I Couldn't Tell You Who It Was

After I sent the reply, the broadcast company staff came to meet me. Of course, among those people, nobody knew who I was. I was practically unknown, so I had to introduce myself as Yeonseon’s friend. Only then did they nod, finally in understanding.

As I heard the details from the staff, I wondered who sent me the email in the first place. I asked who wanted to cast me, but it looked like they were at the bottom of the company pyramid, so they only exchanged looks of confusion. They seemed to be under the impression that I was the one who had some connection with the company.

There was more than one thing that was fishy, but it didn’t change the fact that I wanted to appear on the show. I said that after all, didn’t I? I felt like I was in someone’s well-maintained holding cage. I considered this as being a part of just “one of those things.” If that was the case, I had no reason to avoid it.

I wouldn’t have made such a choice before Yeonseon’s death.

…My mom, my black-eyed mother, committed suicide not long after living with me.

Just as my uncles told me, she was very kind to me once again. She prepared delicious food for every meal, and she told me that she loved me every night. If I tripped on the road, she ran to me with a worried look and brushed the dust off of me. “Does it hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

And lest I became upset for some reason, she bought me lots of snacks.

She treated me well.

Too well that it was weird.

My mom’s eyes appeared strange that one time, but afterward it was fine, so I thought I was mistaken for a moment. After that moment, my mom loved and cared for me just like before, so I ended up forgetting about it. Sometimes, the black-eyed mother appeared in my dreams to beat and harass me, but I didn’t pay any mind because it was only a dream after all.

My mom became peculiar so gradually that it was hard for me to notice.

My mom followed me wherever I went, even when I had to use the bathroom and when I bathed. If anyone said anything to me, she would dash forth like a rabid dog and slap the other in the face. If I grabbed anything from outside, she would bring out the disinfectant and scrub my hands and my face. She made me wear gloves and a mask. She threw rocks if anyone happened to glance my way.

“Don’t look at my child as you wish!” she yelled.

When I went to school and got out of school, she was by my side. When I was studying in school, she stood in the middle of the schoolyard and stared at me ceaselessly. The kids in my class started to murmur that she was scary, so my teacher told my mother to stop. Thus, my mom started to walk around the school. The people around us started to call my mom “that crazy b*tch.”

As one might expect, things didn’t get better. We were a single-parent family, so we largely depended on my mom’s income. If my mom didn’t work, our circumstances would become poor.

When my uncles saw my mom abandon her work to stick to me, they initially thought that she was trying to make up for the time that we were apart. For the first few months, my uncles sent us some money.

However, my uncles had families of their own. A few times were okay, but they couldn’t keep providing for us for years. Eventually, my uncles explained their circumstances to my mom, and my mom smiled and nodded, saying that she understood.

I remember that moment very clearly.

My uncles and mom sat in the living room around the table with a plate of fruit that my mom had prepared. My uncles looked relieved yet slightly anxious when my mom complied so readily. They were speechless after looking around the house.

The house was filled with stuff for children.

The walls were plastered with animal stickers for kids and because my mom cooked constantly, one corner of the room was stacked with spoiled jellies, cakes, and various other things. Several mobiles hung from the ceiling and the floor was covered with toy train rails and Lego pieces, so there was nowhere to sit or stand. Like the witch’s gingerbread house, the smell of rotting sweets hung in every corner of the house.

“I can handle things on my own from now on. I should have done that from the start. Of course, it’s only right that I take care of my child myself. Thank you for your help so far.”

My uncles looked conflicted and confused, but my mom appeared normal in the midst of the mess.

However, they couldn’t find any trace of abuse on me and concluded that they would watch for a bit longer when they saw my mother trying to take good care of me. Before my uncles left, they gave me a scrap of paper with their phone numbers and told me to contact them if anything happened.

The paper was soon shredded into pieces by my mom.