Episode 53. Pyeondol-i, sometimes Lee Chan (1)
It’s been a while. The last time I saw you was on Monday, and today is Saturday, so it’s been exactly five days.
I tried to greet him, but his face, peeking out from above the counter, was full of worry. I asked him right away.
“Why do you look like that? Did something bad happen?”
“That’s not me, it’s you… .”
“Me what?”
“You’ve been gone for a few days. I’m worried.”
I guess he came to see me every day even when I didn’t go to work for two days because of my license. I understood that, but I didn’t quite understand what he meant when he said he was worried. What was there to be worried about?
No, I think I know what it is.
“There’s nothing to worry about, kid. It wasn’t just that cobalt cat or wallet that kept you out.”
The scene I saw right before we broke up was a fight between two people grabbing a thief by the collar, and since I hadn’t seen him for two days after that, it was only natural that I would have such thoughts.
“Really?”
“Uh. I just took a short break for personal reasons. And….”
I told him everything I knew. The police took over the case, and Kobold turned himself in, so no one else would come looking for him, and he wouldn’t be harmed. I figured since he was the one who caught him, he should know what he needed to know.
Of course, since this guy would not understand words like incident, embroidery, and hacking, I did not forget to summarize them.
“The police made the thief good.”
“Are you a good person? How are you?”
“Well, he didn’t tell me that. Anyway… it’ll be okay. You and me.”
“Thank goodness.”
Only after hearing this did his face brighten. He looked up at me with bright eyes, and after a while, he tilted his head in puzzlement and asked me.
“Sir, you look so sleepy.”
“Does it look like that?”
“my.”
After listening to it, I took a quick look in the mirror and saw that my dark circles were much darker than usual. I guess it was because I had been struggling with my worries for hours.
Even I haven’t finished it yet. They say that a worry is halved when shared, but I didn’t want to give half of my worries to this kid. There were more pressing matters at hand.
“Isn’t it your fault for worrying about me, kid?”
“Eh, why?”
“Tomorrow is Parents’ Day.”
As I spoke and took out a piece of drawing paper from under the counter and placed it on top, the little boy lifted his tail and took a deep breath.
“Oh, my. I have to make a present for Mom… .”
“Did you bring the crayons?”
“my.”
He nodded to the question, took off his school bag, rummaged through it, took out a 24-color yellow case of crayons, and placed it on the counter. However, his face was full of worry.
“But sir, you really look sleepy….”
“Don’t worry, you can just go home and sleep later.”
I don’t know if it’s right to help this guy make a present when I’m already so busy taking care of my own affairs, but I don’t think anything else will come to mind if I keep racking my brain right now. Wouldn’t it be better to help this guy make a present, cool his brain, and maybe come up with some more creative ideas?
Now that everyone’s gone, I’d like to see the finished version of this. I started working on it two weeks ago, but I still haven’t finished it… .
So, the drawing paper was spread out on the counter.
There are colored paper cut into flower shapes here and there, and this alone makes it look close to being finished. Now all that’s left is to add this little one’s innocence.
“What should I draw first?”
“Things to draw. First of all… Since the flowers are in bloom, it must be a field, right?”
“my.”
“Then I have to draw the fields, and I have to draw the sky too.”
At first, I imagined it as the default computer wallpaper, but the flower placements were a bit high to copy it exactly. I thought it would be better to divide it into half sky and half field, so I drew a line with my finger.
“Divided like this, the sky above, the fields below.”
“Hey. What color would you like the field to be?”
“Usually it’s light green. If the grass is well-fed and well-grown, it’s dark green.”
“How about yellow?”
“If you do that, your mother will probably think of it as an autumn field. Or do you like autumn better than spring too?”
“Uh… No. I like spring better.”
“Then choose either lime or green.”
The little boy who was holding a dark green and a light green crayon in each hand and thinking about what to do put down the green crayon because he liked the light green one better.
I had him paint over the areas that would become fields, and I personally painted over the edges of the flowers that were pasted on. This was because delicate hand movements were required. If this guy paints, he’ll definitely crush all the flowers.
Next is the sky. There was a bit of a debate about what color to paint the sky, but we quickly came to a consensus. What other color could there be to paint the sky?
The little boy, who had even dyed the sky, snorted softly in satisfaction and looked up at me with a proud expression.
“Did you do well?”
“Yeah. Good job.”
“What should I draw now?”
“Draw whatever you want to draw.”
This guy wouldn’t draw Deep One or Nyarlathotep. The boy thought for a moment, then picked up a black crayon and began to draw in the shape of a suit.
After drawing the entire suit, draw a circle with a white crayon on the head and fill it with a smiling face, then draw long black hair and two white horns on the head.
“Hey, mom.”
I was about to say, “Your mother is really metaphysically born.” But this guy has white hair and black horns, and his mother has black hair and white horns. Is it a genetic trait, or is it because she dyed her hair?
Then he started drawing something white and triangular, and I could tell right away what he was trying to draw because he was glancing at the mirror attached to the convenience store pillar.
“This is that… .”
She drew a cute red school bag. Finally, she stared at me with a black crayon in her hand, so I grabbed her hand and said.
“I shouldn’t draw.”
“Uh.”
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Convenience store uniforms are black.
From a third party’s perspective, if there is a picture of a child and an adult woman drawn, you would naturally think it is the child and the mother. But if there is also a picture of an adult male, who would you think that adult male is?
At least the second person, the girl’s mother, can’t stand to be curious. Honey, who is this guy? A kindergarten teacher? No? Then who the hell is he??
“Still, it’s sad… .”
“Kid. Things don’t always go your way. And there’s this thing called portrait rights… .”
“What about the portrait?”
“I’m just embarrassed. Because I’m embarrassed.”
He nodded as if he understood what I said, but his expression showed a firm determination not to give in on this one thing. After thinking for a while with his arms crossed, he drew a pair of black-winged butterflies in the upper left corner of the drawing paper.
I asked just in case.
“Did you draw this for me?”
“My. Butterfly’s name is… Mr. Butterfly.”
“Then draw some whiskers in the front too. Butterflies also have antennae.”
“Of course.”
I accidentally turned into a butterfly. I’ve spent my whole life crawling on the floor, but I’m finally able to fly in a painting.
Still, there would be no foreigner who would guess that this butterfly is a 29-year-old stray dog. When I said that it was okay, he smiled brightly and put the scattered crayons back into the case.
“Are you done drawing?”
“my.”
I took a quick look at the drawing paper. The flowers that were cut and pasted were attached well without any damage, and the pictures were drawn so well that I couldn’t even think of creating a secondary work.
When I first started helping, I thought I would even do the coating myself… but then I thought about it again and it seemed like something the mother should do, and what should I do last?
After thinking about it for a moment, I took out a box containing eco-friendly envelopes from under the counter and emptied out all the envelopes inside. I slightly folded the drawing paper into the large box, placed it there so that it wouldn’t get wrinkled, closed the opening of the box, and handed it over.
“If you carry it like this, I don’t think the picture will get distorted or wrinkled. And…”
“And?”
“Because tomorrow is Parents’ Day, I’ll have to keep it a secret until tomorrow. It’s a secret gift.”
“Oh, come on. This is a secret gift.”
He held a box as big as his torso in his arms and asked me with a big smile.
“I bet Mom would like it?”
“If you don’t like this and don’t accept it, you’re not human.”
“Me? Mom, am I a dragon?”
“Yeah, it’s not a dragon. Well anyway… .”
What had been dragging on for two weeks was finally completed. I said it with a relieved heart.
“I made them all, right?”
“…ah.”
I meant to say something to make the little one feel better, but right after hearing it, he looked embarrassed. He looked at me with his eyes wide open, lowered his head, and muttered.
“Yes… I made it all…”
I know this kid is a little too thoughtful for a 7-year-old. Right now, he’s probably thinking, ‘I made all the Parents’ Day presents, so what’s the point of coming now…’
Just added.
“I’ve made it all, now what do I do?”
“my?”
“There might be a variety of things. Like kindergarten homework or something.”
“I’m still here. But….”
After putting the box down, he took out a folded A4 paper from his bag and held it tightly in both hands. Then, he looked up at me with an expression that seemed extremely apologetic.
“Why? Are you going to say something like, ‘I don’t have money’ again?”
“Ugh… .”
He is speechless, as if he has been hit hard. What can I say to reassure this little boy?
“… You caught a thief a few days ago, kid.”
“my.”
“The thing that thief was trying to steal back then was worth about 50,000 won. Do you know how much money 50,000 won is?”
“Uh… Well, my daily allowance is 500 won…”
“It took me over 100 days to save up to 50,000 won. If it weren’t for you, I would have really been robbed…”
“Ouch, I almost got in big trouble.”
“You helped me for 100 days, so I’ll help you for 100 days too. Isn’t that right?”
“Is that wrong…?”
If this guy were to just say, ‘Thank you for helping me out so far,’ and leave, I wouldn’t care at all. That’s because I don’t see any sign of that.
I don’t know what’s so great about that 29-year-old high school graduate and a picky eater that he wants to be with me… but if he wants to be with me, then I should let him be. I think it’s right for a 7-year-old to live doing what he wants.
“Can you really help me?”
“Let’s look at it first and then think about it. What kind of homework is it?”
“That… that one is difficult…”
Unfold a piece of A4 paper, stare straight at the top, and read each letter clearly.
“What is my… dream? A symbol.”
“What is your dream?”
“My. Dream.”
I couldn’t figure out what was so difficult about this, but after hearing him add it as if he was curious, I understood right away.
“In modern times, you have to sleep to dream.”
“Usually, that’s true.”
“Then, shouldn’t you be doing it while you sleep?”
“… Hand me some paper, kid.”
