mix in some cold, sweet Yakult for her. She makes a face at me for diluting it.
“Look, I am not saying I regret having jaw surgery. It was the turning point of my life. And I’m not saying that it won’t change your life—in fact, it definitely will. But I still can’t say I recommend it. Also, Dr. Shim’s really busy and that hospital is really expensive. Really expensive, even without the premium. He only takes cash. They say they take cards, but they bait you with such a big discount if you pay cash that you can’t possibly not pay cash. It’s just too expensive, unless you’re an actress who has signed with a major agency, and then he’ll sponsor you.” Kyuri downs the rest of the soju and blinks her feathery lashes. “Otherwise, you’re going to have to borrow money from somewhere else. And then you have to pay off the interest forever.”
“Well it’s going to be the biggest investment of my life, and I’ve been saving for a while now.” Sujin tosses her head and shoots a quick look at me as she says this. I’ve been doing her hair for free so that she could save up for her new surgery. It’s the least I can do.
“I don’t know how much you have saved, but you’ll be surprised at the final bill. It never ends up being that one surgery you went in to get,” says Kyuri. Later, Sujin and I will discuss potential reasons for why Kyuri does not seem to want Sujin to get this surgery—does she feel uncomfortable asking Dr. Shim for a favor? Or does she think Sujin might end up looking too much like her? Why wouldn’t she want Sujin’s life to change?
Kyuri sighs and adds she wishes she could save more money. Sujin has told me that it’s hard for room salon girls to save up because they are constantly getting into debt and blowing off steam from work by going to “ho-bars” and spending money on room boys. “I could pay for two surgeries with what most room salon girls spend on alcohol in one night,” Sujin said to me once. “You don’t understand the scale of the money they make and throw away every week. I have to get there. I just have to.” She says she’ll keep saving until she can stop worrying about how to get through another day, another month.
And whenever she says these things, I nod and smile so that she knows I believe her.
* * *
—
SOMETIMES, WHEN PEOPLE ASK me how it happened, I tell them that it was because of a boy. He broke my heart and I lost my voice. Romantic, don’t you think?
I contemplated typing it up and having a little printout ready instead of writing something out every time. Then I realized it would be too reminiscent of beggars on subway cars.
Once in a while, I lie and write that I was born this way. But if I get a new customer that I like, I tell them the truth.
It was the price of surviving, I write. Things are a little different outside of Seoul.
Actually, it would have made more sense if I had become deaf. Most of the blows landed on my ears. Although my eardrums were ruptured at the time, they have gained almost full recovery and I can hear fine. Sometimes I wonder if I can hear better than before. The wind, for instance. I don’t remember it having so many shades of sound.
* * *
—
ON MONDAY, Kyuri comes into the salon a little late. She looks tired but waves at me from the makeup chair as I prepare my corner for her blowout. The girl who works at the chair next to mine uses far too much hairspray and I’ve written her many notes asking her to please cut down on the products because the cloying smell and fog from the spray make my head ache, but she just blinks at me placidly and does not change her ways.
After I wash Kyuri’s hair, I bring her iced yuja tea. She sinks into the chair.