Season 5; Episode 11

Metafiction

Jane Park

Junior Writing/ 11b3

November 15, 2012 (Thu)

<Season 5; Episode 11>

             “Kyle, have you ever dreamt of life-long love?”

             “Did you write some sort of third-rate romance, again?”

             “You really won’t regret reading this. I can’t believe I wrote it… just read it first.”

             Jane aggressively took my laptop and clicked the file to open. It might sound funny, but I was never joking when I said I was satisfied with my piece of writing, a master piece, at least for this time.

             “Oh it opened! Fine, I’ll be generous enough to read your thing. But remember, it’s for the last time.”

             A woman in her mid-30s and a man looking a bit older than her are sitting in a bar. There are two cups of soda in the middle of the table. Silence passes for over an hour, with both of them just staring at each other. For the first time, the woman opens her mouth.

             “So, how have you been? You look like a complete Ah-jeo-ci! (middle-aged man)” with her wet eyes, she shouts in a cheerful voice, ironically.

             The man suddenly smiles rather awkwardly. “Yeah, people get old. You are still a beauty, though. I’ve been so-so, been quite busy living life. It’s good to see you again. It’s been almost 20 years since the last meeting, well, the private one. I wonder how you’ve been”

The woman raises her big eyes directly at the man’s eyes. “You’ve got talkative.” She gazes him for a minute and starts talking. “Well I don’t know where to start, but I want tell you about someone, someone very important, someone who has been my life.”

It all started in my freshman year of high school. I did not know that this one relationship could affect my life this much, well, at that time.

             “You might want to join the Kendo Club,” was how he first talked to me.

“Sorry, but we can still be friends,” was my answer.

Recalling the memory over 20 years later, I can’t even imagine how brave I was to ask him to be my friend, when he was two years older than I. There was this feeling that gave me I wanted to be close to him, or perhaps I had to.

Whatsoever, we became friends, close friends.

The man lowers his head automatically. “Girl, you, you’re just,” he cannot finish his sentence as the woman cuts his phrase. “Please just listen to me.”

             I used to tell him every single event happened each day. Though we hardly ever had chances of seeing each other, his husky voice through the cell phone was enough for me. He was never talkative; I was always the one to start up a conversation and continue talking until he eventually said something. But that little moment of hearing his voice was paying enough for me to call him every day. I treated him as if I was his daughter who could tell him anything I wanted to. He treated me as if he was my dad who could understand anything that came out of my mouth. When I laughed, he sounded soft; when I cried, he sounded angry.

             The man looks neither soft nor angry. He cannot stop his hands from covering his face. The woman seems to be more overwhelmed than before. His eyes can catch her hands slightly shivering together on her laps.

             “Oh my lord, this man should have put his hands over hers!” cried Jane. She looked very frustrated with the fact that the man was not caring enough. I knew it. I knew she’d be so into my romance fiction, hah! “Keep reading it, Jane.”

“Abercrombie and Fitch apparels are now on clearance. Please visit our store and take your chance to get our products in a 60% lower price!”

“On MTV, this Friday night, we have Selena Gomez! We’ve got an exclusive interview on how she feels now, after breaking up with Justin!”

“Now we get back to “Kyle’s Diary” and you’re watching Disney Channel!”

             “Sweetie, ugh” he cannot say anything this time either. He lowers his face again and goes silent. The woman opens her lips again.

             Friends. ”Friends” was the word that I used for describing our relationship.

For other friends and teachers suspecting our relationship, we always called ourselves “good friends.” He was probably serious to say so, considering me as one of his best friends.

So was I.

At first, I was happy to have a friend like him, really. But for the sake of human nature as an excuse, I felt myself in a changing mood. Talking to him was not as easy as before; looking into his eyes was even more difficult. I could not let him have a fun conversation with other girls. Whenever I sent him text messages, I was anxious waiting for his reply, literally forever. At that time, I did not know why, or perhaps, I probably did not want to know why.

             The bigger my feelings grew, the harsher I treated him. I did not want him to notice my obsession, anxiety, jealousy, and especially the change of my feelings towards him.

             “Why did you… ugh.. I really did not know… I really did not.” The man is almost crying now. The woman, on contrary, looks calmer now. With her relaxed voice, she continues.

I never expected my behavior, denial of one-sided love, could lead our “friendly” relationship to the last moment. I really didn’t know.

And it was the day.

             The day was nothing different than normal. We promised to study together in the afternoon; I was looking forward to it. It was after lunch when I received a text message from him, saying sorry that he could not keep our promise. I was okay. I thought he had a more important team project or something. I went to the conference room in Dasan and studied alone for an hour.

             “Sorry. I’m really sorry about that.”

             It was never on purpose that I was apparently studying there, at that time. I just got to be there. Guess whom I saw. Yes, I saw him. And I also saw another person next to him, holding hands. I did not want to believe my eyes; I did not want to admit she was my roommate, my best friend.

             “What? Why does this stop here?” I was satisfied to see Jane looking for the rest of the story. She angrily looked at me, but I kept smiling.

             “I’ll let you read more if you write a reading journal based on my story. It’s due tomorrow.” I wasn’t surprised to notice Sally nodding.

“You promised me, dude,” she asked me, still frustrated not knowing the ending.

             “Yes. I promise.” And of course this is a lie. I did not write it yet.

“!@##$$%#^@#@$#%$%” the ending music comes out. Sally turns off her television and goes to bed, already dreaming what would have happened to the woman.

The biggest frame: Sally watching TV

Second biggest frame: The TV program “Kyle’s Diary”

Third biggest frame: Kyle’s romance story

The smallest frame: The woman’s narrative