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She Felt Like It
Written by airrelia
Her name was Minh Ti Vu—she was my first love. I don’t know what attracted me to her; we were opposites, black and white.
She was a small little Korean girl who acted much stronger than she looked. Her black hair was perfectly straight and her bangs covered her face, hiding it. No matter what the weather, no matter how windy or how big of a storm there was, her hair was always neat, flawless, every strand in its assigned position. Her full lips were always black and the girl had a tube of black lipstick with her in the event that it would be rubbed off (which didn’t happen often). Her clothing was dark and the style could only be categorized as gothic. The girl, though only fifteen years of age, had a growing criminal record and an aura that clearly screamed “dangerous”. Everyone was frightened by the mere sight of her, though I don’t see why; she doesn’t seem to be able to harm even a fly.
Tuesdays were special days for me. I was born on a Tuesday, my sister was born on a Tuesday, I received my first car on a Tuesday, and my first pet—a hamster by the name of Rara—was given to me on a Tuesday.
Because of this, it really wasn’t surprising in the least that the first time I exchanged words with Minh was on a Tuesday. It had been after algebra class. I had been staring at her all through the class period as the teacher asked review for the quickly approaching test. It was my second time taking the class but it was Minh’s first and I couldn’t help but to notice that she was paying strict attention. She answered every question under her breath and her accuracy astounded me—she was always mouthing off to the teacher and I knew she was failing the class, but she was really quite smart.
She seemed to have noticed my staring because after class, she approached me. “Do you have something to say to me?”
My reply was purely idiotic: “huh?”
She rolled her eyes, though I don’t know how I knew as her eyes were hidden beneath her bangs—I couldn’t really see them. She rephrased her question. “You’ve been staring at me all through the class period. If you have something to say, say it. If not, stop staring at me; it irritates me.”
I stared at her, she gazed steadily back. “Well?” She inquired after several moments.
“Do you like Chinese food?”
She blinked (I think), “Excuse me?”
“Do you like Chinese food? Because if you do, maybe we could, you know, go out sometime. For Chinese.”
“Are you asking me to go on a date with you?”
“Yes, I believe I am.”
“Are you, by any chance, masochistic?”
“You’ll never know unless you say yes. So, what do you say?”
“You are masochistic.” She scowled, “and I don’t like Chinese food.”
“You’ve never had it.” I guessed.
“What makes you say that?”
I grinned, “I’m good at reading people.”
“Well, obviously, you suck because I’ve had Chinese food a thousand times and I’ve hated it every time.” She was growing angry, I could feel it, and for some reason, that amused me.
“So what do you say?”
“You claimed to be good at reading people, yes?”
I nodded mutely, anxious to see where she was taking this. She leaned toward me.
“Then please, read my answer.” She was glaring.
I smiled. “Great! I’ll pick you up at six. Ish. Sixish.”
Minh’s jaw dropped in surprise, “What?”
“See ya!” I turned to walk away.
“You don’t even know where I live!” She called after me.
“I have methods.” I replied back smoothly.
I was too far away at that time to hear her reply; though I was sure it was filled with words far too inappropriate for school.
My methods , as it turned out, didn’t work out as much as I hoped it would—there was a surprisingly large number of people with the last name “Vu” in New Jersey and so I had thrown my useless laptop at the wall in irritation (it somehow managed to stay intact). In the end, I decided to use the school directory; there is, as it turns out, only one “Minh Ti Vu” in the school.
It was a bit shocking to find that Minh lived in the bad side of town, the dangerous side. All the shootings and gang activity came from around the area her house was located. As I drove down the streets, I couldn’t help but to notice that my dark blue sports car was out of place among the broken down houses. I pulled into her drive way and found that her house was in terrible condition, the front door was gone and a piece of wood leaned against the door frame, replacing the door. Weed was growing everywhere and the paint was peeling off the walls. After examining further, however, I noticed something.
There was a pot by the makeshift door and in it, flowers grew. It looked out of place there but it was clear that someone was taking care of the place—or at least attempting to. I stood at the door, not sure what to do; there was no door bell. Do I knock? I puzzled over this for several minutes before the wood was pushed aside and I was met with a glare from a familiar, yet altogether unfamiliar, person.
The girl certainly looked like Minh, but didn’t dress like her. Her black hair was tied back with a ribbon and her bangs were left to frame her face—not hide it. I could see that her eyes were a beautiful brown, its intensity and shade changing every second. It went from being a light brown to a dark brown within seconds, alternating between those two and every other color in between. She was dressed in a relatively plain white dress with a light blue sweater over it, as though to keep her warm though it was almost summer and quite hot out. She wore a pair of jeans under the dress, as if she didn’t want anyone to see her legs, and on her feet she wore flip flops. This girl’s face was very much similar—especially the glare—to Minh, but the clothing style was not.
“Uh . . .” I didn’t know what to say.
She sighed, “Idiot. You shouldn’t have come—actually; I’m surprised you did come.” She glanced at a watch strapped to her wrist that I previously failed to notice. She sighed again, “You’re on time, too. It’s sixish sharp. Quite the shocker, stupid, I didn’t think you could manage it.”
“Minh?” It was idiotic, but I couldn’t help but to ask. I knew this girl was definitely Minh—the annoyance in her voice was impossible to imitate. “You’re wearing . . . normal clothes.”
Minh rolled her eyes, “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.” Her reply was sarcastic, her words dripping with metaphoric venom. “Of course I’m wearing normal clothes, stupid. I don’t wear gothic clothing all the time. It gets a bit repetitive and uncomfortable so I only wear it at school. This is how I dress at home.”
“Oh shoot, and here I thought you were dressing up for our date.” I joked.
Her eyes rolled skyward and I couldn’t help but to notice that she rolled her eyes a lot around me. “You’re such an idiot. You realize that I’ve never even actually agreed to go on a date with you? You’re simply forcing me to.”
“Don’t worry, you would have said yes anyways.” I assured her (she scoffed), “so, should I meet your parents before we take off or do we just . . . leave?”
Minh’s eyes suddenly narrowed, “We just leave.” She told me, brushing past me after she moved the wood back to its previous location. She gazed at my car, her expression turning somewhat awed. “This is your car?”
“Yeah.” I opened the door for her and she climbed in silently.
We didn’t speak throughout the entire drive to the restaurant.
We got to the restaurant at 6:32 (ish).
The place was a bit shabby looking, but it was among one of my favorite places to eat. I had gotten to going so often that all of the employees recognized my face, which was really amazing, in my opinion. I was also their main source of income. The restaurant, though good, was not very popular and didn’t receive many customers. Then, to make matters worse, they were having problems with the sign. The sign bearing the restaurant’s name had weathered away so that it was no longer legible, and because they were having financial problems, they could not afford to replace it. Now all of their customers (sadly including me), haven’t a clue as to what the restaurant is called and have difficulties referring it to others.
As I opened the car door for her so that she may get out, Minh gazed up at the building with mild interest. “I have passed here many times and yet, I have never noticed this place. How curious.”
“It’s not that surprising; the place kinda blends in, but the food is great—come on! Let’s go inside!”
She followed me in, curious eyes glancing at everything: the walls, the appearance of the customer (there was only one), and the waiter (once again, there was only one).
The waiter grinned at me, “Hey, James, what’s up? Is this your girlfriend?”
Minh’s eyes narrowed at him, “You’re not very professional, are you? I’m surprised you even have a job.”
John looked flustered, his expression shocked, “I-I’m sorry?”
“Minh.” I couldn’t I could barely conceal my laughter, “It’s okay; I’m a regular here so I’m obviously familiar with the staff. No harm in being friendly. Minh,” I gestured at the waiter, “Meet John.”
“Hi, Minh.” John smiled at her hesitantly; Minh’s glare had frightened him. “So, table for two? Do you want your regular seat or do you want a booth for your . . . uh . . . date?”
“The regular seat will be fine, thanks.” I grinned—Minh was certainly going to be surprised; her head was already tilted to the side, her expression that of confusion.
John grabbed menus and some cushions from behind the counter and walked several paces before placing them on the floor. Minh’s eyebrows rose when I took a seat on one of the cushions and gestured for her to do the same.
“Why are we sitting on the floor?”
“Authenticity,” I shrugged.
“I, personally, don’t see what’s so authentic about sitting on the floor.” But she took a seat anyways, and that slightest bit was the only complaint she made of it. John took our drink orders (in which Minh asked for a ‘diet water with a very serious expression) before he scurried off.
She frowned as she scanned the menu and I could see in her eyes that she had no idea what to order. She seemed confused by all the abnormal names listed. “I knew it,” I smirked, “You’ve really never had Chinese before, have you?”
“Does it really matter?” She sighed when I nodded, “I’ve had it once or twice when I was little but my family doesn’t go out to eat much. We prefer home cooked meals.”
“Oh is that so?” That sounded good—home cooked meals. My mom is always way too busy to cook so we always go out to eat. Sometimes, though, she cooks and, when she does, it’s amazing.
“Yes,” she murmured lightly in response to my words, “Yes it is so.”
I smiled at her. “Okay, that’s fine, but you’re Korean, right? So . . . isn’t Chinese food and Korean food kinda the same? You should have a bit of an idea as to what everything is, right?”
“No. Just because I am Korean, it doesn’t mean I eat Korean food. My stepfather hates Korean food and so it is a rarity in my home.”
Stepfather? I had no idea that she had a stepfather—I wondered what happened to her real father. I didn’t want to pry, however, so I wisely kept my mouth shut. “Do you . . . uh . . . do you know what you’re going to order yet?”
“I think perhaps that I will go with the wonton soup.” She closed the menu and looked up at me, “Do you approve, Mr. Expert-in-Chinese-food?”
I laughed, “I don’t know, Minh, the wonton soup really isn’t much at all; maybe you should go with something more filling. For example, the broccoli beef—that’s what I’m getting.”
Minh shook her head, “I’m actually not that hungry; I think that the soup would be enough.”
“Are you sure?” She nodded at me and I sighed, “Alright, that’s fine then.”
John took our orders, we ate, and I drove her home—we didn’t talk much at all that night.
I regard our first date as a complete failure.
Our second date—which I tricked her into—ran much smoother, though it was much simpler. I took her out to a movie. How I managed to trick her into coming, I don’t remember, but I do remember that she wasn’t all too happy about it. She had been muttering complaints throughout the entire drive and was glaring at me from under her bangs. She had even decided not to wear normal clothing and opted for her usual, dark clothes.
I believe that my original plan was to watch a romantic comedy—who knows what it was called—but this time, she tricked me. So instead of hearing the occasional sounds of laughter in the audience that we would have heard with the romantic comedy, we heard screams as we watched the gory horror film. The only laughter I heard throughout the entire movie was Minh’s occasional entertained giggles.
I was glad, in the least, that she was enjoying herself.
As I drove her home that night, she wouldn’t stop talking about the movie and how pathetic the general audience—mostly the female portion—was for being so scared of it. She even made fun of me for my occasional frightened shrieks; she said that I sounded like a girl. When I dropped her off at her house, she smiled at me—the first smile I’ve ever seen on her lips—and said, “Good job, idiot. It seems you can do something right every now and then.”
That date, was most definitely a success.
We had many more dates after that, in which she had to be tricked into coming for the most part. We even had a few arguments, though they were always silly. One time, I had remarked that we were opposites; black and white. She had shook her head and said, “No, we are nothing as simple as colors. Let us instead be the moon and sun.”
She was always hesitant around me, and everyone else, but because it was now officially summer, it was easier to convince her into coming to hang out with me.
“What else are you going to do?” I asked her once.
“Read.”
I had rolled my eyes at her response and dragged her into my car to bring her over to my house for dinner.
“My sisters have books, you can read them there.” I had told her, as I slammed the door shut.
She had glared at me as I got into the car and said, “I believe this is a form of kidnapping.”
I remember laughing at that and she laughed along with me. She didn’t complain about the ‘kidnapping’ throughout the entire day.
One night, in the middle of summer, we (as in my family) received a phone call—my great aunt Josephine was dead. This wasn’t that big of a blow to me, as I had only met the woman once, but my mother was devastated. “I can’t help it,” she had told me once, “I loved that crazy old bat.”
I took Minh with me to the funeral. She dressed appropriately in black, but to my surprise and relief, there were no chains, or anything of the sort, on her clothing. Her dress was just simple, long, and black. She tied her hair back with a black ribbon and when she saw me, she smiled hesitantly.
“Hello, James.” She greeted (she had long stopped calling me ‘idiot’ or ‘stupid’), “How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks; I barely knew the woman so I’m not too sad. Mom’s a wreck, though.”
Her eyes softened and she sighed, “Where is she, anyways? I’d like to have a word with her. She must be so terribly sad; she told me once that the poor deceased woman—your great aunt—was her favorite aunt. They were close, is what she had said.”
The friendship that had formed between my mom and Minh was still strange to me, and I had only recently learned that sometimes Minh and my mom got together to chat—my great aunt Josephine must have come up once or twice in their discussions. I directed her to my mother and we talked a bit—at one point, my mom burst into tears and a startled Minh had to comfort her.
Strangely enough, later that day Minh and I had shared our first kiss.
As time progressed, Minh and I only grew closer, with many inside joke. It was almost every day that I saw her and it seemed that every day she had to go home, it was becoming much harder. For two reasons, I later learned. The first reason was myself; she didn’t want to leave me and wanted to spend forever with me (which is really cool, I think). The second reason was her stepfather. At first, I thought she was having trouble accepting him, but I later learned it was for an entirely different reason.
I remember that, in a way that only happens in awful clichés, it was a dark and stormy night. I knew that Minh hated thunderstorms so I was sitting in my room, home alone, and staring out the window, worried about the girl who had captured my heart. That was when the doorbell suddenly rang. I leapt to my feet and rushed down the stair to open the door and I was met with a sight that I would never forget.
Minh stood there in a blood stained night gown that appeared to have been white at sometime. Her arms and legs were bare, and for the first time I saw them—scars. They were everywhere on her arms and legs, marring her once perfect skin. I saw that there were cuts, and blood on her feet and that she was crying.
She said only one thing—“James”—before I took her in my arms, holding her tight despite that she was wet.
“Did you run all the way here barefoot?” I murmured, not really caring for a response because I already knew the answer.
She could only nod, and I noticed that she was shivering—not that shocking in my opinion—and I tried to smile reassuringly at her, though I’m sure it all came out wrong, “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”
Once she was properly bathed and dressed in a black t-shirt that was several sizes too big for her, and a pair of my younger sister’s old sweatpants that fit her perfectly, Minh told me everything. She told me that her stepfather was a good for nothing drunk and that he was often angry. She told me that he always took his anger out on her and her mom.
I wished that I was stronger than I am. I wished that I could go to that pathetic excuse of human and kill him. But I knew that even if I did such a thing, it would do no good. In fact, I was fairly certain that Minh wanted no such thing and that thought was all that kept me from finding my dad’s old shot gun and driving to Minh’s house.
After she had told me everything, I held on to Minh for that was all I could do, and even so, it wasn’t to comfort her, but for the sake of my sanity; I needed to know that she was here and that she was safe.
It was difficult, the next morning, to explain to my mother just exactly why Minh was here and why she was sleeping with me on my bed but when all was explained, neither of us let the Korean girl out of our sight.
Throughout the next several years, Minh’s mother had divorced the terrible man and had a restraining order—he was not to come within a mile of her and Minh. I was glad for this; I could then, at least, know that Minh was safe. She seemed glad to have had me help her, but I knew my help came too late, the damage had already been done.
I did nothing to help her. I couldn’t deny the truth of this, and it absolutely killed me that Minh, though out of danger’s way, still had scars, both mentally and physically. And so, as I graduated from high school, I knew what had to be done. I had to break up with her. The problem was, I didn’t know how. How could I tell the only woman that I’ve loved that I was ashamed for my inability to protect her and that I just can’t do it anymore? How do I tell her that it was over?
She came to me the day after I graduated and smiled at me, “Good job, idiot. It seems you can do something right every now and then.”
It was the exact thing she had said to me when I dropped her off at her home on the night of our second date. The knowledge I have now told me that I had really dropped her off at Hell; thrown her into the hands of her stepfather and caused her pain.
I held her tight for a moment, holding onto the girl that was broken beyond repair. I wish that I could be her savior, but I knew I couldn’t. I was just a man, and she was the woman that I couldn’t help, despite how hard I tried. I hoped that someday, she’d find the one that she’s meant to be with. In that moment, all of my doubts were erased—I let her go. “Minh, I can’t do it anymore.”
She frowned, “Do what? Hug me?”
“No. What I meant was that I can’t be with you. I can’t do it anymore. Minh, I want to break up with you.”
She blinked several times, not exactly comprehending what was going on. She was confused. “What are you talking about James?”
“I don’t think that . . . well, I don’t think that we were supposed to be. If we were, then I could have helped you when you most needed it.”
“Are you talking about Mason?” As she uttered the name of her ex-stepdad, I winced. She sighed, “James, that’s all in the past. I’m fine now, thanks to you.”
“What do you mean by that? I did nothing,” She flinched at my tone, I continued, trying to be gentler with my words, “I did nothing to save you, Minh. There was nothing I could do to save you.”
“But that night—“
“You saved yourself,” I interrupted her, “You saved yourself by running away.”
“But you were there for me and that’s all that matters to me.”
“But not all that matters to me, Minh, please just . . . just deal with it, Minh. It’s over.”
And that was when I made her do something I had hoped never to make anyone do. I made her cry. She stared at me with tears running down her cheeks for a moment before, with nothing to say, running away.
That was the last time I ever saw her.
Sometimes I like to imagine what Minh is doing now—she would be 27 now, I think. I like to imagine that she has a job. She always wanted to be a fashion designer but when I would Google her name, I would come up with nothing, so I like to think that she just isn’t that famous in the designing world. Sometimes, I’d like to imagine that she has a Korean husband—a doctor—with a relatively common Korean name . . . Chang-su, for example. I like to think that both Minh and Chang-su are very happy and that they are perfect for each other. They might even have some kids.
No matter how I imagine Minh to be like now in my daydreams, I always imagine her to be happy.
I like wondering what would happen were we to run into each other one day, I think it would be a Tuesday. Maybe when I’m jogging with my dog at the park, Minh would be with Chang-su, her children running around them. She would stop when she sees me and then, after hesitating for only a moment, she would smile and say “James” in a way that would make my heart stop. Then I would pause to look at her and greet her by simply saying “Minh,” as her children crowd around my dog, crying out in joy.
Minh would laugh and talk about how fate pulled us together at that spot and then she would introduce me to Chang-su. I would be silent, and let her speak, and then, I would ask her something. I’d asking her why she actually went out with me for Chinese that night, and why she didn’t just tell me to go away and to never come back, I would ask her why she even went on that date with me.
Minh would simply smile and say, “I felt like it.”
 airrelia · Sat May 22, 2010 @ 08:37pm · 0 Comments |
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