Back at the house, I shrug into my thick cable-knit sweater and head out to the car, hating myself for leaving like a coward but not knowing what to do about it. Grandfather stops me at the door, saying, “I have something for you.”
He unzips a black case and pulls out the Blue Dragon bow from the cave. He hands it to me. “A gift.”
The bow lands heavy in my arms, sending my heart sailing. I stare at him, a smile curving across my lips. “How? I thought you couldn’t save anything!”
“I went back afterward and searched through the wreckage,” he says. “Some things are not meant to disappear until their purpose has been met.”
What is he talking about?
Then he draws me into a hug, and I’m so surprised I just stand there like a stuffed crane. He smells like kimchi mixed with smoke. I never imagined today would end like this. It’s weird how all morning I wanted to get back to my friends. Now all I want to do is stay.
He whispers in my ear so Dad can’t hear: “There is another who can help you.”
If I was stiff before, I’m now a block of ice. Grandfather slides a piece of paper into my palm and then steps away. I crunch the slip into my fist so Dad can’t see it and trudge out to the car.
Snow falls in heavy chunks, laying winter’s blanket over the land, but my blood is pumping. It’s as if I’m waking up and seeing a whole new world. I slouch down in my seat and glance at the piece of rice paper no larger than my palm.
It reads:
Master Kim 02-756-6715
47 Namsan-dong 2-ga, Jung-gu, Seoul
I tuck it into one of my jean pockets, wondering who this Master Kim is. I hope he has at least one answer to my fifty million questions.
CHAPTER 8
When we get home, Dad is inspired to ground me for eternity after my stunt on the island. I have to admit that considering what actually happened—and there’s no way I’m going to tell him—he probably has a good reason for this. Fires and dark caves on forbidden islands are enough to freak out any parent, much less ancient gods kidnapping their daughters from another world.
I stand numbly in the middle of our living room, trying to process everything Grandfather said and my own experience of being pulled into the mural. My world stands off-kilter. It’s as if someone has twisted each part of my life a little to the left and now nothing from my past looks the same, while my future is a gaping hole of uncertainty. I don’t even understand who I am anymore. Or what I’m supposed to do.
“Where did you get that?” Dad nods to the bow case strapped to my back.
“Haraboji,” I say. “It was a gift.”
He opens his mouth as if to say something but then shakes his head. Ashen faced, Dad abandons his suitcase by the door and marches directly to the hallway closet. With shaking hands, he opens the safe where we keep our smaller treasures and legal documents. I still remember how he’d taught me the combination when we first arrived in case anything happened to him.
He ruffles through the documents, literally tossing our passports and checkbooks to the floor in his haste.
“You’re scaring me, Dad,” I say, and watch as he pulls out a small black pouch that was tucked away in the back corner. His hands tremble as he unties the string and two tiny objects tumble into his palm. One silver. One gold. It’s the gold that catches my attention. A simple band with a diamond sparkling on top.
“Mom’s wedding ring,” I say. My voice chokes.
Dad squeezes the rings into his palm, forming a fist. “It’s all I have left,” he whispers. He rubs the sweat off his forehead, but his eyes look softer, more himself.
“You still have me.” I hold his fist in my hands.
“Yes. And I won’t let anything happen to you, Jae.” Tears fill his eyes even though I know he’s trying to hold them back. “Your grandfather means well, but he’s not right in the head. He hasn’t been for a very long time. If he tries to contact you, don’t listen to him. He can only hurt you.”
I don’t know what to tell Dad. That I believe Grandfather? That I see the very things Grandfather does? Will he think I’m crazy, too?
Dad’s expression keeps me quiet. Color has reentered his face, and his hands have stopped shaking. It’s as if just having said those words made them true for him, and everything is right with his world again.
Even when deep down I know it’s not.
He wraps his arm over my shoulders, and the two of us stand there, gazing out the window as the sun sets over Seoul.
Dad and I have grown closer today. So why do I feel as if we’re also further apart than ever?
At first I’m okay with being locked away from civilization.
But by hour two I’m pacing like a trapped tiger while Dad is back to being wired into his laptop and BlackBerry, totally forgetting I exist. Unbelievable.
I consider throwing my dobok into my duffle bag and heading over to an evening Tae Kwon Do class, but after my recent fight, I’m not sure Master Park wants me back. Besides, Dad doesn’t seem too keen to let me leave the house.
Some people paint for stress relief. Others beat the crap out of punching bags (which, I might add, is very therapeutic). I do what any normal person who’s nearly been kidnapped by an immortal would do. I move furniture.
First, I choose my wall color. A photography store was going out of business after Christmas, and I was the lucky buyer of his background screens, having them shipped to Korea with Dad’s grudging agreement. I pull down a pale-blue color, but as soon as I do, an image of Haemosu riding through the sky in a dragon-led chariot comes to mind.
Good-bye, blue.
I yank another cord to choose the forest scene. Supposedly, green is a calming color.
Next, I drag my desk to the far corner, scraping the linoleum with a squeak that I’m sure is driving Mr. Chung below me nuts. I know I shouldn’t be happy to annoy him, but seriously, his yip-yap dog that wakes me up at two a.m. is way louder.
My yo is next. It’s soft and spongy. Most Koreans roll theirs up to give them more space, but my room is big enough for me to leave it out. Still, I miss my bed in L.A., which makes my insides churn all stormy that Dad not only dragged me over here, away from all my friends, but into danger. Sure, he doesn’t believe in Grandfather’s stories, but aren’t dads supposed to be, like, ultra-protective or something? Shouldn’t he want to protect me from any threat, however implausible?
I throw the yo across the room.
The dragon bow catches my eye. Its bamboo curves and oak handles call to me. I pick it up and run my fingers along its smooth surface, itching to know its pull and release. Once again I hear that hum, and I press the bow to my chest and inhale deeply. The wood is soothing, like ointment on a wound. But then memories of the wall of bows, the scrolls from an ancient time, and being pulled into the mural swim through my mind. My stomach churns, and my hands start to sweat.
My cell cuts the silence, and I nearly drop my bow. I dig through my backpack, following my ringtone: “Eye of the Tiger.”
It’s a text from Michelle: Missing u! Wish u were here.
Michelle! Just seeing her text pop up calms me. She is everything that my crazy family is not. She is normal. And I realize I’m craving that.
Me: What r u doing 2nite?
It only takes five seconds for Michelle to text back. Remember? Coffee Bean. Good Enough. Lily and Kumar here 2.