"Wow, this is so amazing," she kept muttering; and every time she did so, I smiled and returned an embarrassed look. I found I could not hold my gaze on her, and flitted my eyes all over the place whenever for a few seconds no words passed between us.
"Yeah, so, um... what would you like to eat?" I asked. I had promised to buy her lunch: since I had just been accepted at a college (and a prestigious one at that), it was only fair to do so if I were to call her out of her studies at lunch time.
"Well you know, I had breakfast a little late, so you'd mind if we went for something not too filling?" she asked.
"Of course not. In fact, I had mine rather late too."
So, upon meeting at the subway station, we proceeded to a nearby snack restaurant which she apparently frequented.
"Do you recognise the streets at all?"
"No, not really... I mean, I remember the subway station here but everything else seems to have changed so much."
"I suppose that's true," she nodded. She too had altered a little; she now wore glasses and had her hair grown quite long. Aside from that, though, she had retained much of her as I remembered. Some people become simply unrecognisable in the space of six years, but I would have known her if I were to have chanced upon her in the streets without prior arrangements.
"Why, you still can't use your chopsticks properly! A six-year old child, you are," she chuckled, watching me struggle and jab at a slippery strand of noodle. A pair of chopsticks is supposed to look like the number eleven when held properly, but I had had the habit of holding mine crossed and never bothered to correct it.
M. and I were in the same class, way back in second and third grades. We were as close as any boy and girl of that age could be. I imagine we made quite a roguish pair; as a child, I was one of those troublesome things that could not keept still for two minutes and loved to get their hands dirty, and she was rather a tomboy. However, as is always the case with me, I was not to stay there for long; after third grade, I had to move elsewhere because of my father's new job, though we did keep in contact right up until I left for England. Since then, I had not heard from her and, after a few brief attempts, accepted with reluctance that she too had joined my long list of brief, forgotten acquaintances; until, that is, towards the end of my time at KMLA, the aid of the omniscient Internet miraculously made it possible to reach her again.
From our conversation over lunch, I learned that she remained as ordinary as could be. She was an average student at an average school, doing average things with average friends. Her dream was to enter a teaching college, if her grades would allow it, and become a science teacher, she admitted to me coyly. She even lived in her same old house still. She and I could not have walked more different paths since our parting. Consequently, since she perceived that I had spent my years in more unusual ways, she insisted that I tell her all about my adventures.
Then she broached a topic that I feared that she would.
"How's your mother? Does she still teach?"
My heart sank, though it should not do so on a merry occasion like this. I replied, managing to keep a smile, that my mother is well. I had not the heart to tell her the truth, that my mother is neither well nor approves of my seeing M at all. 'You don't belong in the same world as M. any more. Do you think I've worked so hard so that you can fritter your time away with girls like that? You should find one more befitting your station," she had scorned. This offended me for several reasons: first, I now considered myself old enough to make my own decisions on matters such as this, and second, she was insinuating a romantic design on my part, when I only wished to see an old friend. Last of all, I was shocked to see my mother behaving like some stuck-up, blue-blooded aristocrat when she had been made an orphan at the age of sixteen herself. I had an urge to rebuke her immediately for that comment, but I was tactful enough not to provoke her further in one of her tempers. Instead, I arranged to meet M on the day I was journeying to Seoul for a gathering with my KMLA friends, so that I could take a little detour on the way. This way, no-one needed to know anything.
Having finished lunch, we continued catching up the years in an ice cream parlour. When we were about to leave, she hopped up to the cashier and paid for both of us, before I had the chance to do so.
"Hey, if you pay more for the ice cream that I did for the lunch, then it defeats the point of my coming here to treat you," I objected, walking out once again into the street.
"I know. So you can come and try again," she laughed.
She saw me off to the subway station. We waved good-bye across the barriers, then I hurried up the stairs to the platform, hastened by the mechanical screech of the incoming train. I was now setting out for my correct, official destination; as far as everyone else was concerned, I had never taken a detour. I took a seat on the train, wondering what might come of this secret, long-awaited re-encounter.