There is a last fight that will never happen. Minjung feels like she wouldnât be able to breathe whether it did or didnât. âI learned another language for you,â held against her just one time out of never in thirteen years. She feels nauseous when all sheâd probably say is So what? because what else do you tell someone whom youâve crossed high bridges for, and how is that justified when sheâs crossed them all with you?
On the first train to the airport, Minjung closes her eyes. Imagines the silence she could share with anyone else in this cable car if they knew her turmoil like she did, only to decide theyâd rather eat rocks than confess their fate. Someone pings her, but she only looks when sheâs at the next platform, waiting for the next ride.
[ From: Meg ] Canât you come home?
We can figure this out, Meg would counter. Together. She asks, as if itâs always ultimately up to Minjung. Thatâs how itâs been. Thatâs how it will continue to be. The future looks neither bright nor bleak at the thought. And what of the present, becoming the past before she can think to let it stew?
Minjung doesnât need to run to catch her ride. Sheâs the first one on, and all that follow continue to leave her be.
