Yohan’s parent’s never argued, they never bickered, they never quarrelled like lovers do after so many years of belonging to one another– they were entirely on the same terms. The two of them had the same beliefs, the same common interests which mainly consisted of their son, Yohan. This remained a true statement until that fateful discovery 7 years ago, the “snail incident” it had been nicknamed among the two boys of the house, that Yohan, well, he was... special. He was their very own magical boy, a boy that was like his mother in more ways than either of them would have ever imagined, and Darling Nam, mother of the blessed boy, couldn’t have been more devastated about it.
Jaehyun Nam, Yohan's father, had kept his son’s gift a secret from his beloved wife for as long as he could, and it had been the only secret he’d ever kept from her– but it was for the greater good of Yohan, their son, his son, his biggest priority. Yohan, he knew, wasn’t the brightest boy, he was rather incompetent even though he hated to admit it about his own child. Yohan wasn't the strongest, the fastest, – he wasn’t really anything special or anything capable, and he garnered himself a preconceived notion only a few months after his birth. No one thought he would live very long due to his nature of seeming to not understand anything, but he had already made it past the life expectancy the head doctors had set for him. Jaehyun had faith that he would make it much further in life because he had already defied expectations, but Darling didn’t seem to think so.
She seemed to believe quite the opposite, in fact. Darling, she would do anything to shield him from harm, even if it meant that she was the one harming him. She would keep her son inside the safety of the four house walls at all times, away from things that might bite or scratch, but somehow, even with his plushy carpeted floors and baby-proofed doors and hard edged things, Yohan always managed to end up with a scrape on his soft skin, though quickly covered with a swipe of healing ointment and a pink-pony-patterned band-aid.
He wasn’t clumsy or reckless or a little rebel who thrived on disobedience, he just didn’t understand. He didn’t understand that your bones and blood are supposed to stay inside of your body, the way it was intended upon human creation. He didn’t understand that certain actions had consequences, and it didn’t matter how many times you could tell him not to jump from high tree branches, he’d do it the next second.
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I remember some of that day. Me and Mommy were sitting at the white wooden table, sharing berries that were blue and red and purple. Daddy was home too, he was standing over the sink, shaking the water from his hands when a bound heavy letter blew in with the springy, flower-scented wind through our kitchen window. That window never could close for as long as I could remember. The window was directly over the sink, so that meant its course was cut short, landing into the wet sink with a swish-schwoop. It wasn’t odd to me, seeing a thick envelope plop into our sink, though it should’ve been-- I guessed this by the way my father’s eyebrows pulled together in the middle in that way that said something was odd or upsetting. But it didn’t, so I turned all of my attention back on to getting my chopstick through the next raspberry to shove into my mouth, while my mother rose gracefully from her seat next to mine. Her absence was missed greatly, but I stayed focused on my task, my tongue poking out of the corner of my mouth in effort.
I don’t remember much of what happened after I pierced the red berry successfully and popped it into my mouth, the sour taste of it dancing over my taste buds in a way that made me crinkle my nose, but I do remember the way my parents talked in hushed, emotionally charged voices behind me, about me. I remember later that night after Mommy tucked me into my blankets and left her 11 routine kisses all over my face, they yelled. At each other. I could hear it, muffled by their bedroom door closed tightly.
I think I felt scared as I laid and listened to the argument that went on late into that night, until it ended abruptly with a silence that rang in my ears. I think I felt scared, but I wouldn’t really know– That night was the only night I had felt a weird distance between my pulse and my breath, they wouldn’t seem to match up, one always going faster than the other, never giving the latter time to catch up, my hands gripping onto my striped blankets. I think I was scared, but I drifted off to sleep before I could really confirm it.
The next morning, the sun’s rays woke me instead of Mommy's soft, peony-scented presence. It was odd, but I didn’t read into it much, liking the idea of choosing my own outfit and dressing myself all by myself today.
I pulled a character t-shirt over my long-sleeve, and combed my own fingers through my messed hair in absence of Mommy’s long, gentle ones, but again I didn’t think about how she hadn’t come up yet and scorn me softly about brushing my teeth. I made my way downstairs on a jog, eager to have some of the new cereal that was bought yesterday in my favorite bowl. Daddy was sitting in Mommy’s chair when I reached the kitchen, his usual relaxed shoulders tensed up all the way, and his eyebrows were still creased like yesterday when that weird parcel fell into the sink and got wet.
He stayed quiet as I struggled with preparing myself breakfast, and only spoke once to tell me to leave the mess I’d made alone, that he’d clean it later. So, I stayed quiet too, sitting across from him and eating my cereal. I can’t remember if I liked the food much or not, but I ate all of it, the clink of the spoon hitting the bowl, the only sound ringing through the kitchen.
“Do you want to go to school?” It was Mommy’s voice from behind us, and we both turned to look at her. She looked as beautiful as ever, but she looked cold. Her nose and eyes were a red color and she had her thin arms crossed over her body to keep her warm. Her question was random– I’d never been to school, Mommy said it was dangerous and only kids who were naughty attended.
“Shhure,” I shrugged my shoulders as I replied, shoveling another bite of breakfast into my mouth as if I was starved, the spoon banging against my two front teeth as I did. It felt like a donkey, a large and very strong one, had kicked me in the mouth, but I ignored the feeling as Mommy’s eyes got really shiny suddenly. Her jaw clenched, and her pink lip trembled as if I just insulted her, then she turned and left. Neither me or Daddy said anything as she disappeared from the kitchen, her long white sleep dress the last bit I saw of her before looking back down at my now emptied cereal bowl save for a funky colored milk from the dyes in of the artificial marshmallows. I gulped down the milk in a record time, the feeling of it sliding down my throat felt nice. A cool and smooth sensation– I realized I might have caught a cold.
