trial run
@ncjiwon
It is on a fateful Tuesday afternoon and after a particularly grueling music theory session that Jeyun discovers the great Mr. Baek of Quick N Clean has stepped down from his stage, the finest conductor or a small-scale operation he ever knew now bedridden and approaching death’s door. The jingle of the door echoes in his memory and Jeyun stands still, the ticking of the clock replacing the chimes’ ghostly absence, then blinks at the stranger beyond the counter. Fuzzy though the connection may be, he vaguely recognizes the stranger to be Mr. Baek’s faithful second-in-command, a man mostly relegated to the back of Mr. Baek’s shop, where he would organize labels and press the odd pair of pants or pleated skirt beyond a cloud of hot lemon verbena steam. Shrouded in mist and mystery—until today.
Now there is a face to the name. No, there was never even a name to begin with. Now there is simply a face and a name. Jeyun drops his gaze to the name embroidered in red thread on the breast pocket of the man’s shirt. JIWON, in neat script that looks much like Mr. Baek’s handwriting, Jeyun thinks as he retrieves the folded receipt from the breast pocket of his own shirt. The broad-stroked ㅈ is one and the same and though this amuses him greatly the news of Mr. Baek’s deteriorating health calls for absolute solemnity and perhaps a touch of skepticism.
“I had no idea… Mr. Baek looked to be in perfect health just a few months ago.” He hands his receipt over—in truth, his sister’s receipt, for two wool coats she had dropped off last week and asked him to pick up—and places a stack of dress shirts onto the countertop, his own. A part of him wonders if the man knows who Jeyun is, and if the savvy business-oriented Mr. Baek would bother with details of that nature. “I’m very sorry to hear it and that I hadn’t come earlier to see him. How long has Mr. Baek been gone?” If he’d been away for more than a week it’d have meant Jeah was remiss to pass the information along. But knowing their family’s long-standing relationship with Mr. Baek, it seems somewhat out of character. But then again, this could just be the world’s way of telling Jeyun to get with the program; to begin grasping, understanding, and forging relations on his own.
Diplomacy aside, Jeyun can’t recall ever catching this JIWON fellow press a man’s shirt—not as a tot clinging to his mother’s hand nor more recently as a young adult holding to his own. He is careful not to let hesitance show as he pushes the stack towards him. “I’m afraid I need them within twenty-four hours,” he says with a sheepish dip of the head. “I apologize for the short notice, but I’m hoping that expedited service is still available?”
