slow, no, slower.
bgm / yiseul
- Would you like to come in for dinner? - No. - Would you like a drink of water? - No. - Were you waiting for me? - No.
/
The handle to her grocery tote snaps clean off and then, in a matter of seconds, they are surrounded by leeks and radishes and a plastic package of tofu that has already begun to sweat in the summer heat.
A lone clementine rolls over.
Bumps into the worn toe of Jakyeong’s sneakered foot. He stares down at it.
Then looks back up.
Yiseul’s face is twisted in horror.
The embarrassed, horrified apology is already desperate in her mouth, on her face, in her eyes. Jakyeong doesn’t need it. He never does.
With a slow, measured breath, he stoops down.
Collects the clementine.
Collects the leeks, radishes, and tofu. She really should’ve brought a cooler.
Her hands are shaking when she crouches down beside him, anxiously reaching for a stray onion. Brushing the dirt off of a near-lost bag of potatoes. No wonder her bag had burst open. He wonders vaguely why she needs to buy so much goddamn food when she’s surrounded by so much of it, farmland stretching out as far as the eye can see.
She’s visiting! Mrs. Yeom had tittered cheerfully. She’s some sort of... cook. Or student. Or editor. I forget which. But such a kind girl. Did you get to meet her? Did I tell you she’s visiting?
Jakyeong takes the broken grocery tote from her and, carefully, piles in the items once more. Her hands still shake in his periphery. He doesn’t comment on them.
When he stands back up to his feet, the tote is in his arms.
She reaches out to him uncertainly, obviously attempting to take the bag back herself, and Jakyeong simply levels her with a flat stare.
“Let’s go.”
A beat, and then: “Are you... will you... help me walk home?”
This time, with the summer sun high in the sky and Yiseul’s cheeks flushed as red as the apple she had offered him the morning prior, Jakyeong hesitates. He had said no to the apple. Had turned it down and had said no. He always said no to her. Jakyeong pauses. Studies her face. Glances down at the clementine she’s still holding, clasped between both hands. There is a grass stain on her skirt and dirt on her palms. Still, she cradles the clementine gently.
Finally — finally, finally, finally — he nods.
“Yes.”
