11
" The Tustin police seemed reluctant to publicise the racial implication of the crime. For instance, the Tustian Weekly omitted the words- I killed a jap- in their rendition of Lindberg's letter.' Wait, they did edit it. I don't get it. Why the hell would they do that?"
"I am sorry"
Junes looked up from the article. Margaret hold out a hand and placed it on top of his. He couldn't tell if it was trembling because his own hand was shaking pretty badly now.
"Why are you sorry?"
"Because you're Korean"
"So?"
"He was one of your people"
Junseok snatched his hand away from her. Hequicklc shoved it under the table.
"I'm Korean-American," he said.
"But still"
"Still what? This guy was Vietnamese. How is he one of my people?"
"Well, both of you are Asians"
Junseok stared back at her sincere eyes, then at his hand under the table. He wanted desperately to explain how non-sensical her comment was, but instead, he folded up the paper slowly and carefully. Tucking it under his arm, he got up , and whiteout saying anything to her, walked towards the exit. She called from behind, but he walked on, feeling the dirties expand inside him like a large flower. Each step quickened until he was running, running out the door and into the street, running past people and cars, running without the finest idea of what he was running from, to a place that he couldn't possibly picture in his mind. "
― Tablo , Pieces of You
13
" She laughed, but this time it sounded hoarse. "It's alright," she said, leaning in again. "It's not the first time I've fucked to get a part."
Mark took a step back, putting his hand forward to distance her. The way she said fucked sounded exactly like the way she said rat, and he felt certain that this was all wrong.
"How could you say that?"
"Say what? You can't be new to this."
"That's not an excuse," he said, taking another step back. "Why do you do this? How can you do this?"
She stopped her approach. Her eyes turned to the abandoned plate of steak on the coffee table. Mark, unable to imagine what she was feeling, picked up her sweater from the floor and handed it to her. She took it without looking at him, then sat on the couch. She began to cry.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But there's no reason for you to do any of this."
She put her sweater on, straightened her skirt, then turned to face him. "I do this," she said, gesturing gat the couch, "because the moment I spend being someone else on screen is better than the twenty-eight years I've spent being myself. "
― Tablo , Pieces of You