That day would never leave his memory. Not ever. I didn't matter that Jin was only 7 years old when it happened; twenty years later, and the events would play out picture-perfect like a film reel in his head. --
He was happy, so excited he ran the whole way from the school bus stop to the modest restaurant his family owned. He climbed over a low fence that closed off the back of the establishment because it was closer, and he liked to pretend he was a superhero flying to the rescue as he tumbled over it. "Eomma!" He called as he walked in through the familiar back door, proudly waving a worksheet he held in his hand, a large gold star sticker decorating the front of it. Before he could get past the kitchen he felt a hand clasp over his mouth, his small body being pulled behind a corner into his mother's waiting arms. "Hae Jin-ah, be quiet." She whispered hurriedly in Korean, clutching him tightly against her and peering around the corner.
Confused, Jin looked at her with wide brown eyes, questioning why she appeared so frightened. He could hear his father's voice in the dining area, though not clear enough to make out what he was saying. He could hear some other, unfamiliar male voices responding, but again, he couldn't understand what they were saying. Looking back at his mother for answers, he tugged on her sleeve, but obediently remained silent.
“Jin-ah," She murmured quietly, stroking his small cheek with a shaky hand. "No matter what happens, you cannot leave this spot, you cannot make a sound. Promise me, no matter what happens." She said, holding up her hand to him with her pinky extended. Jin nodded silently, though still obviously curious about what was transpiring, and held up his smaller hand to wrap his pinky with hers in a silent promise. She gestured for him to move further into the corner, under a shelf cluttered with some boxes of plastic utensils, out of sight.
He didn't like it. it was dirty beneath that shelf, dusty; but he always obeyed his mother. Eventually the voices of his father and the other men speaking to him made their way into the kitchen. Their tones seemed to be escalating, and his father seemed to be pleading for more time -- more time for what? Jin wondered -- but the men didn't appear to want to give what he was pleading for. It was unfortunate timing, but some of the dust beneath that shelf wavered into the young boy's nostrils, causing him to sneeze suddenly. The men stopped talking, and Jin's mother froze, turning her head toward him and holding up a finger to her lips to keep him from saying anything. Slowly she rose, joining her husband at his side and bowing in respect to the men.
After that, there weren't many more words exchanged.
Jin watched with wide, terrified eyes as the first man pulled a gun out from inside his jacket, a silencer barrel on the end as he held it up to Jin's father's head and pulled the trigger. It was muffled, but still somehow deafening. His father collapsed to the ground to the sound of his mother's very brief cry of grief -- then she too, was silenced. Jin clamped his hands over his own mouth, struggling to keep his cries from being heard; he'd promised his mother. He loved his mother. He watched the pool of dark red spread out from underneath their bodies onto the clean white linoleum that he'd watched his mother scrub just the other day, the two men stepping over them and making their silent exit.
It must have been hours. Hours he stayed frozen in place, too terrified to move, unsure if those men would come back to find him as well -- the little boy sobbed silently on the floor, watching his parents lifeless bodies under the fading light. He didn't know who came by -- possibly a neighbor concerned because the restaurant was still closed -- but they called the police, who eventually arrived at the scene. So obediently quiet and well hidden, they almost missed Jin still cowering under the shelves.
A kind-faced policeman extended a hand to him, helped him out, covered him in a blanket, and offered a comforting embrace to the now-orphaned Jin, the worksheet and it's big, gleaming gold star drifted to the ground, forgotten.
