Episodes
by Yuna Kang
I was so tired but still. I continued. To walk.
The tofu shop (soon-du-bu) was just up ahead, 4.3 miles away. My phone beeped harmoniously “Just-Up-Ahead”. Robot girl voice. The rain had made dark puddles glisten in this world, hollow enclaves where you could see gold and green lights pool. It reminded me of nighttime waters, where the chlorine was stained a murky green, and underwater you could see…her…
But I talk too much.
I told myself I needed the exercise! And so I crunched wearily over slugs and slippy oak leaves. They were not orange or red in the traditional sense; seasons do not really change, here in California. The leaves fell green, with little holes of rot dotted their surfaces.
Slugs chewing and chomping. A caterpillar falls into the embrace of a split worm.
I felt my eyes begin to close…but no. I needed to stay awake.
I could imagine the lights of the tofu shop (soon-doo-poo) up ahead. Red and white and warm, flashing the half Hangeul characters. Bubbling, spicy soup with spam and pork belly swimming in a three-day broth. Green onions and white radish. Watermelon rind kimchi as a side.
My mother used to come here, and order the chewy rice cakes, the hot barley tea. She would tell me eat, eat! But that was a lie. My sleep was so enduring…I had a dream once…moon fairy in the nighttime sky.
I needed the steps I needed the exercise. Diana the moon fairy rises; she chastises me. A bus would have been preferred to the slippy slow torment, a black ocean wave roils. I will be the first human being to see the deep, that endless sea roar, where sunlight cannot go. If I walk further I will locate the bottom of the well, that rainbow-spotted treasure, deep in the hunter’s forest. There is a world down there, or a moon, I cannot tell. I will be there soon. The hill declines; we are going downwards.
The tofu shop (soon-two-buu) shop, is just up ahead. I am so tired. And sleepy. I shouldn’t have walked. I should have roared like a sea lion, and flopped into the unlit waters at Jack London square. And Diana the moon fairy is chastising me, she hits me with her pointy wand. You should have stayed awake, Hyo, she tells me. You shouldn’t have come to this place.
—-
I was so tired so I decided to take the 88. To the tofu shop. Soon-du-bu. The crown of Korean comfort food. A kimchi soup bubbling in clay pot, with an egg cracked in. Cold soy potatoes and bean sprouts as a side. A napkin to wipe up the chili-enhanced debris.
Korean flour pancakes, thin and savory. Cold barley tea and a coca-cola. These are my favorite things to order, here.
The 88 stops right in front of the shop. Red and white, the letters are reflective in the rainy night, (sune-too-boo!). The bus is lit, and warm. The seats are blue, and only a woman slumbers in the front.
When I arrange to leave, she stops me:
“You were lucky tonight, Hyo. You are the lucky Hyo.”
And I incline my head to look at her fully, but she is already sleeping again.
—-
And the waves are galena gray, and when they come down they gain those mineral-like spikes, only to shatter into a hundred stars on landing. I taste one. It is warm and cold, the heat spreading through my body like….
And rain was just a thousand different stars, falling down. Precious white beads, infinite, so I lower my umbrella to taste the sky. Cold. The night was not so different from this world, anymore. I could taste the rain on my lip, falling. Slipping away
I was so tired so I decided to take an Uber to the tofu shop. Soon-doo-boo. I would have asked my friend to drive me, but she was busy and not home. Most of my friends do not drive. They do not have cars.
I do not have a car either, but the bus was 14 minutes away, and I wanted soup now! So I did not wait. I called a man on my phone. “Two Minutes Away,” she intoned. Robot girl voice in my hand.
And waiting on the curb, the night was dark and full of a thousand stars. I had neglected to bring my umbrella, (why need it?) for I would be inside and sheltered most of the time.
A sprinkle of dark starlight, coating the very top of my forehead. I tilt my head upwards; the sky is a milky rutile texture. Like eating soap and sand, the grains mixed together, from my hands.
I am looking upwards when he comes.
—-
Dark diner in the middle of the night. I did not go to the tofu restaurant, (soon-to-do?), I went to the America nearby.
Greasy hamburgers with the mustard and ketchup spilling onto your palms with every bite. Over-crisped french fries. Fanta Orange soda in paper cups, and a slice of cinnamon apple pie. A scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream on the side. Slightly dry chicken tenders and French onion soup and a strawberry Oreo milkshake, made like home. These are the things I like to get at a diner, but I never made it home.
It was dark, and intervening car lights moved through the wooden slats. I could see the sirens roar. Ghost food fills my mouth, my stomach, and my senses linger over the horizon.
Red and white booths empty. Floor covered in dusty trash. The lights are dangling from the ceiling, spine-like threads, and a metal hook sits on the counter.
I saw the man come.
—-
And the waters threatened to drown me, so I had made a rig of hot sand and glass, to ride the charcoal waves to victory. I no longer wanted to go home, or anywhere else. I needed to make it to the tofu soup restaurant. Soon-du-bu. The ultimate place.
And in the deep of the night, I saw the sweat of a bigfin squid settle on the air, and then it was water. I was living between the spindles of another being; their tears were my world. Their sweat was my soil. Bubbles failed to form from my mouth, but I was not dying or dead.
In the eyes of another, (bigfin? phantom?) where the tentacles have eyes the size of window panes, the huge ones in cathedrals and office skyscrapers, I saw the worlds collide. I saw him come and leave, nonmalicious man, (i thought he wore black). Black hanbok and black rimmed hat but no. He is in skinny jeans and a white t-shirt, he has earphones plugged into small ears. “Do you need help with that?” and openly, he reaches out. Through doorways and street waves and glassy gold eyes.
Yuna Kang is a queer, Korean-American writer based in Northern California. She has been published in journals such as Strange Horizons, Sinister Wisdom, and many more. Their work has been published in multiple languages. They were also nominated for the 2022 Dwarf Stars Award, as well as the 2024 Best New Poets Award. Their website link is: https://kangyunak.wixsite.com/website