The Mutable World by Tyler Biswurm
Chapter 8
Beep. Beep. Bee—Click.
“Time to wake up, Kee Jin,” whispered Dad softly.
“Already?” I asked.
“Yes. You have to get ready for school.”
I cautiously separated the eyelids veiling my right eye. The sun responded in turn through the cracks in the curtains, along with the sound of traffic outside. Slowly, I opened my left eye to match my right. Dad opened the closet and procured my uniform from it. The door slammed shut.
“Sorry,” he apologized.
The rustle of cotton sheets and the whine of steel springs met my ears as Dad sat down at the foot of the bed. I rubbed both eyes with my elbow and rolled out of the covers. Yawning, I raised my arms. Dad removed my pyjama shirt and replaced it with my school’s signature orange polo. It was always itchy, and this time was no different. I felt the pressing need to scratch my sides, yet decided against it. Too tired. Switching my pants proceeded smoothly, after which Dad and I headed for the dining table. Dad was being pretty quiet today. I tumbled into one of the chairs situated around the periphery of the table. Dad had made rice with an omelette for me. He did not have a plate. He must have eaten already. Gradually excavating my breakfast with my utensils, I felt a chill caress the rear of my neck. Looking up, I noticed Dad had left the window open. He must have forgotten to close it. I pushed myself to a standing position and stretched my legs. Dad was occupied washing dishes on the far end of the kitchen. I’ll do it for him. I approached the window and prepared to swing it shut.
“Please leave it,” said Dad.
Startled, I directed my gaze at the sink to find Dad regarding me with an expression of undoubted exhaustion.
“Hurry and finish eating. The bus will arrive soon.”
I complied without question. Dad looked entirely drained, I owed him as much. I tumbled once again into my seat and resumed eating. Dad joined me at the table, reached into his pocket, and procured a cigarette from its packaging. Is Dad going to smoke? Leaving his chair, he lit the thing above the stove’s flames and gingerly placed it between his lips. Pull in. Blow out. I coughed into the secondhand smoke. Why? Dad doesn’t smoke. He told me never to smoke.
“Dad, why are you smoking?”
“Don’t ever lose hope, son.”
“What?”
Dad drew once again from the vile thing clutched between his fingers.
“Your mother always hated when I smoked.” He chuckled to himself. “She would tell me to stop sending smoke signals before the fire department found us. When you were born, I promised your mother never to smoke again. We were going to take care of you, forever.”
With each passing second, the waterfall grew. The dams had busted, the valley people were doomed. The water roared and frothed as it ravaged the cliff face. Drip. Drip. The tears undulated upon my countenance with a glistening shine, robbing it of all composure I had attempted to muster in the face of Dad’s nonsense.
I pleaded, “Dad—.”
“Never lose faith in yourself, Kee Jin. Never lose faith in the world. Life is precious and it is doing its beauty injustice by wasting it. No matter how bleak the circumstances, no matter how broken things may seem, you cannot neglect hope. The world will always find a way to right itself before its demise. You must persist. You must stand fast, and flaunt your determination before those who would doubt you, lest you miss the train when it comes. This train will ferry you to a place where you will find happiness. Wait for this train, son. Mine has already come and gone.”
“Dad, what are you talking about?” I managed between broken sniffles and gasps for breath.
“Your bus is here, Kee Jin. Don’t be late for school.”
“But, Dad—.”
“Go.”
So I did. I left and boarded the bus. Some of the kids on the bus gave me mixed looks of pity, compassion and scorn. Others ignored me. I didn’t care what expression they cared to point my way. Dad had never acted like that before—tired, depressed, resigned. Why?
The school day passed slowly. I completed my work without complaint or contempt. I listened, I worked, I did as my teachers told. During lunch, a boy who had been present on the same school bus that morning approached me and called a me a “crybaby”. I returned the insult in fist form, which his friends unfortunately did in turn to me. The headmaster gave me a citation and sent me on my way. The day ended at 15:30, at which point I had dismissed any dark broodings my mind had brewed as to why Dad had said those things that morning. He’s fine, and so am I.
I nursed my swollen eyelids with tender hands. The headmaster had refused the nurse’s request to give me ice. Apparently, it would “only encourage” my behavior. The bus cruised, emitting its familiar gentle hum as its innards devoured explosion after explosion. I watched the buildings go by, interrupted by the occasional flash of light as the sun flared between concrete veils. The bus stopped, children left. Their parents gave them hugs and held their hands. The bus crossed the bridge and continued onward. Another stop drew near. More children disembarked. The doors closed and we continued. A pattern began to make itself quite apparent. Building, building, flash, building, flash, building. Each passing flash revealed the sun’s slow descent before it finally kissed the horizon. What a beautiful sunset.
A few minutes later, I saw more light, this time reflected from the windows belonging to a group of police cars and a single ambulance. I wonder what kid’s house that is.
“Kee Jin!” I heard belted from the fore.
It was my house.