One man, two ladies

I lay on my left side. Then I turned to my right, worried my left shoulder would ache in the morning. But when I sleep on my right side, my left hip starts to hurt—so I flipped onto my stomach. Then I worried about getting wrinkles from my face being pressed into the pillow, so I lay on my back again. Sleep completely left me.

I went to the bathroom, drank a glass of water, and lay back down. But my husband’s snoring kept me awake. I turned his head toward the wall and pulled the blanket over his face. The ticking clock went tick-tock. It began to sound like the clicking of high heels echoing through Myeongdong. I sank into old memories, as if underwater.

It was just after I had graduated from college.
“I broke up with him today,”
my friend said over the phone. I was getting ready for a date at the time, but felt sorry for her, so I invited her to come along.

She was stylish and outgoing, and quickly got along with my boyfriend. The three of us had dinner together and went to a hotel nightclub in Myeongdong to cheer her up. After some drinks, she began to cry, thinking about her ex. We danced to lighten the mood. But when the slow dance started, there was only one man and two women—my boyfriend had to switch between dancing with her and with me.

When it was my turn, they didn’t come back. I sat alone at the table, absentmindedly scratching the tablecloth with my fingers. The night curfew was approaching, and I was getting anxious. I asked them to go home, but they just kept drinking and dancing. I became more and more sober.

“Should I just leave them and go home alone?”
But I couldn’t leave my drunk friend behind. Besides, I didn’t want her thinking I was jealous. So I waited. Eventually, the three of us ended up silently sitting in the hotel room. The man said he was tired and went into the bedroom. Then my friend followed, saying she wanted to lie down too. I sat there, stunned, again tracing the tablecloth with my fingers.

I suddenly thought, Maybe I’m the one who needs to disappear. I walked out of the room and ran into a hotel staff member. He had looked puzzled from the moment we walked in. Now he looked at me like I was some clueless girl who followed a dating couple into a hotel. He led me to another room, telling me to stay until the curfew was over.

In that room were several young women. One of them looked me up and down and asked,
“Are you new here?”
I had no idea what she meant. Maybe I looked too naive, because she didn’t talk to me again.

I watched in silence as the women were called out and returned, over and over. I was terrified. I sat in the corner like a mouse, barely breathing. As soon as the curfew lifted, I ran out of the hotel.

The cold dawn air felt refreshing. My high heels made a clear click-clack as I walked through the empty streets of Myeongdong. I let the number 78 bus pass by and kept walking. Along Chungmuro Street, a woman different from yesterday—a more grown-up woman—was walking alone.