Christmas had come, and I couldn't wait for it to be fucking over and done! In fact, I had started counting the hours until I would return to the therapy centre. (Eighty-nine hours and thirteen minutes, in case you were wondering.) Breakfast turned out to be just as tense as yesterday. As a matter of fact, it felt even worse. I slurped my mug of extra-strong coffee. The flavour was disgusting, but I needed all the caffeine I could get. In the hopes of not meeting anyone in the kitchen, I had gotten up way too early. Yet, unfortunately, it turned out I hadn't been the only one with that bright idea. Bent over a mountain of two-day-old pancakes, Min Angry looked as if eating was the grandest punishment in the history of mankind.
ChimChim's brother hadn't uttered a single syllable for the last twenty-four hours (or was it twenty-five? Twenty-six?) In fact, he hadn't even looked my way just once. As if I was nothing but a shitty manifestation of polluted air. And ChimChim avoided me altogether. When I came home from my shift the other day, my little friend had thrown one glance my way, then escaped to his room to hide inside his wardrobe of all places. Until now, not even Min Patience has managed to coax him out from there.
ChimChim had slept in his wardrobe, had eaten in his wardrobe, and was currently watching his favourite In The Soop reruns in the wardrobe.
My stomach pulled tighter and tighter until it became painful just to breathe, and I gave up on my coffee, fearing I wouldn't be able to keep any more of the liquid mess down. "I'm leaving," I finally mumbled, my head hanging so low it almost touched the empty table. Gulping hard, I added, "I…I spoke to Jin…he will pick me up right after my shift, so I won't have to bother you again."
Min Silent-Punishment's only response was a snort.
"I'm sorry," I said, knowing fully well that I was speaking to a pair of deaf ears. It wasn't my first attempt at an apology, but I may as well have directed it at the wall. All I've been doing since yesterday afternoon was apologising. Not that I could blame my friend… (was I still entitled to call him that?)… I would be upset too, if I were him.
Without another word, I got up from my seat, took my heavy backpack—I had packed all my belongings in there, not wanting to return in the evening—and shuffled to the door.
I would lie if I said I hadn't hoped for Min Former-Best-Friend to turn around at the last minute to call me an idiot and tell me to stay. But he remained seated just as motionless as he had five minutes ago, mechanically continuing to shove his breakfast into his mouth with no visible appetite.
"Okay then…I will be off now…" I swallowed. "Anyway, I wish you a happy Christmas. ChimChiminie too." Then, without further ado, I was out the door.
I thought I heard someone calling 'Happy Christmas to you, too,' after me, but I blamed it on wishful thinking. Fucking, TaeTae you're such an idiot. That second voice had clearly come from somewhere inside my head. I trotted down the staircase, only to stop every third step and glance up, hoping against hope to hear the sound of an opening door and approaching footsteps. But no such luck. This time, I really seemed to have fucked up for good. Damnit…why hadn't I asked at least why I shouldn't take ChimChim to the care home? Perhaps if I had known the reason, I wouldn't have been such an idiot.
I reached the outside and removed my little helper from the depth of my winter coat, and inhaled a deep noseful of my favourite glue (UHU all-purpose adhesive glue created a wonderful sense of dizziness that lasted for a little while.) Then, I reached for my smoking sticks, (well, technically, they were Min Hates-Me-Anyway's cigarettes) and lit one up. I closed my eyes and shook my head. You're not going to cry over this, idiot, I told myself. Or was it Putin speaking? I couldn't tell. Whoever spoke was a liar anyway because a traitorous tear was already slipping down my cheek.
Most of what I told Min Angry had been the truth. I was sorry and on my way to the care home for my Christmas shift. And If I could turn back time, I would listen to the advice not to take ChimChim to the care home, although I still couldn't understand his severe reaction. But I hadn't spoken to my brother. Jin wouldn't be picking me up from work. I had no fucking idea where I would be heading once I was done with work. I had fucked up. Utterly and thoroughly. And inside of me burned nothing but the desire to get absolutely shit-faced.
"You're late," Frieda greeted me the moment I arrived at work, drenched like a dog, although the rain wasn't heavy at all. I simply took a detour to the park, then walked all across the neighbourhood where Mr Chip's shop was located and glanced at the ruins. From what I was told, it would take until March, at least, before the site was safe to access again.
My attention got pulled back to the present as Frieda pressed some soiled bedsheets into my hands. "Take that to the washer."
She hadn't even given me time to put on latex gloves first. That was a first, but I didn't think that was done by accident. Never before had she talked to me in this cold, clinical tone.
"I will," I bowed, swallowing hard, "and I'm sorry… for everything."
It was hard to read the expression Frieda threw my way. She shook her head, turned around, and continued her work. Why was Frieda this upset with me? Granted, ChimChim had caused a little commotion the other day, especially because he had to stay for an additional two hours until the snowstorm had stopped and until Min Fuming had stomped in to pick him up. But she didn't know the backstory. She hadn't known I was explicitly told not to bring my little friend along. To her, it was a spontaneous mishap. Something, that I couldn't have foreseen. And she had been sympathetic…
Unless, of course, she had spoken to Yoongi…but from what I gathered, they weren't close. Darn… I couldn't lose this job, too.
"TaeTae, dearie. Are we finally continuing our needlework today? I can't wait to finish my jumper. We didn't knit all day yesterday or the day before," Yunmin called from the living room, and I was glad that at least the residents here didn't treat me any differently.
I sighed, "later, maybe, Yunmin-ssi. I got to do some washing first." I wiggled the mountain of dirty laundry in my hands ever so slightly, as if she may not have noticed it otherwise.
"That's Eunjin's," she remarked matter-of-factly. "Old cracker can't control his bladder anymore. Miss Arny tried to put some nappies on him, but he got really angry with her and ripped them off. Threw them across the living room and all. Not even five minutes later, he had soiled the couch." Yunmin looked up at me. "Poor girl has been doing nothing but cleaning after him all day." She shook her head. "No one's been sitting on the couch since. And I wouldn't recommend it. It's been cleaned, but it still smells of old men's urine." She sniffed the air as if trying to make a point.
"I'm sorry," I said automatically. I, too, sniffed the air, but the home constantly smelled of old people's body odour, so I couldn't establish any difference. Although I decided not to tell her that. Instead, I adjusted my face mask. This one was reading. 'I wanna ho ho ho underneath your mistletoe.' To be honest, I wore it more out of habit than humour. If I dressed according to my mental state, I would be covered head and toe in my favourite black washed-out pyjamas and one of these sock-style masks people usually wore for bank robberies. Instead, I had put on a bright yellow tweed suit that I found at a thrift store down the road. If I didn't feel happy, the least I could do was to look like a ray of sunshine.
"Maybe you could have a world with him," Yunmin said and looked at me expectantly. "He will listen to you."
Right…my mind had been drifting again…I scratched my temple, halted and pulled my hair instead. ChimChim did that whenever he was in distress. Perhaps there were some merits to it.
"Why would Eunjin listen to me over Frieda…Arny?" I asked, confused. "This would be a first sign of insanity. I'm a stumbling, clueless intern with no clue what he's doing and no common sense, whereas Frieda…Arny is a fully qualified nurse with years and years of work experience."
Yunmin shook her head vehemently and rolled her eyes, giving her the appearance of a possessed doll. "Miss Arny isn't a trained nurse, didn't you know? She doesn't even have a high school exam, they say. That's why she's always getting the oddest working hours."
That came as a surprise. Frieda had always seemed to be the overly studious type to me. But whatever her academic status was, it shouldn't matter. I scoffed, "who cares about a stupid certificate? She's doing a great job here and genuinely cares about everyone. Plus, in all honesty, having years of experience should count more than a piece of paper." I guess I didn't know her as well as I had thought. Not that it made a difference. People tended to attach too much importance to all the wrong things.
The tiny old lady shrugged. "I'm not the one putting that much value into a degree. That's the later generations' doing. In my days, girls didn't waste their time studying, but learned how to cook and look after a house, then found themselves proper husbands and raised healthy sons. That's how it's meant to be."
I felt this wasn't the right time to start a discussion on women's rights so decided to change the topic. "So why do you think Eunjin would listen to me rather than Frie…Miss Arny?"
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Yunmin declared and raised her eyebrow up to the ceiling, which didn't help me much. "You're a man…obviously." She looked me up and down, her gaze resting on my crotch for a moment too long. I guess my manliness wasn't all too obvious at first glance. I tried not to take it personally.
"Eunjin will be listening to another man. It's the 'being told what to do by a woman'-part he doesn't like."
I did my best to suppress an eye roll. This was neither Yunmin's nor Eunjin's fault, I reminded myself. They were relics from a generation where this mindset wasn't only considered normal but encouraged. "I'll see what I can do," I said instead. There was no point trying to change the view on life of people in their mid-eighties.
Humming a made-up melody, I dragged the smelly and still-wet sheets to the basement, where the washing machine was located. I was not the best at operating washing machines. In fact, this was the first time I would be using one all by myself. But how hard could it really be? Clothes in, soap in, press a button, and done, right?
It was already half past nine when I prepared to leave work. Not because the day had been particularly busy, but because I may have caused a few little fuck-ups along the way, (mainly because I was too distracted). Sighing, I removed yet another shard from my sock. That's why one shouldn't bring their private life into work, I supposed. But I had yet to master the skill to leave my troubled brain outside the door.
Most residents were in bed, and Frieda had locked herself in the office, clearly avoiding me. Heavy-hearted, I knocked at the door then opened it by a mere few inches, "I'll be heading off then," I said, then, after a moment, added a half-arsed, "Happy Christmas."
Frieda didn't return the sentiment. In fact, she didn't even look up from her piles of paper. "I thought you were already gone," her voice sounding oddly hoarse. She faced away from me, and at first, I thought I was given the silent treatment. Only then did I note the uncontrolled twitching of her shoulder blades.
"Is everything okay?" I asked. This was a stupid question. I knew that. Frieda was obviously crying, but I didn't know what else to say.
"You ruined Eunjin's bedsheets earlier."
Washing the bedsheets had gone surprisingly well, even though the machine had a few more buttons than expected. Nevertheless, taking the longest, hottest programme proved to be the right decision for soiled bedsheets. Unfortunately, not the same had been the case for the tumble dryer, and Eunjin's bedsheets would only fit a baby cot now. But this surely wasn't anything to cry over. Not even Eunjin himself seemed to care.
"I also ruined the mashed potatoes we were supposed to have for lunch, crashed into the Christmas tree and broke half of the baubles," (the reason behind my shard-spiked socks), "and spilt about half a litre of Mona's overpriced shampoo on the floor. Yet I think, none of these are the real reason you're crying."
Frieda swallowed hard. "I'm not crying," she huffed while frantically trying to wipe her eyes dry. All she archived was making them even redder and blotchier though.
"Yes, you're a Happy Meal reincarnated, my apologies," I quipped then sat down on the desk, right on top of the piece of paper she had been looking at. "And I'm the lovechild of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Care to tell me what's really going on?"
Frieda shrugged and looked away again. It was obvious, even to me, that she didn't want to talk. Should I leave her? Try to console her? I bit my lip. Sometimes, people in distress didn't quite know what's best for them. But, at other times the wrong words may only make a situation worse. Knowing my track record, whatever I did, it would be the wrong thing. My thoughts shifted to Star, and I wondered where she was and how she was doing. Fuck, where was Hermione's advice when one needed it?
"What were you looking at anyway?" I changed the topic and pulled the paper from beneath my bum. It appeared to be next month's rota, and I felt a sense of relief washing over me when I saw that my name was still on it.
"Hey, you're off on Lunar New Year," I exclaimed once I was done checking my own shifts. "Awesome! You got to get out and celebrate with your family!" It felt good to see Frieda not scheduled to work on a holiday, for once. Usually, she was always the one on shift. And thanks to Yunmin, I now knew the reason why. It wasn't fair though. Frieda, in my not-so-humble opinion, was doing a much better job than Bangcheong or any of the others, despite their fancy degrees. Heck, just look at me. I studied at one of the most prestigious universities in the country, with the opportunity to take a Semester in Paris. Yet, I was a complete fuck up (and didn't remember a single word of French.)
From the corners of my eyes, I noticed Frieda folding in on herself as if this was the worst news she had been given in a long while.
"I always work New Year's," she said, her voice barely more than a whimper. "Been doing so for the last eleven years."
"So you gotta make the most of it. I guess your family will be happy to finally see you again." I shook my head, "it's really not fair how they keep putting you on all the odd shifts, just because you're lacking a little formal education. From what I see, you more than make up for it with compassion and experience... Uni doesn't teach you how to treat your fellow humans, you know. It's a skill you either got, or you don't. And you have it in abundance!"
"I've always worked New Year's." Frieda only said, more tears rolling down her cheeks and I realised I had fucked up again.
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