What Should I Do?

This happened when I first came to New York and started school. I always felt lonely and sad, so when I didn’t have class, I often sat in Washington Square Park. At that time, there weren’t many Asians around. Whenever I saw another Asian, I made eye contact. If they looked kind, I would talk to them and try to become friends.

“Are you Korean?” 

“No, I’m Japanese,” she said.

She was also studying music at the same school as me. We became friends quickly.

She invited me to her apartment in Greenwich Village. It was a cozy place near Grove Court, where O. Henry’s short story The Last Leaf takes place. When I walked into her apartment, I was amazed.

“Wow! You live in such a beautiful place in this nice area!” I said.

There was a black desk and chair facing the living room, not far from the window.

In one corner, a green armchair stood proudly. Next to it was a piano—heavy and strong. I was surprised. Having a piano in New York as a student? She must have had money.

“Wow! This is so nice. Do you live here alone?”

“Yes,” she said quietly and brought out some tea.

We drank tea and talked about our homes.

Suddenly, she changed the topic with a worried face.

“My dad is coming from Japan next month. I’m in trouble.”

“Why? You can show him around and enjoy time together.”

“Well... this apartment is from my dad’s friend. Before I came to New York, my dad asked his friend to take care of me.

But now… I’m living with him.”

“Wait… Is your dad’s friend single?” 

“No. His wife and kids live in upstate New York.

His wife doesn’t know about us. I’m scared. My dad doesn’t know either. If he finds out, it will be terrible. What should I do? Do you have any good ideas?”

I didn’t know what to say. I sat there in silence, like the dark black piano.

Her story shocked me, like the surprise endings in O. Henry’s stories. I was too young to know what to do about such a serious problem. We just sipped our tea quietly. Then, suddenly, I stood up, opened the door, and ran out of her apartment. Later, I felt bad. She trusted me and told me her secret, but I just left. I felt guilty that I couldn’t say even one kind word to her. I walked around her apartment for a while, wondering, “Should I go back? Or not?” But in the end, I just went home. After that, I avoided her.

These days, when affairs are so common, I keep thinking about her pale, round face full of worry. How is she doing now?