When I was young, I thought it was strange.
‘Say hello, Yeowoon. This is your new father.’
‘That’s right. I’m your father now. Want to try calling me dad?’
Other kids would say they have one mom and one dad.
‘I have a lot of dads.’
Why did I have so many dads?
I also only had one mom, so why did people keep showing up to become my new dad? Where did the other dads who greeted me just like this person go? I couldn’t understand. I answered like that as if I had a lot of candy to share, then I looked innocently into the curious eyes of the man who knelt down to my level and asked again.
‘Dad, can you continue being my dad forever?’
And the man’s face hardened.
I shivered unknowingly at that moment, a chill running down my spine. Even under the scorching sun of a hot summer, my body shivered in thick long sleeves. When I turned my head because I felt a sting on my face, I saw my mom’s eyes glaring at me fiercely. Amidst things I couldn’t understand, one thing was clear.
Tonight, there would be more bruises under my long sleeves.
I realized only after I grew a bit older. A person couldn’t have many dads. The mothers of other kids never continuously brought new men home like my mom did.
While getting beaten by my mom countless times, being ostracized at school because of careless remarks, and filling my head with general knowledge through compulsory education, I finally understood what most people naturally knew from the moment they first called someone mom or dad.
I didn’t have many dads. I didn’t have a dad at all.
The person who was my dad changed frequently. Some dads beat my already bruised body because they didn’t like the way I looked at them. Some dads gave me candy often and were affectionate, but soon found my existence annoying. Another dad would fill the dog’s bowl with food but not mine, treating me as if I didn’t exist. Enduring a dad who ignored me like I was less than air was harder than enduring physical violence. It wasn’t because I wanted them to acknowledge my existence. The actions and insults that came from treating me as an appendage of that woman, as a nonentity, were more painful and disgusting.
“Pack your things.”
As soon as I returned home from evening self-study and opened the door, a large bag flew at me. The bag, which hit my knee and fell to the floor, was all too familiar. I knew what it meant for this bag to come out of the closet. It was the worn-out bag used to stuff my few belongings whenever we moved. So, I immediately understood what those words meant.
Ah, I was going to have a new dad again.
“Pack only what you need. Everything else can be purchased again anyway.”
As I was standing at the door as if nailed there, I slowly bent down and picked up the black bag sprawled on the floor.
“This new dad must be rich.”
He would purchase all the things we need.
I said in a small voice, as if sighing, and straightened my bent back.
Smack!
As the pain echoed in my head, my vision turned black. I blinked slowly, the stinging cheek hit by a fierce hand throbbed as if the numbness was wearing off.
“Where did you learn to talk so unculturedly, you lowly brat?!”
A cold reprimand scratched through the painful spot. You’d think that getting hit this often would make me immune to the pain and toughen the bruised spots, but it still stung and hurt every time.
“I’m already embarrassed to move in with Chairman Ji as a single mother with a kid! If my son behaves worse than a street urchin, what will he think of me? Huh?!”
So, this new dad seemed to be a chairman.
“I gave you food and clothes, and this is how you talk back, huh?!”
The new man would be better than a gambler, I guess. If he’s a chairman, Mom might try to keep him happy for about three years. That might mean I could live in a better situation until I become an adult.
“You ungrateful wretch, living in luxury thanks to your mother…”
I walked past my mother, who continued her tirade, and packed all necessary items into the bag. I ignored her barrage of insults as I threw my textbooks and notebooks, a few pairs of socks, and a couple of T-shirts and pants into the bag. There was nothing more to pack. Frequent moves had conditioned me to keep my belongings limited to what fit in this bag. I stared at the bag, still having enough space for around five more books, and then zipped it up. The zipping noise blended with her ongoing verbal abuse. Grabbing the bag’s handle, I absentmindedly turned around. It was only when I saw the hand flying towards my face that I realized I should have prepared myself mentally before moving my body.
Smack! Smack!
Before I could even register the pain, the places I was hit throbbed. The voice coming through my numb ears sounded like it was coming from far away.
“Where do you think you’re going with that packed bag? You think you deserve to pack anything?! Even living like trash in this run-down house is too good for you! I’m the crazy bitch for not abandoning an ungrateful wretch like you all this time!”
It wasn’t surprising that the person who told me to pack my things suddenly changed her mind and flew into a hysterical fit. I was used to being told I was lowly while she considered herself noble. I wasn’t hurt by the insults anymore, just as the pain from getting hit three times on the same cheek didn’t make me feel upset.
“Madam. Are you all ready?”
It was then. The overheated atmosphere froze at the voice beyond the shabby front door. My mother, who was yelling at me with a contorted face, suddenly stopped.
Madam.
I had never seen my mother addressed so respectfully. This dilapidated single room didn’t feel shabby anymore, it felt unfamiliar, like witnessing Cinderella’s pumpkin turning into a carriage.
“No, go back. I’ll be right out.”
My mom familiarly spoke to the person beyond the door in a dismissive manner, as if she had long awaited the life-changing opportunity to command others. While still glaring at her lowly son, she responded, and only after the person on the other side of the door left did she turn her back to me.
She took a few steps away, then kicked her bag that had been by the door toward me. I looked down at the bag that stopped at my feet, recalling the insults my mom had hurled about abandoning me. She didn’t seem satisfied with just a few slaps, but now, with a new husband more important to her, her violence had to cease. She had to stop the abuse and leave the house. Just as I hadn’t known today was the day I’d meet a new stepfather, I hadn’t known today was the day I’d leave this house. Reluctantly, I bent down, picked up my mom’s bag with my empty hand, and noted how light it was compared to mine. Even though most of the belongings in this house were hers.
Hadn’t she said everything else we needed can be purchased again at the new house? It seemed she planned to replace everything with new items, just as she had replaced her husband.
I felt no regret for what was past, nor any anticipation for what was to come. Even as I followed my mom outside and got into the back seat of the luxury sedan that seemed too grand for our slum neighborhood, I felt no excitement.
The large sedan was something I had never ridden in before. In fact, this was my first time in a private car. None of my previous dads had owned a car. People say you must climb the ladder step by step to reach higher places, but my mom skipped all those steps and switched husbands from one who had no car to one who had a chauffeur.
“The chairman has been waiting all day. It would have been better if your son had come home earlier from school.”
“Oh my, how could he? He’s a diligent student.”
I barely suppressed a snort. It was laughable to see my mom pretending to be a noble mother who raised her son properly. The reason I never skipped evening self-study wasn’t because I had great ambitions for my studies. It was simply the only way to stay out of the dreadful house as late as possible.
“And from now on, you should call him ‘young master’.”
My mom said I was uncultured when I was disrespectful, yet she looked more vulgar, speaking down to others as if she had longed to be in a position to do so.
I fixed my gaze out the window, counting the streetlights illuminating the dark road. Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two… Had my mom become Cinderella? But Cinderella didn’t have a son. Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven… This time, I might really become a nuisance guest in the chairman’s house. Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five… Perhaps my mom had truly intended to abandon me. If that person hadn’t come and called her ‘madam’ at that moment, I might have finally been abandoned by my mom. The thought made my cheek burn. My swollen cheek painfully reminded me that I still hadn’t escaped.
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