Geun-yeong pushed the bundle of noodles, much smaller than Donghwa’s, into his mouth. Though he chewed firmly, it wouldn’t go down easily. He drank plain water, not apple ade. He forced himself to swallow the noodles that wouldn’t go down.
They finished their meal talking mainly about school-related topics: classmates dating, classmates getting dumped, professors being old-fashioned, classmates suffering from professors’ old-fashioned ways, and so on.
There was a brief dispute at the counter. Donghwa, saying he was just joking and wanted to split the bill, took out his wallet, but Geun-yeong stopped him and paid with a card that would no longer be used after today. It was a card given by Ji Seokhun, and he had mostly used it when he was with friends, like today. Geun-yeong had always spent a moderate amount—appropriate for the only adopted son of a man who valued social appearances, but not so much that it would seem like showing off. That was what the man wanted.
Complaining about Geun-yeong always paying, Donghwa bought coffee at the shop right next door. He handed Geun-yeong an Americano with nothing added, while for his own cup, he squirted syrup once, twice, three times. When he was about to add a fourth squirt, Geun-yeong quickly raised his hand to stop him.
“Taste it first before adding more.”
Donghwa took a sip and said it was sweet, then grinned. Good thing he didn’t add the fourth one. Good thing he listened to him.
With a cup in each hand, they walked through the crowded underground shopping center. After exiting, they withdrew money at an ATM in front of the subway turnstiles.
Donghwa handed a thick wad of cash to Geun-yeong. Thanks to his playful teasing of whether to give it or not, Geun-yeong had to grasp at empty air twice. He finally got the money and put it in his wallet. Watching him put the now-bulging wallet into his bag, Donghwa said:
“Treat me to a movie instead of a fee.”
“Sure. Um… not today, next time. I have somewhere to go today.”
Geun-yeong, who had just put his bag back on after bringing it forward to put away his wallet, said to Donghwa, who was clicking his tongue in disappointment:
“I canceled my volunteer application.”
“Why!”
Two passing female students turned around, startled by how loudly he shouted the question, making it very difficult for Geun-yeong to say what he really needed to say. After a slight sigh, biting his lower lip once, and forcing a smile that didn’t come naturally, he said:
“I’m taking a leave of absence.”
Donghwa, who had opened his mouth to shout earlier, couldn’t close it, nor could he verbally ask this time. He was too dumbfounded.
Geun-yeong, who was gauging Donghwa’s reaction, began to wonder if he should help lift his friend’s jaw, which seemed to have dropped too far. After a long moment with his mouth open, Donghwa finally managed to close it, swallowed his collected saliva, and asked for the reason.
“Why, why? No, I mean, why?”
He couldn’t tell his friend, who was stumbling over his words because he was so shocked just by the news of the leave of absence, that he had run away from home.
He couldn’t say: I had sex every night to repay the person who adopted me, fed me, clothed me, and treated me, but now that person has said that from now on, I’m not his son but his lover, and that he loves me as the only person in his life, so it’s uncomfortable for me to stay in that house. It’s uncomfortable to stay there, so I left with some saved allowance and money I lied about needing for a laptop, but I can’t continue attending school, can I? Aside from tuition issues, that man knows all the professors at the school, so I have no choice but to take a leave of absence, right?
He couldn’t say such things. As he was struggling with what to say instead, thankfully, just like the teaching assistant earlier, Woo Donghwa created an answer and asked it himself.
“Are you not feeling well? Or are you going abroad for training? Language study? Or are you participating in an overseas internship program? Did your professor get you in?”
Geun-yeong just nodded and said, “Yeah.”
“What do you mean ‘yeah’?! Don’t smile, I’ll miss you! Damn it! What am I supposed to do alone when I’m bored without you!”
Woo Donghwa practically shouted, making yet another group of female students turn around. Because Donghwa was so upset, Geun-yeong’s resolve almost wavered again. Shaking off small lingering attachments was more bitter than he expected.
* * *
After comforting his disappointed friend and sending him off, Geun-yeong headed to a family medicine clinic he had been eyeing. The reason he had noticed this clinic was because of the director’s credentials engraved on the plaque at the building entrance. Neither the university background nor clinical experience overlapped with that man’s.
As he opened the door of the clinic on the second floor of the building, the nurse sitting at the front station looked up, and Geun-yeong, making eye contact, became extremely nervous.
“How may I help you?”
“I…”
Geun-yeong, who had suffered from diabetes for 18 years, was seeing a doctor for diabetes for the first time. This might not be a common situation for most people, but for Geun-yeong, it was normal.
He had lived with a man who knew more about diabetes than anyone else, and blood sugar management, drug prescriptions, and blood tests were all done at home. Pharmaceutical company employees, who were at the mercy of the man who controlled prescription rights at one of the top five large hospitals, provided the latest insulin free of charge. And the blood and urine samples that were periodically taken were directly analyzed at the clinical research laboratory in the hospital where the man served as director.
But now he had to do as ordinary patients do. Visit the hospital, see a doctor, get a prescription, pick up medicine, and manage it himself. Other patients all do it that way. He just needed to do as others do. This was the normal thing to do.
Geun-yeong tried to shake off the burden of doing something for the first time. He tried to convince himself that this was natural, that this was actually the normal way, and said:
“I’m here to get an insulin prescription.”
“Please write down your name, resident registration number, contact information, and address.”
Geun-yeong wrote his name and resident registration number on the registration form the nurse handed him. After hesitating briefly, he wrote down the phone number he would no longer use after today and the address of the place he would no longer reside in.
The wait wasn’t long. Most people who came for daytime consultations were elderly. Most who entered the consultation room for routine check-ups to get their usual diabetes or blood pressure medications didn’t seem to have much to discuss, as they finished their consultations in just a few minutes, or even seconds.
“Ji Geun-yeong, please come into the consultation room.”
His turn came before he could fully suppress his nervousness. Geun-yeong pressed his chest firmly with his palm once before standing up.
When he entered the consultation room, a doctor who appeared to be in his mid to late forties was looking at the monitor, tilting his head.
“Hello.”
Geun-yeong greeted him in a small but audible voice and sat down. The doctor responded with “Ah, yes,” glancing at him briefly before looking back at the monitor screen, tilting his head in the opposite direction from before.
The doctor, who had been wearing an expression like someone looking at an unsolvable math problem, seemed to decide he needed to check the answer key and asked Geun-yeong:
“You said you’re here for an insulin prescription?”
“Yes. I’m using a pump.”
“Ah. A pump. A pump…”
Looking back at the monitor and fiddling with his lips, the doctor asked again with an expression that suggested even checking the answer key hadn’t helped:
“Where were you diagnosed?”
“Samjeong… Hospital.”
“Is that so?”
The doctor turned his gaze back to the computer monitor. He tapped some numbers on the keyboard and clicked the mouse. Then he said “Hmm?” again and tilted his head once more.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
