The Art of Forgetting (Ch.1)
BY ANONYMOUS
I felt like the chair was melting into my skin and made a sincere effort to rise, but my body just wouldn't cooperate.  Fatigue and a few bourbons kept me firmly rooted in that avocado green pleather recliner until I became vaguely aware of another presence in the room.  He was at the window, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other.

"Have you been here long?"  He ventured.

"Only since I finished work yesterday.  You weren't here so I thought I'd wait around until you turned up.  Or until Monday.  Whichever came first."

   "Eung."  He grunted, still half a room away.

   I never quite understood what brought on that wild yet vacant look in His eyes.  A look but don't touch museum quality that surrounded Him every so often. 

   "Are you O.K.?"  I asked.  I hadn't seen Him since Tuesday.  Not that it was so unusual for us to not see one another for a few days.  A few weeks even.  We both worked and He still officially lived with his parents and had to put in appearances on the home stage pretty regularly in order to keep queries to a minimum.  At the same time, He kept a flat in Seoul that He shared with Tae-Hee, who was in much the same position Himself.

   The flat, though small, was comfortable and sensible for two part-time residents.  It was more or less one big, high-ceiling room with an attached bathroom.  Through the front door, the kitchen area was on the left.  The kitchen consisted of a two burner gas range, a small oven, a medium sized refrigerator, a small rice cooker, and a top-of-the-line set of pots and pans.  Though I never asked, I always assumed that the flat must either have come that way or been outfitted by Tae-Hee since He only went into the kitchen if we were going to cook together.  In the whole time that we had known one another, I only ever saw him fix sandwiches and cook rice by himself.  Through the front door and to the right was the sitting area.  Two black leather couches faced one another with a low, round, glass table between them.  At the ends of the couches were two of the ugliest pleather recliners, one in avocado green, the other merlot.  They didn't match each other or anything else in the apartment, but they were incredibly comfortable and so they were allowed to stay in all their hideous glory.  Beyond the sitting area further to the right was the sleeping area.  His bed sat on the floor against the wall, no box-spring, no frame.  Next to the mattress was a low chrome bureau.  Tae-Hee slept in the loft just above His bed.  Tae-Hee's bed also sat unceremoniously on the floor of the loft with a low black bureau beside it.  The fact that there was little privacy in the flat was never an issue.  It was not as if they had a schedule or anything, but even though they were close friends and were members of the same social circle, they didn't often spend the same nights in the flat.  The bathroom was on the same side of the front door and was also outfitted in all black and chrome.  Opposite the bathroom and front door were two large windows, round at the top and with enough of a windowsill so that you could sit comfortably on the sill and watch the city below.

The arrangement suited me just fine.  Selfishly it meant that I could spend more time with Him without having to deal with the trauma of meeting His parents.  If He introduced me to His parents and they hated me, our relationship would have been doomed.  Even if He had the strength of conviction to stay with me in the event that His parents rejected me, it would have been torture for Him because of the guilt He would have felt for doing something that was against the wishes of His parents.  On the other hand, if He introduced me to His parents and they liked me, He would probably have felt pressure from them to get married and settle down like a good son.  There was also the whole issue of me being a foreigner that multiplied the amount of anxiety I felt about meeting His parents.  The parent issue, therefore, was an unspoken minefield for both of us that we left untouched.  There were times when I for the impression that His family was quite liberal and other times when they came across as staunch traditionalists.  Either way, I didn’t ask and He didn't invite, and thus that is how our relationship remained.  Illicit, secret, passionate, hungry.

   "I'm fine.  A little scattered, but fine."  He said after a short pause.  That was the way he spoke sometimes; as if there were something clawing to get out, aching to reach His larynx, jump out, and dance around in the open.

   I sat up a little straighter as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.  I took Him in.  His rumpled, loose clothing hung from his body like tired skin.  Eyes dark and glassy from what was by now probably a severe lack of sleep.  That reserved, removed air that clung to Him made Him almost irresistible at that moment.  I rose from my pleather heaven and moved to the window.  He didn't seem to notice that his cigarette had burned down to the filter.

   "Are you hungry?"  I asked.  I hated acting like the typical concerned girlfriend, but it was all I could manage at the moment.  Despite my intense attraction to Him and longing to feel His skin against mine, I thought "Wanna fuck?" would sound just a bit too coarse for the moment.

   "Nah.  Maybe in a little while."  He reached for His cigarettes and deftly shook one out.  Despite the harmfulness of the habit and the knowledge that with every inhalation He was that much closer to death, I loved to watch Him go through the motions of smoking.  He lit the cigarette and tossed the lighter onto the small table next to the window.  He reached out, put His arm around my waist and drew me closer.

   "My mom called today.  Complained about me not coming home and not seeing my sister and aunt.  I told her I was working and would be done in time for dinner tomorrow night."

   "Mmmm...." I answered, my head resting on his chest.

   Just like that, He was back.  Like nothing had happened.  Like He hadn't been gone for forty-eight hours and not answered his cell phone.  as if we hadn't made plans to see the philharmonic orchestra perform a Wagner symphony.  Like I hadn't left work early so we wouldn't miss the beginning of the concert.  I tried to be angry at Him, but I just couldn't be.  My sense of relief that He was safe was far too strong.  I was happy that He was back from wherever it was that He periodically went off to and it felt wonderful to have His arms around me again.

   When I had arrived at His apartment on Friday night, I looked around, found my book, and sat down in the green pleather chair to await His imminent arrival.  I wasn't surprised when He didn't return in time to catch the beginning of the concert.  It wasn't that unusual for Him to be a little late.  Sometimes His working hours were unpredictable and He had to stay late to finish something.  As the photographer for an insurance assessor, it was somewhat difficult for Him to keep a regular schedule.  One never knew when a catastrophic act of nature or man would occur.  Overall, His chronic lateness didn't bother me much because it was made up for every once in a while with an unexpected day off in the middle of the week when we could stay in bed and be hedonists until noon.  I began to worry a bit when I realized that it was midnight and I was starving.  I called his cell phone several times.  No answer.  I got up and investigated the contents of the refrigerator.  I came up with two beers, some seaweed and some kimchi that His mother had probably lovingly prepared for Him to take to Han-Su, His friend whose parents had died in a terrible house fire out in the country the year before.  Cause of fire: unknown.  Han-Su had been living by himself since his days at Seoul National University, so he was spared the asphyxiation that prematurely sent his parents to their graves.  Han-Su seemed to handle it all quite well, but then I hadn't known Han-Su before the accident and therefore had no 'pre-accident' Han-Su memories to measure the 'post-accident' Han-Su by.  One night after several more drinks than were recommended by the Surgeon General, Han-Su started talking about it.