The sun sets on the western horizon

Seung had strong feelings about his art; he did well on his final exam, so afterwards, as on many Friday afternoons, he walked over to Mario's, a popular pizza and drinking establishment nearby, to have a beer and relax before the long trip home. He had again managed to leave class without saying hello to Rosa, a young woman in the class who he knew was interested in him; and again, he had seen Jamal, an African-American guy who looked very familiar to him and who he had become friends with in the short time the class had been in session.

It took him a while to process the busy events of the class, as usual, and he sipped his beer slowly. Why exactly had he avoided Rosa? For one thing, he would never be able to explain a person like Rosa to his parents; it would bring so much trouble, it gave him a headache just to think about it, and he still relied on his parents quite a bit and would not be able to just shrug them off and go his own way. It wasn't so much a racial thing – Rosa was mixed, maybe Mexican and American, he wasn't sure – as just the thought of having everyone at the same table, he trying to explain Rosa's forward nature and aggressive friendliness to his parents. Impossible. There were a million things he could never explain to his parents, and he'd stopped trying. Or the other possibility: pursue Rosa temporarily, and flee before it became complicated- but that also seemed fraught with problems best avoided with the strong taste of beer. At times he felt like he was on a cliff, looking out at the ocean, barely feeling the earth beneath his feet; on the one hand, he loved and was attracted to the style and expressiveness of American friends like Rosa and Jamal; on the other, he was so bound up in his family's traditional ways, that he would find it difficult letting go of them, even if he could. Seung lost himself in thought, watching the afternoon sun reflect through the window on the lively Friday crowd at Mario's.

At that moment Jamal himself walked in, and, finding few seats in the place, motioned politely to ask Seung if he could join him; Seung agreed. He liked Jamal a lot, and Jamal liked him; there also was a deeper recognition, as if he'd known him somehow from long ago. But how could that be? Jamal made him tug at his early memories; his parents had owned a store in East LA when Seung was a child, but that was before the riots; after the riots, and before Seung started school, they'd moved up into the valley where they now lived. Seung remembered virtually nothing from those early days, except sitting on the floor of his parents' store, doing art; he'd bug them for supplies, and they consented.

Jamal shared Seung's passion for art, though his art was nothing like Seung's; it was bold and wild, with broad strokes and rich color, a little angry, but in a subtle way. They each admired each other's art, opposite as it was, and Jamal often looked at him in the same way, as if to say: I've met you before, somewhere. Seung bought Jamal a beer and they drank together for a few minutes, talking about the class and the teacher, watching the day lose its brightness outside, watching people come and go busily, as Friday afternoon turned into evening, and the place got more crowded.

When the topic came around to the evening's plans, Seung didn't have any, really, though he'd planned, in a general way, to go home before too late, help out at his parents' new store, and say hello to some relatives who would probably be around, since it was Friday night. He considered making a night of it with Jamal; the possibility seemed to hang over the table, as Jamal himself seemed to be without special plans, without a date, without even a crowd to join. He mumbled something about taking care of a sick mother, getting something for her, from one of many places around his East LA neighborhood…

That's when something caught Seung's ear. It was a reference to East LA geography, something that would mean very little to anyone who didn't know the place, but Seung knew it; he'd been back to the store his parents had when he was a kid, to the neighborhood where he was born, more than once, and knew his way around. In shock he looked at Jamal again. He had a dim memory, of a time when he was three or four, and a little black kid would come into his parents' store, and he'd share his paints; they sat on the floor together, and painted, more than once. His parents later confirmed the story; yes, there was a little boy; his mother brought him to the store, because he loved art, and the little boy lived for those moments on the floor with Seung, who, to him, had every paint, had a fantastic variety. The boy's mother, knowing how important it was to him, would linger in the store, buy as much as possible, and try to talk to the parents. Communication was not easy; there was a gulf, a gulf that became all too apparent later, during the riots, when rioters attacked the store with a passion, a passion Seung's father couldn't have predicted or even imagined. Later, Seung's family tried to figure out where they had gone wrong with the neighborhood: why did people think they should be attacked? Some cultural problem, maybe, not looking people in the eye, appearing to be too careful with money, or too cheap with credit; Seung had heard hundreds of possibilities. The boy's mother, it turned out, was one of their few sources of information, as she had actually shared what she knew, and spoke freely of her neighbors.

The riots had been defining points for both boys. Seung had moved to the valley with his family, where life was easier for him, and kept up his interest in art. For Jamal, though, times got rougher after the riots; he had to get sports scholarships to even attend college, and could take art only after having finished other necessary classes, and even that, on top of working, supporting his mother, who was now sick from rough living and poor health care; Seung already knew this, from having met him earlier. But if he was bitter, he rarely showed it; he remained upbeat, positive, genuinely interested in Seung, and friendly. Seung studied Jamal, trying to reconcile his early memories, wondering if he should push Jamal, and ask him exactly where he'd grown up in East LA, where he'd spent his earliest years. He and Jamal chatted innocently about the exam and how to answer certain parts of it, but as Jamal talked he became more and more sure that he was in fact that little boy that had spent those days on the floor of his parents' store, drawing colorful pictures.

Before he could ask Jamal, he was jolted out of his daydreams by Rosa herself, who came right through the front door of Mario's, and sat at the booth with Jamal and Seung. Seung was shocked, but tried not to show it; Jamal, however, didn't miss a beat, welcomed her, even moved over to make room, and prepared to order a pizza or perhaps another round of beers.

Rosa, friendly and outgoing as usual, had a certain antagonism toward the class that bothered Seung, perhaps because he himself was genuinely interested in the art, and offended by a callous and quick minimal effort for a grade and nothing else. Maybe he was misreading Rosa, but she really had very little feeling for art itself, and that b9thered Seung, as if it was a basic incompatibility; also, she had clearly not done as well on the exam as Seung and Jamal. Nevertheless, she was friendly as usual, and genuinely liked him, as far as he could tell. She had no particular story for why she was in Mario's at this particular moment, alone. As they talked, the feeling of love triangle began to hang over the table; Jamal too clearly liked Rosa, a lot, and had no problems with incompatibility whatsoever. Rosa liked Seung. Seung remained distant, and withdrew into his beer and the familiar feeling it brought to him, all the while still trying to place Jamal in his parents' store, trying to figure out if he was the same kid; Rosa, he tried to block out of his mind. Her bubbly enthusiasm, and all the feelings it awoke in him, gave him a headache, so he shrank from his attraction to her; he tried not to lead her on.

Eventually they ordered a small pizza, and it came; they devoured it, but all three were slightly dissatisfied, and inclined to move along as it got darker outside. Seung declared a need to go home, which was now getting stronger; his headache had gotten worse. He was aware that he was leaving Jamal with the girl; he was forfeiting, folding, denying himself a good time, a life even, some fun at least with a good and lively person. Deep down, he didn't mind; he had only himself to blame. Jamal too was a little uncomfortable, but Seung basically said to them, go ahead, you two go on and go out somewhere; I need to head home. And he did, turning his collar up and walking to the bus station; the sounds of the city took over, and he thought about his art, as usual, on the long trip back to the valley.

9-08