Frankly in Love (Frankly in Love, #1)(99)

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? ? ?

We know we’re out of civilization when we reach the burned forest. The flames that ran through here were the same flames that started while I was breaking Brit’s heart, a million years ago.

“Man, I guess the fire reached pretty far,” says Paul Olmo.

“Yeah,” I say. It’s been an hour and a half of driving, and I’m still kind of in shock.

Suddenly I need to get out of the car. “Hey,” I say. “Gotta pee.”

“Take your time,” says Paul. “We’re frankly in no rush.”

“Har,” I say. “You’re olmo funny.”

Paul smiles a sad smile and begins flipping through photos of all of us on his phone.

When I’m done peeing, and the crinkly pattering sound stops, all that’s left is silence. Total and complete silence. I realize why: with all the leaves burned away, the forest no longer makes sound. There is a brand-new sign, probably put here recently to replace the old burnt one, bearing the words FIRE HAZARD LOW.

And yet, there’s a size and shape and quality to this dead forest that is palpable. It is there. Like a soft breathing. This is but a moment in the life of this colossal organism, for the trees will grow back, and everyone will forget there were ever flames hot and high enough to melt houses.

I am standing on a road leading away from home. It’s strange to be here. I shouldn’t be here. Because at home lies Dad with his to-go cup. Mom gets him whatever he needs, which is becoming less and less with each day. He hasn’t checked the security cameras at The Store for a couple of days now. He knows it’s no longer important.

Anyone else would think I was weird for leaving like this.

One day soon I will get the call. I’ll slip out of lecture, or shush my dorm friends, or freeze in midstride on a quad path. I’ll drive home as fast as my car will go, holding ready the one last goodbye I’ve saved in my heart.

For now, Mom-n-Dad would be proud to see me standing here on this road. They insisted I do this. So I’m here for them just as much as I am for me. And that makes me proud, too.

“We are okay,” said Dad when I left. “Have a fun.”

I take out my Tascam. I hit Record. I brace the device in the crook of a tree limb. Memory is cheap and plentiful, and the Tascam will record for hours and hours even with all the other sounds that are still on it: Lake Girlfriend, ocean waves, diners at Scudders, that samulnori quartet, and so on. Maybe someone will find these sounds, and also find delight in them.

I leave the Tascam, get back in the indomitable Consta, and head out north.





thanksgiving





after we end I have one name.

It’s Frank.

I used to think I had two names: Frank, my quote-English-end-quote name, and Sung-Min, my quote-Korean-end-quote name.

But now, I’m calling Frank my first name and Sung-Min my middle name. That’s for a few reasons:


Frank + Li makes a funny pun, which I used to hate but now I’ve grown fond of.





Having two names is like trying to be two people at once. Who does that?





No one ever calls me Sung-Min, not even Mom. Dad never did, either.





Dad lasted two more months before my phone rang.

“You coming home,” was all Mom had to say.

When I arrived, Hanna was already there in the room with Dad. She let him feel her belly. He took both of Miles’s hands in both of his and said: “You whole of world number one best daddy for Sunny.”

Hanna and Miles are having a girl, and her name will be Sunny Lane (nine characters).

I stayed in my room. Hanna and Miles stayed in her room. Mom stayed with Dad. We lived like this for three whole days, waking up together, cooking meals together, watching television. Just being bored together. Feeling the jeong. Mom gave Miles whatever he wanted, and too much of it, which meant, I am eternally ashamed of how we treated you and will forever be sorry for our foolishness.

Thanksgiving came, and we had the world’s simplest feast of take-out Korean fried chicken, white rice, and pickled radish. Dad even managed to eat a little and hold it down.

It was fun in a bittersweet way. I felt like a little kid again for some reason.

Then it was time for Dad to leave.

Everyone gathered on the green slope the afternoon of the funeral. The Apeys, the Limbos. Q was there, with hot sister Evon. Brit was there. Even Wu showed up. Everyone in black, not knowing where to look. Trying not to stare at me or Mom or Hanna. The ceremony was conducted in Korean, and translated in turn into excellent English by Joy’s dad.

Joy was there. When she hugged me, I felt her secretly kiss my neck.

“You look nice,” she said.

“So do you,” I said, and melted with tears. Joy held me up. I don’t know why I cried so much, or for so long. As in I can’t articulate why. All I could feel was my brain exploding with a million tiny dark stars. When I opened my eyes, me and Joy were the only ones left on the green slope. Everyone else had gone to the wake.

We all sat together in a strange room, eating strange food. It was a phantom party in a dream. No one had changed—no one had started dating anyone new, everyone looked the same—but still: all of us were different now. I could feel it. At one point we all ran out of things to talk about, so we just stared at the black framed photograph of Dad flanked by dancing candles.