CEL 57

Why am I dreaming?

Hamin stepped on the creaking wooden floor in a sudden lucid dream. It had been a long time since he heard a floor groan because it could not hold the weight of one adult.

In the dream he was a kindergarten child.

The classroom was noisy because of the once-a-year parent observation day. The children wriggled in their seats because they wanted to run to their parents quickly, and the teacher sweated as she tried to calm them down.

Am I playing the parent role?

He stood among the parents and looked down blankly at the children. He felt awkward.

“Now, who knows the answer?”

As soon as the words ended, many children raised their hands. Voices shouted, me, me! and bodies bounced high to catch attention, and the room became a mess instantly.

Because almost every child jumped up at the same time, it was hard to choose who would answer in order. The teacher ended her brief hesitation and pointed to the child nearest to her.

“Yes, then Jiho will answer this question.”

“One plus one is a window!”¹

Laughter came out here and there at the cute answer, but Hamin sitting behind wore an indifferent face. He pouted his lips and propped his thick cheeks on his hand as if he thought he looked mature, yet to any third person’s eyes he looked exactly like a child.

Was I like that?

He felt embarrassed for no reason, and he covered his mouth with his hand and coughed. The teacher who had laughed at Jiho’s answer tidied things with a few words. She praised Jiho’s creativity and then she gave the real answer. Only then did young Hamin’s face relax. It was the look of someone who had found the proper answer.

Class time passed quickly. A kindergarten class was hardly different from playtime anyway. At the words “Class is over!” everyone stood up from their seats to run to their parents. Only Hamin sat straight facing in front of him.

The small bridge of his nose scrunched. Contrary to what one might expect, his large eyes did not look blank but slightly sorrowful.

“Oh my, Jiho is a genius! How did you think of a window for one plus one?”

“See? I was right, wasn’t I? It is a window, but why does teacher say no!”

“Of course, of course. Everything Jiho says is right.”

Young Hamin lowered his head. His face mixed annoyance, sadness, and frustration. The sight made Hamin hesitate.

Should I comfort him?

Hamin felt flustered. He had never thought of it as an event worth remembering, so he had not imagined he would wear a face so openly hurt that anyone could notice.

While he debated what to do, young Hamin suddenly rose from his seat. Amid the noise, the chair scraped lightly on the wood.

Young Hamin looked at his worn indoor shoes for a moment. Everyone else wore new shiny slippers, but his pair full of scuff marks embarrassed him, and he fidgeted with his feet.

It was not only the slippers that were worn, but Hamin felt more ashamed of his dirty shoes.

Why was that? He wondered now, because dirty clothes or dirty shoes were the same, yet only grubby shoes humiliated him.

He cooled his flushed cheeks and walked forward with firm steps. His destination was Jiho and Jiho’s mother.

“Oh my, are you Jiho’s friend?”

“One plus one is two.”

“…What?”

“A window is not the right answer.”

His insistence made the mouths of the two similar faces gap wide. The adult blinked for a long time as if to ask what is this, but the child understood what he meant quickly and scowled.

“No! My mom said it was right! What do you know!?”

“Everything your mom says is the right answer?”

“Everything my mom says is right!”

“How could that be? What is your mom, a god?”

“Nooo!”

The surroundings fell silent. The teacher noticed the commotion and came closer.

“Hamin, Jiho, what is going on?”

“Teacher…. Hamin… Seo Hamin…”

Tears finally welled in Jiho’s eyes that had already been on the verge of crying. A small walnut-shaped lump of sorrow formed under his lips, and soon droplets of tears fell one after another. While Jiho could not control his temper and only cried, young Hamin spoke.

“I told him a window is not the right answer.”

The teacher looked flustered. Jiho’s mother looked slightly angry, and all the surrounding adults stared at young Hamin as if he were strange.

“…Well, Hamin. That is not necessarily wrong. A window could also be the right answer. Shall we have Hamin apologize to Jiho?”

“Why do I have to apologize?”

Young Hamin also could not control his feelings. He did not cry over matters like this, yet instead he revealed a confused face without filter. His eyes filled with injustice, resentment, and hurt.

“I did nothing that needs an apology.”

Hamin’s face gradually flushed red. People who saw the glare in his eyes and the grinding of his teeth whispered among themselves, “That child is harsh. You must not be friends with him.” They must have thought their words would not reach him, yet their voices were not quiet. Of course Hamin heard every word.

The teacher looked slightly troubled. Even as he looked at that face, Hamin straightened his shoulders boldly and pushed her for an answer. At that time he already knew how specially she treated him. She had given him two cartons of milk when others got only one, and she had slipped him candies or chocolates in secret. So he believed that she would be on his side this time as well.

Ah, yes.

He thought then that it was unfair and absurd that out of so many people not a single one was on his side. So he said what he normally would not, and he created needless commotion.

If even one person sided with him, then… then perhaps all the feelings of annoyance and resentment would settle down. That was what he thought.

The teacher looked troubled.

And Hamin already knew the answer that would follow.

“But Hamin, you should apologize.”

‎

‎

He lifted his heavy eyelids. He woke with an unpleasant feeling from a dream that ended distastefully. It was natural, since it was a dream that reproduced the past.

But if it was a lucid dream, should it not change something?

He frowned and cursed, and beside him came a sulky voice.

“Why do you curse the moment you wake up?”

He turned his head. Light brown eyes filled his view.

Hamin recalled the thought he had before sleep, he wondered why they were lying cramped on a narrow sofa when there was so much space, and then he remembered the moment before he fell asleep and nodded faintly. Jaeha had cried in his arms until he fell asleep right there on the sofa, and Hamin had no strength to move him, so he only meant to close his eyes for a moment, but he ended up sleeping.

By then the sun had already risen high outside. Hamin had also barely slept the past week, though not as badly as Jaeha, so he had lost track of time and was lost into the dream.

Now that he was awake, he wished Jaeha would move aside.

He tapped Jaeha’s swollen cheek lightly. His eyes and face were puffed up.

Fortunately, Jaeha seemed better in spirit. His drowsy face held only a faint trace of embarrassment, and the gloom from before was gone.

That is good.

Hamin felt relief, and he pushed Jaeha’s shoulder, yet Jaeha refused by averting his gaze. Unlike Hamin who felt stifled, Jaeha seemed quite content in that position.

Jaeha changed the subject obviously.

“Did you dream?”

“Yeah.”

Hamin looked at him and chuckled faintly. A pointless thought had crossed his mind.

“Do you know what one plus one is?”

“Why ask that all of a sudden?”

Jaeha tilted his head and hesitated before replying.

“……?”

“It is a window.”

Will he say it is nonsense?

Hamin waited with a faint smile. Jaeha let out a small laugh and rubbed Hamin’s head roughly.

“That is right. It is a window. How did you even think of that?”

At the feather-light compliment placed on his head, Hamin’s eyes widened.

It did not seem like mockery. The gaze that watched him was warm, and the hand that tousled his hair was tender.

…The right answer?

His breath stopped under the swell in his chest, and Jaeha continued speaking.

“Then what is one plus two? No, wait. I will guess it myself.”

“…..”

“The heart. It is the heart, right? The reason I think it is the heart is because if you flip one of the twos and attach it, it makes a heart shape, and the plus sign kind of looks like a heart valve, right? This is exactly the sort of detail you like, sunbae.”²

Jaeha went further and chuckled with satisfaction. The hand that had teased Hamin’s hair now moved onto his cheek. His thick thumb brushed gently across Hamin’s face.

“Am I right?”

Hamin stared wordlessly at Jaeha.

The memory of his recent presentation came to him. It had been obvious that he would not earn the highest score, yet because it was Jaeha, it had felt complete.

Was Jaeha answering with that same heart?

Did he think it was all right even if what he said was not the correct answer, because it was him?

His nose tingled and his eyes burned. Something blocked his throat and cut off his breath, and it took a long time before he could say anything.

“…That is the right answer.”

“I knew it. Sunbae… are you crying? Why-why are you crying? Are you hurt?”

Jaeha jumped up from where he had been lying as he saw the tears falling down Hamin’s cheeks.

“Hospital. Should we go to the hospital? What is wrong?”

Hamin pressed his palm against his eyes. Hot tears soaked his hand.

He had thought he was alone.

He had thought he would always be alone, and that the only one who would ever take his side was himself.

For that same reason, he had never thought of taking anyone else’s side. He had thought he never wanted to spend time or heart on ties that would only break, yet in the end that was only the excuse of a fearful self.

‎A warm gand settled on his shaking shoulders, lifted by sobs.

He had thought that in life countless rules must be kept, and that otherwise society would collapse, but it was not so.

One single code of conduct alone could make a person whole.

‘I will take your side too, sunbae. So you take mine.’

“Your words….”

“Then everything will be all right.”

And keeping that was the very thing he had done again and again in all his years living as a lawyer.

“You were right.”

It was the one thing he knew how to do with absolute certainty.

1. Why? Because if you write the number 1 twice side by side ( 1 1 ), it looks like the two vertical bars of a window frame. Add a crossbar like the + sign, and you’ve basically drawn a simple four-pane window (창문). ↩︎
2. The answer is usually man or person. Write 1 + 2 vertically or side by side and you can make it look like the Chinese character 人 pronounced in or saram in Korean, meaning person ↩︎