Back at the Funeral: Tears and Cramped Legs

Sitting and sleeping at the funeral wasn't exactly the best way to rest. My neck was stiff, my back ached, and the fatigue hadn't lifted at all—my condition was total crap.

...I hated to admit it, but yesterday I'd gotten way too sentimental. Sure, the situation called for it, but if you asked me to do it sober, I probably couldn't. It wasn't just my sister who'd been drunk.

To shake off the lingering hangover haze that clung to the edges of my mind, I sat up. I returned the blanket I'd half-stolen in my sleep, then took a quick shower. After changing clothes, I toweled off my hair roughly and stepped out, only to find my sister clutching the blanket, now awake.

"You're up."

"...Morning."

She was gripping her head, groaning in pain. A few cans of beer, and she was like this? Maybe I should ban her from drinking when she starts college. Who am I to say that?

"Want breakfast?"

"...Yeah."

She buried her face in the blanket and nodded her head against it.

Thinking back, she'd said even weirder stuff than I had. Blood ties, huh? Even our drunken ramblings were similar.

"...Oppa."

"What."

"...Thanks for yesterday."

Her voice was so weak I barely caught it.

"...Good, as long as you know."

I kept my head down, drying the last drops from my hair. Still short, so it dried fast with just a towel.

It had been ages since I'd made breakfast. Nothing special—just kimchi fried rice—but since it was my first morning after discharge, it felt oddly nostalgic. The only flaw was the instant rice.

"Kim Gyeo-ul, come out."

"Eat first. I'll dry my hair and be out."

Her voice mixed with the hum of the hairdryer. It'd take a while. Not wanting to eat alone, I whipped up some simple steamed eggs.

"...I said eat first."

"Kimchi fried rice tastes better when it's cooled a bit."

As I sat waiting, she emerged with her hair tied back.

...Why did a college entrance exam student grow her hair that long? It had been a bob when I enlisted, I swear. After months of buzzcuts, it looked suffocatingly thick.

"First time eating your cooking instead of ramen."

"Mom's decent ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at cooking, right?"

Home-cooked meals were all I'd craved in the barracks, but even after discharge, I still ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠couldn't have them.

"You're better than I thought."

"It's Mom's kimchi."

We ate in silence until the bowls were nearly empty. As I scraped the last bits from the pan, my phone vibrated. At this hour, it had to be Mom.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, son. You up?"

"Yes. Eating breakfast with Gyeo-ul."

"How's Gyeo-ul?"

"...She crashed right after we got back, so she seems better."

No matter how understanding Mom was, I couldn't tell her the truth about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠last night. With aunts, uncles, cousins all pulling all-nighters at the funeral hall while her grandkids cracked beers at home? No way that could get out. This was a sibling secret forever.

"Good. Relieved to hear that."

"Want me to pass her the phone?"

"...Yeah."

I switched to speaker and set it in front of my sister. She stared at me with wide eyes until I nodded at the phone, and she finally spoke.

The call ended with a click.

...If that's the case, why not just call Gyeo-ul directly? Felt like my treatment had worsened post-discharge.

"...We're done eating. Time to get ready and go."

"Okay."

I dumped the dishes in the sink and changed back into yesterday's funeral clothes. Rental stuff, unwashed and a bit grimy, but no choice. At least I'd changed underwear.

"Hey, ready?"

"Yeah, one sec."

She'd changed and was now taking deep breaths.

...What was that?

"What're you doing?"

"Mental prep."

"...Prep for what."

"Going to see Grandma one last time."

Sometimes I wondered if she was really three years younger. For a high school senior, her sensitivity was too pure. But then she'd say something mature.

"...Ready. Let's go."

"Alright."

"Oh, Oppa, got a handkerchief?"

"Why a handkerchief."

"We're going to cry."

"Just wipe with your hand if you do. Do we really need one?"

Seeing Grandma in the casket might make my eyes well up, but... that necessary?

Turned out, no handkerchief needed. My funeral gloves were soaked instead. Mask got dirty, so I swapped it. Cried so hard time flew to dawn. Even now, one slip and tears would pour.

"See? Should've listened."

"You didn't either."

In the dim funeral hall lit only by incense glow, just my puffy-eyed sister and I were awake. I'd slept the most anyway.

I'd hoped to tend the incense alone and sort my feelings, but she refused to go home after I brought her, so no dice.

"Why'd you stay, seriously."

"Dunno. Feels more comfortable here than home alone."

She was impossible to read sometimes.

"What's comfy about here."

"Everyone precious to me is here."

...And just like that, she sounded grown-up.

"Mom, Grandma, aunts and uncles, cousins..."

She counted family on her fingers, then pointed her last pinky at me.

"And... that's it."

"Why'd you exclude me."

"Haven't seen you in forever. Awkward."

She giggled, eyes crinkling.

...Where'd she learn to tease her brother? Mom teach her?

"But you worked hard posing yesterday, so I'll include you."

"Gee, thanks."

I stood, leaving her chuckling, and relit the incense as it burned low. The scent through the mask wasn't too harsh.

"Not stuffy?"

"A bit hot."

"No one's coming now anyway. Take it off if it's tight."

"Maybe."

She folded her mask neatly and shrugged off her black jacket.

...I'd tossed it out casually since the mask covered her face. At least she had a tee underneath.

"Feels cooler."

"Yeah, less clothes do that."

"I like this tee."

"Yeah?"

Black tee with R.O.K.A. printed on the chest. I'd bought it around this time last year.

"Black hides stains well."

"Hides, not prevents."

"Same diff. And comfy."

She stretched like it was a brag, then grabbed her leg, groaning as she toppled sideways.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Cra...mp..."

Of course—sprawling from legs-crossed. Kinda dumb sometimes.

"Where."

"Calf..."

"...Want me to rub it?"

"Yeah..."

She hiked her skirt up enough to show her knee. I carefully kneaded her calf over the stockings. No muscle, so soft, but rough texture—odd feel.

"Still hurt?"

"..."

She just nodded. Her occasional whimpers sounded weirdly loud.

"...Stop."

"Better now?"

"Yeah, so stop... already."

Face said otherwise, but she could move, so recovering. Ears red, sweaty—must've hurt bad. Bangs damp.

"That bad?"

"...You rubbed too hard."

"Hey, I went easy."

"...Your fault."

She smacked my arm hard. Ungrateful—I was helping!

"...Ah."

"Mm..."

"...Ga-eul."

I jolted awake at the familiar whisper in my ear. Clock said 4:52 a.m. About ten minutes slept.

"Ah... hyung."

"Shift change. Bed in the other room—crash there."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Incense still burning, so not long."

"You sleep more."

"I've slept enough. Take your sister and tuck her in."

Turning, I saw her nose buried in my shoulder, snoring softly. No wonder my bones ached.

"Got it. Hey, Kim Gyeo-ul. Wake up."

"...Huh...?"

Shaking her with my other hand, she rubbed her face on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my arm before half-opening her eyes.

"Ah... what time?"

"Five."

"...Sleepy."

"Bed over there—go sleep."

"Okay..."

Half-asleep, clinging to my arm, I hauled her up. No stumbles, easy to the bedroom. Tossed the sticky sister onto the bed; she conked out instantly.

...My back hurt too. Screw it. Too sleepy to care. I shoved her to the corner, wedged in beside her, and lay down. Just a bit... just close my eyes a sec. A sec...