That day I forgot to bring my keys, so I went to his workplace to get them. But despite all this, he didn’t love me one bit more. Every day when I got home from work, I cooked, did the laundry, and cleaned the house. I won’t ever ask such foolish questions again. “Come on, can’t you be more mature? What’s the point of asking all these questions?”Īlright, I’ll be more mature. “Why are there no penguins at the North Pole?” Now that we had lived together for three years, I purposely tested the question out again. Back then, no matter how childish my questions were, he answered them earnestly. I can force myself not to think of his face, his soft smile, his warmth but that conversation keeps replaying unexpectedly in my ears. “Well, polar bears are so fierce, so they would be pretty scared, wouldn’t they?” “If we bring some penguins from the South Pole to the North Pole, do you think they would survive?” “I imagine it’s because penguins don’t like polar bears.” “Why are there no penguins at the North Pole?” If he appeared in my dreams, would the frisbee man have the heart to throw him into that wretched valley? “Thanks, uncle.” His cheeks are rosy, and his eyes are like clear ice. I help him up, brushing away the bits of snow that have stuck to him. Just as I wonder if I’m dreaming, I see behind the toy penguin a young boy, remote control in hand.
I speed up, and at the street corner I crash headlong into a penguin. I feel their suspicious gaze drilling into my back.
The red hats produce a kind of visceral disgust in me. A pair of lovers in red Santa hats ask me to take their picture, but I refuse.
ILIFT TOP HAT FULL
Their eyes are full of wistful care, as if they each had a special someone in their hearts. A gaggle of youths, probably students, stand smoking by the curb. As usual, the streets are crammed with people. I decide to go out, since staying home would only make me feel more out of sorts. Resting against his generous shoulder, I feel comfortable and cozy. Then he lifts me onto his back and returns to the top of the mountain. After throwing me outward, he seems struck by some thought and slides down to the valley floor, where he stoops down and helps me up from where I’m sitting paralyzed. There’s a person sitting on each frisbee. He has a full beard and stands on top of a snowy mountain, throwing frisbees. Recently, I’ve been dreaming about a frisbee-throwing man. All of this is enough to banish any desire to go outside. A cold wind blows tirelessly at the window, like the whooshing of a frisbee thrown from above. Ilift my head and glance at the two red hats hanging on the headboard. Why Are There No Penguins at the South Pole?
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