1 Options
Competence can be a curse.
As a capable young woman, Casey Han felt compelled to
choose respectability and success. But it was glamour and insight that she
craved. A Korean immigrant who'd grown up in a dim, bluecollar
neighborhood in Queens, she'd hoped for a bright, glittering life beyond the
workhorse struggles of her parents, who managed a Manhattan dry cleaner.
Casey was unusually tall for a Korean, nearly five feet
eight, slender, and self-conscious about what she wore. She kept her black hair
shoulder length, fastidiously powdered her nose, and wore winecolored
lipstick without variation. To save money, she wore her eyeglasses at home, but
outside she wore contact lenses to correct her nearsightedness. She did not
believe she was pretty but felt she had something some sort of workable sex
appeal. She admired feminine modesty and looked down at women who tried to
appear too sexy. For a girl of only twenty-two, Casey Han had numerous theories
of beauty and sexuality, but the essence of her philosophy was that allure
trumped obvious display. She'd read that Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis advised a
woman to dress like a column, and Casey never failed to follow that
instruction.
Seated in the spacious linoleum-covered kitchen of her
parents' rent-controlled two-bedroom in Elmhurst, Casey looked out of place in
her white linen shirt and white cotton slacks dressed as if she were about to
have a gin and tonic brought to her on a silver tray. Next to her at the
Formica-topped table, her father, Joseph Han, could've easily passed for her
grandfather. He filled his tumbler with ice for his first whiskey of the
evening. An hour earlier, he'd returned from a Saturday of sorting laundry at
the Sutton Place drop shop that he ran for Mr. Kang, a wealthy Korean who owned a dozen
dry-cleaning stores. Joseph and his daughter Casey did not speak to each other.
Casey's younger sister, Tina a Bronx Science Westinghouse finalist, vice
president of the Campus Christian Crusade at MIT, and a premed was their
father's favorite. A classical Korean beauty, Tina was the picture of the
girls' mother, Leah, in her youth.
Leah bustled about cooking their first family dinner in
months, singing hymns while Tina chopped scallions. Although not yet forty,
Leah had prematurely gray hair that obscured her smooth pale brow. At
seventeen, she'd married Joseph, who was then thirty-six and a close friend of
her eldest brother. On their wedding night, Casey was conceived, and two years
later, Tina was born.
Now it was a Saturday night in June, a week after Casey's
college graduation. Her four years at Princeton had given her a refined diction, an enviable golf handicap, wealthy friends, a
popular white boyfriend, an agnostic's closeted
passion for reading the Bible, and a magna cum laude degree in economics. But
she had no job and a number of bad habits.
Virginia Craft, Casey's roommate of four years, had
tried
to convince her to give up the habit that taxed her considerably while
she sat
next to her brooding father. At the moment, Casey would've bartered her
body
for a cigarette. The promise of lighting one on the building roof after
dinner
was all that kept her seated in the kitchen her bare foot tapping
lightly on
the floor. But the college graduate had other problems insoluble by a
smoke. Since
she had no job, she'd returned to her folks' two-bedroom on Van Kleeck
Street Seventeen years earlier, in the year of the bicentennial, the
family of four
had immigrated to America.
And Leah's terror of change had kept them in the same apartment unit.
It all
seemed a bit pathetic.
The smoking, among other things, was corroding Casey's
sense of being an honest person. She prided herself on being forthright, though
she often dodged her parents. Her biggest secret was Jay Currie her white
American boyfriend. On the previous Sunday night after having some very nice
sex, Jay had suggested, his elbow crooked over his pillow and head cradled in
his hand, "Move in with me. Consider this, Miss Han: sexual congress on tap."
Her parents also had no idea that she wasn't a virgin and that she'd been on
the pill since she was fifteen. Being at home made Casey anxious, and she
continually felt like patting down her pockets for matches. Consequently, she
found herself missing Princeton even the
starchy meals at Charter, her eating club. But nostalgia would do her no good.
Casey needed a plan to escape Elmhurst.
Last spring, against Jay's advice, Casey had applied to
only one investment banking program. She'd learned, after all the sign-up
sheets were filled, that Kearn Davis was the bank
that every econ major wanted in 1993. Yet she reasoned that her grades were
superior to Jay's, and she could sell anything. At the Kearn
Davis interview, Casey greeted the pair of female interviewers wearing a yellow
silk suit and cracked a Nancy Reagan joke, thinking it might make a feminist
connection. The two women were wearing navy and charcoal wool, and they let
Casey hang herself in fifteen minutes flat. Showing her out, they waved, not
bothering to shake her hand.
There was always law school. She'd managed to get into Columbia. But her
friends' fathers were beleaguered lawyers their lives unappealing. Casey's
lawyer customers at Sabine's, the department store where she'd worked weekends
during the school year, advised her, "For money go to B school. To save lives, med." The unholy trinity of law, business,
and medicine seemed the only faith in town. It was arrogant, perhaps rash, for
an immigrant girl from the boroughs to want to choose her own trade.
Nevertheless, Casey wasn't ready to relinquish her dream, however vague, for a
secure profession. Without telling her father, she wrote Columbia to defer a year.
Her mother was singing a hymn in her remarkable voice
while she ladled scallion sauce over the roasted porgy. Leah's voice trilled at
the close of the verse, "Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light," and then
with a quiet inhale, she began, "Be thou my wisdom, and thou my true word . .
." She'd left the store early that morning to shop and to cook her daughters'
favorite dishes. Tina, her baby, had returned on Thursday night, and now both
her girls were home. Her heart felt full, and she prayed for Joseph to be in a
good mood. She eyeballed the whiskey level in the jug-size bottle of Dewar's.
It had not shifted much from the night before. In their twenty-two years of
marriage, Leah had discovered that it was better when Joseph had a glass or two
with his dinner than none. Her husband wasn't a drunk the sort who went to
bars, fooled around, or lost his salary envelope. He was a hard worker. But
without his whiskey, he couldn't fall sleep. One of her sisters-in-law had told
her how to keep a man content: "Never deny a man his bop, sex, and
sleep."
Leah carried the fish to the table, wearing a blue apron
over her plum-colored housedress. At the sight of Casey pouring her second
glass of water, Leah clamped her lips, giving her soft, oval face a severe
appearance. Mr. Jun, the ancient choir director, had pointed out this anxiety
tic to her prior to her solos, shouting, "Show us your joy! You are singing to
God!"
Tina, of course, the one who noticed everything, thought
Casey was just asking for it. Her own mind had been filled with the pleasant
thoughts of her boyfriend, Chul, whom she'd promised
to phone that night, but even so, she could feel Casey's restlessness. Maybe
her sister would consider how much trouble their mother had gone through to
make dinner.
It was the water drinking this seemingly innocent thing.
For always, Joseph believed that the girls should eat heartily at the table,
grateful for the food and for the care given to it, but Casey habitually picked
at her dinner, and he blamed Casey's not eating on her excessive water
consumption. Casey denied this accusation, but her father was on the mark. Back
in junior high school, Casey had read in a fashion magazine that if you drank
three glasses of water before a meal, you'd eat less. It took great effort on
Casey's part to wear a size 6 or smaller; after all, she was a girl with a
large frame. Her weight also shifted by five pounds depending on how much she
smoked. Her mother was thin from perpetual activity, and her younger sister,
who was short like her father, had a normal build, and Tina disapproved of
dieting. A brilliant student of both physics and philosophy, Tina had once
scolded Casey when she was on Weight Watchers: "The world is awash in hunger.
How could you cause your own?"
Casey's water drinking at the table was not lost on her
father.
At five feet three, Joseph was compact, yet his rich,
booming voice gave him the sound of a bigger man. He was bald except for a wisp
of baby fuzz on the back of his head, and his baldness did not grieve him
except in the winters, when he had to wear a gray felt fedora to protect his
head and large-lobed ears. He was only fifty-eight but looked older, more like
a vigorous man of seventy, especially beside his young wife. Leah was his
second wife. His first, a girl his age whom he'd loved deeply, died from
tuberculosis after a year of marriage and before she bore him any children.
Joseph adored his second wife, perhaps more so because of his loss. He
appreciated Leah's good health and her docile Christian nature, and he was
still attracted to her pretty face and delicate form, which belied her
resilience. He made love to her every Friday evening. She had given him two
daughters, though the elder looked nothing like her mother.
Casey drained her water glass and rested it on the table.
Then she reached for the pitcher.
"I'm not Rockefeller, you know," Joseph said.
Casey's father didn't look at her when he said this, but
he was addressing her. There was no one else in the room who
needed to hear how she didn't have a trust fund. Right away, Leah and Tina
moved from the counter to their seats at the table, hoping to dissipate the
tension. Leah opened her mouth to speak but hesitated.
Casey refilled her glass with water.
"I can't support you forever," he said. "Your father is
not a millionaire."
Casey's first thought was, And
whose fault is that?
Tina knew when not to speak. She unfolded her thin paper
napkin and spread it across her lap. In her mind, she ticked off the Ten
Commandments this thing she did when nervous; and when she felt particularly
anxious, she recited the Apostle's Creed and the Lord's Prayer back to back.
"When I was your age, I sold kimbop on the streets. Not one piece" Joseph raised his voice
dramatically "I couldn't afford to eat one piece of what I was selling." He
lost himself in the memory of standing in a dusty corner of Pusan's marketplace, waiting for paying
customers while shooing away the street urchins who were hungrier than he was.
Using two spoons, Leah filleted the fish from its
skeleton and served Joseph first. Casey wondered why her mother never stopped
these self-indulgent reveries. Growing up, she'd heard countless monologues
about her father's privations. At the end of 1950, a temporary passage to the
South had been secured for the sixteen-year-old Joseph the baby of a wealthy
merchant family to prevent his conscription in the Red Army. But a few weeks
after young Joseph landed in Pusan, the
southernmost tip of the country, the war split the nation in two, and he never
again saw his mother, six elder brothers, and two sisters, the family estate
near Pyongyang.
As a war refugee, the once pampered teenager ate garbage, slept on cold
beaches, and stayed in filthy camps as easy prey for the older refugees who'd
lost their sense and morals. Then in 1955, two years after the war ended, his
young bride died from TB. With no money or support, he'd abandoned his hopes to
be a medical doctor. Having missed college, he ran errands for tips from
American soldiers, ignored his persistent nightmares, worked as a food vendor,
and taught himself English from a dictionary. Before coming to America with his wife and two little girls,
Joseph labored for twenty years as a foreman at a lightbulb
factory outside of Seoul.
Leah's oldest brother, Hoon the first friend Joseph
made in the South had sponsored their immigration to New York and given them
their American first names. Then, two years later, Hoon
died of pancreatic cancer. Everyone seemed to die on Joseph. He was the last
remnant of his clan and had no male heirs.
Casey wasn't indifferent to her father's pain. But she'd
decided she didn't want to hear about it anymore. His losses weren't hers, and
she didn't want to hold them. She was in Queens,
and it was 1993. But at the table it was 1953, and the Korean War refused to
end.
Joseph was gearing up to tell the story of his mother's
white jade brooch, the last item he'd possessed of hers. Of course he'd had to
sell it to buy medicine for his first wife, who ended up dying anyway. Yes,
yes, Casey wanted to say, war was brutal and poverty cruel, but enough already.
She'd never suffer the way he did. Wasn't that the point of them coming to America, after
all?
Casey rolled her eyes, and Leah wished she wouldn't do
that. She didn't mind these stories, really. Leah imagined Joseph's first wife
as a kind of invalid girl saint. There were no photographs of her, but Leah
felt she must have been pretty all romantic heroines were. A lady who died so
young (only twenty) would have been kind and good and beautiful, Leah thought.
Joseph's stories were how he kept his memories alive. He'd lost everyone, and
she knew from the fitful way he slept that the Japanese occupation and the war
returned to him at night. His mother and his first wife were the ones he had
loved the most as a young man. And Leah knew what it was to grieve; her own
mother had died when she was eight. It was possible to long for the scent of
your mother's skin, the feel of her coarse chima fabric against your face; to lie down for the evening and
shut your eyes tight and wish to see her sitting there at the edge of your
pallet at dawn. Her mother had died from consumption, so she and Joseph's first
wife were entwined in Leah's imagination.
Joseph smiled ruefully at Tina. "The night before I left
on the ship, my mother sewed twenty gold rings in the lining of my coat with
her own hand. She had these thick rheumatic fingers, and the servant girls
usually did the sewing, but..." He lifted his right hand in the air as if he
could make his mother's hand appear in place of his own, then clasped the right
one with his left. "She wrapped each ring with cotton batting so there'd be no
noise when I moved around." Joseph marveled at his mother's thoughtfulness,
recalling sharply how every time he had to sell a ring, he'd unstitch the white
blanket thread that his mother had sewn into the coat fabric with her heavy
needle. "She said to me, 'Jun-oh-ah, sell these whenever you need to. Eat good hot food.
When you return, my boy, we shall have such a feast.'" The yellowish whites of
Joseph's eyes welled up.
"She unclasped the brooch from her choggori, then she handed it to me. You
see, I didn't understand. I thought I was supposed to return home in a few
days. Three or four, at the most." His voice grew
softer. "She didn't expect me to sell the pin. The rings, yes, but not..."
Casey drew breath, then exhaled.
It must have been the thirtieth time she'd heard this tale. She made a face. "I
know. Not the pin," she said.
Aghast, Tina nudged her sister's knee with her own.
"What did you say?" Joseph narrowed the slant of his
small, elegant eyes. His sad expression grew cold.
"Nothing," Casey said. "Nothing."
Leah pleaded silently with a look, hoping Casey would
restrain herself. But her daughter refused to notice her.
Joseph picked up his tumbler for a drink. He wanted to
stay with the memory of his mother, the leaf green silk of her jacket, the cool
whiteness of the pin. He'd never forget the day he left the jeweler with the
bit of money he got in exchange for the pin, his hasty walk to the herbalist to
buy the foul-smelling twigs and leaves that never cured his wife.
Wanting to create some distraction, Leah removed her
apron and then folded it conspicuously. "Tina, would
you pray for us?" she asked.
Tina would have done anything to make Casey control
herself. She brushed aside her thick black hair and bowed her head. "Heavenly Father,
we thank You for this food. We thank You for our many blessings. Lead us, dear Lord, to Your good service. Show us Your will;
let our hearts and minds converge with it. We pray in the name of our dear
Redeemer, Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Amen." Privately, Tina wanted God
to tell her what she should do with Chul how she
could keep him interested in her without having premarital sex with him, or if
he was the one to whom she should give herself. Tina wanted a sign; she'd been
praying for guidance for the past several months, but she could discern nothing
except her own pressing desire for this boy.
Leah smiled at Tina, then Casey. In her heart, she, too,
was praying, Dear God, let there be thanksgiving, because at last, we are together.
Before anyone could eat, Joseph spoke. "So what are you
going to do?"
Casey stared at the steam rising from her rice bowl. "I
thought I'd try to figure it out this summer. No one's hiring now, but on
Monday, I'm going to the library to write some cover letters for jobs starting in
the fall. Sabine also said I could get more hours during the week if someone
leaves. Maybe I could work in another department if she "
"You know the options," he said.
Casey nodded.
"A real job," her father said. "Or law school. Selling
hats is not a real job. Making eight dollars an hour after getting an education
worth eighty thousand dollars is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of. Why
did you go to Princeton to sell hairpins?"
Casey nodded again, pulling her lower lip into her mouth.
The blood left her face, making it paler.
Leah peered at Joseph's expression. Was it safe to speak?
He hated it when she took the girls' side.
"Graduation was just last week," she ventured. "Maybe she
could rest a little at home. Just read or watch terebi."
Her voice was faltering. She smiled at her daughter. "Casey had all those
exams." She tried to shore up her voice and sound as if it were the most
natural thing in the world for someone in her family to graduate from college and
then to figure things out. Casey was staring at her rice bowl but didn't pick
up her spoon. "Why don't you let her eat?" Leah said carefully. "She's probably
tired."
"Tired? From that country club?"
Joseph scoffed at the absurdity.
Leah shut up. It was useless. She knew from his face that
he wouldn't hear her, nor would he let her win any points in front of the
girls. Maybe Tina might say something to help the conversation along. But she
looked as if she were somewhere else entirely, chewing her rice with her lips
sealed. Even as a child, Tina had been a good eater.
Casey studied the white walls. Every Saturday night,
it was her mother's ritual to wipe down the glossy painted walls with
Fantastik.
"Why are you so tired?" Joseph asked Casey, furious that
she was ignoring him. "I'm talking to you," he said.
She glared at him. Enough, she thought. "Schoolwork
is
work. I've always worked hard...just as hard as you work at the
store. Maybe harder. Do you know what it's like for me to have to
go to a school like that? To be surrounded by kids who went to Exeter
and Hotchkiss, their parents belonging
to country clubs, and having a dad who could always make a call to save
their
ass? Do you know what it's like to ace my courses and to make and keep
friends
when they think you're nothing because you're from nowhere? I've had
kids step
away from me like I'm unwashed after I tell them you manage a dry
cleaner. Do
you have any idea what it's like to have people who are supposed to be
your
equals look through you like you're made of glass and what they see
inside
looks filthy to them? Do you have any clue?" Casey was screaming now.
She
raised her right hand as if to strike him, then she pulled back, having
surprised herself. She clasped her hand over her heart, unable to keep
from
shaking. "What? What do you want from me?" she asked at last.
"What I want from you?" Joseph looked confused. He
repeated himself. "What I want from you?" He turned to Leah. "Do you hear what
she's saying to me?" Then he muttered, "I should just kill her and me right
now, and be done with it." He cast about the table as if he were searching for
a weapon. Then he screamed, "What the hell do I want from you?" Using both
hands, he shoved the dinner table away from him. The water glasses clinked
against the dinner plates. Soup spilled over the bowls. Joseph could not
believe his daughter's nerve.
"What do I want from you?"
"Dammit, that isn't what I
meant." Casey tried to keep her voice from quavering, and she willed herself
from dissolving into tears. Don't be afraid, she told herself; don't be afraid.
Leah shouted in Korean, "Casey, shut up. Shut up." How
could the girl be so stupid? What was the point of being good at school if she
couldn't understand timing or the idea of finessing a difficult person? Her
older daughter was like an angry animal, and Leah wondered how it was that she
hadn't been able to prevent her from becoming so much like Joseph in this way.
A man could have so much anger, but a woman, no, a woman could not live with
that much rage that was how the world worked. How would Casey survive?
Joseph stood up. "Get up," he said, gesturing with his
hand for Casey to rise.
Leah tried to pull him down. "Yobo..." She was begging him, and her fingers caught the
belt loop of his slacks, but he swiped her hand away and pushed her back to her
seat.
Casey rose from her chair, tucking aside the loose hair
that had fallen over her face.
"You stupid girl, sit down," Leah cried, hoping that of
the two, Casey might be reasonable. "Yobo,"
she pleaded. "The dinner..." She wept.
"Come here," he said, his voice calm. "What?" he began,
his shimmering eyes unblinking. "You think you know more about life and how you
should live?" He'd long feared that his college-educated children might one day
feel superior to him, but he would never have held them back from any height
they wanted to scale. Still, he hadn't anticipated how cruel it'd be for his
child to condescend to him in this way to consider herself equal to him in
experience, in suffering, in the things he had seen. He could hear his Korean accent
muddying his English words, and he regretted having told them always to speak
English at home. He'd done this for their benefit so they wouldn't look stupid
in front of the Americans, the way he did. Joseph regretted so many things.
Tentatively, Casey shook her head from side to side, not
quite believing what an asshole he was. He was so unfair.
Tina pressed the fine features of her oval face into her
folded hands. From behind her seat, she could feel the heat of Casey's long
body moving toward their father. Ever since Casey was in high school, she'd
fought with Joseph once or twice a year. And each year, her sister's anger
toward their father grew, compacting into a hard, implacable thing. In ninth
grade, Tina went on an overnight school trip to Boston, and there, at a museum, she saw a
real cannonball. Tina could imagine such a thing lodged in Casey's belly,
sheltered between the fingerlike bones of her ribs. But no matter what, Tina adored
her sister. Even now, as Casey stood in front of their father, awaiting a
painful judgment, there was an obvious grace in her erect posture. All her
life, Tina had studied Casey, and now was no different. Casey's white linen
shirt hung casually on her lean frame, the cuffs of her sleeves were folded
over as if she were about to pick up a brush to paint a picture, and her narrow
white wrists were adorned with the pair of wide silver cuffs she'd worn since
high school an expensive gift from Casey's boss, Sabine.
Tina whispered, "Casey, why don't you sit down?"
Her father ignored this, as did Casey.
Joseph lowered his voice. "You don't know what it's like
to have nowhere to sleep. You don't know what it's like to be so hungry that you'd
steal to eat. You've never even had a job except at that Sook-ja
Kennedy's store," he said.
"Don't call her that. Her name is Sabine Jun Gottesman." She spat out each part of her boss's name like
a nail but kept herself from saying, How could you be so ungrateful? After
all, Sabine had given his daughter a flexible job, generous bonuses that helped
pay for her books, for clothes all because Sabine had gone to Leah's elementary
school in Korea. Sabine and Leah had not even been friends back then they were merely two Korean
girls from the same hometown and school who'd by chance run into each other as
grown women on the other side of the globe of all places, at the Elizabeth Arden
counter at Macy's in Herald Square. It was Sabine who'd offered to hire Leah's
daughter for her store. And over the years, the childless Sabine had taken
Casey on the way she had with many of her young employees. She'd bought her
rare and beautiful things, including the Italian horn-rimmed eyeglasses she was
wearing now. The glasses had cost four hundred dollars, including the
prescription lenses. Sabine had treated Casey better than anyone else had, and
Casey hated her father for not seeing that.
"I had to work for Sabine. I had no choice, did I?"
Joseph looked up at the ceiling tiles above their
kitchen. He exhaled, stunned by the child's meanness.
Casey felt bad for him suddenly, because for as long as
she could remember, they never had any money, and her
father was ashamed of this. Her paternal grandfather was supposed to have been
very rich but had died before her father had any real opportunity to know him.
Joseph believed that if his father had explained to him how a man made money,
things would have turned out differently. In truth, Casey had never blamed her
parents for not being better off, because they worked so hard. Money was
something people had or didn't. In the end, things had worked out for her at
school: Princeton had paid for nearly everything; her parents paid whatever portion they'd been asked to contribute,
so she didn't have any college loans. The school had provided her with health
insurance for the first time in her life and, with it, cheap birth control. For
books, clothes, and walking around money, she'd taken a train to the city every
weekend and worked at Sabine's.
"I...I..." Casey tried to think of some way to
take it back but couldn't.
Joseph looked her squarely in the face, studying her
defiance. "Take off your glasses," he said.
Casey pulled off the tortoiseshell horn-rims from her
face. She squinted at her father. From where she stood, not quite three feet away
from him, she could still see his face clearly: the wavy lines carved into his
jaundiced brow, the large, handsome ears mottled with liver spots, and his firm
mouth the only feature she took after. Casey rested her glasses on the table.
Her face was now the color of bleached parchment; the only color in it came
from her lipstick. Casey didn't look afraid, more resigned than anything else.
Joseph raised his hand and struck her across the mouth
with an open palm.
She had expected this, and the arrival of the blow was
almost a relief. Now it was over, she thought. Casey held her cheek with her
left hand and looked away, not knowing what to do then. It was always awkward
after he hit her. She felt little pain, even though he had used great force;
Casey was in fact watching herself, and she wished the person who was watching
her and the body she inhabited could merge and come to a decision. What to do,
she wondered.
"You think good grades and selling hats is work? Do you
think you could survive an hour out there? I send you to college. Your mother and
I bring lunch from home or share one sandwich from the deli so you and Tina can
have extra money for school, and all you learn is bad manners. How dare you?
How dare you speak to your father this way?"
Leah wanted to stop this, and she rose again from her
chair, but Joseph shoved her back down.
Joseph then struck Casey again. This time, Casey's torso
weaved a bit. A sound rang in her ears. She regained her balance by firming her
jaw and balling her fists tighter. Why was he doing this? Yes, he didn't want
her to talk back to him. As her father, he deserved respect and obedience this
Confucian crap was bred in her bones. But this ritual where he cut her down to
size had happened so many times before, and always it was the same: He hit her,
and she let him. She couldn't shut up, although it made sense to do so;
certainly, Tina never talked back, and she was never hit. Then, as if a switch clicked
on, Casey decided that she'd no longer consider his side of the argument. His
intentions were no longer relevant. She couldn't stand there anymore getting
smacked. She was twenty-two, a university graduate. This was bullshit.
"Say you're sorry," Leah said, holding her breath, and
she nodded encouragingly, as if she were asking a baby to take another bite of
cereal.
Casey drew her lips closer still, hating her mother more.
Joseph grew calmer, and Leah prayed for this to be over.
"This girl has no respect for me," he said to Leah, his
eyes still locked on Casey's reddened face. "She's not...good."
"She is sorry," Leah apologized for her daughter. "I know
she is. Casey is a good girl, and she doesn't mean any of those things. She's just
so exhausted from school." Leah turned to her. "Hurry. Go. Go to your room, now. Hurry."
"You spoil the children. You let this happen. No wonder
these girls talk to their father this way," he said.
Tina got up from her seat. She rested her hands lightly
on her sister's thin shoulders, trying to steer her away, but Casey refused to follow.
Their mother wept; she had cooked all afternoon. Nothing was eaten. Tina wished
to rewind time, to come back to the table and start again.
Tina murmured, "Casey, Casey, come on...please."
Casey stared at her father. "I'm not spoiled. Neither is
she," Casey said, pointing to Tina. "I'm sick of hearing how bad I am when I'm not.
You won the sweepstakes with kids like us. Why aren't we good enough? Why
aren't we ever fucking good enough? Just fuck this. Fuck
you." She said this last part quietly.
Joseph folded his arms over his stomach in shock, unable to
accept what she was saying.
"And why am I not good enough right now? Without doing another damn thing?" Casey's voice broke, and
now she was sobbing herself, not because he had hit her, but because she
understood that she had always felt shortchanged by her father. It wasn't as though
she hadn't tried.
Joseph took a breath and swung his fist, hitting her face
so hard that Casey fell. Her eyeglasses ricocheted off the table and skittered across
the floor. Tina hurried to pick them up. A nose pad was broken, and one of the
sides had nearly snapped off. Casey grabbed the table for support, and the
Formica table with its cheap metal legs toppled, and she slipped, falling amid
the crash of bowls and dishes. A bright red flush spread over Casey's right
eye, adding color to the handprints shadowing her left cheek.
"Get up," he said.
With her fingers splayed across the green linoleum, Casey
pulled herself off the remaining dry patch of floor. Somehow she was standing in
front of him again. Blood trickled inside her cut lip, the metal taste icing
her tongue.
"You going to hit me again?" she asked, her tongue
sweeping across her teeth.
Joseph shook his head. "Get out. Get your things and
leave my house. I don't know you," he said, his speech formal. His arms hung limply
against his body. Fighting was useless now. He'd failed as a father, and she'd
died as someone to watch over. He left the kitchen, stepping across the broken
pieces of a white ceramic water pitcher. From the living room, he turned around
but refused to look at Casey. "I sent you to school. I did what I could. I'm
done now, and I want you gone by morning. It makes me sick to look at you."
Leah and the girls watched as he walked into his bedroom
and closed the door. Casey sat down in her father's empty chair. She stared up
at the ceiling tiles, unconsciously counting them as she used to do at meals.
Tina smoothed her hair in an effort to comfort herself and tried to regulate her
breath. Leah sat still, her hands clutching the skirt of her dress. He had left
the room; he'd never done that before. She believed that it would have been
better if Joseph had stayed in the room and slapped Casey again.
Copyright © 2007 by Min Jin Lee