Meet at Speakeasy
Light blue heels, not spikes, but wide-heeled, butt-shaping
sandals stroll below a woman with Kyung Jung’s hairdo.
Where is Kyung Jung now? In Paris, Alex, Raleigh, Stockholm?
This family, three daughters within six years, could be my
brother, eight years ago, both parents tired, looking everywhere
but at each other. Today’s sadness is short, vivid, bubbling
up from a bad day with a caddy, bad memories, bad timing,
and this book, slap-dash, not acceptable, not funny, digging in to
marriage, spirituality, pulling 100-hour weeks to try to exist in a
place that will not accept me no matter where I stand. Counterweight
comes when young ladies model, wise ladies tease, short lady put
hair up into pigtails to play youngster, attempting to “cute” her way
into a grade. Later you find out her English is shaky, analysis flawed
logic unavailable, proclaiming herself prettiest, but nowhere near it.
Unabashed freshman exudes the youth-dominated sexual revolution
that openly threatens centuries of Confucianism. Her parents may have
broken the rules themselves, but, as a tiny closet minority. Plastered pink-
shirted princesses vomit, get pulled to taxis crying for their lives, amazed
about alcohol poisoning, blowing off Monday, still bent by Friday. Here
the gents don’t take advantage of this, still pure, or too drunk themselves.
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2008. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.