Chapter 82: Side Story - Mother (3)
Chapter 82: Side Story - Mother (3)
I’d thought this when my father passed away, but I’ve always been quite lucky.
I don’t mean that in some depraved way, as if I were lucky he died.
Quite the opposite, actually. While losing him was undoubtedly a misfortune, our family managed to endure, unlike many households that fall apart after such a tragedy.
That was entirely thanks to my eldest noona, who was already gaining experience by learning the business from Father, and my mother, who held the family together.
In that sense, I was lucky.
If even one of them hadn't been there—or worse, if both had been gone—it wasn't hard to imagine the ruin our family would have faced.
I felt a sense of gratitude toward my mother, but at the same time, I felt a burden of debt.
There was a surge of emotion stemming from respect and reverence, but more than that, I found my mother difficult to be around.
I could count the number of times we’d had a private conversation on one hand, and Mother never pried into my personal life.
How school was going, what kind of friends I had, or what I’d done during the day when I came home.
Mother never asked a thing. I didn’t know if that was a sign of her trust in me or simply her personality, which tended to prune away anything unnecessary.
That was why I was caught off guard by the words she spoke once I climbed into her car.
"Do you not want to go to the military?"
It was sudden. It wasn't that she never asked for my opinion, but such inquiries were usually limited to my food preferences.
Even then, since we’d lived together for so long, she rarely asked unless it was a completely new dish...
"I mean, of course I don't want to go... but why ask all of a sudden?"
My words felt strangely sharp. I didn't mean to sound accusatory, but I figured a sensitive person might have taken it that way.
I glanced at her, checking her reaction, but Mother was, as always, a woman of broad character.
"I looked it up, and it seems boys your age hate going to the military."
"I think everyone hates going, regardless of their age."
"Is that so?"
"Yes..."
"Yu-jin, how do you feel?"
It felt awkward. Perhaps it was because Mother rarely called me by my name.
I hunched my shoulders and watched her closely, trying to discern her intent.
It was always like this.
Mother was a woman of few words who only said what was necessary. Combined with her subtly bold personality, it was often difficult to tell exactly what she was thinking.
This time was no different. I rolled my eyes, carefully choosing my words.
"You can be honest."
The engine started, and I felt the familiar, dizzying wave of car sickness wash over me.
"...I really don't want to go. I'll be wasting nearly two years of my life."
Who would actually want to go to the military? Unless you were one of the few fanatics or had a specific career path in mind, no one enjoyed being dragged off to the army.
I worried whether Mother would understand, or if she would simply say that it was a duty I had to fulfill.
But her reaction was not what I expected.
"Then, do you want to skip it?"
I stared at her blankly, and she began to drive. Amidst the dizzying sensation of motion sickness that immediately followed, I struggled to find an answer.
"It's not like I have a choice..."
Who would want to go? If there were a way to get out of it, I’d be willing to sell my soul, but realistically, no such method existed.
Even if one did, most involved ruining my own life.
From extreme measures like tearing a cruciate ligament or cutting off a finger...
To finding a girlfriend—something I’d never had—and getting her pregnant so I could be discharged early.
Either way, it was unrealistic. Even the latter would take so much time that I’d probably be discharged by the time it became an option.
If we had twins, I might be able to get out midway, but what about the time already wasted?
Of course, I didn't know the regulations perfectly, so I wasn't sure if that was even possible...
In the end, the only thing that remained clear was the lack of any realistic alternative.
"Is there really no way?"
"Yes, it seems so."
The conversation ended there. Mother wasn't one for small talk, and I rarely initiated personal conversations with her.
Thinking back on it now, I realized I had almost no memories of having a private chat with her.
It felt as though we had only ever spoken when it was necessary.
But that was just how it was. Mother wasn't someone who was fun to talk to, nor was she someone who needed conversation.
Since I was a child, the mother I saw was someone complete unto herself—a person who truly embodied the phrase a law unto herself.
She was a self-reliant, independent human being. I felt reverence and a desire to emulate her, but I never had a reason to feel intimacy.
Because of that, I was used to the silence that filled the car.
What I wasn't used to was the way Mother kept glancing at me through that silence.
"Is there something...?"
When I spoke, her gaze swept over me for a moment before returning to the road. Even I, who had opened my mouth, didn't know what I wanted to say.
The conversation died there, and silence fell once more.
However, I instinctively knew that Mother was waiting for more words to spill out of me—that she was hoping I would try to start a conversation.
It was because I was her son, and she was my mother.
Even though we hadn't spent much time talking, we had lived together long enough for me to just know.
But why?
This was quite different from the mother I knew.
My mother, Lee Seon-mi, was always self-assured, independent, and dignified—someone who prioritized efficiency over the emotions of others.
But now, she was acting as if she were walking on eggshells, trying to cater to my mood. Why on earth?
Faced with a series of strange occurrences that had begun just yesterday, I blinked, my mind a mess of complicated thoughts despite the car sickness.
"Why..."
The word slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. It was the kind of word that, once uttered, invited a heavy silence.
An unspoken question floated between us.
Why was Mother acting like this toward me?
What was she thinking, and what did she want from this?
These were questions I was far too terrified to ask directly. Amidst my nausea, I closed my eyes and decided to just endure the ride.
The schedule after that was fairly mundane.
Riding in Mother's car, we went from place to place, preparing for my enlistment.
I thought about buying some supplies in advance, but...
"Even if you buy them now, it's better to do it at most a month before you go. I'll take care of it."
Since Mother insisted, I couldn't exactly throw a tantrum and demand we buy them now.
In fact, I couldn't remember ever throwing a tantrum with her in my entire life.
Her presence had been so imposing since I was young that I’d always felt intimidated, never daring to act out.
I suddenly wondered if I still felt that way because her appearance had barely changed since then.
Her skin was just as clear as it had been in my memories from ten years ago, and there wasn't a speck of unnecessary fat on her body.
The current Mother exuded an aura of absolute consistency.
It almost made her feel less than human...
And yet, today, she felt unusually human.
Even now.
"Are you sleepy?"
While the car was stopped at a red light, Mother asked as she reached out.
Her hand moved slowly along my cheek and forehead, as if she were touching delicate glassware. Feeling that warm hand, I woke from a very shallow sleep.
The first thing I saw upon opening my eyes were her two eyes, which rarely showed emotion.
In those eyes, which were usually cold, there was a rare flicker of realization. I also sensed a faint trace of guilt.
It seemed she felt bad for waking me when she knew I was struggling with car sickness and trying to sleep.
"A little."
I could have acted spoiled or gotten annoyed... but I didn't want to.
I can't say I didn't think it would be useless to act that way with her.
But more than that, I wasn't so childish as to get angry at my mother for waking me up at my age.
I rubbed my eyes to chase away the sleep.
Feeling awkward because she was still watching me so closely, I spoke without thinking.
"I wasn't deeply asleep anyway."
"I see."
Her hand gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. It was as if she were suppressing something.
But what? I had no way of knowing. Mother was someone who might reveal her thoughts, but she never showed her emotions.
"I'm sorry. Sleep a bit more."
She said it even though she knew I’d probably argue that I couldn't fall back asleep. It was a mistake the Mother I knew would never have made.
I blinked, momentarily lost for words at this extremely human side of her, before nodding.
"I will."
I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, but I closed my eyes and leaned back, pretending to.
I wondered if I actually could, and strangely enough, drowsiness washed over me, allowing me to drift off.
And in that shallow slumber, I saw an old memory in a dream.
A memory of a mother different from the emotionless, quiet, and cold woman she was at home or on stage.
A memory of her dominating the stage, capturing the hearts of everyone watching, performing intricate movements with a rich expression and overflowing vitality.
Back then, watching her, I had surely felt an indescribable emotion. Something boiling deep inside my chest—a complex feeling I couldn't quite name.
It was respect, it was reverence, and in a more primal sense, it was love.
Labeling it as familial love, I lifted my heavy eyelids. In the car, with the engine now off, Mother was quietly watching me, her hand gently resting on my shoulder.
She hadn't shaken me awake or called my name.
Her eyes were wide, as if she were a bit surprised that I’d woken up just from her hand being there.
I felt awkward seeing her like this, so different from her usual self.
But at the same time, it felt fresh, and for some reason I couldn't explain, I liked it.
So, I smiled, thinking that perhaps she was trying to become a family-friendly mother, even if it was a bit late.
This wasn't bad either.