YJ Jun has previously been published in Sci-Fi Lampoon and Typehouse. She lives on the American East Coast with her wife and their cat. You can find her on Twitter and she posts on Medium.
Snow fell softly on the mountains as she stared up at the trees. Thick tufts weighed on the pine leaves, floated down and died with a whisper. She enjoyed the sight, sad she couldn’t before.
“Come on, Casper,” Mother called.
The Siberian husky sprung up and lunged forward, done with playing patient.
“Isn’t it nice?” Mother said to her.
She nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
“When else would you see this if you hadn’t come to Korea?” Mother squeezed her hand. “You’re glad you came, right?”
“Yeah, I am.”
They climbed the wooden stairs to the trail. “Watch your step,” Mother said, shoving aside snow with one boot even as Casper tugged her forward.
Taking care of two kids at once, again, she thought, even though she herself was fully grown, the same age as Casper in dog years.
The branches and leaves were dark and tangled under the pure untouched skin of snow. Forgiving cleansing snow. She looked up again and heard James Blake, his crooning rendition of “In the Bleak Midwinter.” She never knew winter could sound like mourning.
“Mom,” she said, “I’m really glad we could come without dad.” She pushed her luck. “For once.”
Mother laughed and sighed. “I know. No. Don’t say that. He’s still your father.
“We’re at the less slippery part now. Do you want to hold him?” Mother held out the leash.
She stared at the scabs pocking the back of Mother’s hand. “Sure.”
“Don’t spend your last day here being angry.”
Mother was short, maybe 4’11’’, a few inches shorter than her. Mother bumbled about with a furious energy that some diagnosed as mania but that she only saw as admirable. Mother’s posture was admirable, her flat feet were admirable, her rough hands were admirable. All signs of a warrior. “We’re here!” Mother said. “Wait a bit. I’ll go down into the hollow. You can let him go then.”
She waited. She thought. Still your father. What a joke.
Casper whined. He sensed freedom but couldn’t understand why the leash was still taut.
She let go. He ran. Legs churning, face blurring. A peal of laughter rang out from the hollow below. Another sign of a warrior, one who had kept her joy despite all she’d been through.
Casper ran past Mother and circled back. He leapt on her to say hello and sprinted off again. He paused. He dug. Head buried, paws blurring, dirt flew all over him.
Digging. Dirt. That which was dark and tangled brought forth to the surface of the snow meant to smother it.
Casper ran. So did she. In her thoughts. Still your father. Away or towards? Towards. Towards memories dark and tangled she had smothered with pretty white.
She wanted to hurl. She wanted to scream. She wanted to claw something as violently as Casper clawed the earth. He gnawed a root. Root it out. She wanted it out. She wanted out.
Just like that she realized he was here without being here. Dark and tangled roots dug deep.
She would scream. She would scream so loud passersby would hear. They would report. They would get annoyed, as annoyed as Seoul PD when she screamed into a phone half a lifetime ago hoping to save Mother from dad, and the police had just sighed. “Parents fight sometimes,” they had explained. They were annoyed she had reported a false emergency. They would care more if she were attacked by a Siberian husky.
Stop being pathetic, she told herself. Her eyes cooled. Her heart, frantic, slowed. She let her jaw stay clenched.
Thirteen out of fourteen days they had spent ensnared, kept on a short leash. She would not let him be here when he was not here because it wasted precious little time with Mother.
She exhaled. It bought her time. More time for moments like these. More time because less was wasted pleading and begging and screaming and throwing and running away and reporting.
She tried to laugh like Mother.
Was that really the best they could do?
Pathetic, she told herself, Stop being pathetic.
Look, she willed, and she did.
The snow it fell so softly. It sifted through thick branches and kissed the ground with a whisper. The wind hushed as Casper plop plopped through the snow.
Casper played. He weaved soft grey between the trees. He chased after the drumstick Mother threw at him but was too stupid to fetch. He passed it by and came to her, empty-mouthed, tongue lolling, smiling.
Her jaw unclenched. Her shoulders dropped. Snow always cooled her temper.
“It’s beautiful!” she cried.
“Isn’t it?” Mother beamed a beam of joy, bright as the sun searing off the snow. Mother’s back is still straight, despite all the things he’d done to her. Yanking on a short leash.
“One last present before you go,” Mother said, “one more dusting of snow.”
Before you go. One day left.
She willed herself to breathe.
The snow it fell so softly. It sifted through bare branches and covered the holes he had dug.
Casper returned. He sat, panting. “Run,” she said, and he wouldn’t. They gave him treats and started down. They were spent. They were tired.
Footprints sullied their way back. They’d traveled this trail every day and now she would take off to America, to return to life as usual, and Mother would be on her own. Routine sustained mania and structure. Routine provided comfort and distraction. Routine meant Mother knew what time his favorite shows were on, which was all the time, so she could go lie down in a dark room when she wasn’t cooking meals. Casper would be at her feet protecting her. Even he bowed his head around him.
“Your father must be awake by now.” Mother’s voice started to rise. “I hope he sees the breakfast I left in plain sight on the dining table with all his favorite banchan instead of sitting up hungry like a child just so he can blame me for… No, I won’t say that. I won’t speak ill of your father in front of you. I’m sorry.” She stopped picking at the scabs on her hand.
The snow it fell so softly and buried everything beneath that was dark and tangled and filthy and sour and putrid and acrid and vile and sick and—
She was spent. She was tired.
“It’s okay,” she said. And it was. She had willed it.