As the nerve-wracking standoff continued between those wanting to catch a ship and those wanting to leave, two individuals were wrapping up their luxurious nine-day journey in America.
Since their mental ages were completely different, it was rare for their thoughts to overlap, but as the end of the trip approached, such thoughts emerged.
“I don’t want to go home.”
The main goal of this trip was to struggle to escape from the ridiculous nickname of “perfect attendance bum.”
…or so it was.
The smartphone gallery was packed full of photos of suited uncles and us.
They took so many pictures that the gallery, which used to be filled with funny images circulating on the internet, now reeked of America.
With the iconic landmarks of each tourist destination behind us, Siyeon and I struck peace signs, extending our index and middle fingers towards the camera.
I was trying to show that I was enjoying myself as much as possible, but it felt less like pretending and more like I was genuinely enjoying the tourism and luxury life.
“I don’t want to go home—!”
“Hoo-hoo-hoo.”
I had quietly muttered that to myself, but as if to express my disappointment, the words slipped out.
Seeing our disappointment, Representative Uncle chuckled while putting on his clothes.
As the time to check out of the hotel approached, that disappointment felt more real.
The luxurious marble floor, the long, wide red carpet in the lobby.
All those fantastic sights faded into the distance like a dream from one night.
From the street to a car, from the car to the airport, and from the airport to a plane.
As we transitioned from the airport to the plane, a horrible smell that lingered like burnt grass wafted away.
At first, I thought it was the infamous body odor of Americans, but it turned out to be that cannabis aroma, which is supposedly so mainstream in drugs.
I was relieved that smell wasn’t legal in Korea and settled back into the wide seat, just like when I arrived.
Before the plane took off, Representative Uncle, who had helped us the most and assisted in taking pictures, approached and casually asked.
“Did you enjoy the trip?”
“Yes!”
“Yes, thanks to you, we took many pictures…thank you.”
Siyeon, answering in a one-dimensional cheerful tone, gave a polite thank you while I nodded my head, appreciating that our nine-day trip in America hadn’t been uncomfortable.
“Well, I’m glad to hear you had fun.”
Saying that, the uncle shook his body a bit, showing a friendly smile, and took something out from inside his coat, handing it to me as he spoke fluently.
“If you need anything, don’t bother Ji-eun; just call this number.”
“Ah, yes…thank you.”
I received a thin rectangular piece of paper with both hands, feeling unnecessarily polite.
It was a business card, a congressman’s.
With his name and phone number printed prominently, it felt like something that should be treated with utmost respect.
To avoid crumpling it by stuffing it in my padding or pants pocket, I separated my smartphone case and carefully placed it inside.
That business card, visible behind the sleek transparent case, somehow felt intimidating.
“Give me one too!”
“Alright, here you go.”
For some reason, Representative Uncle handed over another business card to Siyeon, who seemed to want to mimic me after seeing my card.
She also received a business card and placed it behind her smartphone case.
Although I couldn’t understand the proud expression on her face, I still thought it was cute.
Thus began our 12-hour return journey by plane.
Stretching my body to ease the stiffness, I fastened my seatbelt as I heard the click along with a short sigh.
I reset my smartphone, which was set to American time, back to Seoul time and straightened my seat to lie back comfortably.
Sitting was more comfortable than standing, and lying down was more comfortable than sitting.
During the nine-day journey, we had mostly eaten only bread and basic meals.
On the plane, both Siyeon and I had Korean food for our first meal.
Even though the portion was small, the joy of seeing white rice again was overwhelming.
I thought again that Koreans really live on rice, relishing the last moment of luxury from our trip in the airplane.
“Wow…did we take that many pictures?”
After the Friday of our return, on Saturday,
Ji-eun, who had come to our house, was browsing through the fridge magnets, including those stuck all over the fridge, and the local pictures saved on Siyeon’s and my smartphones.
With Ji-eun holding the smartphone, my task was to write the report for the outdoor experiential learning project.
Since we had such a great trip, I needed to prepare the report for school.
“We didn’t think we’d take so many pictures.”
Responding to Ji-eun’s admiration that we took so many photos while selecting printed ones on the computer, I gave a nonchalant answer.
To be honest, I had only planned to take a few pictures for the report, but somehow, it ended up being filled to the brim with memories of America.
After all, there’s a saying that what you bring back from a trip are souvenirs and photos, so these pictures would eventually become memories.
‘With this many photos, they shouldn’t tease me about being a bum anymore.’
Additionally, there was something in my wallet, which could hardly be called a souvenir, but it was there, proudly—a dollar bill.
When you think about it, it’s just a small bill worth around a thousand won, but this little peculiarity can become a topic of interest and popularity among kids.
Just as a student who went to Japan brought back 1-yen and 5-yen coins to school, briefly becoming a hot topic in the class.
And it turned out that those expectations weren’t misplaced.
On the following Monday, naturally there were a flurry of questions directed at me, who was somewhat well-known in the class, asking where I had traveled.
I casually replied “America,” and tossed a dollar bill, worth around one thousand won, into the crowd of students before escaping.
“Wow, American money!”
“My mom wouldn’t let me touch it.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.”
After throwing away that dollar bill, which I wouldn’t mind losing, I leaned against the back locker until the commotion settled down.
Unlocking the locker with a small key, I took out the textbook for today’s subject that had been sleeping during the trip and placed it on top of the locker.
Then, locking the small padlock back up, I watched as a swarm of elementary school kids rushed in, eager to see the dollar.
“Hey, stop looking; let me see too!”
“I haven’t seen it all yet!”
“Hey, is this yours?”
“I lent it to you, so it’s mine now!”
‘It’s my money, you little brats.’
Over something worth about 1,300 won, they argued verbally.
Finally, the dollar debacle was settled only when the teacher entered the classroom.
Our homeroom teacher was closer to being the notorious “mean teacher.”
Perhaps because of that, the kids were pretty good at obeying commands, which made things easier for me.
“What’s all this noise about?”
As the teacher approached the crowd, the students scattered like cockroaches when the light shines on them.
Except for one boy who hadn’t managed to escape.
The boy, holding the dollar bill in his hand, looked at me.
Then, when the teacher approached, he held out the dollar bill eagerly.
Hey, what are you doing?
“The dollar bill will be confiscated until class is over; come to find it later.”
The teacher took the dollar and walked back to the teacher’s desk with it.
The boy, having lost his bill, returned to his seat, expressionless, as if nothing had happened.
In reality, the one who was about to go insane was me.
Although I didn’t care much about the small amount of money that was hardly worth anything, money was still money.
No matter how small the amount, having it taken away by someone else in front of me didn’t feel good at all.
And among the crowd of students gathered until the end of the sixth class, not one of them came to apologize.
Moreover, the brat who took it didn’t even bother to go to the teacher’s office, instead running out the back door of the classroom with his close friend, as if nothing had happened, laughing.
But I thought, it’s not worth going to the teacher’s office over just 1,300 won, so I gave up and left the classroom too.
As I stepped into the entrance, Siyeon was expressing her excitement, lifting her heels and bouncing around.
At least she seemed to have shaken off the shame of being called a perfect attendance bum.
“Did you talk about the trip?”
“Yeah! The class was really envious!”
It seemed she was happy as she recounted her experience.
Though Siyeon had resolved the mocking issue, the next day held an unexpected problem.
“Whose bill is this?”
I had no idea what had triggered my homeroom teacher’s explosive reaction, but the atmosphere was tense from the start of the morning assembly.
Naturally, if I didn’t raise my hand, no one would.
The boy who had the dollar bill stolen looked blankly at me, as if I wanted to slap him.
“Yesterday, why didn’t you come looking for it?”
“Doesn’t he have to go find it because he got it taken away?”
If you borrowed someone else’s thing and it got taken away, it’s only right for the one who lost it to go find it.
Despite bringing up that obvious point, the atmosphere sank, and the teacher turned away.
And, as if one part of his brain was malfunctioning, the teacher pointed at me instead of the boy who had lost it.
“Kim Mari, come with me to the teacher’s office.”
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