“Whup.” Jaegang got in the passenger seat with a cheery grunt. “Thanks for the ride.”
The way he opened the back door and hesitated before coming up front made Yojin realize that Jaegang was as uncomfortable as she was. She figured he was grappling with how to come across as normal. She wiped the uneasy expression off her face and started the car without responding.
Upon hearing that Jaegang’s SUV had gone into the shop after a fender bender, Yojin’s husband, Euno, had been the one to suggest, “Why don’t you drive in to work with my jipsaram?” Hearing Euno refer to her as the person at home, the common moniker for wife, Yojin had almost blurted out, Are you serious? Who are you calling jipsaram when I’m the one who goes to work? But that actually wasn’t important right now. She knew Euno had volunteered her because nobody else could carpool with Jaegang, given the logistics involved.
The pharmacy Yojin worked at was five bus stops away from Jaegang’s office in the heart of the city. Sangnak left at a different time and had to get all the way to the northern tip of Seoul, while Yeosan drove in the opposite direction to his job in Gyeonggi Province. Considering the medical building’s hours, Yojin had plenty of time to drop Jaegang off in front of his office before heading to work. She would just have to leave home ten minutes earlier than usual. There was no reason Yojin couldn’t leave earlier as a favor for a neighbor in a tight spot, assuming, of course, that Euno could handle taking care of Siyul for those extra ten minutes. But Euno had asked her just today where Siyul’s socks were, where her snacks were, where her toothpaste was; it was clear that he still relied on her to handle the details of Siyul’s daily care.
Besides, Yojin should have gotten to decide whether to drop their neighbor off or not. But Euno had made the invitation as if he were her spokesperson, as if he made all the decisions for her. At that point it would have been embarrassing for Yojin to rescind the offer, even if Euno failed to clear it with her beforehand. Before Yojin could figure out whether to shake or nod her head, Danhui jumped in and tied up the matter neatly. “Oh, Yojin-ssi, that would be great. What a huge help! Yeobo, make sure you fill up their tank, okay?”
If she’d appeared visibly taken aback, they would’ve considered her uncooperative and unkind. Knowing she had no other choice, Yojin said, “Oh, of course, no, no need for that, I just filled the tank two nights ago.” Maybe she wouldn’t have felt so reluctant if she’d been the one to offer Jaegang the ride. But the mere thought made her feel like a clump of oversensitive nerves; here she was, obsessing over whether her kindness was being acknowledged, when objectively none of it really mattered.
Yojin wasn’t Jaegang’s personal driver, so Jaegang would have found it awkward to sit diagonally behind her, in what people referred to as the CEO’s seat, but he also must have felt uncomfortable sitting next to someone else’s wife. He’d quickly mulled over his choices and made the wise decision to move up to the front passenger seat; otherwise it would have seemed like he was purposely avoiding sitting beside her. Sitting side by side wasn’t all that awkward anyway. It was a common occurrence in life, no different from sitting in the passenger seat of a female colleague’s car on the way to a company picnic or business trip. Yojin understood Jaegang’s dilemma and stayed mum, not wanting to appear irritable, but she had to admit there was something bizarre about heading to work together, sent off by more than half of their neighbors. And they’d have to be in the car together for at least forty minutes. What in the world could we talk about to fill the strained silence? she thought. How long have I even known this guy? If we worked together we’d at least be able to talk about work or complain about our boss. Perhaps thinking the same thing, Jaegang gazed out the window quietly for over ten minutes despite there being nothing to look at. Yojin wasn’t the type to be sociable in every kind of situation, but it felt even more awkward when Jaegang didn’t attempt any conversation, especially since he and Danhui had presented themselves as leaders of their communal apartment building. Why did she have to drive to work like this? She felt as though a part of her inner world had been invaded.
“Music?” Yojin attempted to change the mood by turning on the radio. “What do you like?”
Jaegang stayed quiet for a moment, as if unsure that she was speaking to him. “Oh, please put on whatever you like. I’m happy with anything.”
“Then I’ll just turn on the traffic station.”
“Sure.”
A nineties pop song was playing, rather than a live traffic report. Yojin considered turning it up a level or two, but not wanting to appear like she was intentionally cutting off any exchange with Jaegang, she lowered the volume and kept the music in the background. The more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t believe she was spending her commute, the only time she had to herself all day, trying to be considerate and maintain a polite conversation, all for a stranger.
“Have you all settled in by now?” Jaegang seemed to be making his own attempt at conversation, so Yojin gave a big nod.
“Yes, well, it’s nice that it’s brand-new. It’s also about two pyeong bigger than our old place. The air feels different, too, somehow.” This felt safe enough, but then she wondered if Jaegang was asking not just about the apartment but also about her first impression of the other neighbors.
“And how’s Siyul doing? I know kids sometimes have sensitivities in a newly built place. Like breathing issues and skin irritation.”
“We didn’t move in right when it was built, so I’m sure any chemicals must have aired out by now. Everything seems to be fine.” Here, Yojin figured she should show some interest in him or ask about his experience. “And your... Did the kids have a hard time getting used to things when you moved in?” Yojin referred to them vaguely, unable to immediately recall their names despite having met them just a few days earlier. Jaegang had remembered Siyul’s somewhat difficult to pronounce name; even though remembering one name wasn’t the same as remembering two, his attention to detail on this matter made her aware of the difference in their personalities.
“A little, for the younger one. But the bigger one was fine, since he’s older.”
Yojin thought they would stay silent at this point, but Jaegang went on, suddenly as lively as he was when they first met. “Speaking of kids, I’m sure it won’t be easy for you to send Siyul to a day care or kindergarten somewhere far. There isn’t much close to us. Danhui and I have been discussing this with Yeosan-ssi’s family, about how we should come up with a plan to get all the kids to play together while the parents take turns watching them. That has to be better than having them play on their own with their own boring toys, right? We’re surrounded by all this nature, so we can dig a garden and sing songs and do story time and make crafts and feed them all together. Of course the important thing would be feeding them good, clean food.”
“Oh...that does sound nice. Instead of leaving them to their own devices.”
“We figured we should take advantage of the great outdoors, since we all made the decision to move closer to nature. Once the plan comes together, would you want to join us and chip in for the costs?”
Yojin had heard that a spot in a play-based cooperative day care with access to nature went for five million won just for the deposit on top of an additional four to five hundred thousand a month; she had no reason to decline if a reasonable amount was collected from each family and they all shared the tasks to work around one another’s needs. “Well, we don’t really have any set plans, and I haven’t had a chance to think about that since my husband is handling that part...” She found herself hedging, sounding defensive.
“And of course we’ll make a note of everything and make sure everyone can review the budget, with full transparency. Danhui is a real stickler about that kind of thing. She majored in early childhood education and worked at a day care, so she’s experienced in all kinds of different activities. I swear I’m not just saying this because she’s my wife, but she does have a lot of little talents, like playing the piano and making art and cooking.”
Sensing traces of laughter in Jaegang’s words, Yojin laughed, too. “Those aren’t little talents, she’s a professional! I don’t have any skills like Danhui-ssi. I’m not good with my hands, and even though I took piano lessons as a kid, all I came away with was how to play a scale. And she can make art, too? That’s so impressive.”
“We do have an actual artist among us, but Hyonae-ssi majored in painting, and Danhui does things like arts and crafts. I don’t know if you need more than that when all you’re doing is teaching kids fine motor skills, but you know how they say jack-of-all-trades, master of none? That’s Danhui. Anyway, we were going to see if the kids could play together and learn a little, too, since they’re all around the same age. It’s not to make a profit or anything like that, of course. As soon as there’s some kind of specific plan, we’ll share it with you and ask for your thoughts.”
A day care hadn’t been one of the budgetary priorities in the Dream Future Pilot Communal Apartments project. There was a home day care in the village a ten-minute drive away and a private nursery school in town twenty minutes away, but both were intended for residents of those areas; it would be hard to get quality care even if they managed to squeeze themselves in. There was a folk saying about having to button everything properly from the very beginning—because you never knew what trials and tribulations could arise from that first misbuttoned hole. In short, if everything went well, if the population grew and demand increased proportionately, a new day care would open. Until then, the residents of the new apartment building were trailblazers, a test group. Perhaps the government’s choice to build an apartment complex here was to encourage the new families to gradually get to know the residents in the area, work together, and create a new communal childcare solution.
To Yojin, Jaegang’s idea sounded vague and unformed. Without someone taking the lead and bringing innovation to the problem, it would be nearly impossible to launch a co-op day care program of the sort he was describing. By the time they came up with a detailed plan, cobbled together a budget, and put it in motion, Siyul might be ready to enroll in elementary school. Then Yojin would enter the grueling phase of life in which she would drive Siyul to school, send her to a nearby hagwon or after-school program, pay for daily snacks on top of the tuition, and pick her up on the way home from work. Otherwise they would need to stretch their budget and get a used car so Euno could pick her up. Whatever ended up happening, this communal day care would no longer apply to Siyul.
“Then I take it that you’re on board once we figure it all out?” Jaegang asked, as though he believed things would unfold easily, as though everything was already settled.
Yojin nodded half-heartedly. “Yes. If there’s anything I—If there’s anything we can do, just let us know.”
Now that they’d begun discussing the kids, Yojin finally felt she could survive this interminable drive. As always, kids were the best topic of conversation when making small talk with other parents. It was sometimes the only thing that parents from different economic statuses, with different societal interests and cultural preferences, had in common. Only after the birth of a child did parents experience the irony of their universe expanding while their finances shrank. Only then did they realize how deluded they’d been before kids, thinking they were financially comfortable, and that realization gave rise to an emotional insecurity, driving some to show off or obsessively compare themselves to others. Kids were often the only pure, honest link among parents, the main interest they shared.
Yojin pulled up in front of Jaegang’s office. “What time should I pick you up after work? The pharmacy closes at eight—I hope that’s not too late for you.” By this time, Yojin’s discomfort about the situation and disappointment in Euno had subsided, thanks in part to their continuing conversation; since she would have to carpool with him for a few days, she wanted to keep things friendly and make the commute pleasant.
“They only care about when we get to the office, not when we leave. You certainly don’t need to come all the way back here. If I’m done sooner than eight, I’ll just work a little more and then take the bus to you. We can head home from the pharmacy. And I’ll cover the gas for the way back.”
“Oh, no, it’s really all right. You don’t need to. It’s only a few days.”
“Please. I managed to get the platinum card today. I have to use it, otherwise I’ll get an earful from Danhui.” Smiling, Jaegang got out of the car as he waved a silver card, which caught the light and flashed.
“Then please let me know when you’re done.”
“Oh, no, I don’t want you to feel rushed if I’m done sooner. Why don’t you text me when you lock up? It doesn’t matter what time it is. Don’t worry about how I’ll fill the time at the office. There’s always more work to be done.”
He was straightforward and matter-of-fact, refusing to give her any opportunity to object. The kind of person who everyone would consider a good man and a good employee.
The three couples had known one another for less than eight months, with Yojin’s family having moved in just a week earlier; eight units still stood empty, waiting for the new families who hadn’t yet finished out their current leases. Once all twelve units were filled, it would be bustling. It would finally feel like people were living here, with children’s laughter and cries echoing through the building. The group agreed that they should establish a framework, lay the foundation for living communally and taking care of the kids together, since they were the ones who’d moved in first. The meeting was held at Jaegang and Danhui’s, though Hyonae and Gyowon weren’t present. Sangnak informed them that Darim had just thrown up and Hyonae would clean her up and get her down before coming over. And Gyowon had taken little feverish Seah to the clinic in town.
“Kids never get sick when it’s convenient for the parents, do they?” commented Yeosan, Gyowon’s husband.
“No, you always have to run to the ER in the middle of the night or on a weekend,” said Sangnak, who added that Darim might have to be taken to the clinic as well if she vomited again in the next thirty minutes.
“Still, it’s better to just have this meeting today,” Jaegang said with a chuckle. “If we wait until all the kids and parents are in a good place, we won’t meet until the year’s out. If you could fill your wives in about what they missed, that would be great. For quick reference, I’ll print out the agenda for everyone. Shall we keep going?”
“Yes, let’s move on to the next point.”
Jaegang and Danhui led the discussion, their ideas barreling onward purposefully like a bus entering a designated lane; even though this gathering was smaller than regular neighborhood meetings—about the size of a rotating credit association get-together at a corner store—the rest of the group seemed distracted. In college, group projects would get derailed by the slightest unrelated remark. Back then, Yojin was always anxious about making it on time to her gig tutoring a middle school student. At least she didn’t need to feel so nervous about random chitchat anymore, unlike in those days. In fact, any talk of vomit or fevers was relevant, since the meeting revolved around the kids. And wasn’t that the primary drive of childhood, to develop and grow and eat and sleep and soil yourself and occasionally vomit?
But the sound of the kids playing in the other room was a distraction, and it constantly screeched their conversation to a halt. The kids were living, moving, talking beings, calling for their moms every time someone hit or tripped someone else, every time they cried or laughed, every time they were thirsty or sweaty. But just because a child called out Eomma! didn’t always mean they needed their moms; sometimes that word came tumbling out subconsciously, as if by instinct, like a reflex or a heartbeat.
Strangely, not a single child called for their dad. The kid who had fallen and gashed open their knees, the kid terrified of a cockroach—every single one of them shouted Eomma-ya! when in crisis, never calling for their dads or brothers or sisters. Yojin remembered the time when she was ten and living alone with her grandfather. She’d almost stepped on a dead rat in their yard and screamed Eomma! without quite realizing what was coming out of her mouth, which brought her grandfather running over to slap her on the back with his bony hand instead of soothing her. Because she was calling for her mother, who’d left her and failed to keep in touch. Yojin had no idea how she was supposed to stop that reflexive reaction, or how she was supposed to remember she didn’t have a mom and should change course midscream to yell out Appa! or Harabeoji! instead. As she grew up, Yojin would wonder why people universally cried out Eomma! when they were scared or startled, eventually coming to the conclusion that eomma was a modified version of the exclamation eomeona! or oh, my! But the etymology wasn’t entirely clear, and it could have been that eomeona had derived from eomma. When she learned about Carl Jung in her college cultural psychology class, she wondered if the word eomma was just one example of the collective unconscious that was said to be genetically encoded. What if all of humanity could make the concerted effort to dismantle the collective unconscious from this point forward, starting at home, consistently guiding kids to ask for their dads and not their moms if something happened, much like her grandfather had with her, and slowly manipulate that gene for the future? Then maybe the use of the word eomma would only remain on everyone’s tongues like a vestigial organ...
Crash. With the sound of shattering glass, Yojin’s aimless, floating thoughts scattered. Before she could determine what had happened, her body sprang up and a scream ripped out of her throat. “No, don’t touch it!”
She dashed over to Siyul, who was about to pick up a shard of glass. Yojin paused. All the kids were looking up at her, frightened. She’d become the type of person who detected a nice breeze and blared a tornado siren.
“I’ll clean it up,” she mumbled by way of explanation. “Only grown-ups should touch glass.”
Only when Siyul stepped back into safety did Yojin notice that Ubin’s hand was bleeding. “Did you get hurt? Are you okay? Can you show me?”
But Ubin’s lip trembled before he burst into tears. He didn’t seem to be crying out of pain or because of his bloody hand.
“Oh, boy. Are we going to end up taking both kids to the clinic today?” Yeosan came over and picked up his son by the armpits. “Let’s take a look.”
Danhui brought over a plastic bag and a damp paper towel. “Here, just put the big pieces in. Be careful. I’ll wipe up the little pieces and the dust with this. Yojin-ssi, I can do it.”
“No, let me help.”
“It’s easier and neater for one person to do it. We don’t need everyone getting hurt. Hey, kids, go stand behind Yojin Ajumma. Don’t step over here. Careful, careful—there you go. Of course I should clean it, Yojin-ssi, it’s our apartment and our cup. I thought I put it all away, but I didn’t see this one here. My fault.”
“It’s not a big deal, just a graze,” Yeosan reported. “There’s no glass in his hand. I’ll just wash it off.” He placidly carried Ubin into the bathroom and turned on the faucet.
“Just a graze?” Yojin asked. “But he’s crying so hard.”
Yeosan laughed. “I don’t think he’s crying because he’s hurt. He got scared when you yelled, Yojin-ssi. He probably thought he did something wrong. It’s all good now. It’s no problem at all.”
Yojin flushed. Everyone else was calm; she was the only one to overreact, bringing the meeting to a halt.
Siyul, for her part, raised her voice to be heard over Ubin’s sobs. “I told him not to touch it. But then he did and it fell.”
“Okay, okay,” Yojin responded absently, not wanting to focus solely on her child in front of all her neighbors.
Jaegang smiled and shook his head. “I’ll summarize what we discussed so far and hand it out. You can check the boxes for what you’d like and get it back to me, and I’d be happy to pull it all together.”
“I’m sorry to make more work for you,” Yojin said. “I shouldn’t have overreacted.”
“Oh, no, not at all! We can never have a full conversation when the kids are around anyway. Their safety is the biggest priority. Anyone else would have done the same thing.”
Anyone else... But Yojin was the only person who’d bounded out of her seat and screamed. She sensed that Jaegang had noticed her mortification and was attempting to make her feel better. Maybe Yeosan and Jaegang and Danhui were more relaxed because they had two kids and were more accustomed to the chaos. Since Darim wasn’t there, Sangnak could be forgiven for not paying close attention to the kids, but shouldn’t Euno have done something? If he had any paternal instincts, wouldn’t he have reacted, even if it waylaid their meeting? Realizing how useless her earlier stray thoughts had been, Yojin gave a bitter smile.
But for Jaegang and Danhui to enthusiastically lead the charge and act like elected representatives just because they were the first family to move in...
Yojin had always felt socially awkward and only kept in touch with two friends. In school, she’d only taken on minor responsibilities, like collecting notebooks for her row or taking her turn as group leader. Danhui, on the other hand, had eagerly informed her about everything from the moment they met and tried to insert herself into all kinds of matters, and Yojin wondered if she should consider this characteristic a positive one. Maybe Danhui and Jaegang were just friendly, not nosy, and being helpful came naturally to them. Was Yojin like them, ready to melt into anything like cane sugar? Could she be the type of person who moved through the world lightly and rhythmically, bending like a dancer’s limbs without getting pushed off course? And if she couldn’t, how would she navigate her current reality?
The next day, Yojin went down the checklist she received from Jaegang and circled which activities she wanted Siyul to participate in. Gardening. Music appreciation and singing. Various crafts, including origami. Art making. Physical activities, including dance and percussion. Seasonal traditional games. Reading and storytelling. If all of these activities could be implemented, even if a bit clumsily, they would have a program as good as any highly rated day care. After all, they were merely a group of ordinary parents—with one early childhood education veteran. She didn’t expect this co-op to be systematic or professional. It would be more than enough for the kids to play together and pass the time under adult supervision.
The main point of this was to fill the days. A child’s work was to pass the time in any way possible while steadily growing the number of cells in their body. An adult’s work was to watch that child and mostly to suffer through that time, to let it pass by, then turn a new page. You’d encourage the child to draw an odd new shape. To color it an unexpected hue. All while your own existence grew fuzzier by the day, until you were reduced to a sketch of yourself, and, in the end, you were rubbed out by an eraser.