Desire in Any Language Read Online Free PDF Page B

ineligible.  No more dance club visits until next month, I guess.
    “And I have to put you on probation.”
    “No…”  It slips out before I can stop myself.  I did agree to this, at least last term when we negotiated the conditions of repeating the coursework. 
    “I’m sorry, Mira, but Director Choi insisted.  So I will need you to bring progress reports to me every Wednesday.  Ask Assistant Lee for the paperwork, please.”
    “Yes, Sonsengnim.”
    She stands up.  I rise to my feet immediately.  I half-expect and half-fear her hug, but instead she puts a hand on my shoulder.
    “Mira-ya.”
    I stand still.  It is rude not to respond, but I don’t know what to say.
    “Please don’t ever lie to me again.  I know that lesson wasn’t too difficult for you.”
    Before I can think of a response, she is gone. 
     
    That night, I laboriously write out an answer to Lee Sonsengnim’s questions in the journal we are required to keep daily.
    Before I was born, my mother dreamed about a tiger.  My grandfather thought I would be a boy.  My father said no.  He wanted a girl.  He fed my mother grapes and peaches and pears.  They were very expensive.  When I was born, my grandfather was surprised.  My grandmother was surprised, too.  My mother let me taste pear juice when I was a baby.  Now my favorite fruit is a pear.
     
    The next day, Lee Sonsengnim returns my journal with tiny, precise lettering in the bottom margin.
    You did well.

Desire Searching
     
    “Come on!”  Ah-ee drags me by the hand onto the dance floor.  There is hardly enough room to stand up, let alone dance.  She throws her arms into the air and gyrates wildly, uncaring which bodies she bumps into.  The beat is heavy and the volume high.  The stink of cheap beer and hot bodies mixes with the taste of salted peanuts in my mouth.  I feel faint.
    “Dance, Mira!”
    Even though I can’t hear her, I can see Ah-ee’s lips moving.  Normally I can out-dance her even on an off-day, but tonight I crawl through the tunnel of bodies back to the bar. 
    “Soju?” the server asks, holding up a bottle.  I shake my head.
    “Water, please,” I say instead.  “Cold.”
    I forget to specify water water, though, and instead he brings me the cold barley tea that is substituted for plain water.  I make a face at the scented water that never goes down quite right, but I hold the iced grainy liquid in my mouth before letting it slide down my throat, cooling as it descends.  I cup an ice cube in my hand and dab its wet coldness against my forehead, chin, and back of my neck.  It may be cold outside, but it’s hot inside. 
    “Sexy!”
    The half-melted ice cube slips out of my fingers, and I turn indignantly to stare at a boy who looks vaguely familiar.  Where have I seen him before? 
    “Okay!” he exclaims, holding up his thumb, and it hits me.  Of course!  In the park. 
    “Okay!” I answer back, holding up my own thumb.  So artists like to dance, do they?  Or at least to drink.  I take his hand and tug for him to follow me back to the dance floor.  His look of surprise escapes my notice as I shake myself to the music.
    “Dance!” I shout toward him, and even if he can’t hear me he surely can gather my meaning from body language.  He raises his own arms, and for a moment I freeze to watch his emphatic, sharp-angled twists and turns.  He keeps time to his own music, knocking elbows on one side while bumping into the backside of another.  I raise my own arms to imitate him, and his grin grows wider. 
    “Okay!” he calls out to me, and I grin back.
    “Okay!”
     
    When Ah-ee comes to tell me that it’s half past eleven and we need to leave now in order to make our dormitory’s midnight curfew, I throw my arms around the artist dancer.
    “Thank you!” I exclaim soggily even as Ah-ee drags me away.  “Enjoy your pavement!”
    As I sing snatches of the latest television commercials on the walk to the subway, Ah-ee