The Fold (9 page)

Uhmma shook her head again. “Helen already took me. I am supposed to rest and take the medicine.” She pointed to a bottle of pills on the coffee table. “The doctors say I had some allergic reaction to the tattoo ink.”

Joyce sat back down next to Uhmma. Arlene’s words rang in her ears. Joyce reached up to her own face and felt the stiffness of the foundation and powder like armor on her skin. At least this stuff could be washed off.

“Does it hurt?” Joyce asked.

Two more tears slid out.

Joyce gently wiped them away. “Do you want some water? Can you eat something?”

“Don’t worry about me. Go help your father at work. Mrs. Lee cannot do everything. Also, ask Gina to
come and help tonight. Helen will have to work in the kitchen.”

Joyce nodded.

Uhmma sighed. “I had a dream something like this would happen. Aigoo. Your Gomo sometimes makes me crazy.”

“She’s crazy, Uhmma.”

Uhmma waved away her comment. “Shhh, do not be disrespectful. Gomo does so much for us.”

Joyce turned away. How many times had she heard the same thing? Gomo was their savior. Jesus! Gomo could seriously maim them all and they would still have to bow and say gam-sa-ham-nee-da.

“It’s ridiculous that we have to kiss up to her all the time,” Joyce said.

“Joyce-ya, you do not understand. We can never repay her for all her help. Without Gomo we would not even be here. We would not even own our restaurant. We must take care of her now in her old age. This is the Korean way.”

Joyce sighed. “I know, I know, Uhmma.”

Uhmma reached for Joyce’s shoulder, but overshot the mark and poked Joyce in the eye. “Be nice, Joyce.”

Joyce held her injured eye and slouched forward.
The whole idea of getting the folds was starting to feel scary. If this could happen to Uhmma just from a tattoo, then who knew what could happen on the operating table. What if her eyes became deformed, all for the sake of vanity? Not to mention all the pain. “Uhmma, do I have to get the san-gah-pu-rhee?”

“You do not want to?”

Joyce shrugged and then remembered Uhmma couldn’t see her. “I don’t know.”

Uhmma leaned back into the couch. “You might like it,” Uhmma said weakly.

“Maybe,” Joyce said, remembering Gomo’s comment about how she could never be as pretty as Helen.

“It is hard to say no to Gomo,” Uhmma said. “But if you do not want the surgery, we will find a way to say no.”

Joyce turned to Uhmma. “Really?”

Uhmma nodded and two more tears slid out. “My daughters should not be unhappy.”

“Helen doesn’t like her gift? What’s so wrong with dating? It’s not like she has to marry them,” Joyce complained.

“Joyce-ya, please. You are too hard on Helen. She has a lot on her mind these days,” Uhmma said.

“Helen’s always too busy.”

Uhmma reached out and grabbed Joyce’s shoulder, this time making contact. “Joyce, you must be more understanding of your older sister. She is your uhn-nee and she tries her best to be good to you.”

Joyce rolled her eyes, knowing Uhmma couldn’t see her reaction.

“Fine,” Joyce said to stop the lecture.

Uhmma reached over to pat Joyce’s knee and ended up comforting the pillow on the sofa.

Joyce left Uhmma with the television on even though she couldn’t see it; at least her hearing wasn’t affected by the swelling. She walked into the bathroom to wash off all the makeup. Joyce stared at herself in the mirror as she waited for the hot water to start running. It had to be easier to be a boy. She cupped the warm water in her hands and plunged in her face.

As Joyce made her way down the outside stairs to the bike rack, she saw Sam coming out of his apartment. He automatically raised the camera to his face and began taking pictures.

“Hey, Sam,” Joyce said and waved furiously at the camera, her hand blocking her face.

“How am I supposed to take a picture of you?” Sam asked.

“Exactly,” Joyce said as she got to the bottom of the stairs.

Sam lowered his camera. “Everything okay with your mom?”

Joyce sighed. “You heard?”

Sam nodded as he fiddled with his camera settings.

“She’s okay, but I don’t think she’ll want to go out in public for a while. Her face is pretty bad.”

Sam raised the camera to his face and began shooting at some of the plants outlining the filled-in pool area.

“I miss the pool,” Joyce said, trying to change the subject. It was always hard to talk about appearances with Sam, even though he was a photographer. Half the time when he was taking pictures, it seemed more like he was trying to hide behind the camera. Sam had a type of acne that haunted teenagers in their worst nightmares. Deep cystic swells made his face purple and misshapen. The deep craterlike scars on his cheeks made it hard not to stare. Uhmma always said that acne was a rite of passage. Something you only had to endure through your teen years. Sam was enduring and then some. Luckily, he seemed to be growing out of them; the cysts seemed
to be shrinking. Joyce thought about what she would have done if her acne were as bad as Sam’s. If Gomo had offered to fix something like that, Joyce would not have had to think twice about accepting.

“It’s all about the cost in the end,” Sam said, clicking off a couple more shots.

“Huh?” Joyce said.

Sam pointed at the pool area. “Pools cost a lot to maintain, not to mention the insurance on something like that.”

“How do you know all this?” Joyce asked.

Sam smiled and raised his camera to his face again, firing off another shot of Joyce. “I know a lot of useless information.”

“Do you know how to pop a human balloon head?” Joyce asked.

“Was all the swelling from just the eyebrow tattoos?” Sam asked, lowering his camera.

“Korean mothers’ grapevine still working like a charm,” Joyce said.

Sam shrugged. It was hard to keep anything a secret in the Korean community, let alone the apartment complex, which housed four Korean families.

“My mom got those eyebrow tattoos last year,” Sam said quietly.

“Really? And she didn’t have any kind of reaction?”

Sam shook his head. “Nah. It was like a party. She and my aunts all went together and got their eyebrows and eyeliner done.”

Joyce was shocked. How many of these Korean women were walking around with permanent makeup on? “That is so weird,” Joyce said.

Sam gazed down at the ground and smiled. “Yeah, tell me about it. In the mornings my mom looks like she just got back from some goth club or something. She says it cuts down on the amount of time it takes every day to make herself presentable.”

Joyce grinned thinking about how long she had to sit while Arlene applied the makeup to her face. “I could see the point.”

Sam quickly glanced up at her to see if she was joking. His large brown eyes crinkled up in a question. No fold, Joyce noticed.

“I have to get to the restaurant,” Joyce said and headed toward the bike rack. “We have a lot of work to do without Uhmma around.”

Sam followed after her. “Do you need a ride? I have the car tonight.”

Joyce whirled around. “Why does everyone have a car except for me?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Joyce said. She stared at her bike. “Yeah, sure. I could use a break from my bike.”

Sam was a confident driver, one hand on the steering wheel, glancing at her occasionally as they talked. Joyce had never spent much time alone with him before. Sometimes they chatted if they caught each other outside of the apartment or hung out in a larger group after church. But most of the time, Sam was a loner.

“Are you doing anything for the summer?” Sam asked, quickly checking his rearview mirror before passing a slower car.

“Nah, just working at the restaurant.” Joyce glanced over at him. It was strange to be with him without his camera hovering in front of his face. His cheeks seemed particularly dry and flaky. Joyce knew from experience that benzoyl peroxide could be really harsh on the skin. She wanted to tell him about this noncomedogenic lotion she put on at night to help with the peeling, but one, it was embarrassing that she even knew the term, and two, it felt too forward. Maybe another time.

“Are you doing anything this summer?” Joyce asked.

Sam shrugged and then the right corner of his lip
turned up slightly. “I got a show in a month at this gallery.”

“That is awesome, Sam!”

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t say that,” Joyce said and playfully swatted his arm. “Where is it? Can Gina and I come?”

“Yeah,” Sam quickly glanced at her and then refocused on the road. “But, really, it’s not that big a deal. I’m part of this group that’s showing.”

“I think it’s great that you are putting your work out there.” Joyce pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. “I have no clue what I’m going to do after high school.”

Sam frowned. “You’re not going to college?”

“I’m not that crazy.” Joyce laughed. “My parents would kill me if I didn’t at least go to some state school. I just mean I don’t know what I want to study or do.”

“Why do you have to know anything now?”

Joyce rested her chin on her knees. “Well, when you have a genius sister who’s known she’s going to be a doctor since she was eight, it’s pretty hard not to be compared. And somehow,” Joyce said softly, “I always end up feeling lame.”

“You’re not lame. You just haven’t found yourself yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first time I raised a camera to my face and looked through the lens, I realized it was okay for me to be me. I’m an outsider, an observer. I’ve come to accept that about myself because it makes me a better photographer. Not that I don’t want friends or anything, but that’s not what defines me. You know?”

Joyce wasn’t sure if she did understand, but what Sam was saying had an essence that felt true. What defines me? Joyce wondered.

“I think some people just find themselves early, and other people have a longer journey.” Sam licked his lips, which were looking red and parched.

“Do you want some Chap Stick?” Joyce offered, reaching down for her backpack.

Sam flushed red. He pressed his lips together for a second as though to hide them. “Nah, I’m okay. Do I turn left here?”

Joyce craned her neck to see where they were. “Uhm, no. It’s the next complex. They all look alike, don’t they?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

Joyce pointed ahead. “Turn left there.”

Sam put on his left blinker and then eased the car into the parking lot.

“You can just drop me in front.” Joyce sat up
straighter. She could see Andy running from the front dining room to the back kitchen. If even Andy was rushing around, it was going to be a tough night without Uhmma. Joyce dreaded starting work.

Sam pulled into a spot in front of the restaurant. “My mom’s pointed your restaurant out before, but I’ve never eaten here.”

“Really?” Joyce said, picking up her backpack. “Do you go to Mrs. Shin’s place?”

“Yeah,” Sam said sheepishly. “She’s like my second cousin or something. I don’t quite understand the connection. You know how it is.”

Joyce nodded. Everyone was somehow related to everyone else in this town.

“Thanks, Sam,” Joyce said, turning in her seat.

“No problem. It was a good excuse to use the car.”

“No, I mean about what you said.”

Sam shrugged. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll figure it out.”

“Do you want to come in for a bite to eat?” Joyce asked. “It won’t be fancy because my mom’s out, but I can make you a mean bi-bim bop.”

Sam paused for a second and then cut the engine. “Okay.” He reached around to the backseat and grabbed his camera.

They walked into the restaurant and immediately heard Andy screaming from the back. “I can’t be seen this way!”

Joyce tried to laugh it off. “My crazy brother having a crisis again.”

Sam smiled and raised the camera to his face. “Can I take some pictures?”

“Sure,” Joyce said and pointed to one of the booths. “And you can have a seat over there after you’re done. I’ll be right back.”

Joyce walked into the kitchen to find Apa standing at the rear bathroom door and Mrs. Lee furiously chopping some scallions. Helen was nowhere to be seen.

“What’s going on?” Joyce asked.

Mrs. Lee waved her knife at Apa. Apa gestured at the door. Andy cracked open the door at the sound of Joyce’s voice.

“Help me, Joyce,” Andy cried.

Joyce walked over. “Can you come out?”

“I can’t,” he said.

Apa whispered, “He had an accident.”

“I did not!” Andy protested.

“Well, then, just come out so I can help you,” Joyce said.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” he asked.

Joyce nodded. Andy slowly emerged from the bathroom. He stood in front of her, and then, step by tiny step, he turned around. The entire seat of his khaki pants was covered with a strange, dark yellow mustard stain that immediately made Joyce cover her mouth with her hands.

“Andy, that is so nasty!”

Andy moaned. “It’s not what you think it is. I didn’t poop in my pants. Honest to god! I’m leaking or something, and my stomach feels really funny.”

“What? Your stomach? What have you been eating today?” Joyce asked.