Gift

A week has passed since the incident on the stairs. My compassionate leave period was over and I was back in the office. I still felt weak in the heart, and the memories of Minji's death still haunted me. 

But somehow I felt vindicated. 

Perhaps I could have saved Miho. Perhaps she wasn't dead when I saw her bleed out from her head. It could have well been that she just passed out. 

But judging by the amount and speed of blood she was losing, I was pretty sure my leaving her behind without calling for help must have ensured that she never woke up again. 

I killed someone. 

It was a strange feeling. 

After the obligatory vomiting back home facing the porcelain queen, I took a shower and stood in front of the mirror, naked. 

I had some bruises on my body but no real damage. For what it's worth, Miho saved me.

Did it exempt her from what she had done before? Has God - if there was such an entity - forgiven her for sacrificing her life for the sake of someone?

No, I don't think so. 

What she did, not just once, but possibly hundreds of times in her 'career' must be unforgivable. You can't kill hundreds and trade your single life for it to save yourself. 

This was a woman who had no chance of redemption. 

On one hand, I felt powerful. I exacted the revenge on behalf of Minji, although Miho's death wasn't as terrible as it should have been. She could, and should have, suffered more. Nevertheless, I made a decision to let someone die. Her life or death was in my hands. Control. I had the control. 

On the other hand, I felt dreadful. 

There was this once in my childhood when the kids from my Sunday school went to the Hangang Citizen's Park. We were kicking ball about but for one reason or another that I can't recall, I wasn't in a good mood - or actually, I was feeling pretty pissed off. 

Perhaps I had an argument with one of the kids. Or perhaps someone teased me in ways that hurt me. 

Then I remember the moment that a kid mis-kicked the ball and it came rolling my way. I could have stopped it and kicked it back to them. Things would have just continued as they were if I had done that. 

But I didn't. 

I just let the ball roll past me, maybe only 10cm away from my foot. I let it pass and roll on. 

The ball then kept on rolling and rolled down to the river. 

By the time the kids came running the ball was already floating on the river, liberated and lost, it got carried away with the flow until we could no longer see it. 

"That sucks."

One of the boys said and they turned back to walk away from me. 

Even after close to two decades, that memory often haunted me. 

I killed everyone's fun. If I stopped that ball, they could have played more, enjoy the Sunday afternoon after putting up with all the preaching and the story from the Bible.

It was my fault that the play stopped and the fun stopped. 

It sucked. 

In truth though, what sucked more than that was that nobody was angry with me. "That sucks" were the only words uttered and it wasn't even directed at me. The kids went back to the field and found something to do as I stood feeling guilty. I was clearly in the wrong, I thought. But it didn't matter. My little childish and vengeful act of selfishness affected no one. 

I was insignificant. 

But I hoped that me killing Miho this time wasn't just an act of vengeance. I told myself I saved the lives of countless people, the people who would have died at her hands had she lived. I was significant. 

Yet, I was filled with emptiness. 

I was victorious without triumph. I got my vengeance without catharsis. 

My first love ended in a pool of blood, abandonment, and negligence. 

After about two weeks have passed since the incident, on one Thursday evening, someone rang my door. I checked through the intercom video and realized that it was the old man. I was scared for a moment that he came to revenge on Miho's behalf. But I was too curious, too curious to hear what he had to say. 

I opened the door to greet him. 

"Hi."

"Good evening.", the man said. Flat. 

"Hi."

"Miho's dead."

"Is she?"

"You don't seem very shocked."

"I am."

"She liked you."

"Oh, did she?"

The man said nothing and held up a gift-wrapped paper box, about the size of a head. 

"She said if she dies before me, I should get you this."

For a moment, horrific images passed before the eye of my mind. I imagined that the box contained Miho's head. 

"I'm not sure if I want to receive it."

"Take it. It's her last wish."

"No thanks."

"I will do everything in my power to make sure that her last wish comes true."

The way he said it so casually made me feel like he was going to kill me if I didn't take it, so I reluctantly received the gift box with both hands. 

"Thank you."

"Thank Miho instead."

With that, the old man turned around without saying a thing and walked away from my door. 

I slammed the door shot. My heart was thumping. Cold sweat ran down my back. I felt like throwing the box straight into the rubbish bag and then chucking that bag straight away at the dumpster. I didn't want to see what was inside. 

But something stopped me. 

I felt like this nightmare that started with that eventful day in my ordinary life wouldn't stop unless I saw what was inside the box. 

I brought the box to the dining table. I sat on my seat looking at the box for a very long time without knowing what to do with it. 

Then I finally opened it on a whim. 

It was a cheese cake. I recognized instantly it was from the shop we wanted to go in Myeongdong originally. 

Something stirred in my heart and my eyes swelled up, and when I saw a little note that came together I broke down and wailed after reading it.

'Thank you.'