Lifeguard Jeon

° T W E N T Y - F I V E °

I haven't seen Yoongi since I was sick. he's my anchor. I've missed talking to him. I let Irene know where I'm going and I bike to his favorite part of the beach. When I spot him he turns and waves. I think we share a sacred connection.

"Suzy," he calls out in his deep, musical voice. "Are you better?"

I go over and sit in the sand by his feet. "Yes." How did he know?

Jimin catches my eye and I smile at him. That's all the encouragement he needs. He rolls onto his back.

Yoongi looks into my eyes, making his own diagnosis.

"Did Irene tell you I was sick?"

He shakes his head. "Jungkook."

"How did he know?"

Yoongi shrugs. "I suppose from people in the hospital?"

I look at him quizzically, but he turns and lifts his brush, concentrating on making short, fine strokes on the paper, filling in the white space.

Maybe Jungkook was modeling for him again and while he was posing Yoongi asked about me. I don't ask too much. I don't want to seem like I'm obsessed with him.

"So how did you get sick, Suzy?"

"How?" I shrug. "I just did . . . I woke up that way. I caught a virus from someone in the hospital, I guess. I don't really know."

"Sometimes we make ourselves sick," Yoongi says. "It's our body's way of expressing what's inside our heads."

He doesn't look at me when he says this. Does he know what happened? How could he? Did Jungkook tell him how he completely blew me off?

Yoongi keeps painting.

° ° ° ° °

My first day of kindergarten, I can't forget. I was so nervous that after breakfast I threw up. It happened the next day too. Then I think of the headaches.

I start telling Yoongi about them and my voice won't stop.

"There's something else . . ." I hesitate and look over at him.

"Go on," he says, gently.

I rub my palm back and forth along the sand, smoothing it, like the runway for a toy plane. I loom up and begin to tell him all the things I never told anyone before, not even Sulli.

"One day last year I was coming home from school. I was driving alone in the car."

He listens closely, I can tell, because of how he holds his head and the way his eyes look out in front of him, so serious.

"I was supposed to go bowling, only our regular place was closed for a private party, so the team agreed to meet somewhere else, about five miles away in another part of the city, a place I don't usually go." I stop and stare out at the waves hitting the shore and how behind them, if you look out farther, you see new ones rising up to take their place.

"Please," Yoongi says, inviting me to continue.

"I was on the highway . . . There wasn't much to look at, just signs, cars, and then off to the side of a road . . . a small motel." 

He shifts in his chair, turning to me. He places his paintbrush down the narrow slot on the easel.

"I don't know why, but right away my eye picked out a vehicle in the parking lot of the motel. It was instantaneous, a kind of deja vu. Without thinking, I got off the next exit and drove back to the parking lot. I knew when then why the car look familiar. Even though it was a pickup - the same black truck that everyone in the world drives - it had one thing that made it different. Someone had dented the door and paint was scraped, and it hadn't been fixed yet.

"Suzy-ah," Yoongi whispers.

"So . . . it was . . . my father's truck."

I swallow hard and stare at the waves. The sun is slowly sinking lower in the sky, getting ready to hide for the night. I take in a breath. I need more air. "I sat in the parking lot and an uneasy feeling spread through me."

Yoongi looks at me with such compassion that my eyes fill with tears. He sits silently, watching me. "I don't know how long I waited in the parking lot, but when it got close to supper time, I started to pull out."

He shakes his head slightly.

"As I was leaving, I looked in my rearview mirror. He was coming out of one of the rooms. He was with a woman. His arm was around her waist. She was young, so much younger than him."

"Suzy," he whispers, like an apology.

"maybe we do get sick for a reason."

We sit for a long time, neither of us speaking. Yoongi paints, and I watch him. The air gets cooler as the sun starts to disappear. It's almost dark when he finally puts down his paintbrush.

"Are you okay to get home by yourself?"

I nod. "Thanks for listening, Yoongi."

"I'm your friend, Suzy," he says. He reaches out and covers my hand in his.

I get to my feet finally and start to walk back to my bike. I feel stripped to body armor. It's the same hurt as the day I saw him. I want to ask Yoongi if there's a special plant or medicine in the jungle, some pill or magic drink that I can take. Something that's strong enough to make the pain go away forever, along with the memory. Before I get on the bike I stop and walk back to him. "Did you hear about the man who almost drowned today?"

He nods.

"I was there . . . Jungkook saved his life. I never saw anything like that, Yoongi. There was a doctor there who tried to save him, but he gave up. If Jungkook didn't keep working on him he would've died. I think he did die, but . . ."

Yoongi's face breaks into a gummy smile. "he's good, he has learned."

"What do you mean?"

"He is the keeper of the flame. The human spirit."

I pretend to understand.

° ° ° ° °

Irene looks worried when I walk into the house. "I though you'd be back earlier."

"When I talk to Yoongi, I lose track of time."

"Well at least call, please."

She's a science writer, so I ask her something that's been bothering me.

Irene . . . is Yoongi psychic or something?"

She tilts her head. "How do you mean?"

"Sometimes I get the feeling he knows things before they happen or . . . I don't know . . . he sees things."

"I'm not sure," she says. "What I do know is that he sees more than the most of us. And understands more. He's got this . . ."

She searches for the correct term. "Depth."

He said Jungkook's a 'keeper of the flame.' What did he mean?"

"He's a lifeguard," she says. "Literally."

"What do you mean?"

"He saves people . . . except for . . ."

"For what?"

"Nothing," Irene says impatiently, getting up and going into the kitchen. "That was a long time ago."