The Places We Once Knew

"Do you remember that place?" I asked. "Where?" "The place where we got off the city bus in the freezing winter, just wandering without a plan?"

You shook your head indifferently, as if you didn't want to remember or simply didn't care. Your eyes followed a tall man walking past the window in faded jeans and a black sweater, and your body gave a subtle, sensual shiver.

Our conversations were always like that—drifting past each other—yet we spent our entire college years together.

One day, when the sky looked ready to spill heavy snow, you stared upward for a long time and said, "There’s a place I need to go. It’s where I went with him on a day like this. Follow me."

While looking out the window of the intercity bus, you saw a village with a large lake and gestured for me to get off. Across the lake, gray smoke rose from scattered chimneys into the dark sky like birds. You slid slowly across the frozen surface of the lake, your lips tightly sealed, until you suddenly cried out. You screamed your boyfriend's name as if he were standing on the other side.

"Han Kwon-taek!"

The sound skidded across the ice and returned as a fading echo. ‘Han Kwon-taek... Kwon-taek... Taek...’

As we ran toward the village on the other side, the ice began to crack beneath our feet. Terrified that we might plunge into the freezing water, we grabbed each other's hands and shouted. We carefully stepped off the fractured ice and stared longingly at the distant, unreachable village. We looked at each other for a long time—and yet, now you tell me you don’t remember where that was?

Faded Memories

Though the exact location is a blur, I remember the sky was covered in black clouds, threatening rain. I was sitting on a bench in my brand-new gray dress when you came running toward me, waving your hand.

"Wow, you look great! Where did you get that dress? Lend it to me. I don’t have anything to wear for my blind date this Saturday."

You loved going on those dates. The day before a meeting, you would always come to borrow my clothes. Men never hesitated to choose you—with your perfect silhouette, tanned skin, and large, exotic eyes. But those encounters never lasted long.

"I think it’s over. He hasn't called," you’d mutter with a pout. Then, habitually, you’d seek out another date as soon as one ended. Even that day at the frozen lake, weren't you just restless, waiting for a call, when you told me to hop on that bus?

"Do you remember the mountain cabin? We couldn't sleep that night, so we went outside to look at the stars and shivered in the cold." "When was that?" "Our shoes were going to get soaked in the snow, so we secretly put on those big army boots belonging to the boys we liked. we dragged them along through the white forest." "Ah... that." "Where was that place?" "I don't know. The boots ring a bell, but I can't really remember."

You really liked the man who owned those boots. On the day you were supposed to meet him, you had a swimming exam for PE class that ran late, making him wait for a long time. Didn't you say he caught pneumonia and ended up in the hospital after wandering through the snow looking for your house? Sometimes, I wonder where that cabin was—the one where the stars moved across a night sky that covered the snow like a black blanket.

"How did it end with him?" I asked. You fell silent for a moment, as if collecting painful pieces of the past. "I told you, he went to the army. I saw him once before he left. I told him I’d wait, but he just turned away coldly, asking why I’d bother. I really liked him. I still remember him playing the violin in a black turtleneck. I never stopped regretting that I didn't visit him in the hospital."

You picked up your coffee cup with a look of profound sorrow, as if your life had been twisted because you couldn't hold onto him, then set it down and stared at me blankly. "I wonder what those men are doing now?" I asked, leaning my chin on my arm. "Why? Why are you bringing up all these useless old memories just to upset me? What’s the point in remembering?" I replied, "Because you asked me if there was anywhere I wanted to go. I wanted you to take me back there."

The Passing of Time

Tired of the constant friction of living with your elderly parents and your brother’s family, you suddenly got married, saying that leaving home was the only way to survive. The man you chose was quite different from the ones you used to date.

"Who is he? Why the sudden marriage?" In a small, quiet voice, you said, "A man the lady at the neighborhood stationery store introduced to me. He graduated from a prestigious university. He’s short and from the countryside—nothing special to look at—but he’s a self-made man. I’ve decided to just forget everything and marry him."

We met much later in Cheonho-dong, where you started your married life. You looked bored but spoke with a soft voice, seemingly satisfied with the stability. "My daughter Hanna was born with no hair at all. Still, I brush her head every day as if she has a full mane." After your second child, Hansu, was born, you moved to Gangnam. You were so busy fighting for your husband and children that we lost touch for a while.

The Bakery in Sinsa-dong

Near an alleyway off Sinsa-dong’s Garosu-gil, there is a small bakery on a corner. Inside, the scent of sugar and flour created a soft, intoxicating aroma. Brahms' Symphony No. 3, 3rd Movement was playing. The melody felt like it was pulling me into a lonely autumn. Through the window, I saw a woman in a white uniform kneading dough. I was imagining her as the owner when you walked in.

Despite your age, you were dressed as if you’d borrowed your daughter’s clothes: black jeans, a white crop top with a GUESS logo, and a brown leather jacket with the collar turned up. You rubbed your forehead, about to say something, when a tall man stopped behind you. He had his coat collar up and his hair tousled, wearing a pensive smile. For a moment, I thought of your husband’s face—rigid and framed like a specimen. I asked with my eyes who the man was, sitting there in silence. You glanced back and forth between us before whispering in his ear. He nodded and left the bakery just as he had entered.

"What happened? Did you get divorced?" "Divorce? No, it’s just..." Realizing it was a mistake to think I would understand your "free spirit," you shrugged and stared at the floral pattern on your coffee cup. "I was going to say goodbye to him near here, but we ended up walking all the way to this spot." "You could have at least picked someone more impressive. He’s not even as good as your husband." "My car stalled on the highway and he was kind enough to help. I was grateful, so we had tea and became close. He’s more romantic than he looks." "What’s wrong with your husband? He makes good money and he’s diligent." "My husband is like a long novel—boring. Short stories are much more exciting to read."

You brushed it off with that odd remark and looked around with a disgruntled expression. We parted ways in a hurry that day and didn't speak for years.

New York and the Frozen Lake

Years later, when I visited Korea, you asked to go golfing. "I don't know how to play." Unable to believe I didn't know how to play golf, you dragged me to the course anyway. "You went to America and never played? Everyone plays in tiny Korea, but you didn't play in the vast United States?" You left me sitting on a hill overlooking a small stream while you went to play. When you returned, you lectured me on the passion of golf until the sun dipped behind the peaks. "You must learn. It’s good for your health. Nothing in the world is as fun as golf. If you want to socialize with the upper class, you have to play."

When you visited your daughter Hanna, who was studying in New York, you called me. You wanted to meet in front of Bergdorf Goodman on 5th Avenue. Under your cherry-colored hair, your large eyes scanned my outfit from head to toe with disappointment. "Where do you buy your clothes?" "At a thrift store in Brooklyn called Beacon’s Closet. Maybe twice a year." Without another word, you walked into the department store. You bought a single piece of lingerie, a bag, and a dress—it came to over $15,000. Just as I was wondering if I should stop you, the clerk mentioned your card was declined. I pretended not to hear.

We walked into Central Park. As soon as we sat on a bench, you pulled out a pack of Marlboros. You lit a cigarette with a sophisticated flick of your hand, inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. You gave one to me. It reminded me of that day at the frozen lake, when we stood there smoking, the smoke rising like the chimneys of the village we couldn't reach.

When we said goodbye, you tucked the pack into my bag. "Don't let my daughter see. Keep these and bring them next time we meet." "Why hide it from your grown daughter? You probably smell like smoke anyway. Just smoke together." "No, it's not good for her upbringing." You chewed your gum, straightened your clothes, and walked away looking like a model citizen.

The last time I saw you was when you visited New York with your "boring long novel"—your husband. My husband drove us all to Cold Spring. You might not remember because he was there. Unlike you, he was dressed modestly. His diligence showed in his calm, steady presence. While I talked with him, your gaze was already far away. You peered at people coming out of the train station, and when the train left, you stared vacantly at the distant mountains. I wanted to light a Marlboro for you, but I couldn't—you were playing the role of the devoted wife.

When the bill came, your husband asked mine, "How much should I leave for a tip?" You glared at him as if he were a small, suffocating man, then turned your eyes to another table. Watching your bored expression, I felt our past replaying like a fast-forwarded film. For a second, you looked like you were dreaming, but then you woke up, gave your husband a trembling smile, and said it was time to go.

Have we come too far from our innocent youth? Looking back at these old memories, I sometimes confuse what happened to you with what happened to me. But regardless of whose story it was, those scenes of the places we were together still shake my heart from time to time.