Super Sad True Love Story (21 page)

I lay in my bed alone; Eunice again in the living room with her äppärät, with her teening and shopping, as the night turned black around us, as I realized, with a quiet gnawing pain, that when you took away my 239,000 yuan-pegged dollars, when you took away the complicated love of my parents and the mercurial comforts of my friends, when you took away my smelly books, I had nothing but the woman in the next room.

My mind was full of sickening Jewish worry, the pogrom within and the pogrom without. I declined to think of Fabrizia, Nettie, or the otter. I stayed in the moment. I tried to find out what was happening in Central Park to the Low Net Worth protesters. Some of the rich young Media people on Central Park West and Fifth Avenue were streaming from balconies and rooftops, and a few had broken through the National Guard cordons and were emoting from deep within the park itself. I looked past their angry and excited faces screeching about their parents and lovers and weight gain, trying to catch sight of the helicopters floating behind them, firing into the green heart of the city. I thought of Cedar Hill—the new ground zero of my life with Eunice Park—and considered the fact that it was now covered in blood. Then I felt guilty for thinking about my own life with such Media obsessiveness, so readily forgetting the ranks of the new dead. Grace was right. The times we live in.

But one thing I knew: I would never follow Nettie’s advice. I would never visit those poor people in Tompkins Square Park. Who knew what would happen to them? If the National Guard shot people in Central Park, why wouldn’t they shoot them downtown? “Safety first,” as they say around Post-Human Services. Our lives are worth more than the lives of others.

An armada of helicopters flew north. The whole building shook with their ferocity, china jiggling in the neighbor’s kitchen cabinet, little children crying. That seemed to scare Eunice, and soon she was in bed next to me, trying to find a comforting fit with my larger body, pressing so deeply into me that it hurt. I felt scared, not because of the military operation outside (in the end, they would never hurt people with my assets), but because I knew that I could never leave her. No matter how she treated me. No matter how bad she made me feel. Because in her anger and anxiety there was familiarity and relief. Because I understood those greenhorn southern-Californian immigrant families better than I could Grace’s right-hearted Midwestern kin, the craving for money and respect, the mixture of entitlement and self-loathing, the hunger to be attractive, noticed, and admired. Because after Vishnu told me that Grace was pregnant (“ha-
huh
,” he laughed awkwardly while bearing the news) I realized that the last door had closed for me. Because, unlike the slick and sly Amy Greenberg, Eunice had no idea what the hell she was doing. And neither did I.

Sorry, diary, I’m such an emotional wreck today. Bad night’s sleep. Even my best ear plugs can’t help against the sound of rotor blades outside and Eunice mumbling loud Korean deprecations in her sleep, continuing her never-ending conversation with her
appa
, her father, the miscreant who is responsible for most of her pain, but without whose angry lashings I probably would never have fallen in love with her, or she with me.

But I realize that I’m also leaving some things out, diary. Let me describe some of the beautiful moments, at least before the LNWI riots started and the checkpoints went up by the F train.

We go to midtown Korean restaurants and feast on rice cakes swaddled in chili paste, squid drowning in garlic, frightening fish bellies bursting with salty roe, and the ever-present little plates of cabbages and preserved turnips and seaweed and chunks of delectable dried beef. We eat in the Asian fashion, eyes on our food, hearty slurps of tofu stew and little belches indicating our involvement with the meal, my hand reaching for a glass of alcoholic
soju
, hers for a dainty cup of barley tea. A peaceful family. No need for words. We love each other and feed each other. She calls me
kokiri
and kisses my nose. I call her
malishka
, or “little one” in Russian, a dangerous word only because it once spilled out of my parents’ mouths, back when I was under three feet tall and their love for me was simple and true.

And the warmth of a Korean restaurant, the endless procession of plates, as if the meal cannot end until the whole world is eaten, the shouting and laughter after the meal is done, the unchecked inebriation of the older men, the giggly chatter of the younger women, and everywhere the ties of the family. It’s no wonder for me that Jews and Koreans jump so easily into romantic relations. We were stewed in different pots, to be sure, but both pots are burbling with familial warmth and the easiness, nosiness, and neuroticism that such proximity creates.

While we were lunching at one of the louder places on 32nd Street, Eunice saw a man eating by himself and sipping a Coca-Cola. “It’s so sad,” Eunice said, “to see a Korean man without a wife or girlfriend to tell him not to drink that junk.” She lifted up her cup of barley tea as if to show him a healthier alternative.

“I don’t think he’s Korean,” I said to Eunice. “My äppärät says he’s from Shanghai.”

“Oh,” she said, losing interest as soon as her bloodlines to the solitary Asian Coca-Cola drinker were cut.

When we were walking home, our stomachs filled with garlic and chili, the summer heat without and the pepper heat within covering our bodies with a lovely sheen, I started to ponder what Eunice had said. It was sad, according to her, that the Asian man did not have a wife or girlfriend to tell him not to drink the Coca-Cola. A grown man had to be
told
how to behave. He needed the presence of a girlfriend or wife to curb his basest instincts. What monstrous disregard for individuality! As if all of us didn’t lust, on occasion, for a drop of artificially sweetened liquid to fall upon our tongues.

But then I started thinking about it from Eunice’s point of view. The family was eternal. The bonds of kinship could never be broken. You watched out for others of your kind and they watched out for you. Perhaps it was
I
who had been remiss, in not caring enough for Eunice, in not correcting her when she ordered garlicky sweet-potato fries or drank a milkshake without the requisite vitamin boost. Wasn’t it just yesterday, after I had commented on our age difference, that she had said, quite seriously, “You can’t die before me, Lenny.” And then, after a moment’s consideration: “Please promise me that you’ll always take care of yourself, even when I’m not around to tell you what to do.”

And so, walking down the street, our breath ponderous with kimchi and fizzy OB beer, I began to reconsider our relationship. I started to see it Eunice’s way. We now had obligations to each other. Our families had failed us, and now we had to form an equally strong and enduring connection to each other. Any gap between us was a failure. Success would come when neither of us knew where one ended and the other began.

With that in mind, I crawled on top of her when we had reached home and pressed myself against her pubic bone with great urgency. “Lenny,” she said. She was breathing very quickly. I’d known her for a month, and we had still not consummated our relationship. What I had seen as a sign of great patience and traditional morality on my part I now saw as a failure to connect.

“Eunice,” I said. “My love.” But that sounded too small. “My life,” I said. Eunice’s legs were spread, and she was trying to accommodate me. “You are my life.”

“What?”

“You
are—
”

“Shhh,” she said, rubbing my pale shoulders. “Shush, Lenny. Be quiet, my sweet, sweet tuna-brain.”

I pressed myself inside her all the more, trying to wend my way into a place from which I would never depart. When I arrived there, when her muscles tensed and clasped me, when her collarbone jutted out, when the spectacular late-June twilight detonated across my simple bedroom and she groaned with what I hoped was pleasure, I saw that there were at least two truths to my life. The truth of my existence and the truth of my demise. With my mind’s eye floating over my bald spot and, beneath that, the thick tendrils of Eunice’s mane spilling over three supportive pillows, I saw her strong, vital legs with their half-moon calves and between them the chalky white bulk of me moored, righted, held in place for life. I saw the tanned, boyish body beneath me, and the new summertime freckles, and the alert nipples that formed tight brown capsules between my fingers, and felt the melody of her garlicky, sweet, slightly turned breath—and I began, with the kind of insistence that brings out heart attacks in men six years older than myself, to plunge in and out of Eunice’s tightness, a desperate animal growl filtering out of my lungs. Eunice’s eyes, wet and compassionate, watched me do what I needed to do. Unlike others of her generation, she was not completely steeped in pornography, and so the instinct for sex came from somewhere else inside her; it spoke of the need for warmth instead of debasement. She lifted up her head, enveloping me with her own heat, and bit the soft protuberance of my lower lip. “Don’t leave me, Lenny,” she whispered into my ear. “Don’t please ever leave me.”

THE QUIET AMERICAN

FROM THE GLOBALTEENS ACCOUNT OF EUNICE PARK

JULY 2

CHUNG.WON.PARK
TO
EUNI-TARD:

Eunhee,

We terrible worry right now because it sound like bad political situation in Manhattan. You should move back to Fort Lee and be family. This is more important than study for LSAT even. Remember we are old people and we see history. Daddy and I live through bad time in Korea when many people die on street, student young people like you and Sally. Make sure you no political. Make sure Sally no political. Some time she talk. We want come see you Tuesday coming up. Reverend Suk he was teacher to our Reverend Cho bring his special sinners crusade to madison square garden from Korea and we think all family should go and pray and we go to dinner later and meet this meeguk boy you say just Roommate. I am dissapoint you lie to me that you live with Joy Lee but I thank Jesu that you and Sally alive and safe. Even Daddy is so quiet now because he is Grateful and on his knee before God. This is difficult time. We come to America and now what happen to America? We worry. What it was all for? When we first come, before you were born, it was not so easy. You dont know how Daddy struggle for patient, even poor Mexican who has no insurance and he pay fifty dollar a hundred dollar. Even now he struggle. Maybe we make big mistake.

So please, make time for us Tuesday. Dress nice, nothing cheap or like “ho” but I always trust how you wear. Daddy say now there is road block on GW bridge and also holland tunnel. So how people from New Jersey suppose come?

Love you,

Mommy

EUNI-TARD:
Sally, are you okay?

SALLYSTAR:
Yeah. You? This is insane. We’ve been “advised” not to leave the campus. Some of the Midwestern first years are freaking out. I’m putting together an info session to help everyone deal.

EUNI-TARD:
I do not want you doing ANYTHING Political! Do you hear me? This is the one time I think mom’s like 100 percent right. Please, Sally, just promise me.

SALLYSTAR:
Okay.

EUNI-TARD:
This is SERIOUS. I am your older sister, Sally.

SALLYSTAR:
I said OKAY.

SALLYSTAR:
Eunice, why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?

EUNI-TARD:
Because I have to be a “roll model” according to mom.

SALLYSTAR:
That’s not funny. It’s like you’re not even my sister if you can’t tell me these things.

EUNI-TARD:
Well, it’s not like we’re a normal family, right? We’re a special family. Ha ha. Anyway, he’s not really my bf. It’s not like we’re getting married. I told mom he’s my roommate.

SALLYSTAR:
What’s he like? Is he muh-shee-suh?

EUNI-TARD:
Does that matter? I mean, it’s not really about looks with this guy. He’s not Korean either, just so you know and can get judge-mental on me.

SALLYSTAR:
I guess as long as he treats you well.

EUNI-TARD:
Ugh, I don’t want to be having this conversation.

SALLYSTAR:
Is he coming to the crusade on Tuesday?

EUNI-TARD:
Yes. So please act brain-smart. Do you know anything about Classics? I mean like texts?

SALLYSTAR:
I just scanned Euro Classics but I don’t remember a thing there were so many text pages. Something by this guy Grayham Green about a Vietnamese girl called Phuong, like the girl who worked at Lee’s Banh Mi in Gardena. Why do we have to impress him?

EUNI-TARD:
We don’t. I just want him to know we’re a smart family.

SALLYSTAR:
I’m sure mom will act nice and then say really mean things behind his back.

EUNI-TARD:
They’ll just sit there and dad will drink and make those throat-clearing noises.

SALLYSTAR:
Muhuuhuhuhuhmm.

EUNI-TARD:
Hah! I love it when you imitate dad. I miss you.

SALLYSTAR:
Why don’t you come to dinner with Uncle Joon Friday? Maybe sans boyfriend.

EUNI-TARD:
I like that “sans.” That’s brain-smart. I don’t really want to see Uncle Joon. He’s a fucking deadbeat.

SALLYSTAR:
That’s mean.

EUNI-TARD:
He yelled at me last Thanksgiving when he visited from Korea because mom and I got a turkey that’s too large. And his wife went shopping in Topanga and she bought Dad a pair of pliers for, like, sixteen bucks, not even yuan-pegged, and kept saying “Oh, make sure your dad knows this gift from me.” Do you know how much money dad’s given that idiot husband of hers and she bought him some pliers in return?

SALLYSTAR:
They’re family. And their taxi business isn’t doing good. It’s the thought that counts.

EUNI-TARD:
They’re the only people in Korea not making any money these days. Retards.

SALLYSTAR:
Why are you so angry all the time? What’s your bf’s name?

EUNI-TARD:
I’m just an angry person by nature. And I hate it when people take advantage of other people. His name is Lenny. I told you he’s really not my bf.

SALLYSTAR:
Did he graduate your year from college?

EUNI-TARD:
Um, he’s 15 years older.

SALLYSTAR:
Oh, Eunice.

EUNI-TARD:
Whatever. He’s smart. And he takes care of me. And if you and mom are going to hate him then it’s only going to make me like him more.

SALLYSTAR:
I’m not going to hate him. Is he Christian or Catholic?

EUNI-TARD:
Neither! He’s circumcised. Ha ha.

SALLYSTAR:
I don’t get it.

EUNI-TARD:
He’s Jewish. I call him kokiri. You’ll see why!

SALLYSTAR:
That’s interesting, I guess.

EUNI-TARD:
What have you been eating?

SALLYSTAR:
Just some mangoes with this fresh Greek yogurt they got at the cafeteria now.

EUNI-TARD:
For lunch? Are you snacking?

SALLYSTAR:
I had an avocado.

EUNI-TARD:
They’re good for you but they’re fatty.

SALLYSTAR:
OK. Thanks.

EUNI-TARD:
Lenny says things to me that are so sweet but they don’t make me vomit. Not like some Media or Credit guy who just wants to get laid and move on. Lenny cares. And he’s there for me every day.

SALLYSTAR:
I didn’t say anything, Eunice. You don’t have to defend him. Just make sure he takes off his shoes if he ever comes to the house.

EUNI-TARD:
Ha ha. I know. White people are sick that way. They could have just stepped in poo or a homeless person.

SALLYSTAR:
SICK!

EUNI-TARD:
Lenny says I don’t have any control over my emotions, because that’s what dad is like. He says I crave negative attention.

SALLYSTAR:
You told a stranger about dad????

EUNI-TARD:
He’s not a stranger. You have to get out of that mindset. That’s what being in a relationship is about. Talking to the other person.

SALLYSTAR:
That’s why I’m never going to be in a relationship. I’m just going to get married.

EUNI-TARD:
Do you ever miss CA? I miss In-N-Out. I’d kill for an Animal Style burger. Mmm. Grilled onions. Not that you should be eating red meat. I just sometimes want to go back to how things were when we were really young. You know what’s the worst is when you’re happy and sad at the same time and you can’t figure out which is which.

SALLYSTAR:
I guess. I got to study for chem. Don’t talk about our family too much to others, okay, Eunice? They won’t understand it and no one cares anyway.

EUNI-TARD:
Please stay safe, Sally. Just study and eat healthy. I love you so much.

EUNI-TARD
TO
GRILLBITCH:

Dear Precious Pony,

What a week. I am SO fucked. My mother found out I wasn’t living with Joy Lee, so I finally told her I had a white “roommate” who is also a BOY. So now she wants me to go to some stupid church thing so she can meet him. Ugh, this is like my worst nightmare. Lenny’s been whining to meet my parents and now he’ll think I’m caving in and he has the upper hand with me and can do whatever he wants, like not clean the apartment or make me leave the tip at restaurants even though he knows my Credit is MAXED. Yup my ranking just hit the magic number. Under 900! So much for “Chinese” people not spending. Ha ha.

And now my mom will know I’m dating an old hairy white guy. So I told Lenny he can’t tell my mom that we’re going out and he got really upset, like he thinks I’m ashamed of him or something. He says that I’m trying to push him away because I’m substituting him for my father, but that he won’t let me, which is pretty ballsy for a nerd-face.

Things have been pretty up and down with us, although he finally had some Magic Pussy Penetration Time and it wasn’t bad. What he lacks in looks he more than makes up for in passion. I thought he was going to explode! What else? The riots were pretty awful and now it takes forever to get around town. Lenny tries to act all gallant like he’s going to protect me from those National Guard guys but it’s not like they’re going to shoot Asians, right?

Oh, I met his friends. This one guy Noah was cute, kind of tall and conventionally handsome. His girlfriend is this really hot woman Amy Greenberg, who has her own stream that gets like a million views. She has this really awesome pseudo-smart personality and a pretty hot face. She streams about not being petite, which is sad but she just wasn’t built that way. Anyway I noticed Noah scoping me OUT and when I took off my sweater he just started STARING down my shirt and I was flattered, but it’s not like I’ve got anything down there. Then he told me I had “acerbic wit” and I was just like “ha ha,” although I couldn’t help mentally cheating on Lenny a little. And then this Korean girl Grace was talking to me for hours. She’s really sweet and tries to make you feel like she’s on your side, but I think it’s all just an act. She got all this information about how my father beats my mother because she spoilt the tofu under the guise of befriending me. I don’t know why I told her any of it and I felt really vulnerable the whole night. Whatever. I hate all of them.

So the next day I went back to Tompkins Park with some cases of bottled water, because I heard they don’t have any and the ARA shut down the water fountain and toilets in all the parks. There were all these hipsters running around streaming about the riots, but nobody’s really helping out the LNWIs. I hung out with David, that cute guy who was in the National Guard in Venezuela. He has like four teeth in his mouth because he never had Dental and he was in an explosion. But it’s still very inspiring to talk to him, because he always says what he means (unlike Lenny and his friends). Like he’ll say “Shut up!” or “You’re wrong, Eunice,” or “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” or “That’s just a High Net Worth way of looking at things.” I like that, when people actually call you on your shit.

Anyway, I never thought I would care about Political stuff, but I can listen to David go on for hours. He says a lot of Guardsmen like him who didn’t get their bonuses after Venezuela are thinking of getting together and they’re going to fight back against the National Guard if they’re attacked. He says the Guard these days are just a bunch of poor people hired from the south by this Wapachung Contingency thing Lenny works for and they don’t care who they kill. Him and his friends are calling themselves Aziz’s Army because of the bus driver who was shot in Central Park, the same one I saw with Lenny. I told David I don’t want to be Political, but he wrote down all these supplies they need, like cans of tuna and beans and baby wipes and stuff, and I wonder if I should get it for them even though my AlliedWaste is completely maxed out. Maybe I should ask Lenny to help me, but for some reason I don’t really want him knowing about David even though we’re just friends.

The way they have it set up is pretty amazing. It’s a tiny little park, but like every little bit of it is used for a purpose. Where there used to be a dog run all these ADORABLE and SURPRISINGLY CLEAN-LOOKING kids play soccer with an old basketball. I guess I should get them a real soccer ball at Paragon. There’s recycling of all foods from garbage cans which is kind of gross, but basically people like Lenny throw out so much stuff that David said you can get like ten meals out of the typical dinner wasted by a Credit guy from the East Village. They’re so organized here, it kind of reminds me of my family growing up. Everyone’s assigned a role, no matter how young or old, and everyone has to do their part, even the snobby Credit and Media guys who lost their jobs and now live in the park. And if you don’t do what you’re told, tough luck, you’re out.

It kind of made me miss helping out at that shelter for trafficked Albanian women in Rome. Lenny says he’s proud of me for doing that, but then he always calls them ALGERIANS or AFRICANS instead of Albanians, like that sounds cooler. But David immediately knew what I was talking about. It’s interesting how people who have been through a lot, they have this kind of childlike look on their face.