"Second door on the left," Mr. Lee had said. I pushed it open.
The room was perfect. It was also sterile. A large, comfortable-looking bed. A sleek, modern desk. A built-in closet. And a large window overlooking the impossibly perfect, quiet street.
My single, 23-kilogram suitcase was sitting on a luggage rack at the foot of the bed. It was open. And it was empty.
I froze. I spun around. I pulled open the closet doors. And there they were. All my clothes. My jeans, my t-shirts, my hoodies... all hung up. My socks and underwear, folded in a drawer. My three pairs of workout gloves, stacked neatly next to them.
On the desk, my audio interface was already plugged in, the cables tidily coiled.
And next to it, a sleek, new, black smartphone. It was a Samsung Galaxy S6, the latest 2015 model. It was plugged in, charging. A small, stiff notecard was propped against it. In neat, elegant handwriting, it read:
San-gun, a small welcome gift. A new Korean phone number and SIM card are already installed. All network and Wi-Fi data are saved. Ha-neul helped with some apps, you should thank her later. We are happy to have you. - Mrs. Lee.
I picked it up. It felt impossibly thin and cool. My own phone from Ukraine felt like a brick by comparison.
I almost cried. I was so happy to be in a host family like that.
And on the wall above the desk, fixed with what looked like gentle, wall-safe tape, were my posters. The faded Naruto one, with Sasuke looking disappointed in me. And the smaller one of a band I'd torn out of a magazine.
Mrs. Lee. Or maybe a maid. Someone had gone through all my stuff. I'd been unpacked. Like a child. In Ukraine, my friends would have just dumped my bag in the corner and thrown me a beer. Here... they had curated my bedroom. It was the kindest, most efficient, and most profoundly invasive thing that had ever happened to me. I wasn't just a guest. I was a son of this family.
I sank onto the edge of the bed. The mattress was soft, a cloud compared to my lumpy, familiar one back home. The silence of the house was absolute. And in that silence, the guilt I'd been pushing down all day finally hit me.
My parents. "Blyat..." I cursed, the Ukrainian word sharp in the quiet room. I fumbled for my phone. It was 10:04 PM. Back in Cherkasy, it was... 4:04 PM.
They were awake. They were probably staring at the phone, convinced my plane had vanished over Siberia.
My hands were shaking.
I hit "Call" button on Skype app on my old phone. She picked up before the first ring finished.
"ALEX?! SONECHKO! (My little sun!)"
The sound of her voice, high and frantic and so mom, shattered the last of my composure. My eyes instantly burned.
"Ma... pryvit. I'm... I'm sorry..."
"Finally! Bozhe miy! (My God!) We were so worried! Are you there? Are you safe? Did you land? Why didn't you call! Are they nice? Did you eat?"
"I'm here, Mom. I'm safe. I'm so sorry. The day... it was just... it was crazy. I... I just forgot."
"Forgot! How could you... Oleksandr, I was about to call the..!"
"He's fine, Katya! Give me the phone!" I heard my dad's gruff voice in the background. "He's fine! He's a man, he can handle... Oleksandr. You made it."
"Yeah, Dad. I'm here. It's... it's really nice."
"Good. Did you give the... gift?"
"Not yet, Dad! I just got in the house! You should see this school, it's..." I gave them the thirty-second, heavily-censored version. "The school is amazing, the family is very nice, the food is... spicy."
"Are you eating?" my mom cut back in. "You sound tired. Wear your wool socks, the floors might be cold!"
"I will, Mom. I promise. I... I have to go to sleep. It's late here. I'll call tomorrow. I promise."
"Tomorrow, Alex! You hear me? We love you."
"I love you, too."
I hung up and fell back on the ridiculously soft bed, staring at the ceiling. The room felt huge. I felt 7,000 kilometers from home. My phone buzzed in my hand. A notification from the "DVIR GANG" chat.
Dany: MOTUZ! YOU ALIVE?
Sasha: Did you meet a Gangnam-style-man yet?
A small, real smile touched my lips. I typed back.
San: I'm alive. Just got to the house.
My nickname was the same as the Korean name.
Dany: Jeez, finally. What time is it there?
San: Like 10:15 PM.
Sasha: Whoa. It's only 4:15 PM here. Weird.
Dany: So? What's it like? Is it like the dramas you talked about?
I looked around the pristine, chaebol-level room, in a house where the neighbors were my blood-feud-rivals. I thought of the kimchi assault, Jun-seo's cut lip, and Chae-rin's "Prada" blouse.
San: Yeah. Pretty much exactly like the dramas.
Dany: Lucky. Send pics of the girls.
San: Good night, Dany ;3
I put the phone down. I was exhausted. My bones ached. I turned off the light. And I lay there, in the dark, my eyes wide open.
I couldn't sleep.
My mind was on fire. It was replaying the day. The dunk in the orange suit. The shock on Chae-rin's face. The sound of her voice when she sang. The ringing chord of my own song.
Jun-seo's cold disappointment. Ha-neul's mocking laugh. Myung-Dae's icy stare.
I was too wired among them. Jet lag and adrenaline were a toxic mix.
I needed to move. I needed to burn this off. I needed a bar.
My workout gloves. I sat up, turned on the lamp. I went to the drawer.
There they were, my worn, calloused, familiar friends.
I grabbed a pair. I remembered. On the drive from the security checkpoint, just before the "golden triangle" of houses... I'd seen it.
A small, dark, beautifully landscaped park area. And under a light, I'd seen the distinct, metallic shapes of an outdoor workout station. With horizontal bars.
I had to go.
I pulled on a dark hoodie and my sneakers.
I listened at the door.
The house was dead silent.
For some reason, Ha-neul's room was too quiet.
Strange, are teens in Korea go to sleep at this time?
I grabbed my room key and my new phone.
I crept down the stairs, my steps silent on the thick carpet.
The wooden giraffe stood in the foyer, its shadow long and distorted in the moonlight from the tall windows.
It looked even more demonic at night.
Mrs. Lee was right. Hm, but there is something to it... I see the vision Mr. Lee!
I fumbled with the high-tech digital lock on the front door, found the manual latch, and slipped out into the cool, clean, Seoul night.
The air felt different. Quieter. I was free.