Forty-Two

Somewhere, George is screaming. I follow the sound of his voice, walking blindly in the darkness. He’s alone in Umma’s bed. When he sees me, his eyes are wide, his dismay reflected in them.

He knows. He knows that I’m going to destroy him. I run my fingers along his face, brushing against his skin.

I’ll take my time. I want to enjoy every second of this.

There’s a loud snore, and I’m wide awake and disoriented, standing in my room, feet sinking into the carpet. My hands are caressing an invisible face, an invisible set of eyes. I have no recollection of standing or walking.

In front of me, Ji-hyun is a shapeless heap tangled in the blankets. I reach for her, but as I do, I realize it’s not Ji-hyun at all. My grogginess fades. The two of us have shared a room since we were children, and every mannerism of hers is engraved in my memory: her mumbling when she’s lost in a dream, her twitches when she’s first drifting off.

Recalibrating takes me a second, but soon I understand who it is. It’s my mother. I’m in her room. She’s sleeping on her side, huddled over in the corner, even though the rest of the bed is empty. Perhaps it’s because she’s used to making herself small. Perhaps it’s because she’s spent a lifetime making herself inconspicuous for men like my father and George. Maybe it’s an unconscious reflex now. I feel sorry for her, and even sorrier when I study her features and see Ji-hyun and myself in them, all the pieces of us weaving in and out of her. We’re tangled together in this ball of yarn, my mother, Ji-hyun, and me.

The next morning, Umma sips her coffee with a pensive expression. “I had the strangest dream,” she says. Without George around, she’s bare-faced and in a set of old flannel pajamas with holes along the legs. She yawns. “There was a ghost in my room. A female ghost. She stood at the foot of my bed for a long time, watching me sleep. I wasn’t afraid of her, though. I knew her somehow. Isn’t that strange?”

“Maybe it was Halmeoni’s ghost,” Ji-hyun suggests helpfully.

“Maybe.” Umma smiles, comforted by the thought. “Wouldn’t that be something? My mother, visiting me in my dreams?”