Nightclub Bonds and a Step Toward Healing
“Ahji, where are you at?”
“Ah, right! Sorry, I'm still at the office. I'll head out right now, so hang tight just a bit longer?”
“Okay. Take it easy.”
Sudden work had him scrambling all day, and before he knew it, evening had fallen. He'd promised to meet Ara at the library by six, but that had completely slipped his mind. Park Maru hurriedly tidied his desk and rushed off to the library.
“Parking lot.”
“Got it. Coming down. But is it cool if I bring my friends along?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
A moment later, she emerged in a gaggle with her friends.
“Hello.”
“Hi. How've you been?”
“Ahji, where we headed?”
“Ara, where do you wanna go? Let's grab dinner first, then hit somewhere fun.”
“Then how about a nightclub tonight?”
“If you wanna hit a club, let's do it.”
“For real? Ara, you can trust this guy, right?”
They split into a couple of cars and headed to Yeonsan-dong for dinner before making their way to the nightclub. Amid the pounding music assaulting their ears, a waiter guided them inside. With the friends' approval, they claimed a room—better than lingering in the main hall, where seven girls and one guy might draw pushy “booking” offers from drunks. Most club-goers were men, and pretty girls Ara's age weren't exactly thick on the ground, so there was no reason for her friends to welcome propositions from older guys anyway.
“Ahji, rooms mean ordering premium whiskey, and that racks up the bill. You sure it's okay?”
“It's fine. Way better than dealing with creeps out there. We're here to have fun, not get hassled.”
“True. I hate how the waiters stick like glue if you turn one down once. Kills the vibe.”
“Your friends don't have boyfriends?”
“Of course they do.”
“Then why not call them over? They might get the wrong idea if they find out.”
“We could tell them, but then the booze tab explodes.”
“Think of it as my announcement party for becoming Ara's man.”
“Okay. I'll ask them.”
And so Ara's friends called their boyfriends. Soon enough, the guys started trickling in. Maru greeted them, poured drinks, and got the conversation flowing. They were all much younger than him—fresh out of school, society newbies—who quickly warmed up, calling him “hyungnim” with easy camaraderie.
“Hyungnim, you do politics, right?”
“Not quite politics yet—just aiding a politician.”
“How'd you get into that?”
“Fate, I guess. I was always interested in politics back in school, but I never figured it'd be my job.”
“So you'll run for office someday?”
“We'll see when the time comes, but yeah, that's the plan now.”
“If you win, I'll be the little bro serving a National Assemblyman hyungnim.”
“Help me out if I run?”
“Of course. Anytime you need a hand, just say the word.”
Young guys from Gyeongsang, straight shooters through and through—how many local men weren't? As he chatted, Maru shared insider political stories they were curious about, working to bond not just with Ara's friends but their boyfriends too. They might not be voters in his future district, but one could have connections there. And if real ties formed, they might volunteer during election weekends like it was their own campaign.
“Ahji, didn't we come to dance?”
“Yeah, sorry. Let's hit the floor.”
At Ara's nudge, they poured out onto the dance floor. Truth be told, Maru had two left feet and little interest in dancing, but he couldn't say no to his adorable girl—and he was curious about her moves. Her friends turned heads in the club; with the main crowd being women in their thirties and forties, a pack of fresh, bubbly early-twentysomethings shaking it up drew every eye. Paired with their boyfriends, they let loose without a care, radiating allure.
After sweating it out to the beats, they retreated to the room for a breather before heading out.
“Hyungnim, wanna grab coffee nearby before calling it?”
“We're good, but won't the ladies' families worry?”
“We're fine with it.”
Most had been drinking, so they stuck close, hitting a nearby coffee shop. Everyone but Maru already knew each other well, so the vibe stayed relaxed. Talk turned to monthly meetups, and with full agreement, they even named the group. From his angle, it felt like a ready-made “blue-chip asset”—perfect.
The lively chat stretched late. Time to scatter home. Drinkers called designated drivers; Maru drove Ara toward her neighborhood.
“Ahji, can't I just not go home?”
“No way. You'll worry your mom.”
“It's been ages since I saw you. I don't wanna say goodbye.”
“We'll see each other tomorrow evening.”
“Pfft, I wanna fall asleep in your arms.”
“Anyway, head in tonight. Apply for early leave sometime.”
“For what?”
“LASIK surgery.”
“You'll come with?”
“You wanna go alone? Scary, right?”
“Okay. But we don't need leave anyway—Monday's off.”
“Oh, yeah. Monday hospital it is.”
“Deal.”
“Get some rest tonight. Call if you're free in the morning. Got it?”
“Yeah. Love you, Ahji.”
“Sweet dreams of pretty things, Ara. Night~”
At the office, he tended his daily SNS accounts, skimmed articles, and wrapped up the morning. After lunch and coffee, a call came from Pusan National University Hospital: Thursday afternoon slot with Professor Kim Seong-gon confirmed—bring the patient by three. He visited the grandma with the Women's Committee Chair, explained, and asked her to keep her daughter home Thursday, no outings. Since most schizophrenia patients deny their illness, frame it as the grandma feeling unwell and needing company to the hospital—not about the daughter. They left, dropped the chair at home, and he returned to the office.
Days passed uneventfully until the admission day for the grandma's schizophrenic daughter. Post-lunch, he and the chair headed to her home in the hillside neighborhood. A woman who looked not yet forty was there—likely the grandma's daughter, the patient. She rode in back with her mom; the chair up front. Off to Yangsan Pusan National University Hospital.
They checked in at outpatient, waited their turn at Professor Kim's room, and were called. Grandma and daughter went in for the consult. When they emerged, Maru asked them to wait, then entered, handing over his card.
“Professor, this is Park Maru, congressional secretary from Assemblyman Hwang Seong-tae's office—I called the other day. What now for patient Seo Ji-hye?”
“A resident will be by soon for more tests; final results after. But from what I see, inpatient treatment is needed.”
“Thank you. You're busy—I'll come back post-tests.”
He thanked the professor, returned to the waiting area, told daughter and grandma more tests awaited, asked the chair to wait with the daughter, and took grandma downstairs.
“Grandma, daughter say nothing? You told her you were unwell and needed her along, right?”
“I did. She listens fine when she's clear-headed.”
“Even if admission's required?”
“Yeah, she promised.”
“Good. Let's head up.”
While chatting with grandma, the testing resident arrived; daughter went in, leaving the chair. Tests done, Professor Kim summoned them: results meant 2-3 months inpatient, unavoidable. Thanks and a meal promise later, they exited. Maru asked to speak privately with the daughter.
“Seo Ji-hye, your mom says you know your condition?”
“I have some idea.”
“Why not seek treatment sooner?”
“You saw our home. Who's caring for Mom if I'm hospitalized? Where's the money?” Tears choked her words.
“Professor says it's not dire yet, but 2-3 months inpatient needed—or it'll worsen later. We'll handle costs via the hospital. Tough, but please admit.”
“And Mom?”
“We'll care for her till discharge. Not daily, but every other day at least.”
“……”
Surprisingly compliant, grandma's daughter agreed and followed the male nurses to the ward. The clinic nurses murmured at how unusually meek she was.
Psych wards were hell for admissions—patients denying madness often raged at family, cursing or striking parents. Compared to that norm, especially for schizophrenics, her calm compliance stood out.
Tears streamed silently down the grandma's cheeks as her daughter was admitted. The chair hugged her out of the hospital; Maru hit admissions to confirm paperwork and start procedures. As always, the sheer volume of forms frustrated him. He got Korea's IT prowess, but a bit more finesse could digitize most, slashing required docs and hassle. Anyway, tomorrow meant escorting grandma to the district office and community center all day for papers.