I tried to act interested, but any time he mentioned Korea, I started to think about other things, particularly a rich person’s heavy fork I found in a dumpster in Tribeca a few days ago, a fork that must have weighed ten pounds, with tines that began the width of a finger and tapered into a tiny pencil point, a fork that I thought would be fun to show Steve.
I’ve been working on it for a few months, he said.
Working on what? I said.
Korean history, he said. I don’t go to Marquette, but she told me I could audit her classes. And since I started auditing, I’m helping her out with her research.
That’s nice, I said.
I’m at the library all the time, he said, it’s a very nice place.
That makes sense, I said. Are you happy with everything?
No, he said, I’m never happy.
He told me the happiest time for him was a period after he graduated high school. He lied to our adoptive parents, he said he had found a job in Madison registering gun licenses. He didn’t qualify for any apartments, he had no credit or work history, so he ended up sharing a room in a halfway house. The manager took pity on him. It’s funny he lived in a halfway house, because he never drank or did drugs. The manager thought he might be a good influence on his clients. The young man who shared the room with him was a recovering heroin addict.
It was the happiest time in my life, he said, I just went to movies all day, and for money I took surveys online. I didn’t have to think about anything.
And no one knew about this? I said.
I had nothing there, he said, and it didn’t matter. It was a place you could have nothing and exist. But now I’m working on Korean history, so things are interesting again.
Very nice, I said. I’m glad interesting things are happening.
He laughed a little and then his slight laughing turned into coughing. Like me, it seemed he had a persistent cough throughout the day. He coughed so much it was difficult to understand him at times, because unlike most people, he would try to talk through his cough. As his coughing abated, he asked me who my favorite person was. At the time, I wondered if that was his awkward attempt to find out if I was in a relationship, or dating.
There was a fifteen-year-old girl who I thought had a bright future, full of possibilities. Her name was Isa F., she had brown clear eyes, dark hair always covered up with a black hoodie, and she was a bit of a smart-ass. She sounded like a chain smoker. I was informed her mother was dead, her father absent, an aunt raised her, and that she herself was on her way to becoming an alcoholic. My first day on the job, I noticed her right away, she appeared to know what was actually going on, and what needed to happen, more than the other troubled people. It looked like she was telling other kids to shut up, and even my coworkers appeared to listen to her.
My name is Helen Moran, I said to her.
She looked me up and down. Fuck off, she said.
She reminded me of myself when I was her age, so she was my favorite.
24
I might have been troubled slightly by his lie about training with federal investigators, but then I remembered I dismissed it just as quickly. Whatever he tells them is none of my business, I had thought. He always lied to them; I could trace his pattern of lying behavior back to when he was ten years old when we played CONFESSION. It never occurred to me to intervene. I could be described as many things, but I was not an intervener, especially not when it came to my adoptive brother and his life, and perhaps the truth was I was afraid of intervening, because to intervene would mean to communicate with and confront my adoptive parents, people I hadn’t looked at in the face for years, perhaps because I was afraid of their faces and always had been. It was easier for me to turn the other way when it came to his lies, and at the time it was much more comfortable for me. I always exploited people and situations for my own comfort.
I was finished with my weeping. Perhaps if I had taken him to Central Park instead of Prospect Park we would have had an in-depth conversation about what was going on in his life, his struggles and worries, his hopes and dreams, but because I took him to Prospect Park, we sat in silence most of the afternoon at the zoo until the sky darkened and it was time to leave.
25
I was asleep on the couch in the study, dissolved in a dream, when my adoptive father burst into the room, terrifying me. He never knocked on doors, or if he did, he never waited for a response, it was his house, he could burst into any room he liked, all of the doors were his to open, none of them came cheaply built. Throughout his life, he burst into rooms and scared people. It was his trademark, I thought, and I’m sure people would talk about it at his funeral.
Helen, you didn’t hear us.
Hello, I didn’t know anyone was at home.
We’ve been here for a while. Why didn’t you hear us? We were calling out for you and you didn’t answer. We kept calling for you, Helen, where are you, your mother called out twenty times. What are you doing in here?
Just looking at family photos.
So you were in here all day, sitting in the dark?
I took a walk. A bright day to the edge of the suburb. I walked through the cemetery to get to the Moon residence, I thought no one was home, then as I turned around and walked away, I ran into the parents. Do you remember them? They were Asian and Christian, much older—
My adoptive mother poked her head into the den.
The food’s here, she said.
My adoptive father wasn’t listening to anyone. I watched him select several pictures of my adoptive brother, including the birthday picture, and slide them into a manila envelope. I followed him out into the kitchen, where two brown boxes of pizza sat on the counter. Pizza again, I thought, no one had the energy to cook. My adoptive mother was seated at the table, and in front of her was a single slice of pizza on a plate along with a large wedge of iceberg lettuce and a small pool of ranch. I helped myself to three slices.
Do you have any friends you want to invite to the funeral? asked my adoptive mother.
You must have at least one person you could invite, added my adoptive father.