*장편입니당...^.^
If you ask an average group of people what scares them most, you’d probably be able to guess most of the answers. Spiders, heights, clowns, public speaking…maybe a few oddballs like quicksand or being cheese-grated to death. But poll the average person and you’d find the same fears run through 99% of the population.
보통 사람들한테 뭐가 제일 무섭냐고 물어보면 아마 뻔한 대답만 들을거야.
거미, 높은 곳, 발표 등.. 그리고 어떤 또라이들은 모래늪이라던가.. 강판에 갈려서 죽는 것..이라고 대답할 수도 있고.
근데 설문조사를 해보면 99%의 사람들이 무섭다고 대답하는 게 하나 있어.
Not me though.
I’m afraid of being happy.
나는 해당사항 없지만.
행복하다고 느낄 때 두렵거든.
Not in the ‘my heart is an island’ bullshit way. I don’t spend my time listening to sappy songs and dissolving into some self-pitying pool of useless human. My dad was like that. He refused to be happy. All he did was complain. Nothing was good enough. Not even alcohol made him happy. Fucking loser.
'사람은 혼자서 살 수 없어'같은 거 말고.
그런 말도 안되는 노래나 들으며 잉여인간이라는 자책에 빠지는 편은 아냐.
근데 우리 아빠는 그랬어.
행복 자체를 거부했던 사람이거든.
허구헌날 불평불만을 늘어놓고.
뭐 하나 만족해 하는 법이 없었지.
심지어는 술로도 해결을 못하더라고.
아빠만 아니면 진짜 아오.
No, I’m not like that. I would love to be happy. I’d give my life if I could have one purely happy moment. A second of bliss without any repercussions. To taste such a sweet minute probably wouldn’t make any sense to me. Like that story about the people in the cave. They came out walking on their hands. Misery is my cave and my hands are torn and bloody.
분명 나는 아빠와 달라.
행복해지고 싶거든.
한순간이라도 온전히 행복할 수 있으면 내 목숨도 바칠 수 있을 정도로.
아무런 방해도 받지 않는 찰나의 천국이랄까.
근데 내가 과연 그런 달콤한 순간을 느낄 수나 있을까.
동굴에서 살았다는 사람들 이야기처럼 말야.
손으로 걸어서 나왔대.
비참함은 내 동굴이고 내 손은 찢기로 피로 얼룩졌어.
It started when I was a kid. I don’t remember much until around the age of seven. Before that is mostly a blur of my father yelling and my mother apologizing. Nothing felt safe or comfortable. I once watched the movie “Homeward Bound.” You know, the one with the dogs and the cat? All of the kids in that movie were so lucky. They had parents who love them, a solid home, and even some death-defying pets as a damn cherry on top. I wonder what that would have been like.
내가 어렸을 때부터였어.
7살이 되기 전은 잘 기억이 안나는데.
어렴풋이 아빠는 고함을 지르고 엄마는 사과를 하던 모습이 기억 나.
한 번도 마음편히 있어본 적이 없었어.
"집으로 가는 길"이라는 영화를 보고 있었는데 거기 보면 개랑 고양이를 키우던 애 있잖아?
그 영화에 나오는 애들은 전부 어찌나 복이 많은지.
부모님들이 사랑해주고, 화목한 가정에, 심지어 걔네가 키우는 애완동물도 죽는 법이 없었다니까.
어떤 느낌일지 정말 궁금했어.
My first concrete memory was when I brought home a stray kitten. He was orange and black. I didn’t name him. I was too afraid of losing him to really enjoy him. He hid under my bed all day and I fell asleep. When I woke up he had slipped out the door. My dad killed him with a hammer. He claimed he thought it was a rat. The kitten’s dead body was still on the carpet when I walked into the living room that morning. My mom cleaned it up without comment. I must have cried for days.
내가 뚜렷하게 기억하는 가장 어렸을 때 일 중에 길고양이를 주워왔던 적이 있었어.
주황색이랑 검정색이 섞여있었고 이름은 지어주지 않았어.
고양이를 잃는다는 두려움 때문에 거리를 둔거지.
내 방 침대 밑에 숨어서 하루 종일 잠만 잤었어.
근데 어느 날 잠에서 깨어나보니 열린 문 밖으로 나갔더라고.
아빠가 망치로 때려죽인 뒤였지.
고양이가 아니고 쥐새낀 줄 알았다나.
그 날 아침에 거실로 나갔을 때 죽은 채로 카펫위에 덩그러니 널부러져 있었어.
엄마가 한마디 말씀도 없이 치워주셨고.
나는 며칠을 울었던 것 같아.
So yeah, that’s what my childhood was like. I didn’t know about happiness. The closest I ever got was a big meal or a night when my dad was out at the bar. Even then mom didn’t do much in the way of loving. She kept her distance from me. I never really understood her.
I made a friend once, in the beginning of middle school. Her name was Keisha and she had thick pigtails. That’s all I remember about her now. I was hesitant at first. No one showed me much kindness so when she offered to share her sandwich with me I instantly was suspicious. It took a few days for me to truly accept her friendship. I think I smiled wider than I ever had before.
하. 이게 내 어린 시절이야.
행복에 뭔지 전혀 몰랐어.
가장 행복에 근접했을 때는 내가 맛있는 식사를 했다거나 아빠가 술집에 가서 밤늦게까지 안왔을 때 정도랄까.
심지어 엄마도 그렇게까지 날 생각해주는 편이 아니었어.
나랑 늘 거리를 뒀었지.
정말 이해할 수가 없어.
중학교에 가서는 친구를 사귄 적도 있었는데 이름은 케이샤였고 머리를 길게 땋아 늘어뜨리고 다녔었어.
지금 그거 말곤 기억나는 점이 없다.
처음에는 좀 망설였었어.
아무도 나한테 친절하지 않았는데 나한테 샌드위치 한조각을 건네주길래 뭔가 싶었거든.
케이샤한테 마음을 여는데 며칠이 걸렸을거야.
그 때만큼 활짝 웃었던 적이 없었지.
A few minutes later an older kid stabbed Keisha with a pencil. Right through her eye. It stuck out like an awkward tree branch. Her eyeball was a deflated balloon. Everyone was screaming and the older kid was just babbling incoherently. I think he got off with a warning, since we were so young. He said he didn’t know why he did it. He just felt like he had to. Keisha’s parents pulled her out of school and I never saw her again.
The kitten, Keisha…when I felt happy, something awful happened. Even a small thing, like a good grade, was rewarded with my teacher miscarrying in front of the entire class. A pretty girl invited me to a party at her house, and the entire building went up in flames only ten minutes before I arrived. My joy was always someone else’s misery. I tried to talk to my mom about it but she slammed her bedroom door in my face.
근데 갑자기 어떤 애가 연필로 케이샤의 눈을 찔렀어.
연필은 그대로 박힌 채 케이샤의 눈이 풍선이 터지듯 푹 꺼졌고.
모두들 놀라서 소리를 지르고 그 애는 이상한 말만 중얼거리고 있었어.
내 기억엔 나이가 너무 어려서 경고조치로 끝났던 거 같아.
고양이, 케이샤.. 내가 행복을 느끼면.. 꼭 안좋은 일이 일어났어.
성적이 잘나왔는데 알고보니 선생님이 착각했던가 하는... 그것도 친구들이 다 있는 교실에서.
예쁘장한 친구가 나를 집으로 초대한 적이 있었는데 도착하고 보니 건물 전체가 화염에 휩싸여있다던가.
내가 즐거울 때는 반드시 누군가가 끔찍한 일을 겪어야 했어.
엄마한테 얘기하려고 했더니 문을 쾅 닫아버리더라고.
I dropped out of school the next day.
I spent the next few years living in my parent’s house, enduring the abuse of my father and the neglect of my mother. I worked in various fast food joints. It was a daily routine of overflowing sadness. I suppose it wasn’t much different than my childhood.
I didn’t fully put it together until the incident. The big one – the one that made it all clear. I was working at Taco Bell at the time. It was going fine except for those stupid purple shirts they made us wear. But on this particular day, everything was going wrong. Customers were yelling, we ran out of beef, and my manager decided to make my life hell. I was beaten down from the minute I walked in.
Even though I had to stay two extra hours to cover someone else’s shift, I made it out before 5pm. I walked home quietly as usual. On the way, someone threw a soda at me from their car. They must have seen the Taco Bell shirt and thought it would be funny. It wasn’t. I walked the rest of the way home soaking wet.
그 다음날 나는 학교를 그만 두고 아빠의 학대와 엄마의 무관심을 견디며 부모님 집에서 살았어.
패스트푸드 음식점에서 일했었고.
매일이 슬픔이 가득차 흘러 넘쳤지.
어린 시절과 크게 다를 바가 없는거야.
그 사고가 있기 전까지 정신 못차리고 살았는데.
뭐랄까.. 그제서야 눈을 떴달까.
타코벨에서 근무할 때 일어난 일인데.
여느 날과는 조금 달랐어.
제대로 되는 일이 하나도 없었거든.
손님들이 고성을 치고, 식재료가 바닥나고, 매니저가 나를 아작을 냈지.
가게로 들어가자마자 두들겨 맞아 쓰러졌어.
다른 사람 근무시간을 채워줘야 해서 두시간은 더 있어야 했는데 그냥 나와버렸어.
평소처럼 걸어서 집으로 걸어가는데 누군가 달리는 차에서 나한테 콜라를 던졌어.
내가 타코벨 유니폼을 입고 있으니까 재밌겠다 싶었나봐.
흠뻑 젖은채로 집까지 마저 걸었어.
To this day I wonder if my day had gone better maybe all of it never would have materialized. If that jerk hadn’t thrown a drink at me maybe it would have just been a normal terrible day. But it’s stupid to think about what ifs. What happened is what was meant to happen.
And anyways – it was bound to happen sometime.
I got home and found my mother on the floor, a large bruise spreading like fire over the side of her jaw. My dad’s fists were still balled. The look of rage in his eyes was nothing new, but he had never hit her before. Things had been thrown and words had been screamed – but never this. It never got physical.
오늘까지도 궁금해.
만약 아빠가 제대로 살았다면 나쁜 일은 하나도 일어나지 않았을지도 모르겠다고.
나한테 술병을 던지지 않았다면 언제나 그렇듯 일진이 나쁜 평범한 하루였을지도 모르겠다고.
그렇게 생각해봤자 무슨 소용이겠어.
어차피 언젠가는 어떤 식으로든 벌어졌을 일인데.
집에 오니까 엄마가 턱에 시퍼런 멍이 든 채로 바닥에 쓰러져 있었어.
여전히 주먹질을 하고 다녔으니까.
두 눈에 분노가 가득차있었지만 그대로 엄마를 때린 적은 없었거든.
살림살이를 부수고 고성이 오갔어도 한번도 손찌검을 하지 않았었는데.
Something snapped in me. My entire life came crashing down onto my spine. I was done. So I charged him. I slammed my entire body into his. He toppled over like a beer bottle. His skull struck the linoleum of the kitchen. It made a sickening smack. My mother was yelling, “Stop! Stop it!” But it had already been done. He wasn’t moving.
She stood slowly. “What the hell did you do?”
갑자기 이성의 끈이 탁하고 끊어지면서 내 삶이 한꺼번에 무너져버렸어.
있는 힘껏 아빠를 밀쳤는데.
중심을 잃고 비틀거리더니 싱크대 모서리에 머리를 박고 쓰러진거야.
깨지는 소리가 정말 끔찍했어.
엄마가 그만하라고 소리치고 있었고 아빠는 움직임이 없었지.
"너 대체 무슨 짓을 한거야?"
Drool dripped from the corner of my mouth. “He deserved it.” Something foreign tickled the back of my throat.
“You fucking idiot.” She went over to him and pressed two fingers to his neck. “He’s dead.”
I smiled. It was a pure, genuine smile. It felt unnatural on my face. I was immobile. The happiness shot through my veins like heroin. He was dead. I had ended this miserable bastard’s reign of idiocy.
My mom turned to me. She flicked her bangs out of her eyes. “You have no idea what you just did.”
The coolness of her voice shook me out of my happiness coma. “It was an accident.”
“That doesn’t matter.” She reached to the counter and produced a small steak knife.
“Ma, what are you doing?” I stepped towards her. “I’ll call the police. It’s my fault. You won’t get in trouble.”
“I needed him.” Without any emotion she drew the knife across her chest.
“Ma, stop!” I was afraid to move closer to her, afraid she would hurt herself worse.
“I probably should have told you sooner.” She sliced her face. The shallow cuts drew thin tendrils of blood. “But I thought maybe it had skipped a generation.” The knife dug into her leg. “There is a letter in my bedside table. The lower drawer has a fake bottom.” She cut her ear with one smooth motion. “Read it after I’m done.”
By this time I had overcome my fear and was next to her, trying to grab the knife. She wrestled with me, but I managed to knock the blade away. ‘Ma, what are you doing?! You need a doctor!”
“I have to!” she screamed. “I can’t stop!” She flailed against me but I was stronger. Her blood got onto my clothes. She spit in my eyes and for a second I loosened my grip. My mom ducked away and ran to the bathroom. She locked herself inside. I pounded on the door but the lock held.
“Why are you doing this?” I pleaded.
Her voice did not waver. “You’re doing this to me. It’s because of you.”
Quickly I dialed 911. I tried to explain what was happening but the responder stopped me. “Do you live near Ashland Ave?”
I paused in surprise. “How did you…”
“Officers are on their way. Please do not leave your home.” She hung up on me.
I kept the receiver to my ear long after her voice was gone. That’s when I heard the gunshots. Not from my house, but from the one next door. And then, like a slap of a conductor’s wand, a chorus of screams filled the air. They were coming from all directions. I dropped the phone and it broke into pieces on the floor, bits scattering all the way to my dad’s dead body. I saw a small river of blood oozing from under the bathroom door.
“Mom?”
I knew she wouldn’t reply. There were enough razor blades in the bathroom to shred her veins.
The screaming continued. More gunshots. Police sirens. Any small piece of happiness remaining from the death of my dad was gone. It was replaced with something akin to numbness. Mechanically I walked upstairs into my parents’ bedroom. The noises outside were drowned out by the robotics of my thoughts. The bedside table stood mockingly low. I bent down and opened the lower drawer. It slid out easily. I hooked my fingernails around the bottom and peeled it up. Beneath it was a single sheet of paper.
Son,
You must hate me. At least I hope you do. I have done everything I can do make you hate me. I can’t get myself to hit you – that’s a failing on my part. But your father will be brutal enough for us both. I won’t apologize for your life because even though I’m responsible, it had to be this way.
I grew up exactly the same. I know that’s not much consolation to you. But I promise our family has been living in misery for generations. It might as well be part of our DNA.
It is our DNA that’s the problem. Well, specifically our pheromones. Did you know that pheromones change depending on your mood? You can’t notice these changes but they exist. Humans gives off different pheromones and without anyone knowing, it affects those around us.
Our family is…unique. I guess you could say our pheromones are stronger than average humans. It only happens when we feel happiness. Any small joyful emotion goes out into the world and creates chaos. It has always been that way for us. Your grandmother tried to find out why, but if she got anywhere close to an answer the destruction her happiness would cause was too much to bare. Her joy made an entire hospital of women miscarry. Every single woman. Many of them also became barren. Just because of her pheromones.
So you have to understand – I know how awful your father is. That’s why I picked him. I have to be miserable in order to protect everyone else. You were never supposed to be born. I wanted the line to end with me. But when I got pregnant…an abortion would have made me happy, so I couldn’t do it. I had to give birth to you. You are a horrible, terrible mistake.
I’m writing this on your first birthday. You have been laughing a lot recently – it’s been awful. The neighborhood dogs are getting sick. I had to feed you expired food to get you to cry more. I hate you. I have to hate you.
So now you know. We can’t be happy. It’s impossible. It will cause too much pain and death.
I can’t even kill myself. The relief of it being over might cause a genocide…
Do what you want with this information. Just make the right choice. Your happiness is not as important as the world around you. Don’t be selfish. Your lifetime of misery is meaningless.
So is mine.
The outcome of my happiness caused the deaths of over fifty people and injured a hundred more. It affected everyone within 500 feet. My next-door neighbor killed his entire family with a shotgun. Two runners got hit by a car, who then went on to crash into a tree. A group of pre-school kids swallowed bleach. So many people died or were hurt, just because I was happy my dad was dead. My few moments of bliss caused untold damage.
My mother died of blood loss. She was smiling when the police got the door open.
This is why I’m afraid of being happy.
So now I am completely alone; the deaths of those people weigh heavily on me every single day. I can’t escape it. I don’t want to. If I forget, or give myself even a minute to breath, I might hurt someone else. And this is how I will exist until I die. Alone, miserable, and safe from happiness.
But there is one more thing. One more brick of guilt that closes me up inside.
I know about our family’s curse – but my older brother, the one who ran away at thirteen, doesn’t.
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