“Seomi, do you remember me?” It was a familiar voice. “Oh… is this Kiyoung, the student who returned from the military?” “That’s right. How did you recognize my voice so quickly?” “It’s the same voice I used to hear from behind me back in college. It’s so good to hear from you. Where are you?” “I’m visiting my sister’s house in New Jersey.” “How did you get my number?” “I have my ways. Can we meet and talk in person?” “Can’t we just talk over the phone?” “There’s a reason. I’ll tell you when I see you.” “Then, come to my house tomorrow at 3:00 PM.”
I couldn’t believe I was getting a call from Kiyoung after thirty years! Why couldn't he tell me over the phone? I wanted to talk to him longer. Even after all this time, my heart fluttered as his faint image drifted back from the corners of my memory.
The First Memory
Our first conversation happened long ago, in early May. The winter had been long and tedious, but suddenly the weather turned warm and bright. After class, I didn't want to go home early, so I sat on a campus bench. Kiyoung, who was riding his bicycle, stopped. He sat next to me and asked, “Are you waiting for someone?” “Oh, no. I’m just enjoying the nice weather.” “It’s been a while since we’ve had a day this beautiful.”
The wind carried his scent as he looked up at the sky. It was the pleasant fragrance of a ripe apple. I studied his small face: thick curly hair, faint double eyelids, hollow cheeks, a light dusting of freckles over his cheekbones, and a sharp jawline. He was charming. He stretched out his long legs and grinned at the cloudless blue sky as if it were a miracle. Then he stared at me. His deep eyes were moist.
“I think the long, boring winter is finally over.” His low, deep, and sweet voice stirred my emotions. My heart suddenly raced. He had been back at school for a year, and I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed his charm until now. I felt as if my senses were opening up, like a child discovering a hidden treasure.
“Hop on the back. I’ll give you a ride to the bus stop.” “I’m fine,” I replied. “I said hop on. The weather is too good; I want to ride with a pretty girl. Hold on tight!”
I grabbed his waist and buried my head in his back. My whole body felt flushed, as if I had gulped down a glass of ripe apple cider. Instead of stopping at the bus stop, the bicycle headed toward the Han River. I said nothing and stayed tucked against his back, wishing we could ride like that forever, to a place far, far away.
Uncertain Promises
After that sudden encounter in May, I spent my days anxiously waiting for him to speak to me again. But he seemed busy and didn't even look my way. Finally, in the last week of June, just before summer break, he approached me. “Give me your number. I’ll call you.”
I hoped he would call for a date. I even cleaned my room while humming. But the call didn't come. I paced by the phone for days. On the sixth day, the phone went dead—it was actually broken. By the time my father fixed it, nine days had passed.
One day, the housekeeper told me a man was outside. I looked down from the upstairs window. Kiyoung was leaning against the streetlight in front of our house. I was embarrassed because I hadn't even washed my face yet. “How did you find my house? I haven't even washed my face. Please go back!” I yelled out the window. He waved and turned away. I felt frustrated. Why didn't he tell me to get ready? I rushed to change my clothes, but when I looked out again, he was gone.
The Confusing Reality
We finally met on the last Friday of July. Sitting across from him, my hands trembled so much that I almost spilled my coffee. My heart was beating so fast. To ease the tension, I said, “I want to have a drink.”
We sat at a bar. Kiyoung touched my hair as if stroking a puppy. “Your hair is so soft.” His hand moved to my neck. “You’re tense. I’ll help you relax.” His large hand massaged my neck, and my face turned red. I felt so awkward that I suggested we dance. But he just held me close, barely moving his upper body. I buried my head in his chest and stayed still.
“Are we dating or not?” I wondered. September came. We walked along the stone-wall path of Anguk-dong. The atmosphere was awkward. I finally asked, “What is our relationship?” “We’re friends,” he answered without hesitation. “I never go back to women I’ve dated. But I never break up with friends.” My heart sank. To him, was I just another girl he happened to pick up on his bike?
In late November, he called again. He suddenly grabbed my hand and asked, “Seomi, what do you think of me?” “Didn’t you tell me we were just friends?” I replied sharply. He was silent. It was cold. In the distance, a red 'Motel' sign glowed. “Should we go in there and rest for a bit?” he asked. “No, I have to be home by 9:00.” “Then, should we start dating now?” “Whether we are friends or lovers, we’ll eventually part ways anyway,” I said. That was the end of our meetings. I decided I couldn't waste my time chasing his love and risk getting hurt. I left to study abroad.
The Reunion
Now, thirty years later, he was here. I felt a surge of energy. I cleaned the house and prepared appetizers. At 4:00 PM, a black car stopped. Kiyoung got out. He looked withered, like an apple that had lost its moisture. The hand he held out was like a shriveled apple stem. A woman followed behind him. “This is my wife,” he said.
She was a kind-looking woman who handed me a box of pizza. “We’re late because the line at the famous Brooklyn pizza place was so long.” I realized then—he had spent all that time looking for a devoted wife like her. She gave him what I couldn't.
As we sat at the table, I noticed the wife whispering into his ear, translating what I said. “I can't hear well, so I couldn't talk to you on the phone,” Kiyoung explained. I raised my voice and leaned closer. He just nodded. I felt drained. “You’re still cute, Seomi. You were so popular back then,” he said. I wondered if his eyesight was failing too—did I just look like a blur to him? It felt so sad. Was he already this old?
“I can't drink because I'm not healthy,” he said when I poured him a glass. His wife added, “His teeth are bad, too. He can't even chew radish unless it's cooked soft in a stew. We came to the U.S. to rest. If we stayed in Seoul, he might not live long because of his liver cancer.”
The Empty Glass
The hope I had before the meeting slowly drifted away. At 8:00 PM, he pointed at his watch and got up with a faint smile. I didn't try to stop him. I watched his car disappear and sat by the window until the red sunset turned into dark grey.
“Friends don't break up.” His old words came back to me. Was I just someone he tucked away in a corner for years and only took out to check on when he was bored? It felt bitter.
The fragrant scent of ripe apples that lived in my heart is gone.
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