Page 21 of Damian & Jun: Episodes 1-4
“Love you, Jun.”
“Love you, Mama.” He threw his arms around her waist and squeezed one more time even though it was time to go, and then he grabbed the handle of his suitcase. It was almost too big for him, but he could do it, at least through the gate.
He made himself walk because that was what adventurers did. Or superheroes like Spider-Man. They did hard things even in the middle of the night, and then they found the good thing on the other side of the hard things.
He looked back once. Mama was standing there, one hand raised in farewell. He waved back and then turned and walked toward the man she had said was his dad.
Bak Sahyuk lowered his phone and looked Jun up and down. He had one of those unhappy faces, like someone who didn’t sleep enough. He needed to shave, and he smelled strange, like one of the clear bottles Mama used in cooking sometimes. Maybe he’d been cooking? If so, he’d probably spilled it on himself.
“It’s you.” Bak Sahyuk spoke in English. He glanced down the hall and raised his hand, waving to Jun’s mom. She waved back. Then the man at the gate was summoning her, pointing her away, and she turned, going around the corner. She was gone.
Jun straightened his back and stood up as tall as he could and looked up. “Hi, Dad.”
“Don’t call me that. You can call me Mr. Bak. When you’ve proven yourself, maybe then you can call me dad.”
Jun’s stomach flipped. What did prove himself mean? Was this another part of the adventure? A test? His mama hadn’t told him there was a test. Korea belonged to him.
His father turned and started walking. Jun stared at him. After five steps, the man looked back. “Are you coming? Because if you’re not, I can just leave you here.”
Jun looked at his suitcase and then back at his dad. “Help, please?”
The man snorted. “If you want all that stuff, drag it yourself. I said I’d pick you up. I didn’t say anything about your shit.”
He didn’t have any shit in his suitcase. His clothes were clean. Even his shoes were clean and inside their shoe box, so even if they did have any germs, they wouldn’t touch his other things. And his…
Oh…his dad was using the word shit in the other way. The way that meant trash or not wanted stuff but not actual poop stuff.
Jun clenched his hands together. He needed his clothes. And he wanted his things. He put a hand on the handle of the suitcase and pushed.
By the time they made it onto the subway train, Jun was very tired, and he had bruises on his leg and his arms. There were so many sounds, and he didn’t understand what people were saying, and he kept almost losing his suitcase as the train moved. The only time his father helped was when there were stairs leaving the station, and then he complained and called Jun names he didn’t understand. Then they were out on a sidewalk with weird colors and bumps in places and even more noise. It was like everyone walked here. They went into a lobby, and at least that was quieter, and then they went up an elevator and into a hotel room. His father shut the door and pulled off his jacket, tossing it at the bed and loosening his tie. He flopped into one of the chairs by the window and looked Jun up and down, just like he’d done at the airport but longer.
He said something, but it wasn’t in any language Jun understood. So, he just stood there. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, and his father didn’t seem like the kind of adult who was okay with children doing things around them that they hadn’t been told to do. Kinda like his principal, the one his mother had fixed. Not that she’d fixed him all the way, but she’d made him better to Jun, at least.
But she wasn’t here to fix his father, so standing quietly seemed like a good idea.
“Let’s do this, then.” His father stood up and pulled Jun’s backpack off his back and took his suitcase. He dumped both on the bed, opened and shook everything out of Jun’s backpack, then flipped open his suitcase. He rifled through Jun’s things, sorting them into piles that made no sense, until he came to the manila envelope. He opened it and took out Jun’s papers. Mama had always kept those papers so carefully. Jun knew what they were—his US passport, his birth certificate, and his social security card. There were even printouts for his schooling and certificates and awards from his dance classes. Mama had said his Korean school would need them.
His dad rifled through the papers. “Do you know what these are?”
“Yes.”
“Say yes, sir.”
Jun frowned. They weren’t in the military, were they? His mother had always taught him to say “Yes, Mr. or Mrs. So-and-so” if they were very important or older.
“Say yes, sir!”
Jun blinked. His father was right in front of him now, eyes wide and angry like someone in a movie.
“Yes, sir?”
The man glared down at him. He probably needed dinner and sleep, but he probably didn’t want to be told that. The hard part of this adventure was happening really fast.
“Always say yes, sir to your betters.” These,” his father held up his passport and birth certificate. “These are your old life. No one can ever know about them. You are”—he pulled a new paper out of his pocket and held it up—“Gang Junseo. That is your name now. Forget any other name you think you’ve had. That’s your real name. This…” He held up Jun’s US papers. “This is trash.”
His father tore Jun’s passport in half and then ripped Jun’s birth certificate and school records into a dozen pieces each, letting them fall to the floor.
“You’re not American. You’re Korean. Your name is Gang Junseo. Now tell me your name.”
