Anyway...random story bit.
I stared in disbelief at the situation. Spaghetti sauce dripped from my chin, noodles dangled haphazardly between my mouth and fork, and a beautiful girl sat just ten feet away at the table across from me. I could tell she was looking me up and down with that typical expression which said 'what on earth is wrong with that little Chinese kid?', and I'm sure the embarrassment of the whole ordeal had my face a deeper red than the tomato sauce.
It was a sad moment in my life. I was reaching for the napkin container with one hand, while the other was occupied with forking the noodles back to my plate, when I suddenly felt cold hands touch the back of my neck.
I jumped. Then I knew the whole thing was over.
The napkins when flying in a cloud of whispy white, the metal hitting the floor with a loud clang. My fork dropped onto the table with a thud, spaghetti dumping into my lap. My hands dropped softly onto the table, and they rested there.
I looked up and glared at him. His dark brown eyes met mine, friendly and excited. I scowled as meanly as I could.
"Yoo Joon!" I hissed, "what is wrong with you?"
"Sorry! I forgot!" He explained haltingly, "ah, mess, right, I'll clean..." he murmered, stooping over to begin cleaning.
I sighed, lowering my head in humiliation. Forget the girl. I was the only guy in the place who had just gone limp because he'd been spooked and couldn't even clean up the horror he'd created.
I stared at my watch.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
One minute thirty seconds.
Two minutes.
Two minutes thirty seconds.
Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three...
It came back slowly at that moment, just as I was sure I'd be there forever, my sweater sleeves dyed with spaghetti sauce and peppered by parmesan.
A waiter had come over to help Yoo Joon; my face had been wiped for me, my hands lifted from the sauce, and my plate cleared away.
"Okay, looks like we're good now." Yoo Joon announced. He smiled at me; his nervous eyes darted about, and he wiped his hands on his jeans absently.
"Yes," I answered, lifting myself from my seat shakily, "I think it's over."
"I'm really sorry, Michael." Yoo Joon apologized, biting his lip and squinting at me behind the black frames of his glasses.
I smiled. I was still irritated, but how could I stay angry at that face?
"It's okay, Joonie."
Yoo Joon grinned, "good. I'm glad you're not that angry."
"If I were, I'd be in trouble again..." I muttered, glancing around uneasily.
"Let's leave." Yoo Joon whispered, "we're being stared at now, and your shirt's dirty. Let's get a new one."
I nodded and followed him. We exited the restaurant just above the food court of the mall, and before I knew it, my friend was spazzing out over some designer clothes he'd seen, and then the new video game he hadn't played yet, and then the gourmet food he wanted to try. I watched with calm amusement. He wasn't always so intolerably bouncy, but the day was a bad one for both of us. Stranded for a three-day weekend in Orlando hadn't been our idea of a vacation. Yoo Joon's grandmother wanted to see him for Labor Day weekend and I volunteered to tag along. Yoo Joon's grandmother was a sweet lady, and I liked her a lot. Her house wasn't uncomfortable, and the neighborhood was quiet. If our prescription transfer to Orlando hadn't been fudged up so royally, things would have been fine.
Yoo Joon's stepdad is a health nut, so he had Yoo Joon attempting to forgo all medications for a week. It was looking so nasty I was about to wring Mr. Park's neck, but thankfully he'd decided that his herbal remedies were no match for Yoo Joon's ADD/HD and resulting insomnia.
My story was a bit more complicated. My doctor recently died. He was a great guy, we were incredibly close, and I missed him a lot. The substitute doctor that had arrived from Virginia didn't know anything about dealing with a narcoleptic. I'd been so stressed over the past weeks from Dr. Ming's death and my doctor not allowing me to refill my medications, my cataplectic attacks had increased. For instance, last week I was talking on the phone to a college friend and started laughing. My knees buckled, I collapsed into the floor, and I couldn't get up for five solid minutes. It was the worst thing I've experienced since high school and I didn't want to do it again.
But, it seems Yoo Joon's father and my new doctor had no intention of changing the way they were treating us until Labor Day weekend rolled around and we were stranded in Orlando.
I wouldn't normally have been so irritated, except I was away from home in an unfamiliar place with my hyper-active bestie and my own habit of falling asleep anywhere I sat down.
It was only Saturday afternoon.
I stared at my watch.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
One minute thirty seconds.
Two minutes.
Two minutes thirty seconds.
Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three...
It came back slowly at that moment, just as I was sure I'd be there forever, my sweater sleeves dyed with spaghetti sauce and peppered by parmesan.
A waiter had come over to help Yoo Joon; my face had been wiped for me, my hands lifted from the sauce, and my plate cleared away.
"Okay, looks like we're good now." Yoo Joon announced. He smiled at me; his nervous eyes darted about, and he wiped his hands on his jeans absently.
"Yes," I answered, lifting myself from my seat shakily, "I think it's over."
"I'm really sorry, Michael." Yoo Joon apologized, biting his lip and squinting at me behind the black frames of his glasses.
I smiled. I was still irritated, but how could I stay angry at that face?
"It's okay, Joonie."
Yoo Joon grinned, "good. I'm glad you're not that angry."
"If I were, I'd be in trouble again..." I muttered, glancing around uneasily.
"Let's leave." Yoo Joon whispered, "we're being stared at now, and your shirt's dirty. Let's get a new one."
I nodded and followed him. We exited the restaurant just above the food court of the mall, and before I knew it, my friend was spazzing out over some designer clothes he'd seen, and then the new video game he hadn't played yet, and then the gourmet food he wanted to try. I watched with calm amusement. He wasn't always so intolerably bouncy, but the day was a bad one for both of us. Stranded for a three-day weekend in Orlando hadn't been our idea of a vacation. Yoo Joon's grandmother wanted to see him for Labor Day weekend and I volunteered to tag along. Yoo Joon's grandmother was a sweet lady, and I liked her a lot. Her house wasn't uncomfortable, and the neighborhood was quiet. If our prescription transfer to Orlando hadn't been fudged up so royally, things would have been fine.
Yoo Joon's stepdad is a health nut, so he had Yoo Joon attempting to forgo all medications for a week. It was looking so nasty I was about to wring Mr. Park's neck, but thankfully he'd decided that his herbal remedies were no match for Yoo Joon's ADD/HD and resulting insomnia.
My story was a bit more complicated. My doctor recently died. He was a great guy, we were incredibly close, and I missed him a lot. The substitute doctor that had arrived from Virginia didn't know anything about dealing with a narcoleptic. I'd been so stressed over the past weeks from Dr. Ming's death and my doctor not allowing me to refill my medications, my cataplectic attacks had increased. For instance, last week I was talking on the phone to a college friend and started laughing. My knees buckled, I collapsed into the floor, and I couldn't get up for five solid minutes. It was the worst thing I've experienced since high school and I didn't want to do it again.
But, it seems Yoo Joon's father and my new doctor had no intention of changing the way they were treating us until Labor Day weekend rolled around and we were stranded in Orlando.
I wouldn't normally have been so irritated, except I was away from home in an unfamiliar place with my hyper-active bestie and my own habit of falling asleep anywhere I sat down.
It was only Saturday afternoon.
1 comment:
Good short story. Is this it or do you have more to add?
Post a Comment